PAMELA;
OR,
VIRTUE REWARDED
LETTER I
DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
I have great trouble, and some comfort, to acquaint you with. The
trouble is, that my good lady died of the illness I mentioned to you, and
left us all much grieved for the loss of her; for she was a dear good
lady, and kind to all us her servants. Much I feared, that as I was
taken by her ladyship to wait upon her person, I should be quite
destitute again, and forced to return to you and my poor mother, who have
enough to do to maintain yourselves; and, as my lady's goodness had put
me to write and cast accounts, and made me a little expert at my needle,
and otherwise qualified above my degree, it was not every family that
could have found a place that your poor Pamela was fit for: but God,
whose graciousness to us we have so often experienced at a pinch, put it
into my good lady's heart, on her death-bed, just an hour before she
expired, to recommend to my young master all her servants, one by one;
and when it came to my turn to be recommended, (for I was sobbing and
crying at her pillow) she could only say, My dear son!--and so broke off
a little; and then recovering--Remember my poor Pamela--And these were
some of her last words! O how my eyes run--Don't wonder to see the paper
so blotted.
Well, but God's will must be done!--And so comes the comfort, that I
shall not be obliged to return back to be a clog upon my dear parents!
For my master said, I will take care of you all, my good maidens; and for
you, Pamela, (and took me by the hand; yes, he took my hand before them
all,) for my dear mother's sake, I will be a friend to you, and you shall
take care of my linen. God bless him! and pray with me, my dear father
and mother, for a blessing upon him, for he has given mourning and a
year's wages to all my lady's servants; and I having no wages as yet, my
lady having said she should do for me as I deserved, ordered the
housekeeper to give me mourning with the rest; and gave me with his own
hand four golden guineas, and some silver, which were in my old lady's
pocket when she died; and said, if I was a good girl, and faithful and
diligent, he would be a friend to me, for his mother's sake. And so I
send you these four guineas for your comfort; for Providence will not let
me want: And so you may pay some old debt with part, and keep the other
part to comfort you both. If I get more, I am sure it is my duty, and it
shall be my care, to love and cherish you both; for you have loved and
cherished me, when I could do nothing for myself. I send them by John,
our footman, who goes your way: but he does not know what he carries;
because I seal them up in one of the little pill-boxes, which my lady
had, wrapt close in paper, that they mayn't chink; and be sure don't open
it before him.
I know, dear father and mother, I must give you both grief and pleasure;
and so I will only say, Pray for your Pamela; who will ever be
Your most dutiful DAUGHTER.
I have been scared out of my senses; for just now, as I was folding up
this letter in my late lady's dressing-room, in comes my young master!
Good sirs! how was I frightened! I went to hide the letter in my bosom;
and he, seeing me tremble, said, smiling, To whom have you been writing,
Pamela?--I said, in my confusion, Pray your honour forgive me!--Only to
my father and mother. He said, Well then, let me see how you are come on
in your writing! O how ashamed I was!--He took it, without saying more,
and read it quite through, and then gave it me again;--and I said, Pray
your honour forgive me!--Yet I know not for what: for he was always
dutiful to his parents; and why should he be angry that I was so to mine?
And indeed he was not angry; for he took me by the hand, and said, You
are a good girl, Pamela, to be kind to your aged father and mother. I am
not angry with you for writing such innocent matters as these: though you
ought to be wary what tales you send out of a family.--Be faithful and
diligent; and do as you should do, and I like you the better for this.
And then he said, Why, Pamela, you write a very pretty hand, and spell
tolerably too. I see my good mother's care in your learning has not been
thrown away upon you. She used to say you loved reading; you may look
into any of her books, to improve yourself, so you take care of them. To
be sure I did nothing but courtesy and cry, and was all in confusion, at
his goodness. Indeed he is the best of gentlemen, I think! But I am
making another long letter: So will only add to it, that I shall ever be
Your dutiful daughter, PAMELA ANDREWS.
LETTER II
[In answer to the preceding.]
DEAR PAMELA,
Your letter was indeed a great trouble, and some comfort, to me and your
poor mother. We are troubled, to be sure, for your good lady's death,
who took such care of you, and gave you learning, and, for three or four
years past, has always been giving you clothes and linen, and every thing
that a gentlewoman need not be ashamed to appear in. But our chief
trouble is, and indeed a very great one, for fear you should be brought
to anything dishonest or wicked, by being set so above yourself. Every
body talks how you have come on, and what a genteel girl you are; and
some say you are very pretty; and, indeed, six months since, when I saw
you last, I should have thought so myself, if you was not our child. But
what avails all this, if you are to be ruined and undone!--Indeed, my
dear Pamela, we begin to be in great fear for you; for what signify all
the riches in the world, with a bad conscience, and to be dishonest! We
are, 'tis true, very poor, and find it hard enough to live; though once,
as you know, it was better with us. But we would sooner live upon the
water, and, if possible, the clay of the ditches I contentedly dig, than
live better at the price of our child's ruin.
I hope the good 'squire has no design: but when he has given you so much
money, and speaks so kindly to you, and praises your coming on; and, oh,
that fatal word! that he would be kind to you, if you would do as you
should do, almost kills us with fears.
I have spoken to good old widow Mumford about it, who, you know, has
formerly lived in good families; and she puts us in some comfort; for she
says it is not unusual, when a lady dies, to give what she has about her
person to her waiting-maid, and to such as sit up with her in her
illness. But, then, why should he smile so kindly upon you? Why should
he take such a poor girl as you by the hand, as your letter says he has
done twice? Why should he stoop to read your letter to us; and commend
your writing and spelling? And why should he give you leave to read his
mother's books?--Indeed, indeed, my dearest child, our hearts ache for
you; and then you seem so full of joy at his goodness, so taken with his
kind expressions, (which, truly, are very great favours, if he means
well) that we fear--yes, my dear child, we fear--you should be too
grateful,--and reward him with that jewel, your virtue, which no riches,
nor favour, nor any thing in this life, can make up to you.
I, too, have written a long letter, but will say one thing more; and that
is, that, in the midst of our poverty and misfortunes, we have trusted in
God's goodness, and been honest, and doubt not to be happy hereafter, if
we continue to be good, though our lot is hard here; but the loss of our
dear child's virtue would be a grief that we could not bear, and would
bring our grey hairs to the grave at once.
If, then, you love us, if you wish for God's blessing, and your own
future happiness, we both charge you to stand upon your guard: and, if
you find the least attempt made upon your virtue, be sure you leave every
thing behind you, and come away to us; for we had rather see you all
covered with rags, and even follow you to the churchyard, than have it
said, a child of ours preferred any worldly conveniences to her virtue.
We accept kindly your dutiful present; but, till we are out of pain,
cannot make use of it, for fear we should partake of the price of our
poor daughter's shame: so have laid it up in a rag among the thatch, over
the window, for a while, lest we should be robbed. With our blessings,
and our hearty prayers for you, we remain,
Your careful, but loving Father and Mother,
JOHN AND ELIZABETH ANDREWS.
LETTER III
DEAR FATHER,
I must needs say, your letter has filled me with trouble, for it has made
my heart, which was overflowing with gratitude for my master's goodness,
suspicious and fearful: and yet I hope I shall never find him to act
unworthy of his character; for what could he get by ruining such a poor
young creature as me? But that which gives me most trouble is, that you
seem to mistrust the honesty of your child. No, my dear father and
mother, be assured, that, by God's grace, I never will do any thing that
shall bring your grey hairs with sorrow to the grave. I will die a
thousand deaths, rather than be dishonest any way. Of that be assured,
and set your hearts at rest; for although I have lived above myself for
some time past, yet I can be content with rags and poverty, and bread and
water, and will embrace them, rather than forfeit my good name, let who
will be the tempter. And of this pray rest satisfied, and think better
of Your dutiful DAUGHTER till death.
My master continues to be very affable to me. As yet I see no cause to
fear any thing. Mrs. Jervis, the housekeeper, too, is very civil to me,
and I have the love of every body. Sure they can't all have designs
against me, because they are civil! I hope I shall always behave so as
to be respected by every one; and that nobody would do me more hurt than
I am sure I would do them. Our John so often goes your way, that I will
always get him to call, that you may hear from me, either by writing,
(for it brings my hand in,) or by word of mouth.
LETTER IV
DEAR MOTHER,
For the last was to my father, in answer to his letter; and so I will now
write to you; though I have nothing to say, but what will make me look
more like a vain hussy, than any thing else: However, I hope I shan't be
so proud as to forget myself. Yet there is a secret pleasure one has to
hear one's self praised. You must know, then, that my Lady Davers, who,
I need not tell you, is my master's sister, has been a month at our
house, and has taken great notice of me, and given me good advice to keep
myself to myself. She told me I was a pretty wench, and that every body
gave me a very good character, and loved me; and bid me take care to keep
the fellows at a distance; and said, that I might do, and be more valued
for it, even by themselves.
But what pleased me much was, what I am going to tell you; for at table,
as Mrs. Jervis says, my master and her ladyship talking of me, she told
him she thought me the prettiest wench she ever saw in her life; and that
I was too pretty to live in a bachelor's house; since no lady he might
marry would care to continue me with her. He said, I was vastly
improved, and had a good share of prudence, and sense above my years; and
that it would be pity, that what was my merit should be my misfortune.--
No, says my good lady, Pamela shall come and live with me, I think. He
said, with all his heart; he should be glad to have me so well provided
for. Well, said she, I'll consult my lord about it. She asked how old I
was; and Mrs. Jervis said, I was fifteen last February. O! says she, if
the wench (for so she calls all us maiden servants) takes care of
herself, she'll improve yet more and more, as well in her person as mind.
Now, my dear father and mother, though this may look too vain to be
repeated by me; yet are you not rejoiced, as well as I, to see my master
so willing to part with me?--This shews that he has nothing bad in his
heart. But John is just going away; and so I have only to say, that I
am, and will always be,
Your honest as well as dutiful DAUGHTER.
Pray make use of the money. You may now do it safely.
LETTER V
MY DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
John being to go your way, I am willing to write, because he is so
willing to carry any thing for me. He says it does him good at his heart
to see you both, and to hear you talk. He says you are both so sensible,
and so honest, that he always learns something from you to the purpose.
It is a thousand pities, he says, that such worthy hearts should not have
better luck in the world! and wonders, that you, my father, who are so
well able to teach, and write so good a hand, succeeded no better in the
school you attempted to set up; but was forced to go to such hard labour.
But this is more pride to me, that I am come of such honest parents, than
if I had been born a lady.
I hear nothing yet of going to Lady Davers; and I am very easy at present
here: for Mrs. Jervis uses me as if I were her own daughter, and is a
very good woman, and makes my master's interest her own. She is always
giving me good counsel, and I love her next to you two, I think, best of
any body. She keeps so good rule and order, she is mightily respected by
us all; and takes delight to hear me read to her; and all she loves to
hear read, is good books, which we read whenever we are alone; so that I
think I am at home with you. She heard one of our men, Harry, who is no
better than he should be, speak freely to me; I think he called me his
pretty Pamela, and took hold of me, as if he would have kissed me; for
which, you may be sure, I was very angry: and she took him to task, and
was as angry at him as could be; and told me she was very well pleased to
see my prudence and modesty, and that I kept all the fellows at a
distance. And indeed I am sure I am not proud, and carry it civilly to
every body; but yet, methinks, I cannot bear to be looked upon by these
men-servants, for they seem as if they would look one through; and, as I
generally breakfast, dine, and sup, with Mrs. Jervis, (so good she is to
me,) I am very easy that I have so little to say to them. Not but they
are civil to me in the main, for Mrs. Jervis's sake, who they see loves
me; and they stand in awe of her, knowing her to be a gentlewoman born,
though she has had misfortunes. I am going on again with a long letter;
for I love writing, and shall tire you. But, when I began, I only
intended to say, that I am quite fearless of any danger now: and, indeed,
cannot but wonder at myself, (though your caution to me was your watchful
love,) that I should be so foolish as to be so uneasy as I have been: for
I am sure my master would not demean himself, so as to think upon such a
poor girl as I, for my harm. For such a thing would ruin his credit, as
well as mine, you know: who, to be sure, may expect one of the best
ladies in the land. So no more at present, but that I am
Your ever dutiful DAUGHTER.
LETTER VI
DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
My master has been very kind since my last; for he has given me a suit of
my late lady's clothes, and half a dozen of her shifts, and six fine
handkerchiefs, and three of her cambric aprons, and four holland ones.
The clothes are fine silk, and too rich and too good for me, to be sure.
I wish it was no affront to him to make money of them, and send it to
you: it would do me more good.
You will be full of fears, I warrant now, of some design upon me, till I
tell you, that he was with Mrs. Jervis when he gave them me; and he gave
her a mort of good things, at the same time, and bid her wear them in
remembrance of her good friend, my lady, his mother. And when he gave me
these fine things, he said, These, Pamela, are for you; have them made
fit for you, when your mourning is laid by, and wear them for your good
mistress's sake. Mrs. Jervis gives you a very good word; and I would
have you continue to behave as prudently as you have done hitherto, and
every body will be your friend.
I was so surprised at his goodness, that I could not tell what to say. I
courtesied to him, and to Mrs. Jervis for her good word; and said, I
wished I might be deserving of his favour, and her kindness: and nothing
should be wanting in me, to the best of my knowledge.
O how amiable a thing is doing good!--It is all I envy great folks for.
I always thought my young master a fine gentleman, as every body says he
is: but he gave these good things to us both with such a graciousness, as
I thought he looked like an angel.
Mrs. Jervis says, he asked her, If I kept the men at a distance? for, he
said, I was very pretty; and to be drawn in to have any of them, might be
my ruin, and make me poor and miserable betimes. She never is wanting to
give me a good word, and took occasion to lanch out in my praise, she
says. But I hope she has said no more than I shall try to deserve,
though I mayn't at present. I am sure I will always love her, next to
you and my dear mother. So I rest
Your ever dutiful DAUGHTER.
LETTER VII
DEAR FATHER,
Since my last, my master gave me more fine things. He called me up to my
late lady's closet, and, pulling out her drawers, he gave me two suits of
fine Flanders laced headclothes, three pair of fine silk shoes, two
hardly the worse, and just fit for me, (for my lady had a very little
foot,) and the other with wrought silver buckles in them; and several
ribands and top-knots of all colours; four pair of white fine cotton
stockings, and three pair of fine silk ones; and two pair of rich stays.
I was quite astonished, and unable to speak for a while; but yet I was
inwardly ashamed to take the stockings; for Mrs. Jervis was not there: If
she had, it would have been nothing. I believe I received them very
awkwardly; for he smiled at my awkwardness, and said, Don't blush,
Pamela: Dost think I don't know pretty maids should wear shoes and
stockings?
I was so confounded at these words, you might have beat me down with a
feather. For you must think, there was no answer to be made to this: So,
like a fool, I was ready to cry; and went away courtesying and blushing,
I am sure, up to the ears; for, though there was no harm in what he said,
yet I did not know how to take it. But I went and told all to Mrs.
Jervis, who said, God put it into his heart to be good to me; and I must
double my diligence. It looked to her, she said, as if he would fit me
in dress for a waiting-maid's place on Lady Davers's own person.
But still your kind fatherly cautions came into my head, and made all
these gifts nothing near to me what they would have been. But yet, I
hope, there is no reason; for what good could it do to him to harm such a
simple maiden as me? Besides, to be sure no lady would look upon him, if
he should so disgrace himself. So I will make myself easy; and, indeed,
I should never have been otherwise, if you had not put it into my head;
for my good, I know very well. But, may be, without these uneasinesses
to mingle with these benefits, I might be too much puffed up: So I will
conclude, all that happens is for our good; and God bless you, my dear
father and mother; and I know you constantly pray for a blessing upon me;
who am, and shall always be,
Your dutiful DAUGHTER.
LETTER VIII
DEAR PAMELA,
I cannot but renew my cautions on your master's kindness, and his free
expression to you about the stockings. Yet there may not be, and I hope
there is not, any thing in it. But when I reflect, that there possibly
may, and that if there should, no less depends upon it than my child's
everlasting happiness in this world and the next; it is enough to make
one fearful for you. Arm yourself, my dear child, for the worst; and
resolve to lose your life sooner than your virtue. What though the
doubts I filled you with, lessen the pleasure you would have had in your
master's kindness; yet what signify the delights that arise from a few
paltry fine clothes, in comparison with a good conscience?
These are, indeed, very great favours that he heaps upon you, but so much
the more to be suspected; and when you say he looked so amiably, and like
an angel, how afraid I am, that they should make too great an impression
upon you! For, though you are blessed with sense and prudence above your
years, yet I tremble to think, what a sad hazard a poor maiden of little
more than fifteen years of age stands against the temptations of this
world, and a designing young gentleman, if he should prove so, who has so
much power to oblige, and has a kind of authority to command, as your
master.
I charge you, my dear child, on both our blessings, poor as we are, to be
on your guard; there can be no harm in that. And since Mrs. Jervis is so
good a gentlewoman, and so kind to you, I am the easier a great deal, and
so is your mother; and we hope you will hide nothing from her, and take
her counsel in every thing. So, with our blessings, and assured prayers
for you, more than for ourselves, we remain,
Your loving FATHER AND MOTHER.
Be sure don't let people's telling you, you are pretty, puff you up; for
you did not make yourself, and so can have no praise due to you for it.
It is virtue and goodness only, that make the true beauty. Remember
that, Pamela.
LETTER IX
DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
I am sorry to write you word, that the hopes I had of going to wait on
Lady Davers, are quite over. My lady would have had me; but my master,
as I heard by the by, would not consent to it. He said her nephew might
be taken with me, and I might draw him in, or be drawn in by him; and he
thought, as his mother loved me, and committed me to his care, he ought
to continue me with him; and Mrs. Jervis would be a mother to me. Mrs.
Jervis tells me the lady shook her head, and said, Ah! brother! and that
was all. And as you have made me fearful by your cautions, my heart at
times misgives me. But I say nothing yet of your caution, or my own
uneasiness, to Mrs. Jervis; not that I mistrust her, but for fear she
should think me presumptuous, and vain and conceited, to have any fears
about the matter, from the great distance between such a gentleman, and
so poor a girl. But yet Mrs. Jervis seemed to build something upon Lady
Davers's shaking her head, and saying, Ah! brother! and no more. God, I
hope, will give me his grace: and so I will not, if I can help it, make
myself too uneasy; for I hope there is no occasion. But every little
matter that happens, I will acquaint you with, that you may continue to
me your good advice, and pray for
Your sad-hearted PAMELA.
LETTER X
DEAR MOTHER,
You and my good father may wonder you have not had a letter from me in so
many weeks; but a sad, sad scene, has been the occasion of it. For to be
sure, now it is too plain, that all your cautions were well grounded. O
my dear mother! I am miserable, truly miserable!--But yet, don't be
frightened, I am honest!--God, of his goodness, keep me so!
O this angel of a master! this fine gentleman! this gracious benefactor
to your poor Pamela! who was to take care of me at the prayer of his good
dying mother; who was so apprehensive for me, lest I should be drawn in
by Lord Davers's nephew, that he would not let me go to Lady Davers's:
This very gentleman (yes, I must call him gentleman, though he has fallen
from the merit of that title) has degraded himself to offer freedoms to
his poor servant! He has now shewed himself in his true colours; and, to
me, nothing appear so black, and so frightful.
I have not been idle; but had writ from time to time, how he, by sly mean
degrees, exposed his wicked views; but somebody stole my letter, and I
know not what has become of it. It was a very long one. I fear, he that
was mean enough to do bad things, in one respect, did not stick at this.
But be it as it will, all the use he can make of it will be, that he may
be ashamed of his part; I not of mine: for he will see I was resolved to
be virtuous, and gloried in the honesty of my poor parents.
I will tell you all, the next opportunity; for I am watched very
narrowly; and he says to Mrs. Jervis, This girl is always scribbling; I
think she may be better employed. And yet I work all hours with my
needle, upon his linen, and the fine linen of the family; and am,
besides, about flowering him a waistcoat.--But, oh! my heart's broke
almost; for what am I likely to have for my reward, but shame and
disgrace, or else ill words, and hard treatment! I'll tell you all soon,
and hope I shall find my long letter.
Your most afflicted DAUGHTER.
May-be, I he and him too much: but it is his own fault if I do. For why
did he lose all his dignity with me?
LETTER XI
DEAR MOTHER,
Well, I can't find my letter, and so I'll try to recollect it all, and be
as brief as I can. All went well enough in the main for some time after
my letter but one. At last, I saw some reason to suspect; for he would
look upon me, whenever he saw me, in such a manner, as shewed not well;
and one day he came to me, as I was in the summer-house in the little
garden, at work with my needle, and Mrs. Jervis was just gone from me;
and I would have gone out, but he said, No don't go, Pamela; I have
something to say to you; and you always fly me when I come near you, as
if you were afraid of me.
I was much out of countenance, you may well think; but said, at last, It
does not become your good servant to stay in your presence, sir, without
your business required it; and I hope I shall always know my place.
Well, says he, my business does require it sometimes; and I have a mind
you should stay to hear what I have to say to you.
I stood still confounded, and began to tremble, and the more when he took
me by the hand; for now no soul was near us.
My sister Davers, said he, (and seemed, I thought, to be as much at a
loss for words as I,) would have had you live with her; but she would not
do for you what I am resolved to do, if you continue faithful and
obliging. What say'st thou, my girl? said he, with some eagerness;
had'st thou not rather stay with me, than go to my sister Davers? He
looked so, as filled me with affrightment; I don't know how; wildly, I
thought.
I said, when I could speak, Your honour will forgive me; but as you have
no lady for me to wait upon, and my good lady has been now dead this
twelvemonth, I had rather, if it would not displease you, wait upon Lady
Davers, because--
I was proceeding, and he said, a little hastily--Because you are a little
fool, and know not what's good for yourself. I tell you I will make a
gentlewoman of you, if you be obliging, and don't stand in your own
light; and so saying, he put his arm about me, and kissed me!
Now, you will say, all his wickedness appeared plainly. I struggled and
trembled, and was so benumbed with terror, that I sunk down, not in a
fit, and yet not myself; and I found myself in his arms, quite void of
strength; and he kissed me two or three times, with frightful eagerness.
--At last I burst from him, and was getting out of the summer-house; but
he held me back, and shut the door.
I would have given my life for a farthing. And he said, I'll do you no
harm, Pamela; don't be afraid of me. I said, I won't stay. You won't,
hussy! said he: Do you know whom you speak to? I lost all fear, and all
respect, and said, Yes, I do, sir, too well!--Well may I forget that I am
your servant, when you forget what belongs to a master.
I sobbed and cried most sadly. What a foolish hussy you are! said he:
Have I done you any harm? Yes, sir, said I, the greatest harm in the
world: You have taught me to forget myself and what belongs to me, and
have lessened the distance that fortune has made between us, by demeaning
yourself, to be so free to a poor servant. Yet, sir, I will be bold to
say, I am honest, though poor: and if you was a prince, I would not be
otherwise.
He was angry, and said, Who would have you otherwise, you foolish slut!
Cease your blubbering. I own I have demeaned myself; but it was only to
try you. If you can keep this matter secret, you'll give me the better
opinion of your prudence; and here's something, said he, putting some
gold in my hand, to make you amends for the fright I put you in. Go,
take a walk in the garden, and don't go in till your blubbering is over:
and I charge you say nothing of what is past, and all shall be well, and
I'll forgive you.
I won't take the money, indeed, sir, said I, poor as I am I won't take
it. For, to say truth, I thought it looked like taking earnest, and so I
put it upon the bench; and as he seemed vexed and confused at what he had
done, I took the opportunity to open the door, and went out of the
summer-house.
He called to me, and said, Be secret; I charge you, Pamela; and don't go
in yet, as I told you.
O how poor and mean must those actions be, and how little must they make
the best of gentlemen look, when they offer such things as are unworthy
of themselves, and put it into the power of their inferiors to be greater
than they!
I took a turn or two in the garden, but in sight of the house, for fear
of the worst; and breathed upon my hand to dry my eyes, because I would
not be too disobedient. My next shall tell you more.
Pray for me, my dear father and mother: and don't be angry I have not yet
run away from this house, so late my comfort and delight, but now my
terror and anguish. I am forced to break off hastily.
Your dutiful and honest DAUGHTER.
LETTER XII
DEAR MOTHER,
Well, I will now proceed with my sad story. And so, after I had dried my
eyes, I went in, and began to ruminate with myself what I had best to do.
Sometimes I thought I would leave the house and go to the next town, and
wait an opportunity to get to you; but then I was at a loss to resolve
whether to take away the things he had given me or no, and how to take
them away: Sometimes I thought to leave them behind me, and only go with
the clothes on my back, but then I had two miles and a half, and a byway,
to the town; and being pretty well dressed, I might come to some harm,
almost as bad as what I would run away from; and then may-be, thought I,
it will be reported, I have stolen something, and so was forced to run
away; and to carry a bad name back with me to my dear parents, would be a
sad thing indeed!--O how I wished for my grey russet again, and my poor
honest dress, with which you fitted me out, (and hard enough too it was
for you to do it!) for going to this place, when I was not twelve years
old, in my good lady's days! Sometimes I thought of telling Mrs. Jervis,
and taking her advice, and only feared his command to be secret; for,
thought I, he may be ashamed of his actions, and never attempt the like
again: And as poor Mrs. Jervis depended upon him, through misfortunes,
that had attended her, I thought it would be a sad thing to bring his
displeasure upon her for my sake.
In this quandary, now considering, now crying, and not knowing what to
do, I passed the time in my chamber till evening; when desiring to be
excused going to supper, Mrs. Jervis came up to me, and said, Why must I
sup without you, Pamela? Come, I see you are troubled at something; tell
me what is the matter.
I begged I might be permitted to be with her on nights; for I was afraid
of spirits, and they would not hurt such a good person as she. That was
a silly excuse, she said; for why was not you afraid of spirits before?--
(Indeed I did not think of that.) But you shall be my bed-fellow with
all my heart, added she, let your reason be what it will; only come down
to supper. I begged to be excused; for, said I, I have been crying so,
that it will be taken notice of by my fellow-servants; and I will hide
nothing from you, Mrs. Jervis, when we are alone.
She was so good to indulge me; but made haste to come up to bed; and told
the servants, that I should be with her, because she could not rest well,
and would get me to read her to sleep; for she knew I loved reading, she
said.
When we were alone, I told her all that had passed; for I thought, though
he had bid me not, yet if he should come to know I had told, it would be
no worse; for to keep a secret of such a nature, would be, as I
apprehended, to deprive myself of the good advice which I never wanted
more; and might encourage him to think I did not resent it as I ought,
and would keep worse secrets, and so make him do worse by me. Was I
right, my dear mother?
Mrs. Jervis could not help mingling tears with my tears; for I cried all
the time I was telling her the story, and begged her to advise me what to
do; and I shewed her my dear father's two letters, and she praised the
honesty and enditing of them, and said pleasing things to me of you both.
But she begged I would not think of leaving my service; for, said she, in
all likelihood, you behaved so virtuously, that he will be ashamed of
what he has done, and never offer the like to you again: though, my dear
Pamela, said she, I fear more for your prettiness than for anything else;
because the best man in the land might love you: so she was pleased to
say. She wished it was in her power to live independent; then she would
take a little private house, and I should live with her like her
daughter.
And so, as you ordered me to take her advice, I resolved to tarry to see
how things went, except he was to turn me away; although, in your first
letter, you ordered me to come away the moment I had any reason to be
apprehensive. So, dear father and mother, it is not disobedience, I
hope, that I stay; for I could not expect a blessing, or the good fruits
of your prayers for me, if I was disobedient.
All the next day I was very sad, and began my long letter. He saw me
writing, and said (as I mentioned) to Mrs. Jervis, That girl is always
scribbling; methinks she might find something else to do, or to that
purpose. And when I had finished my letter, I put it under the toilet in
my late lady's dressing-room, whither nobody comes but myself and Mrs.
Jervis, besides my master; but when I came up again to seal it, to my
great concern, it was gone; and Mrs. Jervis knew nothing of it; and
nobody knew of my master's having been near the place in the time; so I
have been sadly troubled about it: But Mrs. Jervis, as well as I, thinks
he has it, some how or other; and he appears cross and angry, and seems
to shun me, as much as he said I did him. It had better be so than
worse!
But he has ordered Mrs. Jervis to bid me not pass so much time in
writing; which is a poor matter for such a gentleman as he to take notice
of, as I am not idle other ways, if he did not resent what he thought I
wrote upon. And this has no very good look.
But I am a good deal easier since I lie with Mrs. Jervis; though, after
all, the fears I live in on one side, and his frowning and displeasure at
what I do on the other, make me more miserable than enough.
O that I had never left my little bed in the loft, to be thus exposed to
temptations on one hand, or disgusts on the other! How happy was I
awhile ago! How contrary now!--Pity and pray for
Your afflicted PAMELA.
LETTER XIII
My DEAREST CHILD,
Our hearts bleed for your distress, and the temptations you are exposed
to. You have our hourly prayers; and we would have you flee this evil
great house and man, if you find he renews his attempts. You ought to
have done it at first, had you not had Mrs. Jervis to advise with. We
can find no fault in your conduct hitherto: But it makes our hearts ache
for fear of the worst. O my child! temptations are sore things,--but
yet, without them, we know not ourselves, nor what we are able to do.
Your danger is very great; for you have riches, youth, and a fine
gentleman, as the world reckons him, to withstand; but how great will be
your honour to withstand them! And when we consider your past conduct,
and your virtuous education, and that you have been bred to be more
ashamed of dishonesty than poverty, we trust in God, that He will enable
you to overcome. Yet, as we can't see but your life must be a burthen to
you, through the great apprehensions always upon you; and that it may be
presumptuous to trust too much to our own strength; and that you are but
very young; and the devil may put it into his heart to use some
stratagem, of which great men are full, to decoy you: I think you had
better come home to share our poverty with safety, than live with so much
discontent in a plenty, that itself may be dangerous. God direct you for
the best! While you have Mrs. Jervis for an adviser and bed-fellow,
(and, O my dear child! that was prudently done of you,) we are easier
than we should be; and so committing you to the divine protection, remain
Your truly loving, but careful,
FATHER and MOTHER.
LETTER XIV
DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
Mrs. Jervis and I have lived very comfortably together for this fortnight
past; for my master was all that time at his Lincolnshire estate, and at
his sister's, the Lady Davers. But he came home yesterday. He had some
talk with Mrs. Jervis soon after, and mostly about me. He said to her,
it seems, Well, Mrs. Jervis, I know Pamela has your good word; but do you
think her of any use in the family? She told me she was surprised at the
question, but said, That I was one of the most virtuous and industrious
young creatures that ever she knew. Why that word virtuous, said he, I
pray you? Was there any reason to suppose her otherwise? Or has any
body taken it into his head to try her?--I wonder, sir, says she, you ask
such a question! Who dare offer any thing to her in such an orderly and
well-governed house as yours, and under a master of so good a character
for virtue and honour? Your servant, Mrs. Jervis, says he, for your good
opinion: but pray, if any body did, do you think Pamela would let you
know it? Why, sir, said she, she is a poor innocent young creature, and
I believe has so much confidence in me, that she would take my advice as
soon as she would her mother's. Innocent! again, and virtuous, I
warrant! Well, Mrs. Jervis, you abound with your epithets; but I take
her to be an artful young baggage; and had I a young handsome butler or
steward, she'd soon make her market of one of them, if she thought it
worth while to snap at him for a husband. Alack-a-day, sir, said she, it
is early days with Pamela; and she does not yet think of a husband, I
dare say: and your steward and butler are both men in years, and think
nothing of the matter. No, said he, if they were younger, they'd have
more wit than to think of such a girl; I'll tell you my mind of her, Mrs.
Jervis: I don't think this same favourite of yours so very artless a girl
as you imagine. I am not to dispute with your honour, said Mrs. Jervis;
but I dare say, if the men will let her alone, she'll never trouble
herself about them. Why, Mrs. Jervis, said he, are there any men that
will not let her alone, that you know of? No, indeed, sir, said she; she
keeps herself so much to herself, and yet behaves so prudently, that they
all esteem her, and shew her as great a respect as if she was a
gentlewoman born.
Ay, says he, that's her art, that I was speaking of: but, let me tell
you, the girl has vanity and conceit, and pride too, or I am mistaken;
and, perhaps, I could give you an instance of it. Sir, said she, you can
see farther than such a poor silly woman as I am; but I never saw any
thing but innocence in her--And virtue too, I'll warrant ye! said he.
But suppose I could give you an instance, where she has talked a little
too freely of the kindnesses that have been shewn her from a certain
quarter; and has had the vanity to impute a few kind words, uttered in
mere compassion to her youth and circumstances, into a design upon her,
and even dared to make free with names that she ought never to mention
but with reverence and gratitude; what would you say to that?--Say, sir!
said she, I cannot tell what to say. But I hope Pamela incapable of such
ingratitude.
Well, no more of this silly girl, says he; you may only advise her, as
you are her friend, not to give herself too much licence upon the favours
she meets with; and if she stays here, that she will not write the
affairs of my family purely for an exercise to her pen, and her
invention. I tell you she is a subtle, artful gipsy, and time will shew
it you.
Was ever the like heard, my dear father and mother? It is plain he did
not expect to meet with such a repulse, and mistrusts that I have told
Mrs. Jervis, and has my long letter too, that I intended for you; and so
is vexed to the heart. But I can't help it. I had better be thought
artful and subtle, than be so, in his sense; and, as light as he makes of
the words virtue and innocence in me, he would have made a less angry
construction, had I less deserved that he should do so; for then, may be,
my crime should have been my virtue with him naughty gentleman as he is!
I will soon write again; but must now end with saying, that I am, and
shall always be, Your honest DAUGHTER.
LETTER XV
DEAR MOTHER,
I broke off abruptly my last letter; for I feared he was coming; and so
it happened. I put the letter in my bosom, and took up my work, which
lay by me; but I had so little of the artful, as he called it, that I
looked as confused as if I had been doing some great harm.
Sit still, Pamela, said he, mind your work, for all me.--You don't tell
me I am welcome home, after my journey to Lincolnshire. It would be
hard, sir, said I, if you was not always welcome to your honour's own
house.
I would have gone; but he said, Don't run away, I tell you. I have a
word or two to say to you. Good sirs, how my heart went pit-a-pat! When
I was a little kind to you, said he, in the summer-house, and you carried
yourself so foolishly upon it, as if I had intended to do you great harm,
did I not tell you you should take no notice of what passed to any
creature? and yet you have made a common talk of the matter, not
considering either my reputation, or your own.--I made a common talk of
it, sir! said I: I have nobody to talk to, hardly.
He interrupted me, and said, Hardly! you little equivocator! what do you
mean by hardly? Let me ask you, have not you told Mrs. Jervis for one?
Pray your honour, said I, all in agitation, let me go down; for it is not
for me to hold an argument with your honour. Equivocator, again! said
he, and took my hand, what do you talk of an argument? Is it holding an
argument with me to answer a plain question? Answer me what I asked. O,
good sir, said I, let me beg you will not urge me farther, for fear I
forget myself again, and be saucy.
Answer me then, I bid you, says he, Have you not told Mrs. Jervis? It
will be saucy in you if you don't answer me directly to what I ask. Sir,
said I, and fain would have pulled my hand away, perhaps I should be for
answering you by another question, and that would not become me. What is
it you would say? replies he; speak out.
Then, sir, said I, why should your honour be so angry I should tell Mrs.
Jervis, or any body else, what passed, if you intended no harm?
Well said, pretty innocent and artless! as Mrs. Jervis calls you, said
he; and is it thus you taunt and retort upon me, insolent as you are!
But still I will be answered directly to my question. Why then, sir,
said I, I will not tell a lie for the world: I did tell Mrs. Jervis; for
my heart was almost broken; but I opened not my mouth to any other. Very
well, boldface, said he, and equivocator again! You did not open your
mouth to any other; but did not you write to some other? Why, now, and
please your honour, said I, (for I was quite courageous just then,) you
could not have asked me this question, if you had not taken from me my
letter to my father and mother, in which I own I had broken my mind
freely to them, and asked their advice, and poured forth my griefs!
And so I am to be exposed, am I, said he, in my own house, and out of my
house, to the whole world, by such a sauce-box as you? No, good sir,
said I, and I hope your honour won't be angry with me; it is not I that
expose you, if I say nothing but the truth. So, taunting again!
Assurance as you are! said he: I will not be thus talked to!
Pray, sir, said I, of whom can a poor girl take advice, if it must not be
of her father and mother, and such a good woman as Mrs. Jervis, who, for
her sex-sake, should give it me when asked? Insolence! said he, and
stamped with his foot, am I to be questioned thus by such a one as you?
I fell down on my knees, and said, For Heaven's sake, your honour, pity a
poor creature, that knows nothing of her duty, but how to cherish her
virtue and good name: I have nothing else to trust to: and, though poor
and friendless here, yet I have always been taught to value honesty above
my life. Here's ado with your honesty, said he, foolish girl! Is it not
one part of honesty to be dutiful and grateful to your master, do you
think? Indeed, sir, said I, it is impossible I should be ungrateful to
your honour, or disobedient, or deserve the names of bold-face or
insolent, which you call me, but when your commands are contrary to that
first duty which shall ever be the principle of my life!
He seemed to be moved, and rose up, and walked into the great chamber two
or three turns, leaving me on my knees; and I threw my apron over my
face, and laid my head on a chair, and cried as if my heart would break,
having no power to stir.
At last he came in again, but, alas! with mischief in his heart! and
raising me up, he said, Rise, Pamela, rise; you are your own enemy. Your
perverse folly will be your ruin: I tell you this, that I am very much
displeased with the freedoms you have taken with my name to my
housekeeper, as also to your father and mother; and you may as well have
real cause to take these freedoms with me, as to make my name suffer for
imaginary ones. And saying so, he offered to take me on his knee, with
some force. O how I was terrified! I said, like as I had read in a book
a night or two before, Angels and saints, and all the host of heaven,
defend me! And may I never survive one moment that fatal one in which I
shall forfeit my innocence! Pretty fool! said he, how will you forfeit
your innocence, if you are obliged to yield to a force you cannot
withstand? Be easy, said he; for let the worst happen that can, you will
have the merit, and I the blame; and it will be a good subject for
letters to your father and mother, and a tale into the bargain for Mrs.
Jervis.
He by force kissed my neck and lips; and said, Whoever blamed Lucretia?
All the shame lay on the ravisher only and I am content to take all the
blame upon me, as I have already borne too great a share for what I have
not deserved.
May I, said I, Lucretia like, justify myself with my death, if I am used
barbarously! O my good girl! said he, tauntingly, you are well read, I
see; and we shall make out between us, before we have done, a pretty
story in romance, I warrant ye.
He then put his hand in my bosom, and indignation gave me double
strength, and I got loose from him by a sudden spring, and ran out of the
room! and the next chamber being open, I made shift to get into it, and
threw to the door, and it locked after me; but he followed me so close,
he got hold of my gown, and tore a piece off, which hung without the
door; for the key was on the inside.
I just remember I got into the room; for I knew nothing further of the
matter till afterwards; for I fell into a fit with my terror, and there I
lay, till he, as I suppose, looking through the key-hole, spyed me upon
the floor, stretched out at length, on my face; and then he called Mrs.
Jervis to me, who, by his assistance, bursting open the door, he went
away, seeing me coming to myself; and bid her say nothing of the matter,
if she was wise.
Poor Mrs. Jervis thought it was worse, and cried over me like as if she
was my mother; and I was two hours before I came to myself; and just as I
got a little up on my feet, he coming in, I fainted away again with the
terror; and so he withdrew: but he staid in the next room to let nobody
come near us, that his foul proceedings might not be known.
Mrs. Jervis gave me her smelling-bottle, and had cut my laces, and set me
in a great chair, and he called her to him: How is the girl? said he: I
never saw such a fool in my life. I did nothing at all to her. Mrs.
Jervis could not speak for crying. So he said, She has told you, it
seems, that I was kind to her in the summer-house, though I'll assure
you, I was quite innocent then as well as now; and I desire you to keep
this matter to yourself, and let me not be named in it.
O, sir, said she, for your honour's sake, and for Christ's sake!--But he
would not hear her, and said--For your own sake, I tell you, Mrs. Jervis,
say not a word more. I have done her no harm. And I won't have her stay
in my house; prating, perverse fool, as she is! But since she is so apt
to fall into fits, or at least pretend to do so, prepare her to see me
to-morrow after dinner, in my mother's closet, and do you be with her,
and you shall hear what passes between us.
And so he went out in a pet, and ordered his chariot and four to be got
ready, and went a visiting somewhere.
Mrs. Jervis then came to me, and I told her all that had happened, and
said, I was resolved not to stay in the house: And she replying, He
seemed to threaten as much; I said, I am glad of that; then I shall be
easy. So she told me all he had said to her, as above.
Mrs. Jervis is very loath I should go; and yet, poor woman! she begins to
be afraid for herself; but would not have me ruined for the world. She
says to be sure he means no good; but may be, now he sees me so resolute,
he will give over all attempts; and that I shall better know what to do
after tomorrow, when I am to appear before a very bad judge, I doubt.
O how I dread this to-morrow's appearance! But be as assured, my dear
parents, of the honesty of your poor child, as I am of your prayers for
Your dutiful DAUGHTER.
O this frightful to-morrow; how I dread it!
LETTER XVI
MY DEAR PARENTS,
I know you longed to hear from me soon; and I send you as soon as I
could.
Well, you may believe how uneasily I passed the time, till his appointed
hour came. Every minute, as it grew nearer, my terrors increased; and
sometimes I had great courage, and sometimes none at all; and I thought I
should faint when it came to the time my master had dined. I could
neither eat nor drink, for my part; and do what I could, my eyes were
swelled with crying.
At last he went up to the closet, which was my good lady's dressing-room;
a room I once loved, but then as much hated.
Don't your heart ache for me?--I am sure mine fluttered about like a new-
caught bird in a cage. O Pamela, said I to myself, why art thou so
foolish and fearful? Thou hast done no harm! What, if thou fearest an
unjust judge, when thou art innocent, would'st thou do before a just one,
if thou wert guilty? Have courage, Pamela, thou knowest the worst! And
how easy a choice poverty and honesty is, rather than plenty and
wickedness.
So I cheered myself; but yet my poor heart sunk, and my spirits were
quite broken. Everything that stirred, I thought was to call me to my
account. I dreaded it, and yet I wished it to come.
Well, at last he rung the bell: O, thought I, that it was my passing-
bell! Mrs. Jervis went up, with a full heart enough, poor good woman!
He said, Where's Pamela? Let her come up, and do you come with her. She
came to me: I was ready to go with my feet; but my heart was with my dear
father and mother, wishing to share your poverty and happiness. I went
up, however.
O how can wicked men seem so steady and untouched with such black hearts,
while poor innocents stand like malefactors before them!
He looked so stern, that my heart failed me, and I wished myself any
where but there, though I had before been summoning up all my courage.
Good Heaven, said I to myself, give me courage to stand before this
naughty master! O soften him, or harden me!
Come in, fool, said he, angrily, as soon as he saw me; (and snatched my
hand with a pull;) you may well be ashamed to see me, after your noise
and nonsense, and exposing me as you have done. I ashamed to see you!
thought I: Very pretty indeed!--But I said nothing.
Mrs. Jervis, said he, here you are both together. Do you sit down; but
let her stand, if she will. Ay, thought I, if I can; for my knees beat
one against the other. Did you not think, when you saw the girl in the
way you found her in, that I had given her the greatest occasion for
complaint, that could possibly be given to a woman? And that I had
actually ruined her, as she calls it? Tell me, could you think any thing
less? Indeed, said she, I feared so at first. Has she told you what I
did to her, and all I did to her, to occasion all this folly, by which my
reputation might have suffered in your opinion, and in that of all the
family.--Inform me, what she has told you?
She was a little too much frightened, as she owned afterwards, at his
sternness, and said, Indeed she told me you only pulled her on your knee,
and kissed her.
Then I plucked up my spirits a little. Only! Mrs. Jervis? said I; and
was not that enough to shew me what I had to fear? When a master of his
honour's degree demeans himself to be so free as that to such a poor
servant as me, what is the next to be expected?--But your honour went
farther, so you did; and threatened me what you would do, and talked of
Lucretia, and her hard fate.--Your honour knows you went too far for a
master to a servant, or even to his equal; and I cannot bear it. So I
fell a crying most sadly.
Mrs. Jervis began to excuse me, and to beg he would pity a poor maiden,
that had such a value for her reputation. He said, I speak it to her
face, I think her very pretty, and I thought her humble, and one that
would not grow upon my favours, or the notice I took of her; but I abhor
the thoughts of forcing her to any thing. I know myself better, said he,
and what belongs to me: And to be sure I have enough demeaned myself to
take notice of such a one as she; but I was bewitched by her, I think, to
be freer than became me; though I had no intention to carry the jest
farther.
What poor stuff was all this, my dear mother, from a man of his sense!
But see how a bad cause and bad actions confound the greatest wits!--It
gave me a little more courage then; for innocence, I find, in a low
fortune, and weak mind, has many advantages over guilt, with all its
riches and wisdom.
So I said, Your honour may call this jest or sport, or what you please;
but indeed, sir, it is not a jest that becomes the distance between a
master and a servant. Do you hear, Mrs. Jervis? said he: do you hear the
pertness of the creature? I had a good deal of this sort before in the
summer-house, and yesterday too, which made me rougher with her than
perhaps I had otherwise been.
Says Mrs. Jervis, Pamela, don't be so pert to his honour: you should know
your distance; you see his honour was only in jest.--O dear Mrs. Jervis,
said I, don't you blame me too. It is very difficult to keep one's
distance to the greatest of men, when they won't keep it themselves to
their meanest servants.
See again! said he; could you believe this of the young baggage, if you
had not heard it? Good your honour, said the well-meaning gentlewoman,
pity and forgive the poor girl; she is but a girl, and her virtue is very
dear to her; and I will pawn my life for her, she will never be pert to
your honour, if you'll be so good as to molest her no more, nor frighten
her again. You saw, sir, by her fit, she was in terror; she could not
help it; and though your honour intended her no harm, yet the
apprehension was almost death to her: and I had much ado to bring her to
herself again. O the little hypocrite! said he; she has all the arts of
her sex; they were born with her; and I told you awhile ago you did not
know her. But this was not the reason principally of my calling you
before me together. I find I am likely to suffer in my reputation by the
perverseness and folly of this girl. She has told you all, and perhaps
more than all; nay, I make no doubt of it; and she has written letters
(for I find she is a mighty letter-writer!) to her father and mother, and
others, as far as I know, in which representing herself as an angel of
light, she makes her kind master and benefactor, a devil incarnate--(O
how people will sometimes, thought I, call themselves by their right
names!)--And all this, added he, I won't hear; and so I am resolved she
shall return to the distresses and poverty she was taken from; and let
her be careful how she uses my name with freedom, when she is gone from
me.
I was brightened up at once with these welcome words, and I threw myself
upon my knees at his feet, with a most sincere glad heart; and I said,
May your honour be for ever blessed for your resolution! Now I shall be
happy. And permit me, on my bended knees, to thank you for all the
benefits and favours you have heaped upon me; for the opportunities I
have had of improvement and learning, through my good lady's means, and
yours. I will now forget all your honour has offered me: and I promise
you, that I will never let your name pass my lips, but with reverence and
gratitude: and so God Almighty bless your honour, for ever and ever!
Amen.
Then rising from my knees, I went away with another-guise sort of heart
than I came into his presence with: and so I fell to writing this letter.
And thus all is happily over.
And now, my dearest father and mother, expect to see soon your poor
daughter, with an humble and dutiful mind, returned to you: and don't
fear but I know how to be as happy with you as ever: for I will be in the
loft, as I used to do; and pray let my little bed be got ready; and I
have a small matter of money, which will buy me a suit of clothes, fitter
for my condition than what I have; and I will get Mrs. Mumford to help me
to some needle-work: and fear not that I shall be a burden to you, if my
health continues. I know I shall be blessed, if not for my own sake, for
both your sakes, who have, in all your trials and misfortunes, preserved
so much integrity as makes every body speak well of you both. But I hope
he will let good Mrs. Jervis give me a character, for fear it should be
thought that I was turned away for dishonesty.
And so, my dear parents, may you be blest for me, and I for you! And I
will always pray for my master and Mrs. Jervis. So good night; for it is
late, and I shall be soon called to bed.
I hope Mrs. Jervis is not angry with me. She has not called me to
supper: though I could eat nothing if she had. But I make no doubt I
shall sleep purely to-night, and dream that I am with you, in my dear,
dear, happy loft once more.
So good night again, my dear father and mother, says
Your poor honest DAUGHTER.
Perhaps I mayn't come this week, because I must get up the linen, and
leave in order every thing belonging to my place. So send me a line, if
you can, to let me know if I shall be welcome, by John, who will call for
it as he returns. But say nothing of my coming away to him, as yet: for
it will be said I blab every thing.
LETTER XVII
MY DEAREST DAUGHTER,
Welcome, welcome, ten times welcome shall you be to us; for you come to
us innocent, and happy, and honest; and you are the staff of our old age,
and our comfort. And though we cannot do for you as we would, yet, fear
not, we shall live happily together; and what with my diligent labour,
and your poor mother's spinning, and your needle-work, I make no doubt we
shall do better and better. Only your poor mother's eyes begin to fail
her; though, I bless God, I am as strong and able, and willing to labour
as ever; and, O my dear child! your virtue has made me, I think, stronger
and better than I was before. What blessed things are trials and
temptations, when we have the strength to resist and subdue them!
But I am uneasy about those same four guineas; I think you should give
them back again to your master; and yet I have broken them. Alas! I have
only three left; but I will borrow the fourth, if I can, part upon my
wages, and part of Mrs. Mumford, and send the whole sum back to you, that
you may return it, against John comes next, if he comes again before you.
I want to know how you come. I fancy honest John will be glad to bear
you company part of the way, if your master is not so cross as to forbid
him. And if I know time enough, your mother will go one five miles, and
I will go ten on the way, or till I meet you, as far as one holiday will
go; for that I can get leave to make on such an occasion.
And we shall receive you with more pleasure than we had at your birth,
when all the worst was over; or than we ever had in our lives.
And so God bless you till the happy time comes! say both your mother and
I, which is all at present, from
Your truly loving PARENTS.
LETTER XVIII
DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
I thank you a thousand tines for your goodness to me, expressed in your
last letter. I now long to get my business done, and come to my new old
lot again, as I may call it. I have been quite another thing since my
master has turned me off: and as I shall come to you an honest daughter,
what pleasure it is to what I should have had, if I could not have seen
you but as a guilty one. Well, my writing-time will soon be over, and so
I will make use of it now, and tell you all that has happened since my
last letter.
I wondered Mrs. Jervis did not call me to sup with her, and feared she
was angry; and when I had finished my letter, I longed for her coming to
bed. At last she came up, but seemed shy and reserved; and I said, My
dear Mrs. Jervis, I am glad to see you: you are not angry with me, I
hope. She said she was sorry things had gone so far; and that she had a
great deal of talk with my master, after I was gone; that he seemed moved
at what I said, and at my falling on my knees to him, and my prayer for
him, at my going away. He said I was a strange girl; he knew not what to
make of me. And is she gone? said he: I intended to say something else
to her; but she behaved so oddly, that I had not power to stop her. She
asked, if she should call me again? He said, Yes; and then, No, let her
go; it is best for her and me too; and she shall go, now I have given her
warning. Where she had it, I can't tell; but I never met with the fellow
of her in any life, at any age. She said, he had ordered her not to tell
me all: but she believed he would never offer any thing to me again; and
I might stay, she fancied, if I would beg it as a favour; though she was
not sure neither.
I stay! dear Mrs. Jervis; said I; why it is the best news that could have
come to me, that he will let me go. I do nothing but long to go back
again to my poverty and distress, as he threatened I should; for though I
am sure of the poverty, I shall not have half the distress I have had for
some months past, I'll assure you.
Mrs. Jervis, dear good soul! wept over me, and said, Well, well, Pamela,
I did not think I had shewn so little love to you, as that you should
express so much joy upon leaving me. I am sure I never had a child half
so dear to me as you are.
I went to hear her so good to me, as indeed she has always been, and
said, What would you have me to do, dear Mrs. Jervis? I love you next to
my own father and mother, and to leave you is the chief concern I have at
quitting this place; but I am sure it is certain ruin if I stay. After
such offers, and such threatenings, and his comparing himself to a wicked
ravisher in the very time of his last offer; and turning it into a jest,
that we should make a pretty story in a romance; can I stay and be safe?
Has he not demeaned himself twice? And it behoves me to beware of the
third time, for fear he should lay his snares surer; for perhaps he did
not expect a poor servant would resist her master so much. And must it
not be looked upon as a sort of warrant for such actions, if I stay after
this? For, I think, when one of our sex finds she is attempted, it is an
encouragement to the attempter to proceed, if one puts one's self in the
way of it, when one can help it: 'Tis neither more nor less than inviting
him to think that one forgives, what, in short, ought not to be forgiven:
Which is no small countenance to foul actions, I'll assure you.
She hugged me to her, and said I'll assure you! Pretty-face, where
gottest thou all thy knowledge, and thy good notions, at these years?
Thou art a miracle for thy age, and I shall always love thee.--But, do
you resolve to leave us, Pamela?
Yes, my dear Mrs. Jervis, said I; for, as matters stand, how can I do
otherwise?--But I'll finish the duties of my place first, if I may; and
hope you'll give me a character, as to my honesty, that it may not he
thought I was turned away for any harm. Ay, that I will, said she; I
will give thee such a character as never girl at thy years deserved. And
I am sure, said I, I will always love and honour you, as my third-best
friend, wherever I go, or whatever becomes of me.
And so we went to bed; and I never waked till 'twas time to rise; which I
did as blithe as a bird, and went about my business with great pleasure.
But I believe my master is fearfully angry with me; for he passed by me
two or three times, and would not speak to me; and towards evening, he
met me in the passage, going into the garden, and said such a word to me
as I never heard in my life from him to man, woman, or child; for he
first said, This creature's always in the way, I think. I said, standing
up as close as I could, (and the entry was wide enough for a coach too,)
I hope I shan't be long in your honour's way. D--mn you! said he, (that
was the hard word,) for a little witch; I have no patience with you.
I profess I trembled to hear him say so; but I saw he was vexed; and, as
I am going away, I minded it the less. Well! I see, my dear parents,
that when a person will do wicked things, it is no wonder he will speak
wicked words. May God keep me out of the way of them both!
Your dutiful DAUGHTER.
LETTER XIX
DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
Our John having an opportunity to go your way, I write again, and send
both letters at once. I can't say, yet, when I shall get away, nor how I
shall come, because Mrs. Jervis shewed my master the waistcoat I am
flowering for him, and he said, It looks well enough: I think the
creature had best stay till she has finished it.
There is some private talk carried on betwixt him and Mrs. Jervis, that
she don't tell me of; but yet she is very kind to me, and I don't
mistrust her at all. I should be very base if I did. But to be sure she
must oblige him, and keep all his lawful commands; and other, I dare say,
she won't keep: She is too good; and loves me too well; but she must stay
when I am gone, and so must get no ill will.
She has been at me again to ask to stay, and humble myself. But what
have I done, Mrs. Jervis? said I: If I have been a sauce-box, and a bold-
face, and a pert, and a creature, as he calls me, have I not had reason?
Do you think I should ever have forgot myself, if he had not forgot to
act as my master? Tell me from your own heart, dear Mrs. Jervis, said I,
if you think I could stay and be safe: What would you think, or how would
you act in my case?
My dear Pamela, said she, and kissed me, I don't know how I should act,
or what I should think. I hope I should act as you do. But I know
nobody else that would. My master is a fine gentleman; he has a great
deal of wit and sense, and is admired, as I know, by half a dozen ladies,
who would think themselves happy in his addresses. He has a noble
estate; and yet I believe he loves my good maiden, though his servant,
better than all the ladies in the land; and he has tried to overcome it,
because you are so much his inferior; and 'tis my opinion he finds he
can't; and that vexes his proud heart, and makes him resolve you shan't
stay; and so he speaks so cross to you, when he sees you by accident.
Well, but, Mrs. Jervis, said I, let me ask you, if he can stoop to like
such a poor girl as me, as perhaps he may, (for I have read of things
almost as strange, from great men to poor damsels,) What can it be for?--
He may condescend, perhaps, to think I may be good enough for his harlot;
and those things don't disgrace men that ruin poor women, as the world
goes. And so if I was wicked enough, he would keep me till I was undone,
and till his mind changed; for even wicked men, I have read, soon grow
weary of wickedness with the same person, and love variety. Well, then,
poor Pamela must be turned off, and looked upon as a vile abandoned
creature, and every body would despise her; ay, and justly too, Mrs.
Jervis; for she that can't keep her virtue, ought to live in disgrace.
But, Mrs. Jervis, I continued, let me tell you, that I hope, if I was
sure he would always be kind to me, and never turn me off at all, that I
shall have so much grace, as to hate and withstand his temptations, were
he not only my master, but my king: and that for the sin's sake. This my
poor dear parents have always taught me; and I should be a sad wicked
creature indeed, if, for the sake of riches or favour, I should forfeit
my good name; yea, and worse than any other young body of my sex; because
I can so contentedly return to my poverty again, and think it a less
disgrace to be obliged to wear rags, and live upon rye-bread and water,
as I used to do, than to be a harlot to the greatest man in the world.
Mrs. Jervis lifted up her hands, and had her eyes full of tears. God
bless you, my dear love! said she; you are my admiration and delight.--
How shall I do to part with you!
Well, good Mrs. Jervis, said I, let me ask you now:--You and he have had
some talk, and you mayn't be suffered to tell me all. But, do you think,
if I was to ask to stay, that he is sorry for what he has done? Ay, and
ashamed of it too? For I am sure he ought, considering his high degree,
and my low degree, and how I have nothing in the world to trust to but my
honesty: Do you think in your own conscience now, (pray answer me truly,)
that he would never offer any thing to me again, and that I could be
safe?
Alas! my dear child, said she, don't put thy home questions to me, with
that pretty becoming earnestness in thy look. I know this, that he is
vexed at what he has done; he was vexed the first time, more vexed the
second time.
Yes, said I, and so he will be vexed, I suppose, the third, and the
fourth time too, till he has quite ruined your poor maiden; and who will
have cause to be vexed then?
Nay, Pamela, said she, don't imagine that I would be accessory to your
ruin for the world. I only can say, that he has, yet, done you no hurt;
and it is no wonder he should love you, you are so pretty; though so much
beneath him but, I dare swear for him, he never will offer you any force.
You say, said I, that he was sorry for his first offer in the summer-
house. Well, and how long did his sorrow last?--Only till he found me by
myself; and then he was worse than before: and so became sorry again.
And if he has deigned to love me, and you say can't help it, why, he
can't help it neither, if he should have an opportunity, a third time to
distress me. And I have read that many a man has been ashamed of his
wicked attempts, when he has been repulsed, that would never have been
ashamed of them, had he succeeded. Besides, Mrs. Jervis, if he really
intends to offer no force, What does that mean?--While you say he can't
help liking me, for love it cannot be--Does it not imply that he hopes to
ruin me by my own consent? I think, said I, (and hope I should have
grace to do so,) that I should not give way to his temptations on any
account; but it would be very presumptuous in me to rely upon my own
strength against a gentleman of his qualifications and estate, and who is
my waster; and thinks himself entitled to call me bold-face, and what
not? only for standing on my necessary defence: and that, too, where the
good of my soul and body, and my duty to God, and my parents, are all
concerned. How then, Mrs. Jervis, said I, can I ask or wish to stay?
Well, well, says she; as he seems very desirous you should not stay, I
hope it is from a good motive; for fear he should be tempted to disgrace
himself as well as you. No, no, Mrs. Jervis, said I; I have thought of
that too; for I would be glad to consider him with that duty that becomes
me: but then he would have let me go to Lady Davers, and not have
hindered my preferment: and he would not have said, I should return to my
poverty and distress, when, by his mother's goodness, I had been lifted
out of it; but that he intended to fright me, and punish me, as he
thought, for not complying with his wickedness: And this shews me well
enough what I have to expect from his future goodness, except I will
deserve it at his own dear price.
She was silent; and I added, Well, there's no more to be said; I must go,
that's certain: All my concern will be how to part with you: and, indeed,
after you, with every body; for all my fellow-servants have loved me, and
you and they will cost me a sigh, and a tear too, now and then, I am
sure. And so I fell a crying: I could not help it. For it is a pleasant
thing to one to be in a house among a great many fellow-servants, and be
beloved by them all.
Nay, I should have told you before now, how kind and civil Mr. Longman
our steward is; vastly courteous, indeed, on all occasions! And he said
once to Mrs. Jervis, he wished he was a young man for my sake; I should
be his wife, and he would settle all he had upon me on marriage; and, you
must know, he is reckoned worth a power of money.
I take no pride in this; but bless God, and your good examples, my dear
parents, that I have been enabled so to carry myself, as to have every
body's good word; Not but our cook one day, who is a little snappish and
cross sometimes, said once to me, Why this Pamela of ours goes as fine as
a lady. See what it is to have a fine face!--I wonder what the girl will
come to at last!
She was hot with her work; and I sneaked away; for I seldom go down into
the kitchen; and I heard the butler say, Why, Jane, nobody has your good
word: What has Mrs. Pamela done to you? I am sure she offends nobody.
And what, said the peevish wench, have I said to her, foolatum; but that
she was pretty? They quarrelled afterwards, I heard: I was sorry for it,
but troubled myself no more about it. Forgive this silly prattle, from
Your dutiful DAUGHTER.
Oh! I forgot to say, that I would stay to finish the waistcoat, if I
might with safety. Mrs. Jervis tells me I certainly may. I never did a
prettier piece of work; and I am up early and late to get it over; for I
long to be with you.
LETTER XX
DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
I did not send my last letters so soon as I hoped, because John (whether
my master mistrusts or no, I can't say) had been sent to Lady Davers's
instead of Isaac, who used to go; and I could not be so free with, nor so
well trust Isaac; though he is very civil to me too. So I was forced to
stay till John returned.
As I may not have opportunity to send again soon, and yet, as I know you
keep my letters, and read them over and over, (so John told me,) when you
have done work, (so much does your kindness make you love all that comes
from your poor daughter,) and as it may be some little pleasure to me,
perhaps, to read them myself, when I am come to you, to remind me of what
I have gone through, and how great God's goodness has been to me, (which,
I hope, will further strengthen my good resolutions, that I may not
hereafter, from my bad conduct, have reason to condemn myself from my own
hand as it were): For all these reasons, I say, I will write as I have
time, and as matters happen, and send the scribble to you as I have
opportunity; and if I don't every time, in form, subscribe as I ought, I
am sure you will always believe, that it is not for want of duty. So I
will begin where I left off, about the talk between Mrs. Jervis and me,
for me to ask to stay.
Unknown to Mrs. Jervis, I put a project, as I may call it, in practice.
I thought with myself some days ago, Here I shall go home to my poor
father and mother, and have nothing on my back, that will be fit for my
condition; for how should your poor daughter look with a silk night-gown,
silken petticoats, cambric head-clothes, fine holland linen, laced shoes
that were my lady's; and fine stockings! And how in a little while must
these have looked, like old cast-offs, indeed, and I looked so for
wearing them! And people would have said, (for poor folks are envious as
well as rich,) See there Goody Andrews's daughter, turned home from her
fine place! What a tawdry figure she makes! And how well that garb
becomes her poor parents' circumstances!--And how would they look upon
me, thought I to myself, when they should come to be threadbare and worn
out? And how should I look, even if I could purchase homespun clothes,
to dwindle into them one by one, as I got them?--May be, an old silk
gown, and a linsey-woolsey petticoat, and the like. So, thought I, I had
better get myself at once equipped in the dress that will become my
condition; and though it may look but poor to what I have been used to
wear of late days, yet it will serve me, when I am with you, for a good
holiday and Sunday suit; and what, by a blessing on my industry, I may,
perhaps, make shift to keep up to.
So, as I was saying, unknown to any body, I bought of farmer Nichols's
wife and daughters a good sad-coloured stuff, of their own spinning,
enough to make me a gown and two petticoats; and I made robings and
facings of a pretty bit of printed calico I had by me.
I had a pretty good camblet quilted coat, that I thought might do
tolerably well; and I bought two flannel undercoats; not so good as my
swanskin and fine linen ones, but what will keep me warm, if any
neighbour should get me to go out to help 'em to milk, now and then, as
sometimes I used to do formerly; for I am resolved to do all your good
neighbours what kindness I can; and hope to make myself as much beloved
about you, as I am here.
I got some pretty good Scotch cloth, and made me, of mornings and nights,
when nobody saw me, two shifts; and I have enough left for two shirts,
and two shifts, for you my dear father and mother. When I come home,
I'll make them for you, and desire your acceptance.
Then I bought of a pedlar, two pretty enough round-eared caps, a little
straw-hat, and a pair of knit mittens, turned up with white calico; and
two pair of ordinary blue worsted hose, that make a smartish appearance,
with white clocks, I'll assure you; and two yards of black riband for my
shift sleeves, and to serve as a necklace; and when I had 'em all come
home, I went and looked upon them once in two hours, for two days
together: For, you must know, though I be with Mrs. Jervis, I keep my own
little apartment still for my clothes, and nobody goes thither but
myself. You'll say I was no bad housewife to have saved so much money;
but my dear good lady was always giving me something.
I believed myself the more obliged to do this, because, as I was turned
away for what my good master thought want of duty; and as he expected
other returns for his presents, than I intended to make him, so I thought
it was but just to leave his presents behind me when I went away; for,
you know, if I would not earn his wages, why should I have them?
Don't trouble yourself about the four guineas, nor borrow to make them
up; for they were given me, with some silver, as I told you, as a
perquisite, being what my lady had about her when she died; and, as I
hope for no wages, I am so vain as to think I have deserved all that
money in the fourteen months, since my lady's death, for she, good soul,
overpaid me before, in learning and other kindnesses. Had she lived,
none of these things might have happened!--But I ought to be thankful
'tis no worse. Every thing will turn about for the best: that's my
confidence.
So, as I was saying, I have provided a new and more suitable dress, and I
long to appear in it, more than ever I did in any new clothes in my life:
for then I shall be soon after with you, and at ease in my mind--But,
mum! Here he comes, I believe.--I am, etc.
LETTER XXI
MY DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
I was forced to break off: for I feared my master was coming: but it
proved to be only Mrs. Jervis. She said, I can't endure you should be so
much by yourself, Pamela. And I, said I, dread nothing so much as
company; for my heart was up at my mouth now, for fear my master was
coming. But I always rejoice to see dear Mrs. Jervis.
Said she, I have had a world of talk with my master about you. I am
sorry for it, said I, that I am made of so much consequence as to be
talked of by him. O, said she, I must not tell you all; but you are of
more consequence to him than you think for----
Or wish for, said I; for the fruits of being of consequence to him, would
make me of none to myself, or any body else.
Said she, Thou art as witty as any lady in the land; I wonder where thou
gottest it. But they must be poor ladies, with such great opportunities,
I am sure, if they have no more wit than I.--But let that pass.
I suppose, said I, that I am of so much consequence, however, as to vex
him, if it be but to think he can't make a fool of such a one as I; and
that is nothing at all, but a rebuke to the pride of his high condition,
which he did not expect, and knows not how to put up with.
There is something in that, may be, said she: but, indeed, Pamela, he is
very angry with you too; and calls you twenty perverse things; wonders at
his own folly, to have shewn you so much favour, as he calls it; which he
was first inclined to, he says, for his mother's sake, and would have
persisted to shew you for your own, if you was not your own enemy.
Nay, now I shan't love you, Mrs. Jervis, said I; you are going to
persuade me to ask to stay, though you know the hazards I run.--No, said
she, he says you shall go; for he thinks it won't be for his reputation
to keep you: but he wished (don't speak of it for the world, Pamela,)
that he knew a lady of birth, just such another as yourself, in person
and mind, and he would marry her to-morrow.
I coloured up to the ears at this word: but said, Yet, if I was the lady
of birth, and he would offer to be rude first, as he has twice done to
poor me, I don't know whether I would have him: For she that can bear an
insult of that kind, I should think not worthy to be a gentleman's wife:
any more than he would be a gentleman that would offer it.
Nay, now, Pamela, said she, thou carriest thy notions a great way. Well,
dear Mrs. Jervis, said I, very seriously, for I could not help it, I am
more full of fears than ever. I have only to beg of you, as one of the
best friends I have in the world, to say nothing of my asking to stay.
To say my master likes me, when I know what end he aims at, is
abomination to my ears; and I shan't think myself safe till I am at my
poor father's and mother's.
She was a little angry with me, till I assured her that I had not the
least uneasiness on her account, but thought myself safe under her
protection and friendship. And so we dropt the discourse for that time.
I hope to have finished this ugly waistcoat in two days; after which I
have only some linen to get up, and shall then let you know how I
contrive as to my passage; for the heavy rains will make it sad
travelling on foot: but may be I may get a place to which is ten miles of
the way, in farmer Nichols's close cart; for I can't sit a horse well at
all, and may be nobody will be suffered to see me on upon the way. But I
hope to let you know more. From, etc.
LETTER XXII
MY DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
All my fellow-servants have now some notion that I am to go away; but
can't imagine for what. Mrs. Jervis tells them, that my father and
mother, growing in years, cannot live without me; and so I go home to
them, to help to comfort their old age; but they seem not to believe it.
What they found it out by was; the butler heard him say to me, as I
passed by him, in the entry leading to the hall, Who's that? Pamela,
sir, said I. Pamela! said he, How long are you to stay here?--Only,
please your honour, said I, till I have done the waistcoat; and it is
almost finished.--You might, says he, (very roughly indeed,) have
finished that long enough ago, I should have thought. Indeed, and please
your honour, said I, I have worked early and late upon it; there is a
great deal of work in it.--Work in it! said he; You mind your pen more
than your needle; I don't want such idle sluts to stay in my house.
He seemed startled, when he saw the butler, as he entered the hall, where
Mr. Jonathan stood. What do you here? said he.--The butler was as much
confounded as I; for, never having been taxed so roughly, I could not
help crying sadly; and got out of both their ways to Mrs. Jervis, and
told my complaint. This love, said she, is the d----! In how many
strange shapes does it make people shew themselves! And in some the
farthest from their hearts.
So one, and then another, has been since whispering, Pray, Mrs. Jervis,
are we to lose Mrs. Pamela? as they always call me--What has she done?
And she tells them, as above, about going home to you.
She said afterwards to me, Well, Pamela, you have made our master, from
the sweetest tempered gentleman in the world, one of the most peevish.
But you have it in your power to make him as sweet-tempered as ever;
though I hope you'll never do it on his terms.
This was very good in Mrs. Jervis; but it intimated, that she thought as
ill of his designs as I; and as she knew his mind more than I, it
convinced me that I ought to get away as fast as I could.
My master came in, just now, to speak to Mrs. Jervis about household
matters, having some company to dine with him to-morrow; and I stood up,
and having been crying at his roughness in the entry, I turned away my
face.
You may well, said he, turn away your cursed face; I wish I had never
seen it!--Mrs. Jervis, how long is she to be about this waistcoat?
Sir, said I, if your honour had pleased, I would have taken it with me;
and though it would be now finished in a few hours, I will do so still;
and remove this hated poor Pamela out of your house and sight for ever.
Mrs. Jervis, said he, not speaking to me, I believe this little slut has
the power of witchcraft, if ever there was a witch; for she enchants all
that come near her. She makes even you, who should know better what the
world is, think her an angel of light.
I offered to go away; for I believe he wanted me to ask to stay in my
place, for all this his great wrath: and he said, Stay here! Stay here,
when I bid you! and snatched my hand. I trembled, and said, I will! I
will! for he hurt my fingers, he grasped me so hard.
He seemed to have a mind to say something to me; but broke off abruptly,
and said, Begone! And away I tripped as fast as I could: and he and Mrs.
Jervis had a deal of talk, as she told me; and among the rest, he
expressed himself vexed to have spoken in Mr. Jonathan's hearing.
Now you must know, that Mr. Jonathan, our butler, is a very grave good
sort of old man, with his hair as white as silver! and an honest worthy
man he is. I was hurrying out with a flea in my ear, as the saying is,
and going down stairs into the parlour, met him. He took hold of my hand
(in a gentler manner, though, than my master) with both his; and he said,
Ah! sweet, sweet Mrs. Pamela! what is it I heard but just now!--I am
sorry at my heart; but I am sure I will sooner believe any body in fault
than you. Thank you, Mr. Jonathan, said I; but as you value your place,
don't be seen speaking to such a one as me. I cried too; and slipt away
as fast as I could from him, for his own sake, lest he should be seen to
pity me.
And now I will give you an instance how much I am in Mr. Longman's esteem
also.
I had lost my pen some how; and my paper being written out, I stepped to
Mr. Longman's, our steward's, office, to beg him to give me a pen or two,
and a sheet or two of paper. He said, Ay, that I will, my sweet maiden!
and gave me three pens, some wafers, a stick of wax, and twelve sheets of
paper; and coming from his desk, where he was writing, he said, Let me
have a word or two with you, my sweet little mistress: (for so these two
good old gentlemen often call me; for I believe they love me dearly:) I
hear bad news; that we are going to lose you: I hope it is not true. Yes
it is, sir, said I; but I was in hopes it would not be known till I went
away.
What a d---l, said he, ails our master of late! I never saw such an
alteration in any man in my life! He is pleased with nobody as I see;
and by what Mr. Jonathan tells me just now, he was quite out of the way
with you. What could you have done to him, tro'? Only Mrs. Jervis is a
very good woman, or I should have feared she had been your enemy.
No, said I, nothing like it. Mrs. Jervis is a just good woman; and, next
to my father and mother, the best friend I have in the world--Well, then,
said he, it must be worse. Shall I guess? You are too pretty, my sweet
mistress, and, may be, too virtuous. Ah! have I not hit it? No, good
Mr. Longman, said I, don't think any thing amiss of my master; he is
cross and angry with me indeed, that's true; but I may have given
occasion for it, possibly; and because I am desirous to go to my father
and mother, rather than stay here, perhaps he may think me ungrateful.
But, you know, sir, said I, that a father and mother's comfort is the
dearest thing to a good child that can be. Sweet excellence! said he,
this becomes you; but I know the world and mankind too well; though I
must hear, and see, and say nothing. And so a blessing attend my little
sweeting, said he, wherever you go! And away went I with a courtesy and
thanks.
Now this pleases one, my dear father and mother, to be so beloved.--How
much better, by good fame and integrity, is it to get every one's good
word but one, than, by pleasing that one, to make every one else one's
enemy, and be an execrable creature besides! I am, etc.
LETTER XXIII
MY DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
We had a great many neighbouring gentlemen, and their ladies, this day,
at dinner; and my master made a fine entertainment for them: and Isaac,
and Mr. Jonathan, and Benjamin, waited at table: And Isaac tells Mrs.
Jervis, that the ladies will by and by come to see the house, and have
the curiosity to see me; for, it seems, they said to my master, when the
jokes flew about, Well, Mr. B----, we understand you have a servant-maid,
who is the greatest beauty in the county; and we promise ourselves to see
her before we go.
The wench is well enough, said he; but no such beauty as you talk of,
I'll assure ye. She was my mother's waiting-maid, who, on her death-bed,
engaged me to be kind to her. She is young, and every thing is pretty
that is young.
Ay, ay, said one of the ladies, that's true; but if your mother had not
recommended her so strongly, there is so much merit in beauty, that I
make no doubt such a fine gentleman would have wanted no inducement to be
kind to it.
They all laughed at my master: And he, it seems, laughed for company; but
said, I don't know how it is, but I see with different eyes from other
people; for I have heard much more talk of her prettiness, than I think
it deserves: She is well enough, as I said: but her greatest excellence
is, that she is humble, and courteous, and faithful, and makes all her
fellow-servants love her: My housekeeper, in particular, doats upon her;
and you know, ladies, she is a woman of discernment: And, as for Mr.
Longman, and Jonathan, here, if they thought themselves young enough, I
am told, they would fight for her. Is it not true, Jonathan? Troth,
sir, said he, an't please your honour, I never knew her peer, and all
your honour's family are of the same mind. Do you hear now? said my
master.--Well, said the ladies, we will make a visit to Mrs. Jervis by
and by, and hope to see this paragon.
I believe they are coming; and will tell you the rest by and by. I wish
they had come, and were gone. Why can't they make their game without me?
Well, these fine ladies have been here, and are gone back again. I would
have been absent, if I could, and did step into the closet: so they saw
me when they came in.
There were four of them, Lady Arthur at the great white house on the
hill, Lady Brooks, Lady Towers, and the other, it seems, a countess, of
some hard name, I forget what.
So Mrs. Jervis, says one of the ladies, how do you do? We are all come
to inquire after your health. I am much obliged to your ladyships, said
Mrs. Jervis: Will your ladyships please to sit down? But, said the
countess, we are not only come to ask after Mrs. Jervis's health neither;
but we are come to see a rarity besides. Ah, says Lady Arthur, I have
not seen your Pamela these two years, and they tell me she is grown
wondrous pretty in that time.
Then I wished I had not been in the closet; for when I came out, they
must needs know I heard them; but I have often found, that bashful bodies
owe themselves a spite, and frequently confound themselves more, by
endeavouring to avoid confusion.
Why, yes, says Mrs. Jervis, Pamela is very pretty indeed; she's but in
the closet there:--Pamela, pray step hither. I came out all covered with
blushes, and they smiled at one another.
The countess took me by the hand: Why, indeed, she was pleased to say,
report has not been too lavish, I'll assure you. Don't be ashamed,
child; (and stared full in my face;) I wish I had just such a face to be
ashamed of. O how like a fool I looked!
Lady Arthur said, Ay, my good Pamela, I say as her ladyship says: Don't
be so confused; though, indeed, it becomes you too. I think your good
lady departed made a sweet choice of such a pretty attendant. She would
have been mighty proud of you, as she always was praising you, had she
lived till now.
Ah! madam, said Lady Brooks, do you think that so dutiful a son as our
neighbour, who always admired what his mother loved, does not pride
himself, for all what he said at table, in such a pretty maiden?
She looked with such a malicious sneering countenance, I can't abide her.
Lady Towers said with a free air, (for it seems she is called a wit,)
Well, Mrs. Pamela, I can't say I like you so well as these ladies do; for
I should never care, if you were my servant, to have you and your master
in the same house together. Then they all set up a great laugh.
I know what I could have said, if I durst. But they are ladies--and
ladies may say any thing.
Says Lady Towers, Can the pretty image speak, Mrs. Jervis? I vow she has
speaking eyes! O you little rogue, said she, and tapped me on the cheek,
you seem born to undo, or to be undone!
God forbid, and please your ladyship, said I, it should be either!--I
beg, said I, to withdraw; for the sense I have of my unworthiness renders
me unfit for such a presence.
I then went away, with one of my best courtesies; and Lady Towers said,
as I went out, Prettily said, I vow!--And Lady Brooks said, See that
shape! I never saw such a face and shape in my life; why, she must be
better descended than you have told me!
And so they run on for half an hour more in my praises, as I was told;
and glad was I, when I got out of the hearing of them.
But, it seems, they went down with such a story to my master, and so full
of me, that he had much ado to stand it; but as it was very little to my
reputation, I am sure I could take no pride in it; and I feared it would
make no better for me. This gives me another cause for wishing myself
out of this house.
This is Thursday morning, and next Thursday I hope to set out; for I have
finished my task, and my master is horrid cross! And I am vexed his
crossness affects me so. If ever he had any kindness towards me, I
believe he now hates me heartily.
Is it not strange, that love borders so much upon hate? But this wicked
love is not like the true virtuous love, to be sure: that and hatred must
be as far off, as light and darkness. And how must this hate have been
increased, if he had met with such a base compliance, after his wicked
will had been gratified.
Well, one may see by a little, what a great deal means. For if innocence
cannot attract common civility, what must guilt expect, when novelty has
ceased to have its charms, and changeableness had taken place of it?
Thus we read in Holy Writ, that wicked Amnon, when he had ruined poor
Tamar, hated her more than he ever loved her, and would have turned her
out of door.
How happy am I, to be turned out of door, with that sweet companion my
innocence!--O may that be always my companion! And while I presume not
upon my own strength, and am willing to avoid the tempter, I hope the
divine grace will assist me.
Forgive me, that I repeat in my letter part of my hourly prayer. I owe
every thing, next to God's goodness, to your piety and good examples, my
dear parents, my dear poor parents! I say that word with pleasure; for
your poverty is my pride, as your integrity shall he my imitation.
As soon as I have dined, I will put on my new clothes. I long to have
them on. I know I shall surprise Mrs. Jervis with them; for she shan't
see me till I am full dressed.--John is come back, and I'll soon send you
some of what I have written.--I find he is going early in the morning;
and so I'll close here, that I am
Your most dutiful DAUGHTER.
Don't lose your time in meeting me; because I am so uncertain. It is
hard if, some how or other, I can't get a passage to you. But may be my
master won't refuse to let John bring me. I can ride behind him, I
believe, well enough; for he is very careful, and very honest; and you
know John as well as I; for he loves you both. Besides, may be, Mrs.
Jervis can put me in some way.
LETTER XXIV
DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
I shall write on, as long as I stay, though I should have nothing but
silliness to write; for I know you divert yourselves on nights with what
I write, because it is mine. John tells me how much you long for my
coming; but he says, he told you he hoped something would happen to
hinder it.
I am glad you did not tell him the occasion of my coming away; for if my
fellow-servants should guess, it were better so, than to have it from you
or me. Besides, I really am concerned, that my master should cast away a
thought upon such a poor creature as me; for, besides the disgrace, it
has quite turned his temper; and I begin to believe what Mrs. Jervis told
me, that he likes me, and can't help it; and yet strives to conquer it;
and so finds no way but to be cross to me.
Don't think me presumptuous and conceited; for it is more my concern than
my pride, to see such a gentleman so demean himself, and lessen the
regard he used to have in the eyes of all his servants, on my account.--
But I am to tell you of my new dress to day.
And so, when I had dined, up stairs I went, and locked myself into my
little room. There I tricked myself up as well as I could in my new
garb, and put on my round-eared ordinary cap; but with a green knot,
however, and my homespun gown and petticoat, and plain leather shoes; but
yet they are what they call Spanish leather; and my ordinary hose,
ordinary I mean to what I have been lately used to; though I shall think
good yarn may do very well for every day, when I come home. A plain
muslin tucker I put on, and my black silk necklace, instead of the French
necklace my lady gave me; and put the ear-rings out of my ears; and when
I was quite equipped, I took my straw hat in my hand, with its two blue
strings, and looked about me in the glass, as proud as any thing--To say
truth, I never liked myself so well in my life.
O the pleasure of descending with ease, innocence, and resignation!--
Indeed, there is nothing like it! An humble mind, I plainly see, cannot
meet with any very shocking disappointment, let fortune's wheel turn
round as it will.
So I went down to look for Mrs. Jervis, to see how she liked me.
I met, as I was upon the stairs, our Rachel, who is the house-maid; and
she made me a low courtesy, and I found did not know me. So I smiled,
and went to the housekeeper's parlour; and there sat good Mrs. Jervis at
work, making a shift: and, would you believe it? she did not know me at
first; but rose up, and pulled off her spectacles; and said, Do you want
me, forsooth? I could not help laughing, and said, Hey-day! Mrs. Jervis,
what! don't you know me?--She stood all in amaze, and looked at me from
top to toe: Why, you surprise me, said she: What! Pamela thus
metamorphosed! How came this about?
As it happened, in stept my master; and my back being to him, he thought
it was a stranger speaking to Mrs. Jervis, and withdrew again: and did
not hear her ask, If his honour had any commands for her?--She turned me
about and about, and I shewed her all my dress, to my under-petticoat:
and she said, sitting down, Why, I am all in amaze, I must sit down.
What can all this mean? I told her, I had no clothes suitable to my
condition when I returned to my father's; and so it was better to begin
here, as I was soon to go away, that all my fellow-servants might see I
knew how to suit myself to the state I was returning to.
Well, said she, I never knew the like of thee. But this sad preparation
for going away (for now I see you are quite in earnest) is what I know
not how to get over. O my dear Pamela, how can I part with you!
My master rung in the back-parlour, and so I withdrew, and Mrs. Jervis
went to attend him. It seems, he said to her, I was coming in to let you
know, that I shall go to Lincolnshire, and possibly to my sister
Davers's, and be absent some weeks. But, pray, what pretty neat damsel
was with you? She says, she smiled, and asked, If his honour did not
know who it was? No, said he, I never saw her before. Farmer Nichols,
or Farmer Brady, have neither of them such a tight prim lass for a
daughter! have they?--Though I did not see her face neither, said he. If
your honour won't be angry, said she, I will introduce her into your
presence; for I think, says she, she outdoes our Pamela.
Now I did not thank her for this, as I told her afterwards, (for it
brought a great deal of trouble upon me, as well as crossness, as you
shall hear). That can't be, he was pleased to say. But if you can find
an excuse for it, let her come in.
At that she stept to me, and told me, I must go in with her to her
master; but, said she, for goodness' sake, let him find you out; for he
don't know you. O fie, Mrs. Jervis, said I, how could you serve me so?
Besides, it looks too free both in me, and to him. I tell you, said she,
you shall come in; and pray don't reveal yourself till he finds you out.
So I went in, foolish as I was; though I must have been seen by him
another time, if I had not then. And she would make me take my straw hat
in my hand.
I dropt a low courtesy, but said never a word. I dare say he knew me as
soon as he saw my face: but was as cunning as Lucifer. He came up to me,
and took me by the hand, and said, Whose pretty maiden are you?--I dare
say you are Pamela's sister, you are so like her. So neat, so clean, so
pretty! Why, child, you far surpass your sister Pamela!
I was all confusion, and would have spoken: but he took me about the
neck: Why, said he, you are very pretty, child: I would not be so free
with your sister, you may believe; but I must kiss you.
O sir, said I, I am Pamela, indeed I am: indeed I am Pamela, her own
self!
He kissed me for all I could do; and said, Impossible! you are a lovelier
girl by half than Pamela; and sure I may be innocently free with you,
though I would not do her so much favour.
This was a sad trick upon me, indeed, and what I could not expect; and
Mrs. Jervis looked like a fool as much as I, for her officiousness.--At
last I got away, and ran out of the parlour, most sadly vexed, as you may
well think.
He talked a good deal to Mrs. Jervis, and at last ordered me to come in
to him. Come in, said he, you little villain!--for so he called me.
(Good sirs! what a name was there!)--who is it you put your tricks upon?
I was resolved never to honour your unworthiness, said he, with so much
notice again; and so you must disguise yourself to attract me, and yet
pretend, like an hypocrite as you are----
I was out of patience then: Hold, good sir, said I; don't impute disguise
and hypocrisy to me, above all things; for I hate them both, mean as I
am. I have put on no disguise.--What a plague, said he, for that was his
word, do you mean then by this dress?--Why, and please your honour, said
I, I mean one of the honestest things in the world.
I have been in disguise, indeed, ever since my good lady your mother took
me from my poor parents. I came to her ladyship so poor and mean, that
these clothes I have on, are a princely suit to those I had then: and her
goodness heaped upon me rich clothes, and other bounties: and as I am now
returning to my poor parents again so soon, I cannot wear those good
things without being hooted at; and so have bought what will be more
suitable to my degree, and be a good holiday-suit too, when I get home.
He then took me in his arms, and presently pushed me from him. Mrs.
Jervis, said he, take the little witch from me; I can neither bear, nor
forbear her--(Strange words these!)--But stay; you shan't go!--Yet
begone!--No, come back again.
I thought he was mad, for my share; for he knew not what he would have.
I was going, however; but he stept after me, and took hold of my arm, and
brought me in again: I am sure he made my arm black and blue; for the
marks are upon it still. Sir, sir, said I, pray have mercy; I will, I
will come in!
He sat down, and looked at me, and, as I thought afterwards, as sillily
as such a poor girl as I. At last he said, Well, Mrs. Jervis, as I was
telling you, you may permit her to stay a little longer, till I see if my
sister Davers will have her; if, mean time, she humble herself, and ask
this as a favour, and is sorry for her pertness, and the liberty she has
taken with my character out of the house, and in the house. Your honour
indeed told me so, said Mrs. Jervis: but I never found her inclinable to
think herself in a fault. Pride and perverseness, said he, with a
vengeance! Yet this is your doating-piece!--Well, for once, I'll submit
myself to tell you, hussy, said he to me, you may stay a fortnight
longer, till I see my sister Davers: Do you hear what I say to you,
statue? Can you neither speak nor be thankful?--Your honour frights me
so, said I, that I can hardly speak: But I will venture to say, that I
have only to beg, as a favour, that I may go to my father and mother.--
Why fool, said he, won't you like to go to wait on my sister Davers?
Sir, said I, I was once fond of that honour; but you were pleased to say,
I might be in danger from her ladyship's nephew, or he from me.--D----d
impertinence! said he; Do you hear, Mrs. Jervis, do you hear, how she
retorts upon me? Was ever such matchless assurance!----
I then fell a weeping; for Mrs. Jervis said, Fie, Pamela, fie!--And I
said, My lot is very hard indeed; I am sure I would hurt nobody; and I
have been, it seems, guilty of indiscretions, which have cost me my
place, and my master's favour, and so have been turned her away: and when
the time is come, that I should return to my poor parents, I am not
suffered to go quietly. Good your honour, what have I done, that I must
be used worse than if I had robbed you?
Robbed me! said he, why so you have, hussy; you have robbed me. Who? I,
sir? said I; have I robbed you? Why then you are a justice of peace, and
may send me to gaol, if you please, and bring me to a trial for my life!
If you can prove that I have robbed you, I am sure I ought to die.
Now I was quite ignorant of his meaning; though I did not like it, when
it was afterwards explained, neither: And well, thought I, what will this
come to at last, if poor Pamela is esteemed a thief! Then I thought in
an instant, how I should shew my face to my honest poor parents, if I was
but suspected. But, sir, said I, let me ask you but one question, and
pray don't let me be called names for it; for I don't mean
disrespectfully: Why, if I have done amiss, am I not left to be
discharged by your housekeeper, as the other maids have been? And if
Jane, or Rachel, or Hannah, were to offend, would your honour stoop to
take notice of them? And why should you so demean yourself to take
notice of me? Pray, sir, if I have not been worse than others, why
should I suffer more than others? and why should I not be turned away,
and there's an end of it? For indeed I am not of consequence enough for
my master to concern himself, and be angry about such a creature as me.
Do you hear, Mrs. Jervis, cried he again, how pertly I am interrogated by
this saucy slut? Why, sauce-box, says he, did not my good mother desire
me to take care of you? And have you not been always distinguished by
me, above a common servant? And does your ingratitude upbraid me for
this?
I said something mutteringly, and he vowed he would hear it. I begged
excuse; but he insisted upon it. Why, then, said I, if your honour must
know, I said, That my good lady did not desire your care to extend to the
summer-house, and her dressing-room.
Well, this was a little saucy, you'll say--And he flew into such a
passion, that I was forced to run for it; and Mrs. Jervis said, It was
happy I got out of the way.
Why what makes him provoke one so, then?--I'm almost sorry for it; but I
would be glad to get away at any rate. For I begin to be more fearful
now.
Just now Mr. Jonathan sent me these lines--(Bless me! what shall I do?)
'Dear Mrs. Pamela, Take care of yourself; for Rachel heard my master say
to Mrs. Jervis, who, she believes, was pleading for you, Say no more,
Mrs. Jervis; for by G--d I will have her! Burn this instantly.'
O pray for your poor daughter. I am called to go to bed by Mrs. Jervis,
for it is past eleven; and I am sure she shall hear of it; for all this
is owing to her, though she did not mean any harm. But I have been, and
am, in a strange fluster; and I suppose too, she'll say, I have been full
pert.
O my dear father and mother, power and riches never want advocates! But,
poor gentlewoman, she cannot live without him: and he has been very good
to her.
So good night. May be I shall send this in the morning; but may be not;
so won't conclude: though I can't say too often, that I am (though with
great apprehension)
Your most dutiful DAUGHTER.
LETTER XXV
MY DEAR PARENTS,
O let me take up my complaint, and say, Never was poor creature so
unhappy, and so barbarously used, as poor Pamela! Indeed, my dear father
and mother, my heart's just broke! I can neither write as I should do,
nor let it alone, for to whom but you can I vent my griefs, and keep my
poor heart from bursting! Wicked, wicked man!--I have no patience when I
think of him!--But yet, don't be frightened--for--I hope--I hope, I am
honest!--But if my head and my hand will let me, you shall hear all.--Is
there no constable, nor headborough, though, to take me out of his house?
for I am sure I can safely swear the peace against him: But, alas! he is
greater than any constable: he is a justice himself: Such a justice
deliver me from!--But God Almighty, I hope, in time, will right me--For
he knows the innocence of my heart!
John went your way in the morning; but I have been too much distracted to
send by him; and have seen nobody but Mrs. Jervis or Rachel, and one I
hate to see or be seen by and indeed I hate now to see any body. Strange
things I have to tell you, that happened since last night, that good Mr.
Jonathan's letter, and my master's harshness, put me into such a fluster;
but I will not keep you in suspense.
I went to Mrs. Jervis's chamber; and, O dreadful! my wicked master had
hid himself, base gentleman as he is! in her closet, where she has a few
books, and chest of drawers, and such like. I little suspected it;
though I used, till this sad night, always to look into that closet and
another in the room, and under the bed, ever since the summer-house
trick; but never found any thing; and so I did not do it then, being
fully resolved to be angry with Mrs. Jervis for what had happened in the
day, and so thought of nothing else.
I sat myself down on one side of the bed, and she on the other, and we
began to undress ourselves; but she on that side next the wicked closet,
that held the worst heart in the world. So, said Mrs. Jervis, you won't
speak to me, Pamela! I find you are angry with me. Why, Mrs. Jervis,
said I, so I am, a little; 'tis a folly to deny it. You see what I have
suffered by your forcing me in to my master: and a gentlewoman of your
years and experience must needs know, that it was not fit for me to
pretend to be any body else for my own sake, nor with regard to my
master.
But, said she, who would have thought it would have turned out so? Ay,
said I, little thinking who heard me, Lucifer always is ready to promote
his own work and workmen. You see presently what use he made of it,
pretending not to know me, on purpose to be free with me. And when he
took upon himself to know me, to quarrel with me, and use me hardly: And
you too, said I, to cry, Fie, fie, Pamela! cut me to the heart: for that
encouraged him.
Do you think, my dear, said she, that I would encourage him?--I never
said so to you before; but, since you have forced it from me, I must tell
you, that, ever since you consulted me, I have used my utmost endeavours
to divert him from his wicked purposes: and he has promised fair; but, to
say all in a word, he doats upon you; and I begin to see it is not in his
power to help it.
I luckily said nothing of the note from Mr. Jonathan; for I began to
suspect all the world almost: but I said, to try Mrs. Jervis, Well then,
what would you have me do? You see he is for having me wait on Lady
Davers now.
Why, I'll tell you freely, my dear Pamela, said she, and I trust to your
discretion to conceal what I say: my master has been often desiring me to
put you upon asking him to let you stay----
Yes, said I, Mrs. Jervis, let me interrupt you: I will tell you why I
could not think of that: It was not the pride of my heart, but the pride
of my honesty: For what must have been the case? Here my master has been
very rude to me, once and twice; and you say he cannot help it, though he
pretends to be sorry for it: Well, he has given me warning to leave my
place, and uses me very harshly; perhaps to frighten me to his purposes,
as he supposes I would be fond of staying (as indeed I should, if I could
be safe; for I love you and all the house, and value him, if he would act
as my master). Well then, as I know his designs, and that he owns he
cannot help it; must I have asked to stay, knowing he would attempt me
again? for all you could assure me of, was, he would do nothing by force;
so I, a poor weak girl, was to be left to my own strength! And was not
this to allow him to tempt me, as one may say? and to encourage him to go
on in his wicked devices?--How then, Mrs. Jervis, could I ask or wish to
stay?
You say well, my dear child, says she; and you have a justness of thought
above your years; and for all these considerations, and for what I have
heard this day, after you ran away, (and I am glad you went as you did,)
I cannot persuade you to stay; and I shall be glad, (which is what I
never thought I could have said,) that you were well at your father's;
for if Lady Davers will entertain you, she may as well have you from
thence as here. There's my good Mrs. Jervis! said I; God will bless you
for your good counsel to a poor maiden, that is hard beset. But pray
what did he say, when I was gone? Why, says she, he was very angry with
you. But he would hear it! said I: I think it was a little bold; but
then he provoked me to it. And had not my honesty been in the case, I
would not by any means have been so saucy. Besides, Mrs. Jervis,
consider it was the truth; if he does not love to hear of the summer-
house, and the dressing-room, why should he not be ashamed to continue in
the same mind? But, said she, when you had muttered this to yourself,
you might have told him any thing else. Well, said I, I cannot tell a
wilful lie, and so there's an end of it. But I find you now give him up,
and think there's danger in staying.--Lord bless me! I wish I was well
out of the house; so it was at the bottom of a wet ditch, on the wildest
common in England.
Why, said she, it signifies nothing to tell you all he said but it was
enough to make me fear you would not be so safe as I could wish; and,
upon my word, Pamela, I don't wonder he loves you; for, without flattery,
you are a charming girl! and I never saw you look more lovely in your
life than in that same new dress of yours. And then it was such a
surprise upon us all!--I believe truly, you owe some of your danger to
the lovely appearance you made. Then, said I, I wish the clothes in the
fire: I expected no effect from them; but, if any, a quite contrary one.
Hush! said I, Mrs. Jervis, did you not hear something stir in the closet?
No, silly girl, said she, your fears are always awake.--But indeed, said
I, I think I heard something rustle.--May be, says she, the cat may be
got there: but I hear nothing.
I was hush; but she said, Pr'ythee, my good girl, make haste to bed. See
if the door be fast. So I did, and was thinking to look into the closet;
but, hearing no more noise, thought it needless, and so went again and
sat myself down on the bed-side, and went on undressing myself. And Mrs.
Jervis being by this time undressed, stepped into bed, and bid me hasten,
for she was sleepy.
I don't know what was the matter, but my heart sadly misgave me: Indeed,
Mr. Jonathan's note was enough to make it do so, with what Mrs. Jervis
had said. I pulled off my stays, and my stockings, and all my clothes to
an under-petticoat; and then hearing a rustling again in the closet, I
said, Heaven protect us! but before I say my prayers, I must look into
this closet. And so was going to it slip-shod, when, O dreadful! out
rushed my master in a rich silk and silver morning gown.
I screamed, and ran to the bed, and Mrs. Jervis screamed too; and he
said, I'll do you no harm, if you forbear this noise; but otherwise take
what follows.
Instantly he came to the bed (for I had crept into it, to Mrs. Jervis,
with my coat on, and my shoes); and taking me in his arms, said, Mrs.
Jervis, rise, and just step up stairs to keep the maids from coming down
at this noise: I'll do no harm to this rebel.
O, for Heaven's sake! for pity's sake! Mrs. Jervis, said I, if I am not
betrayed, don't leave me; and, I beseech you, raise all the house. No,
said Mrs. Jervis, I will not stir, my dear lamb; I will not leave you. I
wonder at you, sir, said she; and kindly threw herself upon my coat,
clasping me round the waist: You shall not hurt this innocent, said she:
for I will lose my life in her defence. Are there not, said she, enough
wicked ones in the world, for your base purpose, but you must attempt
such a lamb as this?
He was desperate angry, and threatened to throw her out of the window;
and to turn her out of the house the next morning. You need not, sir,
said she; for I will not stay in it. God defend my poor Pamela till to-
morrow, and we will both go together.--Says he, let me but expostulate a
word or two with you, Pamela. Pray, Pamela, said Mrs. Jervis, don't hear
a word, except he leaves the bed, and goes to the other end of the room.
Ay, out of the room, said I; expostulate to-morrow, if you must
expostulate!
I found his hand in my bosom; and when my fright let me know it, I was
ready to die; and I sighed and screamed, and fainted away. And still he
had his arms about my neck; and Mrs. Jervis was about my feet, and upon
my coat. And all in a cold dewy sweat was I. Pamela! Pamela! said Mrs.
Jervis, as she tells me since, O--h, and gave another shriek, my poor
Pamela is dead for certain! And so, to be sure, I was for a time; for I
knew nothing more of the matter, one fit following another, till about
three hours after, as it proved to be, I found myself in bed, and Mrs.
Jervis sitting upon one side, with her wrapper about her, and Rachel on
the other; and no master, for the wicked wretch was gone. But I was so
overjoyed, that I hardly could believe myself; and I said, which were my
first words, Mrs. Jervis, Mrs. Rachel, can I be sure it is you? Tell me!
can I?--Where have I been? Hush, my dear, said Mrs. Jervis; you have
been in fit after fit. I never saw any body so frightful in my life!
By this I judged Rachel knew nothing of the matter; and it seems my
wicked master had, upon Mrs. Jervis's second noise on my fainting away,
slipt out, and, as if he had come from his own chamber, disturbed by the
screaming, went up to the maids' room, (who, hearing the noise, lay
trembling, and afraid to stir,) and bid them go down, and see what was
the matter with Mrs. Jervis and me. And he charged Mrs. Jervis, and
promised to forgive her for what she had said and done, if she would
conceal the matter. So the maids came down, and all went up again, when
I came to myself a little, except Rachel, who staid to sit up with me,
and bear Mrs. Jervis company. I believe they all guess the matter to be
bad enough; though they dare not say any thing.
When I think of my danger, and the freedoms he actually took, though I
believe Mrs. Jervis saved me from worse, and she said she did, (though
what can I think, who was in a fit, and knew nothing of the matter?) I am
almost distracted.
At first I was afraid of Mrs. Jervis; but I am fully satisfied she is
very good, and I should have been lost but for her; and she takes on
grievously about it. What would have become of me, had she gone out of
the room, to still the maids, as he bid her! He'd certainly have shut
her out, and then, mercy on me! what would have become of your poor
Pamela?
I must leave off a little; for my eyes and my head are sadly bad.--This
was a dreadful trial! This was the worst of all! Oh, that I was out of
the power of this dreadfully wicked man! Pray for
Your distressed DAUGHTER.
LETTER XXVI
MY DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
I did not rise till ten o'clock, and I had all the concerns and wishes of
the family, and multitudes of inquiries about me. My wicked master went
out early to hunt; but left word he would be in to breakfast. And so he
was.
He came up to our chamber about eleven, and had nothing to do to be
sorry; for he was our master, and so put on sharp anger at first.
I had great emotions at his entering the room, and threw my apron over my
head, and fell a crying, as if my heart would break.
Mrs. Jervis, said he, since I know you, and you me so well, I don't know
how we shall live together for the future. Sir, said she, I will take
the liberty to say, what I think is best for both. I have so much grief,
that you should attempt to do any injury to this poor girl, and
especially in my chamber, that I should think myself accessary to the
mischief, if I was not to take notice of it. Though my ruin, therefore,
may depend upon it, I desire not to stay; but pray let poor Pamela and me
go together. With all my heart, said he; and the sooner the better. She
fell a crying. I find, says he, this girl has made a party of the whole
house in her favour against me. Her innocence deserves it of us all,
said she very kindly: and I never could have thought that the son of my
dear good lady departed, could have so forfeited his honour, as to
endeavour to destroy a virtue he ought to protect. No more of this, Mrs.
Jervis! said he; I will not hear it. As for Pamela, she has a lucky
knack of falling into fits, when she pleases. But the cursed yellings of
you both made me not myself. I intended no harm to her, as I told you
both, if you'd have left your squallings: And I did no harm neither, but
to myself; for I raised a hornet's nest about my ears, that, as far as I
know, may have stung to death my reputation. Sir, said Mrs. Jervis, then
I beg Mr. Longman may take my accounts, and I will go away as soon as I
can. As for Pamela, she is at her liberty, I hope, to go away next
Thursday, as she intends?
I sat still; for I could not speak nor look up, and his presence
discomposed me extremely; but I was sorry to hear myself the unhappy
occasion of Mrs. Jervis's losing her place, and hope that may be still
made up.
Well, said he, let Mr. Longman make up your accounts, as soon as you
will; and Mrs. Jewkes (who is his housekeeper in Lincolnshire) shall come
hither in your place, and won't be less obliging, I dare say, than you
have been. Said she, I have never disobliged you till now; and let me
tell you, sir, if you knew what belonged to your own reputation or
honour--No more, no more, said he, of these antiquated topics. I have
been no bad friend to you; and I shall always esteem you, though you have
not been so faithful to my secrets as I could have wished, and have laid
me open to this girl, which has made her more afraid of me than she had
occasion. Well, sir, said she, after what passed yesterday, and last
night, I think I went rather too far in favour of your injunctions than
otherwise; and I should have deserved every body's censure, as the basest
of creatures, had I been capable of contributing to your lawless
attempts. Still, Mrs. Jervis, still reflecting upon me, and all for
imaginary faults! for what harm have I done the girl?--I won't bear it,
I'll assure you. But yet, in respect to my mother, I am willing to part
friendly with you though you ought both of you to reflect on the freedom
of your conversation, in relation to me; which I should have resented
more than I do, but that I am conscious I had no business to demean
myself so as to be in your closet, where I might have expected to hear a
multitude of impertinence between you.
Well, sir, said she, you have no objection, I hope, to Pamela's going
away on Thursday next? You are mighty solicitous, said he, about Pamela:
But no, not I; let her go as soon as she will: She is a naughty girl, and
has brought all this upon herself; and upon me more trouble than she can
have had from me: But I have overcome it all, and will never concern
myself about her.
I have a proposal made me, added he, since I have been out this morning,
that I shall go near to embrace; and so wish only, that a discreet use
may be made of what is past; and there's an end of every thing with me,
as to Pamela, I'll assure you. I clasped my hands together through my
apron, overjoyed at this, though I was soon to go away: For, naughty as
he has been to me, I wish his prosperity with all my heart, for my good
old lady's sake. Well, Pamela, said he, you need not now be afraid to
speak to me; tell me what you lifted up your hands at? I said not a
word. Says he, If you like what I have said, give me your hand upon it.
I held my hand up through my apron; for I could not speak to him; and he
took hold of it, and pressed it, though less hard than he did my arm the
day before. What does the little fool cover her face for? said he: Pull
your apron away; and let me see how you look, after your freedom of
speech of me last night. No wonder you are ashamed to see me. You know
you were very free with my character.
I could not stand this barbarous insult, as I took it to be, considering
his behaviour to me; and I then spoke and said, O the difference between
the minds of thy creatures, good God! How shall some be cast down in
their innocence, while others can triumph in their guilt!
And so saying, I went up stairs to my chamber, and wrote all this; for
though he vexed me at his taunting, yet I was pleased to hear he was
likely to be married, and that his wicked intentions were so happily
overcome as to me; and this made me a little easier. And I hope I have
passed the worst; or else it is very hard. And yet I shan't think myself
at ease quite, till I am with you: For, methinks, after all, his
repentance and amendment are mighty suddenly resolved upon. But the
divine grace is not confined to space; and remorse may, and I hope has,
smitten him to the heart at once, for his injuries to poor me! Yet I
won't be too secure neither.
Having opportunity, I send now what I know will grieve you to the heart.
But I hope I shall bring my next scribble myself; and so conclude, though
half broken-hearted, Your ever dutiful DAUGHTER.
LETTER XXVII
DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
I am glad I desired you not to meet me, and John says you won't; for he
told you he is sure I shall get a passage well enough, either behind some
one of my fellow-servants on horseback, or by farmer Nichols's means: but
as to the chariot he talked to you of, I can't expect that favour, to be
sure; and I should not care for it, because it would look so much above
me. But farmer Brady, they say, has a chaise with one horse, and we hope
to borrow that, or hire it, rather than fail; though money runs a little
lowish, after what I have laid out; but I don't care to say so here;
though I warrant I might have what I would of Mrs. Jervis, or Mr.
Jonathan, or Mr. Longman; but then how shall I pay it? you'll say: And,
besides, I don't love to be beholden.
But the chief reason I'm glad you don't set out to meet me, is the
uncertainty; for it seems I must stay another week still, and hope
certainly to go Thursday after. For poor Mrs. Jervis will go at the same
time, she says, and can't be ready before.
Oh! that I was once well with you!--Though he is very civil too at
present, and not so cross as he was: and yet he is as vexatious another
way, as you shall hear. For yesterday he had a rich suit of clothes
brought home, which they call a birth-day suit; for he intends to go to
London against next birth-day, to see the court; and our folks will have
it he is to be made a lord.--I wish they may make him an honest man, as
he was always thought; but I have not found it so, alas for me!
And so, as I was saying, he had these clothes come home, and he tried
them on. And before he pulled them off, he sent for me, when nobody else
was in the parlour with him: Pamela, said he, you are so neat and so nice
in your own dress, (Alack-a-day, I didn't know I was!) that you must be a
judge of ours. How are these clothes made? Do they fit me?--I am no
judge, said I, and please your honour; but I think they look very fine.
His waistcoat stood on end with silver lace, and he looked very grand.
But what he did last, has made me very serious, and I could make him no
compliments. Said he, Why don't you wear your usual clothes? Though I
think every thing looks well upon you (for I still continue in my new
dress). I said, I have no clothes, sir, I ought to call my own, but
these: and it is no matter what such an one as I wears. Said he, Why you
look very serious, Pamela. I see you can bear malice.--Yes, so I can,
sir, said I, according to the occasion! Why, said he, your eyes always
look red, I think. Are you not a fool to take my last freedom so much to
heart? I am sure you, and that fool Mrs. Jervis, frightened me, by your
hideous squalling, as much as I could frighten you. That is all we had
for it, said I; and if you could be so afraid of your own servants
knowing of your attempts upon a poor unworthy creature, that is under
your protection while I stay, surely your honour ought to be more afraid
of God Almighty, in whose presence we all stand, in every action of our
lives, and to whom the greatest, as well as the least, must be
accountable, let them think what they list.
He took my hand, in a kind of good-humoured mockery, and said, Well
urged, my pretty preacher! When my Lincolnshire chaplain dies, I'll put
thee on a gown and cassock, and thou'lt make a good figure in his place.
--I wish, said I, a little vexed at his jeer, your honour's conscience
would be your preacher, and then you would need no other chaplain. Well,
well, Pamela, said he, no more of this unfashionable jargon. I did not
send for you so much for your opinion of my new suit, as to tell you, you
are welcome to stay, since Mrs. Jervis desires it, till she goes. I
welcome! said I; I am sure I shall rejoice when I am out of the house!
Well, said he, you are an ungrateful baggage; but I am thinking it would
be pity, with these fair soft hands, and that lovely skin, (as he called
it, and took hold of my hand,) that you should return again to hard work,
as you must if you go to your father's; and so I would advise her to take
a house in London, and let lodgings to us members of parliament, when we
come to town; and such a pretty daughter as you may pass for, will always
fill her house, and she'll get a great deal of money.
I was sadly vexed at this barbarous joke; but being ready to cry before,
the tears gushed out, and (endeavouring to get my hand from him, but in
vain) I said, I can expect no better: Your behaviour, sir, to me, has
been just of a piece with these words: Nay, I will say it, though you
were to be ever so angry.--I angry, Pamela? No, no, said he, I have
overcome all that; and as you are to go away, I look upon you now as Mrs.
Jervis's guest while you both stay, and not as my servant; and so you may
say what you will. But I'll tell you, Pamela, why you need not take this
matter in such high disdain!--You have a very pretty romantic turn for
virtue, and all that.--And I don't suppose but you'll hold it still: and
nobody will be able to prevail upon you. But, my child, (sneeringly he
spoke it,) do but consider what a fine opportunity you will then have for
a tale every day to good mother Jervis, and what subjects for letter-
writing to your father and mother, and what pretty preachments you may
hold forth to the young gentlemen. Ad's my heart! I think it would be
the best thing you and she could do.
You do well, sir, said I, to even your wit to such a poor maiden as me:
but, permit me to say, that if you was not rich and great, and I poor and
little, you would not insult me thus.--Let me ask you, sir, if you think
this becomes your fine clothes, and a master's station: Why so serious,
my pretty Pamela? said he: Why so grave? And would kiss me; but my heart
was full, and I said, Let me alone; I will tell you, if you was a king,
and insulted me as you have done, that you have forgotten to act like a
gentleman; and I won't stay to be used thus: I will go to the next
farmer's, and there wait for Mrs. Jervis, if she must go: and I'd have
you know, sir, that I can stoop to the ordinariest work of your
scullions, for all these nasty soft hands, sooner than bear such
ungentlemanly imputations.
I sent for you, said he, in high good humour; but it is impossible to
hold it with such an impertinent: however, I'll keep my temper. But
while I see you here, pray don't put on those dismal grave looks: Why,
girl, you should forbear them, if it were but for your pride-sake; for
the family will think you are grieving to leave the house. Then, sir,
said I, I will try to convince them of the contrary, as well as your
honour; for I will endeavour to be more cheerful while I stay, for that
very reason.
Well, replied he, I will set this down by itself, as the first time that
ever what I had advised had any weight with you. And I will add, said I,
as the first advice you have given me of late, that was fit to be
followed.--I wish said he, (I am almost ashamed to write it, impudent
gentleman as he is!) I wish I had thee as quick another way, as thou art
in thy repartees--And he laughed, and I snatched my hand from him, and I
tripped away as fast as I could. Ah! thought I, married? I am sure it
is time you were married, or, at this rate, no honest maiden ought to
live with you.
Why, dear father and mother, to be sure he grows quite a rake! How easy
it is to go from bad to worse, when once people give way to vice!
How would my poor lady, had she lived, have grieved to see it! but may be
he would have been better then! Though it seems he told Mrs. Jervis, he
had an eye upon me in his mother's life-time; and he intended to let me
know as much, by the bye, he told her! Here is shamelessness for you!
Sure the world must be near at an end! for all the gentlemen about are as
bad as he almost, as far as I can hear!--And see the fruits of such bad
examples! There is 'Squire Martin in the grove, has had three lyings-in,
it seems, in his house, in three months past; one by himself; and one by
his coachman; and one by his woodman; and yet he has turned none of them
away. Indeed, how can he, when they but follow his own vile example?
There is he, and two or three more such as he, within ten miles of us,
who keep company, and hunt with our fine master, truly; and I suppose he
is never the better for their examples. But, Heaven bless me, say I, and
send me out of this wicked house!
But, dear father and mother, what sort of creatures must the womenkind
be, do you think, to give way to such wickedness? Why, this it is that
makes every one be thought of alike: And, alack-a-day! what a world we
live in! for it is grown more a wonder that the men are resisted, than
that the women comply. This, I suppose, makes me such a sauce-box, and
bold-face, and a creature, and all because I won't be a sauce-box and
bold-face indeed.
But I am sorry for these things; one don't know what arts and stratagems
men may devise to gain their vile ends; and so I will think as well as I
can of these poor undone creatures, and pity them. For you see, by my
sad story, and narrow escapes, what hardships poor maidens go through,
whose lot it is to go out to service, especially to houses where there is
not the fear of God, and good rule kept by the heads of the family.
You see I am quite grown grave and serious; indeed it becomes the present
condition of Your dutiful DAUGHTER.
LETTER XXVIII
DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
John says you wept when you read my last letter, that he carried. I am
sorry you let him see that; for they all mistrust already how matters
are, and as it is no credit that I have been attempted, though it is that
I have resisted; yet I am sorry they have cause to think so evil of my
master from any of us.
Mrs. Jervis has made up her accounts with Mr. Longman, and will stay in
her place. I am glad of it, for her own sake, and for my master's; for
she has a good master of him; so indeed all have, but poor me--and he has
a good housekeeper in her.
Mr. Longman, it seems, took upon him to talk to my master, how faithful
and careful of his interests she was, and how exact in her accounts; and
he told him, there was no comparison between her accounts and Mrs.
Jewkes's, at the Lincolnshire estate.
He said so many fine things, it seems, of Mrs. Jervis, that my master
sent for her in Mr. Longman's presence, and said Pamela might come along
with her; I suppose to mortify me, that I must go while she was to stay:
But as, when I go away, I am not to go with her, nor was she to go with
me; so I did not matter it much; only it would have been creditable to
such a poor girl, that the housekeeper would bear me company, if I went.
Said he to her, Well, Mrs. Jervis, Longman says you have made up your
accounts with him with your usual fidelity and exactness. I had a good
mind to make you an offer of continuing with me, if you can be a little
sorry for your hasty words, which, indeed, were not so respectful as I
have deserved at your hands. She seemed at a sad loss what to say,
because Mr. Longman was there, and she could not speak of the occasion of
those words, which was me.
Indeed, said Mr. Longman, I must needs say before your face, that since I
have known my master's family, I have never found such good management in
it, nor so much love and harmony neither. I wish the Lincolnshire estate
was as well served!--No more of that, said my master; but Mrs. Jervis may
stay, if she will: and here, Mrs. Jervis, pray accept of this, which at
the close of every year's accounts I will present you with, besides your
salary, as long as I find your care so useful and agreeable. And he gave
her five guineas.--She made him a low courtesy, and thanking him, looked
to me, as if she would have spoken to me.
He took her meaning, I believe; for he said,--Indeed I love to encourage
merit and obligingness, Longman; but I can never be equally kind to those
who don't deserve it at my hands, as to those who do; and then he looked
full on me. Longman, continued he, I said that girl might come in with
Mrs. Jervis, because they love to be always together. For Mrs. Jervis is
very good to her, and loves her as well as if she was her daughter. But
else--Mr. Longman, interrupting him, said, Good to Mrs. Pamela! Ay, sir,
and so she is, to be sure! But every body must be good to her; for----
He was going on: but my master said, No more, no more, Mr. Longman. I
see old men are taken with pretty young girls, as well as other folks;
and fair looks hide many a fault, where a person has the art to behave
obligingly. Why, and please your honour, said Mr. Longman, every body--
and was going on, I believe, to say something more in my praise, but he
interrupted him, and said, Not a word more of this Pamela. I can't let
her stay, I'll assure you; not only for her own freedom of speech, but
her letter-writing of all the secrets of my family. Ay, said the good
old man, I am sorry for that too! But, sir,--No more, I say, said my
master; for my reputation is so well known, (mighty fine, thought I!)
that I care not what any body writes or says of me: But to tell you the
truth, (not that it need go further,) I think of changing my condition
soon; and, you know, young ladies of birth and fortune will choose their
own servants, and that's my chief reason why Pamela can't stay. As for
the rest, said he, the girl is a good sort of body, take her altogether;
though I must needs say, a little pert, since my mother's death, in her
answers, and gives me two words for one; which I can't bear; nor is there
reason I should, you know, Longman. No, to be sure, sir, said he: but
'tis strange, methinks, she should be so mild and meek to every one of us
in the house, and forget herself so, where she should shew most respect!
Very true, Mr. Longman, said he, but so it is, I'll assure you; and it
was from her pertness, that Mrs. Jervis and I had the words: And I should
mind it the less, but that the girl (there she stands, I say it to her
face) has wit and sense above her years, and knows better.
I was in great pain to say something, but yet I knew not what, before Mr.
Longman; and Mrs. Jervis looked at me, and walked to the window to hide
her concern for me. At last, I said, It is for you, sir, to say what you
please; and for me only to say, God bless your honour!
Poor Mr. Longman faltered in his speech, and was ready to cry. Said my
insulting master to me, Why, pr'ythee, Pamela, now, shew thyself as thou
art, before Longman. Can'st not give him a specimen of that pertness
which thou hast exercised upon me sometimes?
Did he not, my dear father and mother, deserve all the truth to be told?
Yet I overcame myself so far, as to say, Well, your honour may play upon
a poor girl, that you know call answer you, but dare not.
Why, pr'ythee now, insinuator, said he, say the worst you can before
Longman and Mrs. Jervis. I challenge the utmost of thy impertinence: and
as you are going away, and have the love of every body, I would be a
little justified to my family, that you have no reason to complain of
hardships from me, as I have pert saucy answers from you, besides
exposing me by your letters.
Surely, sir, said I, I am of no consequence equal to this, in your
honour's family, that such a great gentleman as you, should need to
justify yourself about me. I am glad Mrs. Jervis stays with your honour;
and I know I have not deserved to stay: and, more than that, I don't
desire to stay.
Ads-bobbers! said Mr. Longman, and ran to me; don't say so, don't say so,
dear Mrs. Pamela! We all love you dearly: and pray down of your knees,
and ask his honour pardon, and we will all become pleaders in a body, and
I, and Mrs. Jervis too, at the head of it, to beg his honour's pardon,
and to continue you, at least, till his honour marries.--No, Mr. Longman,
said I, I cannot ask; nor will I stay, if I might. All I desire is, to
return to my poor father and mother: and though I love you all, I won't
stay.--O well-a-day, well-a-day! said the good old man, I did not expect
this!--When I had got matters thus far, and had made all up for Mrs.
Jervis, I was in hopes to have got a double holiday of joy for all the
family, in your pardon too. Well, said my master, this is a little
specimen of what I told you, Longman. You see there's a spirit you did
not expect.
Mrs. Jervis told me after, that she could stay no longer, to hear me so
hardly used; and must have spoken, had she staid, what would never have
been forgiven her; so she went out. I looked after her to go too; but my
master said, Come, Pamela, give another specimen, I desire you, to
Longman I am sure you must, if you will but speak. Well, sir, said I,
since it seems your greatness wants to be justified by my lowness, and I
have no desire you should suffer in the sight of your family, I will say,
on my bended knees, (and so I kneeled down,) that I have been a very
faulty, and a very ungrateful creature to the best of masters: I have
been very perverse and saucy; and have deserved nothing at your hands but
to be turned out of your family with shame and disgrace. I, therefore,
have nothing to say for myself, but that I am not worthy to stay, and so
cannot wish to stay, and will not stay: And so God Almighty bless you,
and you Mr. Longman, and good Mrs. Jervis, and every living soul of the
family! and I will pray for you as long as I live!--And so I rose up, and
was forced to lean upon my master's elbow-chair, or I should have sunk
down.
The poor old man wept more than I, and said, Ads-bobbers, was ever the
like heard! 'Tis too much, too much; I can't bear it. As I hope to
live, I am quite melted. Dear sir, forgive her! The poor thing prays
for you; she prays for us all! She owns her fault; yet won't be
forgiven! I profess I know not what to make of it.
My master himself, hardened wretch as he was, seemed a little moved, and
took his handkerchief out of his pocket, and walked to the window: What
sort of a day is it? said he.--And then, getting a little more hard-
heartedness, he said, Well, you may be gone from my presence, thou
strange medley of inconsistence! but you shan't stay after your time in
the house.
Nay, pray, sir, pray, sir, said the good old man, relent a little. Ads-
heartikins! you young gentlemen are made of iron and steel, I think; I'm
sure, said he, my heart's turned into butter, and is running away at my
eyes. I never felt the like before.--Said my master, with an imperious
tone, Get out of my presence, hussy! I can't bear you in my sight. Sir,
said I, I'm going as fast as I can.
But, indeed, my dear father and mother, my head was so giddy, and my
limbs trembled so, that I was forced to go holding by the wainscot all
the way with both my hands, and thought I should not have got to the
door: But when I did, as I hoped this would be my last interview with
this terrible hard-hearted master, I turned about, and made a low
courtesy, and said, God bless you, sir! God bless you, Mr. Longman! and
I went into the lobby leading to the great hall, and dropt into the first
chair; for I could get no farther a good while.
I leave all these things to your reflection, my dear parents but I can
write no more. My poor heart's almost broken! Indeed it is--O when
shall I get away!--Send me, good God, in safety, once more to my poor
father's peaceful cot!--and there the worst that can happen will be joy
in perfection to what I now bear!--O pity
Your distressed DAUGHTER.
LETTER XXIX
MY DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
I must write on, though I shall come so soon; for now I have hardly any
thing else to do. I have finished all that lay upon me, and only wait
the good time of setting out. Mrs. Jervis said, I must be low in pocket,
for what I had laid out; and so would have presented me with two guineas
of her five; but I could not take them of her, because, poor gentlewoman,
she pays old debts for her children, that were extravagant, and wants
them herself. This, though, was very good in her.
I am sorry I shall have but little to bring with me; but I know you
won't, you are so good!--and I will work the harder, when I come home, if
I can get a little plain-work, or any thing, to do. But all your
neighbourhood is so poor, that I fear I shall want work, except, may be,
dame Mumford can help me to something, from any good family she is
acquainted with.
Here, what a sad thing it is! I have been brought up wrong, as matters
stand. For, you know, my good lady, now in heaven, loved singing and
dancing; and, as she would have it, I had a voice, she made me learn
both; and often and often has she made me sing her an innocent song, and
a good psalm too, and dance before her. And I must learn to flower and
draw too, and to work fine work with my needle; why, all this too I have
got pretty tolerably at my finger's end, as they say; and she used to
praise me, and was a good judge of such matters.
Well now, what is all this to the purpose, as things have turned about?
Why, no more nor less, than that I am like the grasshopper in the fable,
which I have read of in my lady's book, as follows:--[See the Aesop's
Fables which have lately been selected and reformed from those of Sir R.
L'Estrange, and the most eminent mythologists.]
'As the ants were airing their provisions one winter, a hungry
grasshopper (as suppose it was poor I) begged a charity of them. They
told him, That he should have wrought in summer, if he would not have
wanted in winter. Well, says the grasshopper, but I was not idle
neither; for I sung out the whole season. Nay, then, said they, you'll
e'en do well to make a merry year of it, and dance in winter to the time
you sung in summer.'
So I shall make a fine figure with my singing and my dancing, when I come
home to you! Nay, I shall be unfit even for a May-day holiday-time; for
these minuets, rigadoons, and French dances, that I have been practising,
will make me but ill company for my milk-maid companions that are to be.
To be sure I had better, as things stand, have learned to wash and scour,
and brew and bake, and such like. Put I hope, if I can't get work, and
can meet with a place, to learn these soon, if any body will have the
goodness to bear with me till I am able: For, notwithstanding what my
master says, I hope I have an humble and teachable mind; and, next to
God's grace, that's all my comfort: for I shall think nothing too mean
that is honest. It may be a little hard at first; but woe to my proud
heart, if I find it so on trial; for I will make it bend to its
condition, or break it.
I have read of a good bishop that was to be burnt for his religion; and
he tried how he could bear it, by putting his fingers into the lighted
candle: So I, t'other day, tried, when Rachel's back was turned, if I
could not scour a pewter plate she had begun. I see I could do't by
degrees: It only blistered my hand in two places.
All the matter is, if I could get plain-work enough, I need not spoil my
fingers. But if I can't, I hope to make my hands as red as a blood-
pudding, and as hard as a beechen trencher, to accommodate them to my
condition.--But I must break off; here's somebody coming.
'Tis only our Hannah with a message from Mrs. Jervis.--But, hold, here's
somebody else. Well, it is only Rachel.
I am as much frighted, as were the city mouse and the country mouse, in
the same book of fables, at every thing that stirs. O! I have a power of
these things to entertain you with in winter evenings, when I come home.
If I can but get work, with a little time for reading, I hope we shall be
very happy over our peat fires.
What made me hint to you, that I should bring but little with me, is
this:
You must know, I did intend to do, as I have this afternoon: and that is,
I took all my clothes, and all my linen, and I divided them into three
parcels, as I had before told Mrs. Jervis I intended to do; and I said,
It is now Monday, Mrs. Jervis, and I am to go away on Thursday morning
betimes; so, though I know you don't doubt my honesty, I beg you will
look over my poor matters, and let every one have what belongs to them;
for, said I, you know I am resolved to take with me only what I can
properly call my own.
Said she, (I did not know her drift then; to be sure she meant well; but
I did not thank her for it, when I did know it,) Let your things be
brought down in the green-room, and I will do any thing you will have me
do.
With all my heart, said I, green-room or any where; but I think you might
step up, and see 'em as they lie.
However, I fetched 'em down, and laid them in three parcels, as before;
and, when I had done, I went down to call her up to look at them.
Now, it seems, she had prepared my master for this scene, unknown to me;
and in this green-room was a closet, with a sash-door, and a curtain
before it; for there she puts her sweet-meats and such things; and she
did it, it seems, to turn his heart, as knowing what I intended, I
suppose that he should make me take the things; for, if he had, I should
have made money of them, to help us when we got together; for, to be
sure, I could never have appeared in them.
Well, as I was saying, he had got, unknown to me, into this closet; I
suppose while I went to call Mrs. Jervis: and she since owned to me, it
was at his desire, when she told him something of what I intended, or
else she would not have done it: though I have reason, I am sure, to
remember the last closet-work.
So I said, when she came up, Here, Mrs. Jervis, is the first parcel; I
will spread it all abroad. These are the things my good lady gave me.--
In the first place, said I--and so I went on describing the clothes and
linen my lady had given me, mingling blessings, as I proceeded, for her
goodness to me; and when I had turned over that parcel, I said, Well, so
much for the first parcel, Mrs. Jervis; that was my lady's gifts.
Now I come to the presents of my dear virtuous master: Hey, you know
closet for that! Mrs. Jervis. She laughed, and said, I never saw such a
comical girl in my life! But go on. I will, Mrs. Jervis, said I, as
soon as I have opened the bundle; for I was as brisk and as pert as could
be, little thinking who heard me.
Now here, Mrs. Jervis, said I, are my ever worthy master's presents; and
then I particularised all those in the second bundle.
After which, I turned to my own, and said,
Now, Mrs. Jervis, comes poor Pamela's bundle; and a little one it is to
the others. First, here is a calico nightgown, that I used to wear o'
mornings. 'Twill be rather too good for me when I get home; but I must
have something. Then there is a quilted calamanco coat, and a pair of
stockings I bought of the pedlar, and my straw-hat with blue strings; and
a remnant of Scots cloth, which will make two shirts and two shifts, the
same I have on, for my poor father and mother. And here are four other
shifts, one the fellow to that I have on; another pretty good one, and
the other two old fine ones, that will serve me to turn and wind with at
home, for they are not worth leaving behind me; and here are two pair of
shoes, I have taken the lace off, which I will burn, and may be will
fetch me some little matter at a pinch, with an old silver buckle or two.
What do you laugh for, Mrs. Jervis? said I.--Why you are like an April
day; you cry and laugh in a breath.
Well, let me see; ay, here is a cotton handkerchief I bought of the
pedlar--there should be another somewhere. O, here it is! and here too
are my new-bought knit mittens; and this is my new flannel coat, the
fellow to that I have on and in this parcel, pinned together, are several
pieces of printed calico, remnants of silks, and such like, that, if good
luck should happen, and I should get work, would serve for robins and
facings, and such like uses. And here too are a pair of pockets: they
are too fine for me; but I have no worse. Bless me, said I, I did not
think I had so many good things!
Well, Mrs. Jervis, said I, you have seen all my store, and I will now sit
down, and tell you a piece of my mind.
Be brief then, said she, my good girl: for she was afraid, she said
afterwards, that I should say too much.
Why then the case is this: I am to enter upon a point of equity and
conscience, Mrs. Jervis; and I must beg, if you love me, you'd let me
have my own way. Those things there of my lady's, I can have no claim
to, so as to take them away; for she gave them me, supposing I was to
wear them in her service, and to do credit to her bountiful heart. But,
since I am to be turned away, you know, I cannot wear them at my poor
father's; for I should bring all the little village upon my back; and so
I resolve not to have them.
Then, Mrs. Jervis, said I, I have far less right to these of my worthy
master's; for you see what was his intention in giving them to me. So
they were to be the price of my shame, and if I could make use of them, I
should think I should never prosper with them; and, besides, you know,
Mrs. Jervis, if I would not do the good gentleman's work, why should I
take his wages? So, in conscience, in honour, in every thing, I have
nothing to say to thee, thou second wicked bundle!
But, said I, cone to my arms, my dear third parcel, the companion of my
poverty, and the witness of my honesty; and may I never deserve the least
rag that is contained in thee, when I forfeit a title to that innocence,
that I hope will ever be the pride of my life! and then I am sure it will
be my highest comfort at my death, when all the riches and pomps of the
world will be worse than the vilest rags that can be worn by beggars!
And so I hugged my third bundle.
But, said I, Mrs. Jervis, (and she wept to hear me,) one thing more I
have to trouble you with, and that's all.
There are four guineas, you know, that came out of my good lady's pocket,
when she died; that, with some silver, my master gave me: Now these same
four guineas I sent to my poor father and mother, and they have broken
them; but would make them up, if I would: and if you think it should be
so, it shall. But pray tell me honestly your mind: As to the three years
before my lady's death, do you think, as I had no wages, I may be
supposed to be quits?--By quits, I cannot mean that my poor services
should be equal to my lady's goodness; for that's impossible. But as all
her learning and education of me, as matters have turned, will be of
little service to me now; for it had been better for me to have been
brought up to hard labour, to be sure; for that I must turn to at last,
if I can't get a place: (and you know, in places too, one is subject to
such temptations as are dreadful to think of:) so, I say, by quits I only
mean, as I return all the good things she gave me, whether I may not set
my little services against my keeping; because, as I said, my learning is
not now in the question; and I am sure my dear good lady would have
thought so, had she lived; but that too is now out of the question. Well
then, if so, I would ask, Whether, in above this year that I have lived
with my master, as I am resolved to leave all his gifts behind me, I may
not have earned, besides my keeping, these four guineas, and these poor
clothes here upon my back, and in my third bundle? Now tell me your mind
freely, without favour or affection.
Alas! my dear girl, says she, you make me unable to speak to you at all:
To be sure it will be the highest affront that can be offered, for you to
leave any of these things behind you; and you must take all your bundles
with you, or my master will never forgive you.
Well, well, Mrs. Jervis, said I, I don't care; I have been too much used
to be snubbed and hardly treated by my master, of late. I have done him
no harm; and I shall always pray for him and wish him happy. But I don't
deserve these things; I know I don't. Then, I can't wear them, if I
should take them; so they can be of no use to me: And I trust I shall not
want the poor pittance, that is all I desire to keep life and soul
together. Bread and water I can live upon, Mrs. Jervis, with content.
Water I shall get any where; and if I can't get me bread, I will live
like a bird in winter upon hips and haws, and at other times upon pig-
nuts and potatoes, or turnips, or any thing. So what occasion have I for
these things?--But all I ask is about these four guineas, and if you
think I need not return them, that is all I want to know.--To be sure, my
dear, you need not, said she; you have well earned them by that waistcoat
only. No, I think not so, in that only; but in the linen, and other
things, do you think I have? Yes, yes, said she, and more. And my
keeping allowed for, I mean, said I, and these poor clothes on my back,
besides? Remember that, Mrs. Jervis. Yes, my dear odd-one, no doubt you
have. Well then, said I, I am as happy as a princess. I am quite as
rich as I wish to be: and once more, my dear third bundle, I will hug
thee to my bosom. And I beg you'll say nothing of all this till I am
gone, that my master mayn't be so angry, but that I may go in peace; for
my heart, without other matters, will he ready to break to part with you
all.
Now, Mrs. Jervis, said I, as to one matter more: and that is my master's
last usage of me, before Mr. Longman.--Said she, Pr'ythee, dear Pamela,
step to my chamber, and fetch me a paper I left on my table. I have
something to shew you in it. I will, said I, and stepped down; but that
was only a fetch, to take the orders of my master, I found. It seems he
said, he thought two or three times to have burst out upon me; but he
could not stand it, and wished I might not know he was there. But I
tripped up again so nimbly, (for there was no paper,) that I just saw his
back, as if coming out of that green-room, and going into the next to it,
the first door that was open--I whipped in, and shut the door, and bolted
it. O Mrs. Jervis! said I, what have you done by me?--I see I can't
confide in any body. I am beset on all hands. Wretched, wretched
Pamela, where shalt thou expect a friend, if Mrs. Jervis joins to betray
thee thus? She made so many protestations, (telling me all, and that he
owned I had made him wipe his eyes two or three times, and said she hoped
it would have a good effect, and remembered me, that I had said nothing
but what would rather move compassion than resentment,) that I forgave
her. But O! that I was safe from this house! for never poor creature
sure was so flustered as I have been so many months together;--I am
called down from this most tedious scribble. I wonder what will next
befall Your dutiful DAUGHTER.
Mrs. Jervis says, she is sure I shall have the chariot to carry me home
to you. Though this will look too great for me, yet it will shew as if I
was not turned away quite in disgrace. The travelling chariot is come
from Lincolnshire, and I fancy I shall go in that; for the other is quite
grand.
LETTER XXX
MY DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
I write again, though, may be, I shall bring it to you in my pocket: for
I shall have no writing, nor writing-time, I hope, when I come to you.
This is Wednesday morning, and I shall, I hope, set out to you to-morrow
morning; but I have had more trials and more vexations; but of another
complexion too a little, though all from the same quarter.
Yesterday my master, after he came from hunting, sent for me. I went
with great terror: for I expected he would storm, and be in a fine
passion with me for my freedom of speech before: so I was resolved to
begin first, with submission, to disarm his anger; and I fell upon my
knees as soon as I saw him; and said, Good sir, let me beseech you, as
you hope to be forgiven yourself, and for the sake of my dear good lady
your mother, who recommended me to you with her last words, to forgive me
all my faults; and only grant me this favour, the last I shall ask you,
that you will let me depart your house with peace and quietness of mind,
that I may take such a leave of my dear fellow-servants as befits me; and
that my heart be not quite broken.
He took me up, in a kinder manner than ever I had known; and he said,
Shut the door, Pamela, and come to me in my closet: I want to have a
little serious talk with you. How can I, sir, said I, how can I! and
wrung my hands. O pray, sir, let me go out of your presence, I beseech
you! By the God that made me, said he, I'll do you no harm. Shut the
parlour door, and come to me in my library.
He then went into his closet, which is his library, and full of rich
pictures besides; a noble apartment, though called a closet, and next the
private garden, into which it has a door that opens. I shut the parlour
door, as he bid me; but stood at it irresolute. Place some confidence in
me, said he: Surely you may, when I have spoken thus solemnly. So I
crept towards him with trembling feet, and my heart throbbing through my
handkerchief. Come in, said he, when I bid you. I did so. Pray, sir,
said I, pity and spare me. I will, said he, as I hope to be saved. He
sat down upon a rich settee; and took hold of my hand, and said, Don't
doubt me, Pamela. From this moment I will no more consider you as my
servant: and I desire you'll not use me with ingratitude for the kindness
I am going to express towards you. This a little emboldened me; and he
said, holding both my hands between his, You have too much wit and good
sense not to discover, that I, in spite of my heart, and all the pride of
it, cannot but love you. Yes, look up to me, my sweet-faced girl! I
must say I love you; and have put on a behaviour to you, that was much
against my heart, in hopes to frighten you from your reservedness. You
see I own it ingenuously; and don't play your sex upon me for it.
I was unable to speak; and he, seeing me too much oppressed with
confusion to go on in that strain, said, Well, Pamela, let me know in
what situation of life is your father: I know he is a poor man; but is he
as low and as honest as he was when my mother took you?
Then I could speak a little; and with a down look, (and I felt my face
glow like fire,) I said, Yes, sir, as poor and as honest too; and that is
my pride. Says he, I will do something for him, if it be not your fault,
and make all your family happy. All, sir, said I, he is happier already
than ever he can be, if his daughter's innocence is to be the price of
your favour: and I beg you will not speak to me on the only side that can
wound me. I have no design of that sort, said he. O sir, said I, tell
me not so, tell me not so!--'Tis easy, said he, for me to be the making
of your father, without injuring you. Well, sir, said I, if this can be
done, let me know how; and all I can do with innocence shall be the study
and practice of my life.--But, O! what can such a poor creature as I do,
and do my duty?--Said he, I would have you stay a week or fortnight only,
and behave yourself with kindness to me; I stoop to beg it of you, and
you shall see all shall turn out beyond your expectation. I see, said
he, you are going to answer otherwise than I would have you; and I begin
to be vexed I should thus meanly sue; and so I will say, that your
behaviour before honest Longman, when I used you as I did, and you could
so well have vindicated yourself, has quite charmed me. And though I am
not pleased with all you said yesterday, while I was in the closet, yet
you have moved me more to admire you than before; and I am awakened to
see more worthiness in you, than ever I saw in any lady in the world.
All the servants, from the highest to the lowest, doat upon you, instead
of envying you; and look upon you in so superior a light, as speaks what
you ought to be. I have seen more of your letters than you imagine,
(This surprised me!) and am quite overcome with your charming manner of
writing, so free, so easy, and many of your sentiments so much above your
years, and your sex; and all put together, makes me, as I tell you, love
you to extravagance. Now, Pamela, when I have stooped to acknowledge all
this, oblige me only to stay another week or fortnight, to give me time
to bring about some certain affairs, and you shall see how much you may
find your account in it.
I trembled to find my poor heart giving way.--O good sir, said I, spare a
poor girl that cannot look up to you, and speak. My heart is full; and
why should you wish to undo me?--Only oblige me, said he, to stay a
fortnight longer, and John shall carry word to your father, that I will
see him in the time, either here, or at the Swan in his village. O sir,
said I, my heart will burst; but, on my bended knees, I beg you to let me
go to-morrow, as I designed: and don't offer to tempt a poor creature,
whose whole will would be to do yours, if my virtue would permit!--I
shall permit it, said he; for I intend no injury to you, God is my
witness! Impossible! said I; I cannot, sir, believe you, after what has
passed: How many ways are there to undo poor creatures! Good God,
protect me this one time, and send me but to my dear father's cot in
safety!--Strange, d----d fate! said he, that when I speak so solemnly, I
can't be believed!--What should I believe, sir? said I, what can I
believe? What have you said, but that I am to stay a fortnight longer?
and what then is to become of me?--My pride of birth and fortune (d--n
them both! said he, since they cannot obtain credit with you, but must
add to your suspicions) will not let me descend all at once; and I ask
you but a fortnight's stay, that, after this declaration, I may pacify
those proud demands upon me.
O how my heart throbbed! and I began (for I did not know what I did) to
say the Lord's prayer. None of your beads to me Pamela! said he; thou
art a perfect nun, I think.
But I said aloud, with my eyes lifted up to heaven, Lead me not into
temptation: but deliver me from evil, O my good God! He hugged me in his
arms, and said, Well, my dear girl, then you stay this fortnight, and you
shall see what I will do for you--I'll leave you a moment, and walk into
the next room, to give you time to think of it, and to shew you I have no
design upon you. Well, this, I thought, did not look amiss.
He went out, and I was tortured with twenty different doubts in a minute;
sometimes I thought that to stay a week or fortnight longer in this house
to obey him, while Mrs. Jervis was with me, could do no great harm: But
then, thought I, how do I know what I may be able to do? I have
withstood his anger; but may I not relent at his kindness?--How shall I
stand that.--Well, I hope, thought I, by the same protecting grace in
which I will always confide!--But, then, what has he promised? Why, he
will make my poor father and mother's life comfortable. O! said I to
myself, that is a rich thought; but let me not dwell upon it, for fear I
should indulge it to my ruin.--What can he do for me, poor girl as I am!
--What can his greatness stoop to! He talks, thought I, of his pride of
heart, and pride of condition; O these are in his head, and in his heart
too, or he would not confess them to me at such an instant. Well then,
thought I, this can be only to seduce me.--He has promised nothing.--But
I am to see what he will do, if I stay a fortnight; and this fortnight,
thought I again, is no such great matter; and I shall see in a few days
how he carries it.--But then, when I again reflected upon this distance
between him and me, and his now open declaration of love, as he called
it; and that after this he would talk with me on that subject more
plainly than ever, and I shall be less armed, may be, to withstand him;
and then I bethought myself, why, if he meant no dishonour, he should not
speak before Mrs. Jervis; and the odious frightful closet came again into
my head, and my narrow escape upon it; and how easy it might be for him
to send Mrs. Jervis and the maids out of the way; and so that all the
mischief he designed me might be brought about in less than that time; I
resolved to go away and trust all to Providence, and nothing to myself.
And how ought I to be thankful for this resolution!--as you shall hear.
But just as I have writ to this place, John sends me word, that he is
going this minute your way; and so I will send you so far as I have
written, and hope by to-morrow night, to ask your blessings, at your own
poor, but happy abode, and tell you the rest by word of mouth; and so I
rest, till then, and for ever, Your dutiful DAUGHTER.
LETTER XXXI
DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
I will continue my writing still, because, may be, I shall like to read
it, when I am with you, to see what dangers I have been enabled to
escape; and though I bring it along with me.
I told you my resolution, my happy resolution as I have reason to think
it: and just then he came in again, with great kindness in his looks, and
said, I make no doubt, Pamela, you will stay this fortnight to oblige me.
I knew not how to frame my words so as to deny, and yet not make him
storm. But, said I, Forgive, sir, your poor distressed servant. I know
I cannot possibly deserve any favour at your hands, consistent with
virtue; and I beg you will let me go to my poor father. Why, said he,
thou art the veriest fool that I ever knew. I tell you I will see your
father; I'll send for him hither to-morrow, in my travelling chariot, if
you will; and I'll let him know what I intend to do for him and you.
What, sir, may I ask you, can that be? Your honour's noble estate may
easily make him happy, and not unuseful, perhaps to you, in some respect
or other. But what price am I to pay for all this?--Yon shall be happy
as you can wish, said he, I do assure you: And here I will now give you
this purse, in which are fifty guineas, which I will allow your father
yearly, and find an employ suitable to his liking, to deserve that and
more: Pamela, he shall never want, depend upon it. I would have given
you still more for him, but that, perhaps, you'd suspect I intended it as
a design upon you.--O sir, said I, take back your guineas! I will not
touch one, nor will my father, I am sure, till he knows what is to be
done for them; and particularly what is to become of me. Why then,
Pamela, said he, suppose I find a man of probity, and genteel calling,
for a husband for you, that shall make you a gentlewoman as long as you
live?--I want no husband, sir, said I: for now I began to see him in all
his black colours!--Yet being so much in his power, I thought I would a
little dissemble. But, said he, you are so pretty, that go where you
will, you can never be free from the designs of some or other of our sex;
and I shall think I don't answer the care of my dying mother for you, who
committed you to me, if I don't provide you a husband to protect your
virtue, and your innocence; and a worthy one I have thought of for you.
O black, perfidious creature! thought I, what an implement art thou in
the hands of Lucifer, to ruin the innocent heart!--Yet still I
dissembled: for I feared much both him and the place I was in. But,
whom, pray sir, have you thought of?--Why, said he, young Mr. Williams,
my chaplain, in Lincolnshire, who will make you happy. Does he know,
sir, said I, any thing of your honour's intentions?--No, my girl, said
he, and kissed me, (much against my will; for his very breath was now
poison to me,) but his dependance upon my favour, and your beauty and
merit, will make him rejoice at my kindness to him. Well, sir, said I,
then it is time enough to consider of this matter; and it cannot hinder
me from going to my father's: for what will staying a fortnight longer
signify to this? Your honour's care and goodness may extend to me there,
as well as here; and Mr. Williams, and all the world, shall know that I
am not ashamed of my father's poverty.
He would kiss me again, and I said, If I am to think of Mr. Williams, or
any body, I beg you'll not be so free with me: that is not pretty, I'm
sure. Well, said he, but you stay this next fortnight, and in that time
I'll have both Williams and your father here; for I will have the match
concluded in my house; and when I have brought it on, you shall settle it
as you please together. Meantime take and send only these fifty pieces
to your father, as an earnest of my favour, and I'll make you all happy.
--Sir, said I, I beg at least two hours to consider of this. I shall,
said he, be gone out in one hour; and I would have you write to your
father what I propose; and John shall carry it on purpose: and he shall
take the purse with him for the good old man, if you approve it. Sir,
said I, I will then let you know in one hour my resolution. Do so, said
he; and gave me another kiss, and let nee go.
O how I rejoiced I had got out of his clutches!--So I write you this,
that you may see how matters stand; for I am resolved to come away, if
possible. Base, wicked, treacherous gentleman as he is!
So here was a trap laid for your poor Pamela! I tremble to think of it!
O what a scene of wickedness was here laid down for all my wretched life!
Black-hearted wretch! how I hate him!--For, at first, as you'll see by
what I have written, he would have made me believe other things; and this
of Mr. Williams, I suppose, came into his head after he walked out from
his closet, to give himself time to think how to delude me better: but
the covering was now too thin, and easy to be seen through.
I went to my chamber, and the first thing I did was to write to him; for
I thought it was best not to see him again, if I could help it; and I put
it under his parlour door, after I had copied it, as follows:
'HONOURED SIR,
'Your last proposal to me convinces me, that I ought not to stay, but to
go to my father, if it were but to ask his advice about Mr. Williams.
And I am so set upon it, that I am not to be persuaded. So, honoured
sir, with a thousand thanks for all favours, I will set out to-morrow
early; and the honour you designed me, as Mrs. Jervis tells me, of your
chariot, there will be no occasion for: because I can hire, I believe,
farmer Brady's chaise. So, begging you will not take it amiss, I shall
ever be 'Your dutiful Servant.'
'As to the purse, sir, my poor father, to be sure, won't forgive me, if I
take it, till he can know how to deserve it which is impossible.'
So he has just now sent Mrs. Jervis to tell me, that since I am resolved
to go, go I may, and the travelling chariot shall be ready; but it shall
be worse for me; for that he will never trouble himself about me as long
as he lives. Well, so I get out of the house, I care not; only I should
have been glad I could, with innocence, have made you, my dear parents,
happy.
I cannot imagine the reason of it, but John, who I thought was gone with
my last, is but now going; and he sends to know if I have any thing else
to carry. So I break off to send you this with the former.
I am now preparing for my journey, and about taking leave of my good
fellow-servants: and if I have not time to write, I must tell you the
rest, when I am so happy as to be with you.
One word more: I slip in a paper of verses, on my going: sad poor stuff!
but as they come from me, you'll not dislike them, may be. I shewed them
to Mrs. Jervis, and she liked them, and took a copy; and made one sing
them to her, and in the green-room too; but I looked into the closet
first. I will only add, that I am Your dutiful DAUGHTER.
Let me just say, That he has this moment sent me five guineas by Mrs.
Jervis, as a present for my pocket: So I shall be very rich; for as she
brought them, I thought I might take them. He says he won't see me: and
I may go when I will in the morning; and Lincolnshire Robin shall drive
me: but he is so angry, he orders that nobody shall go out at the door
with me, not so much as into the coach-yard. Well! I can't help it, not
I! But does not this expose himself more than me?
But John waits, and I would have brought this and the other myself; but
he says, he has put it up among other things, and so can take both as
well as one.
John is very good, and very honest; I am under great obligations to him.
I'd give him a guinea, now I'm so rich, if I thought he'd take it. I
hear nothing of my lady's clothes, and those my master gave me: for I
told Mrs. Jervis, I would not take them; but I fancy, by a word or two
that was dropped, they will be sent after me. Dear sirs! what a rich
Pamela you'll have if they should! But as I can't wear them if they do,
I don't desire them; and if I have them, will turn them into money, as I
can have opportunity. Well, no more--I'm in a fearful hurry!
VERSES ON MY GOING AWAY.
I.
My fellow-servants dear, attend
To these few lines, which I have penn'd:
I'm sure they're from your honest friend,
And wisher-well, poor PAMELA.
II.
I, from a state of low degree,
Was plac'd in this good family:
Too high a fate for humble me,
The helpless, hopeless PAMELA.
III.
Yet though my happy lot was so,
Joyful, I homeward from it go,
No less content, when poor and low,
Than here you find your PAMELA.
IV.
For what indeed is happiness,
But conscience innocence and peace?
And that's a treasure I possess;
Thank Heaven that gave it PAMELA.
V.
My future lot I cannot know
But this I'm sure, where'er I go,
Whate'er I am, whate'er I do,
I'll be the grateful PAMELA.
VI.
No sad regrets my heart annoy,
I'll pray for all your peace and joy,
From master high, to scullion boy,
For all your loves to PAMELA.
VII.
One thing or two I've more to say;
God's holy will, be sure, obey;
And for our master always pray,
As ever shall poor PAMELA.
VIII.
For, oh! we pity should the great,
Instead of envying their estate;
Temptations always on 'em wait,
Exempt from which are such as we.
IX.
Their riches, gay deceitful snares,
Enlarge their fears, increase their cares
Their servants' joy surpasses theirs;
At least so judges PAMELA.
X.
Your parents and relations love
Let them your duty ever prove;
And you'll be bless'd by Heav'n above,
As will, I hope, poor PAMELA.
XI.
For if asham'd I e'er could be
Of my dear parents' low degree,
What lot had been too mean for me,
Unbless'd, unvirtuous PAMELA.
XII.
Thrice happy may you ever be,
Each one in his and her degree;
And, sirs, whene'er you think of me,
Pray for content to PAMELA.
XIII.
Pray for her wish'd content and peace;
And rest assur'd she'll never cease,
To pray for all your joys increase,
While life is lent to PAMELA.
XIV.
On God all future good depends:
Serve him. And so my sonnet ends,
With, thank ye, thank ye, honest friends,
For all your loves to PAMELA,
Here it is necessary the reader should know, that the fair Pamela's
trials were not yet over; but the worst were to come, at a time when she
thought them at an end, and that she was returning to her father: for
when her master found her virtue was not to be subdued, and he had in
vain tried to conquer his passion for her, being a gentleman of pleasure
and intrigue, he had ordered his Lincolnshire coachman to bring his
travelling chariot from thence, not caring to trust his Bedfordshire
coachman, who, with the rest of the servants, so greatly loved and
honoured the fair damsel; and having given him instructions accordingly,
and prohibited the other servants, on pretence of resenting Pamela's
behaviour, from accompanying her any part of the road, he drove her five
miles on the way to her father's; and then turning off, crossed the
country, and carried her onwards toward his Lincolnshire estate.
It is also to be observed, that the messenger of her letters to her
father, who so often pretended business that way, was an implement in his
master's hands, and employed by him for that purpose; and always gave her
letters first to him, and his master used to open and read them, and then
send them on; by which means, as he hints to her, (as she observes in her
letter XXX) he was no stranger to what she wrote. Thus every way was the
poor virgin beset: And the whole will shew the base arts of designing men
to gain their wicked ends; and how much it behoves the fair sex to stand
upon their guard against artful contrivances, especially when riches and
power conspire against innocence and a low estate.
A few words more will be necessary to make the sequel better understood.
The intriguing gentleman thought fit, however, to keep back from her
father her three last letters; in which she mentions his concealing
himself to hear her partitioning out her clothes, his last effort to
induce her to stay a fortnight, his pretended proposal of the chaplain,
and her hopes of speedily seeing them, as also her verses; and to send
himself a letter to her father, which is as follows:
'GOODMAN ANDREWS,
'You will wonder to receive a letter from me. But I think I am obliged
to let you know, that I have discovered the strange correspondence
carried on between you and your daughter, so injurious to my honour and
reputation, and which, I think, you should not have encouraged, till you
knew there were sufficient grounds for those aspersions, which she so
plentifully casts upon me. Something possibly there might be in what she
has written from time to time; but, believe me, with all her pretended
simplicity and innocence, I never knew so much romantic invention as she
is mistress of. In short, the girl's head's turned by romances, and such
idle stuff, to which she has given herself up, ever since her kind lady's
death. And she assumes airs, as if she was a mirror of perfection, and
every body had a design upon her.
'Don't mistake me, however; I believe her very honest, and very virtuous;
but I have found out also, that she is carrying on a sort of
correspondence, or love affair, with a young clergyman, that I hope in
time to provide for; but who, at present, is destitute of any subsistence
but my favour: And what would be the consequence, can you think, of two
young folks, who have nothing in the world to trust to of their own to
come together with a family multiplying upon them before they have bread
to eat.
'For my part, I have too much kindness to them both, not to endeavour to
prevent it, if I can; and for this reason I have sent her out of his way
for a little while, till I can bring them both to better consideration;
and I would not, therefore, have you be surprised you don't see your
daughter so soon as you might possibly expect.
'Yet I do assure you, upon my honour, that she shall be safe and
inviolate; and I hope you don't doubt me, notwithstanding any airs she
may have given herself, upon my jocular pleasantry to her, and perhaps a
little innocent romping with her, so usual with young folks of the two
sexes, when they have been long acquainted, and grown up together; for
pride is not my talent.
'As she is a mighty letter-writer, I hope she has had the duty to apprise
you of her intrigue with the young clergyman; and I know not whether it
meets with your countenance: But now she is absent for a little while,
(for I know he would have followed her to your village, if she had gone
home; and there, perhaps, they would have ruined one another, by
marrying,) I doubt not I shall bring him to see his interest, and that he
engages not before he knows how to provide for a wife: And when that can
be done, let them come together in God's name, for me.
'I expect not to be answered on this head, but by your good opinion, and
the confidence you may repose in my honour: being
'Your hearty friend to serve you.'
'P. S. I find my man John has been the manager of the correspondence, in
which such liberties have been taken with me. I shall soon, in a manner
that becomes me, let the saucy fellow know how much I resent his part of
the affair. It is hard thing, that a man of my character in the world
should be used thus freely by his own servants.'
It is easy to guess at the poor old man's concern, upon reading this
letter from a gentleman of so much consideration. He knew not what
course to take, and had no manner of doubt of his poor daughter's
innocence, and that foul play was designed her. Yet he sometimes hoped
the best, and was ready to believe the surmised correspondence between
the clergyman and her, having not received the letters she wrote, which
would have cleared up that affair.
But, after all, he resolved, as well to quiet his own as her mother's
uneasiness, to undertake a journey to the 'squire's; and leaving his poor
wife to excuse him to the farmer who employed him, he set out that very
evening, late as it was; and travelling all night, found himself, soon
after day-light, at the gate of the gentleman, before the family was up:
and there he sat down to rest himself till he should see somebody
stirring.
The grooms were the first he saw, coming out to water their horses; and
he asked, in so distressful a manner, what was become of Pamela, that
they thought him crazy: and said, Why, what have you to do with Pamela,
old fellow? Get out of the horses' way.--Where is your master? said the
poor man: Pray, gentlemen, don't be angry: my heart's almost broken.--He
never gives any thing at the door, I assure you, says one of the grooms;
so you lose your labour. I am not a beggar yet, said the poor old man; I
want nothing of him, but my Pamela:--O my child! my child!
I'll be hanged, says one of them, if this is not Mrs. Pamela's father.--
Indeed, indeed, said he, wringing his hands, I am; and weeping, Where is
my child? Where is my Pamela?--Why, father, said one of them, we beg
your pardon; but she is gone home to you: How long have you been come
from home?--O! but last night, said he; I have travelled all night: Is
the 'squire at home, or is he not?--Yes, but he is not stirring though,
said the groom, as yet. Thank God for that! said he; thank God for that!
Then I hope I may be permitted to speak to him anon. They asked him to
go in, and he stepped into the stable, and sat down on the stairs there,
wiping his eyes, and sighing so sadly, that it grieved the servants to
hear him.
The family was soon raised with a report of Pamela's father coming to
inquire after his daughter; and the maids would fain have had him go into
the kitchen. But Mrs. Jervis, having been told of his coming, arose, and
hastened down to her parlour, and took him in with her, and there heard
all his sad story, and read the letter. She wept bitterly, but yet
endeavoured, before him, to hide her concern; and said, Well, Goodman
Andrews, I cannot help weeping at your grief; but I hope there is no
occasion. Let nobody see this letter, whatever you do. I dare say your
daughter is safe.
Well, but, said he, I see you, madam, know nothing about her:--If all was
right, so good a gentlewoman as you are, would not have been a stranger
to this. To be sure you thought she was with me!
Said she, My master does not always inform his servants of his
proceedings; but you need not doubt his honour. You have his hand for
it: And you may see he can have no design upon her, because he is not
from hence, and does not talk of going hence. O that is all I have to
hope for! said he; that is all, indeed!--But, said he--and was going on,
when the report of his coming had reached the 'squire, who came down, in
his morning-gown and slippers, into the parlour, where he and Mrs. Jervis
were talking.
What's the matter, Goodman Andrews? said he, what's the matter? Oh my
child! said the good old man, give me my child! I beseech you.--Why, I
thought, says the 'squire, that I had satisfied you about her: Sure you
have not the letter I sent you, written with my own hand. Yes, yes, but
I have, sir, said he; and that brought me hither; and I have walked all
night. Poor man, returned he, with great seeming compassion, I am sorry
for it truly! Why, your daughter has made a strange racket in my family;
and if I thought it would have disturbed you so much, I would have e'en
let her go home; but what I did was to serve her, and you too. She is
very safe, I do assure you, Goodman Andrews; and you may take my honour
for it, I would not injure her for the world. Do you think I would, Mrs.
Jervis? No, I hope not, sir, said she.--Hope not! said the poor man; so
do I; but pray, sir, give me my child, that is all I desire; and I'll
take care no clergyman shall come near her.
Why, London is a great way off, said the 'squire, and I can't send for
her back presently. What, then, said he, have you sent my poor Pamela to
London? I would not have said it so, replied the 'squire; but I assure
you, upon my honour, she is quite safe and satisfied, and will quickly
inform you of it by letter. She is in a reputable family, no less than a
bishop's, and is to wait on his lady, till I get the matter over that I
mentioned to you.
O how shall I know this? replied he.--What, said the 'squire, pretending
anger, am I to be doubted?--Do you believe I can have any view upon your
daughter? And if I had, do you think I would take such methods as these
to effect it? Why, surely, man, thou forgettest whom thou talkest to.
O, sir, said he, I beg your pardon! but consider my dear child is in the
case; let me but know what bishop, and where; and I will travel to London
on foot, to see my daughter, and then be satisfied.
Why, Goodman Andrews, I think thou hast read romances as well as thy
daughter, and thy head's turned with them. May I have not my word taken?
Do you think, once more, I would offer any thing dishonourable to your
daughter? Is there any thing looks like it?--Pr'ythee, man, recollect a
little who I am; and if I am not to be believed, what signifies talking?
Why, sir, said he, pray forgive me; but there is no harm to say, What
bishop's, or whereabouts? What, and so you'd go troubling his lordship
with your impertinent fears and stories! Will you be satisfied, if you
have a letter from her within a week, it may be less, if she be not
negligent, to assure you all is well with her! Why that, said the poor
man, will be some comfort. Well then, said the gentleman, I can't answer
for her negligence, if she don't write: And if she should send a letter
to you, Mrs. Jervis, (for I desire not to see it; I have had trouble
enough about her already,) be sure you send it by a man and horse the
moment you receive it. To be sure I will, answered she. Thank your
honour, said the good man: And then I must wait with as much patience as
I can for a week, which will be a year to me.
I tell you, said the gentleman, it must be her own fault if she don't
write; for 'tis what I insisted upon, for my own reputation; and I shan't
stir from this house, I assure you, till she is heard from, and that to
your satisfaction. God bless your honour, said the poor man, as you say
and mean truth! Amen, Amen, Goodman Andrews, said he: you see I am not
afraid to say Amen. So, Mrs. Jervis, make the good man as welcome as you
can; and let me have no uproar about the matter.
He then, whispering her, bid her give him a couple of guineas to bear his
charges home; telling him, he should be welcome to stay there till the
letter came, if he would, and be a witness, that he intended honourably,
and not to stir from his house for one while.
The poor old man staid and dined with Mrs. Jervis, with some tolerable
ease of mind, in hopes to hear from his beloved daughter in a few days;
and then accepting the present, returned for his own house, and resolved
to be as patient as possible.
Meantime Mrs. Jervis, and all the family, were in the utmost grief for
the trick put upon the poor Pamela; and she and the steward represented
it to their master in as moving terms as they durst; but were forced to
rest satisfied with his general assurances of intending her no harm;
which, however, Mrs. Jervis little believed, from the pretence he had
made in his letter, of the correspondence between Pamela and the young
parson; which she knew to be all mere invention, though she durst not say
so.
But the week after, they were made a little more easy by the following
letter brought by an unknown hand, and left for Mrs. Jervis, which, how
procured, will be shewn in the sequel.
'DEAR MRS. JERVIS,
'I have been vilely tricked, and, instead of being driven by Robin to my
dear father's, I am carried off, to where, I have no liberty to tell.
However, I am at present not used hardly, in the main; and write to beg
of you to let my dear father and mother (whose hearts must be well nigh
broken) know that I am well, and that I am, and, by the grace of God,
ever will he, their honest, as well as dutiful daughter, and
'Your obliged friend,
'PAMELA ANDREWS.'
'I must neither send date nor place; but have most solemn assurances of
honourable usage. This is the only time my low estate has been
troublesome to me, since it has subjected me to the frights I have
undergone. Love to your good self, and all my dear fellow-servants.
Adieu! adieu! but pray for poor PAMELA.'
This, though it quieted not entirely their apprehensions, was shewn to
the whole family, and to the gentleman himself, who pretended not to know
how it came; and Mrs. Jervis sent it away to the good old folks; who at
first suspected it was forged, and not their daughter's hand; but,
finding the contrary, they were a little easier to hear she was alive and
honest: and having inquired of all their acquaintance what could be done,
and no one being able to put them in a way how to proceed, with effect,
on so extraordinary an occasion, against so rich and so resolute a
gentleman; and being afraid to make matters worse, (though they saw
plainly enough, that she was in no bishop's family, and so mistrusted all
the rest of his story,) they applied themselves to prayers for their poor
daughter, and for an happy issue to an affair that almost distracted
them.
We shall now leave the honest old pair praying for their dear Pamela, and
return to the account she herself gives of all this; having written it
journal-wise, to amuse and employ her time, in hopes some opportunity
might offer to send it to her friends; and, as was her constant view,
that she might afterwards thankfully look back upon the dangers she had
escaped, when they should be happily overblown, as in time she hoped they
would be; and that then she might examine, and either approve or repent
of her own conduct in them.
LETTER XXXII
O MY DEAREST FATHER AND MOTHER!
Let me write, and bewail my miserable hard fate, though I have no hope
how what I write can be conveyed to your hands!--I have now nothing to
do, but write and weep, and fear and pray! But yet what can I hope for,
when I seem to be devoted, as a victim to the will of a wicked violator
of all the laws of God and man!--But, gracious Heaven, forgive me my
rashness and despondency! O let me not sin against thee; for thou best
knowest what is fittest for thy poor handmaid!--And as thou sufferest not
thy poor creatures to be tempted above what they can bear, I will resign
myself to thy good pleasure: And still, I hope, desperate as my condition
seems, that as these trials are not of my own seeking, nor the effects of
my presumption and vanity, I shall be enabled to overcome them, and, in
God's own good time, be delivered from them.
Thus do I pray imperfectly, as I am forced by my distracting fears and
apprehensions; and O join with me, my dear parents!--But, alas! how can
you know, how can I reveal to you, the dreadful situation of your poor
daughter! The unhappy Pamela may be undone (which God forbid, and sooner
deprive me of life!) before you can know her hard lot!
O the unparalleled wickedness, stratagems, and devices, of those who call
themselves gentlemen, yet pervert the design of Providence, in giving
them ample means to do good, to their own everlasting perdition, and the
ruin of poor oppressed innocence!
But now I will tell you what has befallen me; and yet, how shall you
receive it? Here is no honest John to carry my letters to you! And,
besides, I am watched in all my steps; and no doubt shall be, till my
hard fate may ripen his wicked projects for my ruin. I will every day,
however, write my sad state; and some way, perhaps, may be opened to send
the melancholy scribble to you. But, alas! when you know it, what will
it do but aggravate your troubles? For, O! what can the abject poor do
against the mighty rich, when they are determined to oppress?
Well, but I must proceed to write what I had hoped to tell you in a few
hours, when I believed I should receive your grateful blessings, on my
return to you from so many hardships.
I will begin with my account from the last letter I wrote you, in which I
enclosed my poor stuff of verses; and continue it at times, as I have
opportunity; though, as I said, I know not how it can reach you.
The long-hoped for Thursday morning came, when I was to set out. I had
taken my leave of my fellow-servants overnight; and a mournful leave it
was to us all: for men, as well as women servants, wept much to part with
me; and, for my part, I was overwhelmed with tears, and the affecting
instances of their esteem. They all would have made me little presents,
as tokens of their love; but I would not take any thing from the lower
servants, to be sure. But Mr. Longman would have me accept of several
yards of Holland, and a silver snuff-box, and a gold ring, which he
desired me to keep for his sake; and he wept over me; but said, I am sure
so good a maiden God will bless; and though you return to your poor
father again, and his low estate, yet Providence will find you out:
Remember I tell you so; and one day, though I mayn't live to see it, you
will be rewarded.
I said, O, dear Mr. Longman! you make me too rich, and too mody; and yet
I must be a beggar before my time for I shall want often to be
scribbling, (little thinking it would be my only employment so soon,) and
I will beg you, sir, to favour me with some paper; and, as soon as I get
home, I will write you a letter, to thank you for all your kindness to
me; and a letter to good Mrs. Jervis too.
This was lucky; for I should have had none else, but at the pleasure of
my rough-natured governess, as I may call her; but now I can write to
ease my mind, though I can't send it to you; and write what I please, for
she knows not how well I am provided: for good Mr. Longman gave me above
forty sheets of paper, and a dozen pens, and a little phial of ink; which
last I wrapped in paper, and put in my pocket; and some wax and wafers.
O dear sir, said I, you have set me up. How shall I requite you? He
said, By a kiss, my fair mistress: And I gave it very willingly; for he
is a good old man.
Rachel and Hannah cried sadly, when I took my leave; and Jane, who
sometimes used to be a little crossish, and Cicely too, wept sadly, and
said, they would pray for me; but poor Jane, I doubt, will forget that;
for she seldom says her prayers for herself: More's the pity!
Then Arthur the gardener, our Robin the coachman, and Lincolnshire Robin
too, who was to carry me, were very civil; and both had tears in their
eyes; which I thought then very good-natured in Lincolnshire Robin,
because he knew but little of me.--But since, I find he might well be
concerned; for he had then his instructions, it seems, and knew how he
was to be a means to entrap me.
Then our other three footmen, Harry, Isaac, and Benjamin, and grooms, and
helpers, were very much affected likewise; and the poor little scullion-
boy, Tommy, was ready to run over for grief.
They had got all together over-night, expecting to be differently
employed in the morning; and they all begged to shake hands with me, and
I kissed the maidens, and prayed to God to bless them all; and thanked
them for all their love and kindness to me: and, indeed, I was forced to
leave them sooner than I would, because I could not stand it: Indeed I
could not. Harry (I could not have thought it; for he is a little
wildish, they say) cried till he sobbed again. John, poor honest John,
was not then come back from you. But as for the butler, Mr. Jonathan, he
could not stay in company.
I thought to have told you a deal about this; but I have worse things to
employ my thoughts.
Mrs. Jervis, good Mrs. Jervis, cried all night long; and I comforted her
all I could: And she made me promise, that if my master went to London to
attend parliament, or to Lincolnshire, I would come and stay a week with
her: and she would have given me money; but I would not take it.
Well, next morning came, and I wondered I saw nothing of poor honest
John; for I waited to take leave of him, and thank him for all his
civilities to me and to you. But I suppose he was sent farther by my
master, and so could not return; and I desired to be remembered to him.
And when Mrs. Jervis told me, with a sad heart, the chariot was ready
with four horses to it, I was just upon sinking into the ground, though I
wanted to be with you.
My master was above stairs, and never asked to see me. I was glad of it
in the main; but he knew, false heart as he is, that I was not to be out
of his reach.--O preserve me, Heaven, from his power, and from his
wickedness!
Well, they were not suffered to go with me one step, as I writ to you
before; for he stood at the window to see me go. And in the passage to
the gate, out of his sight, there they stood all of them, in two rows;
and we could say nothing on both sides, but God bless you! and God bless
you! But Harry carried my own bundle, my third bundle, as I was used to
call it, to the coach, with some plumb-cake, and diet-bread, made for me
over-night, and some sweet-meats, and six bottles of Canary wine, which
Mrs. Jervis would make me take in a basket, to cheer our hearts now and
then, when we got together, as she said. And I kissed all the maids
again, and shook hands with the men again: but Mr. Jonathan and Mr.
Longman were not there; and then I tripped down the steps to the chariot,
Mrs. Jervis crying most sadly.
I looked up when I got to the chariot, and I saw my master at the window,
in his gown; and I courtesied three times to him very low, and prayed for
him with my hands lifted up; for I could not speak; indeed I was not
able: And he bowed his head to me, which made me then very glad he would
take such notice of me; and in I stepped, and was ready to burst with
grief; and could only, till Robin began to drive, wave my white
handkerchief to them, wet with my tears: and, at last, away he drove,
Jehu-like, as they say, out of the court-yard. And I too soon found I
had cause for greater and deeper grief.
Well, said I to myself, at this rate I shall soon be with my dear father
and mother; and till I had got, as I supposed, half-way, I thought of the
good friends I had left: And when, on stopping for a little bait to the
horses, Robin told me I was near half-way, I thought it was high time to
wipe my eyes, and think to whom I was going; as then, alack for me! I
thought. So I began to ponder what a meeting I should have with you; how
glad you'd both be to see me come safe and innocent to you, after all my
dangers: and so I began to comfort myself, and to banish the other gloomy
side from my mind; though, too, it returned now and then; for I should be
ungrateful not to love them for their love.
Well, I believe I set out about eight o'clock in the morning; and I
wondered and wondered, when it was about two, as I saw by a church dial,
in a little village as we passed through, that I was still more and more
out of my knowledge. Hey-day, thought I, to drive this strange pace, and
to be so long a going a little more than twenty miles, is very odd! But
to be sure, thought I, Robin knows the way.
At last he stopped, and looked about him, as if he was at a loss for the
road; and I said, Mr. Robert, sure you are out of the way!--I'm afraid I
am, said he. But it can't be much; I'll ask the first person I see.
Pray do, said I; and he gave his horses a mouthful of bay: and I gave him
some cake, and two glasses of Canary wine; and stopt about half an hour
in all. Then he drove on very fast again.
I had so much to think of, of the dangers I now doubted not I had
escaped, of the loving friends I had left, and my best friends I was
going to; and the many things I had to relate to you; that I the less
thought of the way, till I was startled out of my meditations by the sun
beginning to set, and still the man driving on, and his horses sweating
and foaming; and then I began to be alarmed all at once, and called to
him; and he said he had horrid ill luck, for he had come several miles
out of the way, but was now right, and should get in still before it was
quite dark. My heart began then to misgive me a little, and I was very
much fatigued; for I had no sleep for several nights before, to signify;
and at last I said, Pray Mr. Robert, there is a town before us, what do
you call it?--If we are so much out of the way, we had better put up
there, for the night comes on apace: And, Lord protect me! thought I, I
shall have new dangers, mayhap, to encounter with the man, who have
escaped the master--little thinking of the base contrivance of the
latter.--Says he, I am just there: 'Tis but a mile on one side of the
town before us.--Nay, said I, I may be mistaken; for it is a good while
since I was this way; but I am sure the face of the country here is
nothing like what I remember it.
He pretended to be much out of humour with himself for mistaking the way,
and at last stopped at a farmhouse, about two miles beyond the village I
had seen; and it was then almost dark, and he alighted, and said, We must
make shift here; for I am quite out.
Lord, thought I, be good to the poor Pamela! More trials still!--What
will befall me next?
The farmer's wife, and maid, and daughter, came out; and the wife said,
What brings you this way at this time of night, Mr. Robert? And with a
lady too?--Then I began to be frightened out of my wits; and laying
middle and both ends together, I fell a crying, and said, God give me
patience! I am undone for certain!--Pray, mistress, said I, do you know
'Squire B----, of Bedfordshire?
The wicked coachman would have prevented the answering me; but the simple
daughter said, Know his worship! yes, surely! why he is my father's
landlord.--Well, said I, then I am undone; undone for ever!--O, wicked
wretch! what have I done to you, said I to the coachman, to serve me
thus?--Vile tool of a wicked master!--Faith, said the fellow, I am sorry
this task was put upon me; but I could not help it. But make the best of
it now; here are very civil reputable folks; and you'll be safe here,
I'll assure you.--Let me get out, said I, and I'll walk back to the town
we came through, late as it is:--For I will not enter here.
Said the farmer's wife, You'll be very well used here, I'll assure you,
young gentlewoman, and have better conveniences than any where in the
village. I matter not conveniences, said I: I am betrayed and undone!
As you have a daughter of your own, pity me, and let me know if your
landlord, as you call him, be here!--No, I'll assure you he is not, said
she.
And then came the farmer, a good-like sort of man, grave, and well-
behaved; and spoke to me in such sort, as made me a little pacified; and
seeing no help for it, I went in; and the wife immediately conducted me
up stairs to the best apartment, and told me, that was mine as long as I
staid: and nobody should come near me but when I called. I threw myself
on the bed in the room, tired and frightened to death almost; and gave
way to the most excessive fit of grief that I ever had.
The daughter came up, and said, Mr. Robert had given her a letter to give
me; and there it was. I raised myself, and saw it was the hand and seal
of the wicked wretch, my master, directed to Mrs. Pamela Andrews.--This
was a little better than to have him here; though, if he had, he must
have been brought through the air; for I thought I was.
The good woman (for I began to see things about a little reputable, and
no guile appearing in them, but rather a face of grief for my grief)
offered me a glass of some cordial water, which I accepted, for I was
ready to sink; and then I sat up in a chair a little, though very
faintish: and they brought me two candles, and lighted a brushwood fire;
and said, if I called, I should be waited on instantly; and so left me to
ruminate on my sad condition, and to read my letter, which I was not able
to do presently. After I had a little come to myself, I found it to
contain these words:
'DEAR PAMELA,
'The passion I have for you, and your obstinacy, have constrained me to
act by you in a manner that I know will occasion you great trouble and
fatigue, both of mind and body. Yet, forgive me, my dear girl; for,
although I have taken this step, I will, by all that's good and holy! use
you honourably. Suffer not your fears to transport you to a behaviour
that will be disreputable to us both: for the place where you'll receive
this, is a farm that belongs to me; and the people civil, honest, and
obliging.
'You will, by this time, be far on your way to the place I have allotted
for your abode for a few weeks, till I have managed some affairs, that
will make me shew myself to you in a much different light, than you may
possibly apprehend from this rash action: And to convince you, that I
mean no harm, I do assure you, that the house you are going to, shall be
so much at your command, that even I myself will not approach it without
leave from you. So make yourself easy; be discreet and prudent; and a
happier turn shall reward these your troubles, than you may at present
apprehend.
'Meantime I pity the fatigue you will have, if this come to your hand in
the place I have directed: and will write to your father to satisfy him,
that nothing but what is honourable shall be offered to you, by
Your passionate admirer, (so I must style myself,)
'---------------'
Don't think hardly of poor Robin: You have so possessed all my servants
in your favour, that I find they had rather serve you than me; and 'tis
reluctantly the poor fellow undertook this task; and I was forced to
submit to assure him of my honourable intentions to you, which I am fully
resolved to make good, if you compel me not to a contrary conduct.'
I but too well apprehended that the letter was only to pacify me for the
present; but as my danger was not so immediate as I had reason to dread,
and he had promised to forbear coming to me, and to write to you, my dear
parents, to quiet your concern, I was a little more easy than before and
I made shift to eat a little bit of boiled chicken they had got for me,
and drank a glass of my sack, and made each of them do so too.
But after I had so done, I was again a little flustered; for in came the
coachman with the look of a hangman, I thought, and madamed me up
strangely; telling me, he would beg me to get ready to pursue my journey
by five in the morning, or else he should be late in. I was quite
grieved at this; for I began not to dislike my company, considering how
things stood; and was in hopes to get a party among them, and so to put
myself into any worthy protection in the neighbourhood, rather than go
forward.
When he withdrew, I began to tamper with the farmer and his wife. But,
alas! they had had a letter delivered them at the same time I had; so
securely had Lucifer put it into his head to do his work; and they only
shook their heads, and seemed to pity me; and so I was forced to give
over that hope.
However, the good farmer shewed me his letter; which I copied as follows:
for it discovers the deep arts of this wicked master; and how resolved he
seems to be on my ruin, by the pains he took to deprive me of all hopes
of freeing myself from his power.
'FARMER NORTON,
'I send to your house, for one night only, a young gentlewoman, much
against her will, who has deeply embarked in a love affair, which will be
her ruin, as well as the person's to whom she wants to betroth herself.
I have, to oblige her father, ordered her to be carried to one of my
houses, where she will be well used, to try, if by absence, and
expostulation with both, they can be brought to know their own interest
and I am sure you will use her kindly for my sake: for, excepting this
matter, which she will not own, she does not want prudence and
discretion. I will acknowledge any trouble you shall be at in this
matter the first opportunity; and am
'Your Friend and Servant.'
He had said, too cunningly for me, that I would not own this pretended
love affair; so that he had provided them not to believe me, say what I
would; and as they were his tenants, who all love him, (for he has some
amiable qualities, and so he had need!) I saw all my plot cut out, and so
was forced to say the less.
I wept bitterly, however; for I found he was too hard for me, as well in
his contrivances as riches; and so had recourse again to my only refuge,
comforting myself, that God never fails to take the innocent heart into
his protection, and is alone able to baffle and confound the devices of
the mighty. Nay, the farmer was so prepossessed with the contents of his
letter, that he began to praise his care and concern for me, and to
advise me against entertaining addresses without my friends' advice and
consent; and made me the subject of a lesson for his daughter's
improvement. So I was glad to shut up this discourse; for I saw I was
not likely to be believed.
I sent, however, to tell my driver, that I was so fatigued, I could not
get out so soon the next morning. But he insisted upon it, and said, It
would make my day's journey the lighter; and I found he was a more
faithful servant to his master, notwithstanding what he wrote of his
reluctance, than I could have wished: I saw still more and more, that all
was deep dissimulation, and contrivance worse and worse.
Indeed I might have shewn them his letter to me, as a full confutation of
his to them; but I saw no probability of engaging them in my behalf: and
so thought it signified little, as I was to go away so soon, to enter
more particularly into the matter with them; and besides, I saw they were
not inclinable to let me stay longer, for fear of disobliging him so I
went to bed, but had very little rest: and they would make their servant-
maid bear me company in the chariot five miles, early in the morning, and
she was to walk hack.
I had contrived in my thoughts, when I was on my way in the chariot, on
Friday morning, that when we came into some town to bait, as he must do
for the horses' sake, I would, at the inn, apply myself, if I saw I any
way could, to the mistress of the inn, and tell her the case, and to
refuse to go farther, having nobody but this wicked coachman to contend
with.
Well, I was very full of this project, and in great hopes, some how or
other, to extricate myself in this way. But, oh! the artful wretch had
provided for even this last refuge of mine; for when we came to put up at
a large town on the way, to eat a morsel for dinner, and I was fully
resolved to execute my project, who should be at the inn that he put up
at, but the wicked Mrs. Jewkes, expecting me! And her sister-in-law was
the mistress of it; and she had provided a little entertainment for me.
And this I found, when I desired, as soon as I came in, to speak with the
mistress of the house. She came to me: and I said, I am a poor unhappy
young body, that want your advice and assistance; and you seem to be a
good sort of a gentlewoman, that would assist an oppressed innocent
person. Yes, madam, said she, I hope you guess right; and I have the
happiness to know something of the matter before you speak. Pray call my
sister Jewkes.--Jewkes! Jewkes! thought I; I have heard of that name; I
don't like it.
Then the wicked creature appeared, whom I had never seen but once before,
and I was terrified out of my wits. No stratagem, thought I, not one!
for a poor innocent girl; but every thing to turn out against me; that is
hard indeed!
So I began to pull in my horns, as they say, for I saw I was now worse
off than at the farmer's.
The naughty woman came up to me with an air of confidence, and kissed me:
See, sister, said she, here's a charming creature! Would she not tempt
the best lord in the land to run away with her? O frightful! thought I;
here's an avowal of the matter at once: I am now gone, that's certain.
And so was quite silent and confounded; and seeing no help for it, (for
she would not part with me out of her sight) I was forced to set out with
her in the chariot for she came thither on horseback, with a man-servant,
who rode by us the rest of the way, leading her horse: and now I gave
over all thoughts of redemption, and was in a desponding condition
indeed.
Well, thought I, here are strange pains taken to ruin a poor innocent,
helpless, and even worthless young body. This plot is laid too deep, and
has been too long hatching, to be baffled, I fear. But then I put my
trust in God, who I knew was able to do every thing for me, when all
other possible means should fail: and in him I was resolved to confide.
You may see--(Yet, oh! that kills me; for I know not whether ever you can
see what I now write or no--Else you will see)--what sort of woman that
Mrs. Jewkes is, compared to good Mrs. Jervis, by this:----
Every now and then she would be staring in my face, in the chariot, and
squeezing my hand, and saying, Why, you are very pretty, my silent dear!
And once she offered to kiss me. But I said, I don't like this sort of
carriage, Mrs. Jewkes; it is not like two persons of one sex. She fell a
laughing very confidently, and said, That's prettily said, I vow! Then
thou hadst rather be kissed by the other sex? 'I fackins, I commend thee
for that!
I was sadly teased with her impertinence, and bold way; but no wonder;
she was innkeeper's housekeeper, before she came to my master; and those
sort of creatures don't want confidence, you know: and indeed she made
nothing to talk boldly on twenty occasions; and said two or three times,
when she saw the tears every now and then, as we rid, trickle down my
cheeks, I was sorely hurt, truly, to have the handsomest and finest young
gentleman in five counties in love with me!
So I find I am got into the hands of a wicked procuress; and if I was not
safe with good Mrs. Jervis, and where every body loved me, what a
dreadful prospect have I now before me, in the hands of a woman that
seems to delight in filthiness!
O dear sirs! what shall I do! What shall I do!--Surely, I shall never be
equal to all these things!
About eight at night, we entered the court-yard of this handsome, large,
old, and lonely mansion, that looks made for solitude and mischief, as I
thought, by its appearance, with all its brown nodding horrors of lofty
elms and pines about it: and here, said I to myself, I fear, is to be the
scene of my ruin, unless God protect me, who is all-sufficient!
I was very sick at entering it, partly from fatigue, and partly from
dejection of spirits: and Mrs. Jewkes got me some mulled wine, and seemed
mighty officious to welcome me thither; and while she was absent,
ordering the wine, the wicked Robin came in to me, and said, I beg a
thousand pardons for my part in this affair, since I see your grief and
your distress; and I do assure you, that I am sorry it fell to my task.
Mighty well, Mr. Robert! said I; I never saw an execution but once, and
then the hangman asked the poor creature's pardon, and wiped his mouth,
as you do, and pleaded his duty, and then calmly tucked up the criminal.
But I am no criminal, as you all know: And if I could have thought it my
duty to obey a wicked master in his unlawful command, I had saved you all
the merit of this vile service.
I am sorry, said he, you take it so: but every body don't think alike.
Well, said I, you have done your part, Mr. Robert, towards my ruin, very
faithfully; and will have cause to be sorry, may be, at the long run,
when you shall see the mischief that comes of it.--Your eyes were open,
and you knew I was to be carried to my father's, and that I was
barbarously tricked and betrayed; and I can only, once more, thank you
for your part of it. God forgive you!
So he went away a little sad. What have you said to Robin, madam? said
Mrs. Jewkes: (who came in as he went out:) the poor fellow's ready to
cry. I need not be afraid of your following his example, Mrs. Jewkes,
said I: I have been telling him, that he has done his part to my ruin:
and he now can't help it! So his repentance does me no good; I wish it
may him. I'll assure you, madam, said she, I should be as ready to cry
as he, if I should do you any harm. It is not in his power to help it
now, said I; but your part is to come, and you may choose whether you'll
contribute to my ruin or not.--Why, look ye, madam, said she, I have a
great notion of doing my duty to my master; and therefore you may depend
upon it, if I can do that, and serve you, I will: but you must think, if
your desire, and his will, come to clash once, I shall do as he bids me,
let it be what it will.
Pray, Mrs. Jewkes, said I, don't madam me so: I am but a silly poor girl,
set up by the gambol of fortune, for a May-game; and now am to be
something, and now nothing, just as that thinks fit to sport with me: And
let you and me talk upon a foot together; for I am a servant inferior to
you, and so much the more, as I am turned out of place.
Ay, ay, says she, I understand something of the matter; you have so great
power over my master, that you may soon be mistress of us all; and so I
would oblige you, if I could. And I must and will call you madam; for I
am instructed to shew you all respect, I'll assure you.
Who instructed you so to do? said I. Who! my master, to be sure, said
she. Why, said I, how can that be? You have not seen him lately. No,
that's true, said she; but I have been expecting you here some time; (O
the deep laid wickedness! thought I:) and, besides, I have a letter of
instructions by Robin; but, may be, I should not have said so much. If
you would shew them to me, said I, I should be able to judge how far I
could, or could not, expect favour from you, consistent with your duty to
our master. I beg your pardon, fair mistress, for that, said she, I am
sufficiently instructed; and you may depend upon it, I will observe my
orders; and, so far as they will let me, so far will I oblige you; and
there's an end of it.
Well, said I, you will not, I hope, do an unlawful or wicked thing, for
any master in the world. Look ye, said she, he is my master; and if he
bids me do any thing that I can do, I think I ought to do it; and let
him, who has his power to command me, look to the lawfulness of it. Why,
said I, suppose he should bid you cut my throat, Would you do it?
There's no danger of that, said she; but to be sure I would not; for then
I should be hanged! for that would be murder. Well, said I, and suppose
he should resolve to ensnare a poor young creature, and ruin her, would
you assist him in that? For to rob a person of her virtue is worse than
cutting her throat.
Why now, says she, how strangely you talk! Are not the two sexes made
for one another? And is it not natural for a gentleman to love a pretty
woman? And suppose he can obtain his desires, is that so bad as cutting
her throat? And then the wretch fell a laughing, and talked most
impertinently, and shewed me, that I had nothing to expect from her
virtue or conscience: and this gave me great mortification; for I was in
hopes of working upon her by degrees.
So we ended our discourse here, and I bid her shew me where I must lie.--
Why, said she, lie where you list, madam; I can tell you, I must lie with
you for the present. For the present! said I, and torture then wrung my
heart!--But is it in your instructions, that you must lie with me? Yes,
indeed, said she.--I am sorry for it, said I. Why, said she, I am
wholesome, and cleanly too, I'll assure you. Yes, said I, I don't doubt
that; but I love to lie by myself. How so? said she; Was not Mrs. Jervis
your bed-fellow at t'other house?
Well, said I, quite sick of her, and my condition; you must do as you are
instructed, I think. I can't help myself, and am a most miserable
creature. She repeated her insufferable nonsense. Mighty miserable,
indeed, to be so well beloved by one of the finest gentlemen in England!
I am now come down in my writing to this present SATURDAY, and a deal I
have written.
My wicked bed-fellow has very punctual orders, it seems; for she locks me
and herself in, and ties the two keys (for there is a double door to the
room) about her wrist, when she goes to bed. She talks of the house
having been attempted to be broken open two or three times; whether to
fright me, I can't tell; but it makes me fearful; though not so much as I
should be, if I had not other and greater fears.
I slept but little last night, and got up, and pretended to sit by the
window, which looks into the spacious gardens; but I was writing all the
time, from break of day, to her getting up, and after, when she was
absent.
At breakfast she presented the two maids to me, the cook and house-maid,
poor awkward souls, that I can see no hopes of, they seem so devoted to
her and ignorance. Yet I am resolved, if possible, to find some way to
escape, before this wicked master comes.
There are, besides, of servants, the coachman, Robert, a groom, a helper,
a footman; all but Robert, (and he is accessary to my ruin,) strange
creatures, that promise nothing; and all likewise devoted to this woman.
The gardener looks like a good honest man; but he is kept at a distance,
and seems reserved.
I wondered I saw not Mr. Williams the clergyman, but would not ask after
him, apprehending it might give some jealousy; but when I had beheld the
rest, he was the only one I had hopes of; for I thought his cloth would
set him above assisting in my ruin.--But in the afternoon he came; for it
seems he has a little Latin school in the neighbouring village, which he
attends; and this brings him in a little matter, additional to my
master's favour, till something better falls, of which he has hopes.
He is a sensible sober young gentleman; and when I saw him I confirmed
myself in my hopes of him; for he seemed to take great notice of my
distress and grief; (for I could not hide it;) though he appeared fearful
of Mrs. Jewkes, who watched all our motions and words.
He has an apartment in the house; but is mostly at a lodging in the town,
for a conveniency of his little school; only on Saturday afternoon and
Sundays: and he preaches sometimes for the minister of the village, which
is about three miles off.
I hope to go to church with him to-morrow: Sure it is not in her
instructions to deny me! He can't have thought of every thing! And
something may strike out for me there.
I have asked her, for a feint, (because she shan't think I am so well
provided,) to indulge me with pen and ink, though I have been using my
own so freely when her absence would let me; for I begged to be left to
myself as much as possible. She says she will let me have it; but then I
must promise not to send any writing out of the house, without her seeing
it. I said, it was only to divert my grief when I was by myself, as I
desired to be; for I loved writing as well as reading; but I had nobody
to send to, she knew well enough.
No, not at present, may be, said she; but I am told you are a great
writer; and it is in my instructions to see all you write: So, look you
here, said she, I will let you have a pen and ink, and two sheets of
paper: for this employment will keep you out of worse thoughts: but I
must see them always when I ask, written or not written. That's very
hard, said I; but may I not have to myself the closet in the room where
we lie, with the key to lock up my things? I believe I may consent to
that, said she; and I will set it in order for you, and leave the key in
the door. And there is a spinnet too, said she; if it be in tune, you
may play to divert you now and then; for I know my old lady learnt you:
And below is my master's library: you may take out what books you will.
And, indeed, these and my writing will be all my amusement: for I have no
work given me to do; and the spinnet, if in tune, will not find my mind,
I am sure, in tune to play upon it. But I went directly and picked out
some books from the library, with which I filled a shelf in the closet
she gave me possession of; and from these I hope to receive improvement,
as well as amusement. But no sooner was her back turned, than I set
about hiding a pen of my own here, and another there, for fear I should
come to be denied, and a little of my ink in a broken China cup, and a
little in another cup; and a sheet of paper here and there among my
linen, with a little of the wax, and a few wafers, in several places,
lest I should be searched; and something, I thought, might happen to open
a way for my deliverance, by these or some other means. O the pride,
thought I, I shall have, if I can secure my innocence, and escape the
artful wiles of this wicked master! For, if he comes hither, I am
undone, to be sure! For this naughty woman will assist him, rather than
fail, in the worst of his attempts; and he'll have no occasion to send
her out of the way, as he would have done Mrs. Jervis once. So I must
set all my little wits at work.
It is a grief to me to write, and not to be able to send to you what I
write: but now it is all the diversion I have, and if God will favour my
escape with my innocence, as I trust he graciously will, for all these
black prospects, with what pleasure shall I read them afterwards!
I was going to say, Pray for your dutiful daughter, as I used; but, alas!
you cannot know my distress, though I am sure I have your prayers: And I
will write on as things happen, that if a way should open, my scribble
may be ready to be sent: For what I do, must be at a jerk, to be sure.
O how I want such an obliging honest-hearted man as John!
I am now come to SUNDAY.
Well, here is a sad thing! I am denied by this barbarous woman to go to
church, as I had built upon I might: and she has huffed poor Mr. Williams
all to pieces, for pleading for me. I find he is to be forbid the house,
if she pleases. Poor gentleman! all his dependance is upon my master,
who has a very good living for him, if the incumbent die; and he has kept
his bed these four months, of old age and dropsy.
He pays me great respect, and I see pities me; and would, perhaps, assist
my escape from these dangers: But I have nobody to plead for me; and why
should I wish to ruin a poor gentleman, by engaging him against his
interest? Yet one would do any thing to preserve one's innocence; and
Providence would, perhaps, make it up to him!
O judge (but how shall you see what I write!) of my distracted condition,
to be reduced to such a pass as to a desire to lay traps for mankind!
But he wants sadly to say something to me, as he whisperingly hinted.
The wretch (I think I will always call her the wretch henceforth) abuses
me more and more. I was but talking to one of the maids just now, indeed
a little to tamper with her by degrees: and she popt upon us, and said--
Nay, madam, don't offer to tempt poor innocent country maidens from doing
their duty. You wanted, I hear, she should take a walk with you. But I
charge you, Nan, never stir with her, nor obey her, without letting me
know it, in the smallest trifles.--I say, walk with you! and where would
you go, I tro'? Why, barbarous Mrs. Jewkes, said I, only to look a
little up the elm-walk, since you would not let me go to church.
Nan, said she, to shew me how much they were all in her power, pull off
madam's shoes, and bring them to me. I have taken care of her others.--
Indeed she shan't, said I.--Nay, said Nan, but I must if my mistress bids
me: so pray, madam, don't hinder me. And so indeed (would you believe
it?) she took my shoes off, and left me barefoot: and, for my share, I
have been so frighted at this, that I have not power even to relieve my
mind by my tears. I am quite stupefied to be sure!--Here I was forced to
leave off.
Now I will give you a picture of this wretch: She is a broad, squat,
pursy, fat thing, quite ugly, if any thing human can be so called; about
forty years old. She has a huge hand, and an arm as thick as my waist, I
believe. Her nose is flat and crooked, and her brows grow down over her
eyes; a dead spiteful, grey, goggling eye, to be sure she has. And her
face is flat and broad; and as to colour, looks like as if it had been
pickled a month in saltpetre: I dare say she drinks:--She has a hoarse,
man-like voice, and is as thick as she is long; and yet looks so deadly
strong, that I am afraid she would dash me at her foot in an instant, if
I was to vex her.--So that with a heart more ugly than her face, she
frightens me sadly: and I am undone to be sure, if God does not protect
me; for she is very, very wicked--indeed she is.
This is poor helpless spite in me:--But the picture is too near the truth
notwithstanding. She sends me a message just now, that I shall have my
shoes again, if I will accept of her company to walk with me in the
garden.--To waddle with me, rather, thought I.
Well, 'tis not my business to quarrel with her downright. I shall be
watched the narrower, if I do; and so I will go with the hated wretch.--O
for my dear Mrs. Jervis! or, rather, to be safe with my dear father and
mother.
Oh! I am out of my wits for joy! Just as I have got my shoes on, I am
told John, honest John, is come on horseback!--A blessing on his faithful
heart! What joy is this! But I'll tell you more by and by. I must not
let her know I am so glad to see this dear blessed John, to be sure!--
Alas! but he looks sad, as I see him out of the window! What can be the
matter!--I hope my dear parents are well, and Mrs. Jervis, and Mr.
Longman, and every body, my naughty master not excepted;--for I wish him
to live and repent of all his wickedness to poor me.
O dear heart! what a world do we live in!--I am now come to take up my
pen again: But I am in a sad taking truly! Another puzzling trial, to be
sure.
Here was John, as I said, and the poor man came to me, with Mrs. Jewkes,
who whispered, that I would say nothing about the shoes, for my own sake,
as she said. The poor man saw my distress, by my red eyes, and my hagged
looks, I suppose; for I have had a sad time of it, you must needs think;
and though he would have hid it, if he could, yet his own eyes ran over.
Oh, Mrs. Pamela; said he; Oh, Mrs. Pamela! Well, honest fellow-servant,
said I, I cannot help it at present: I am obliged to your honesty and
kindness, to be sure; and then he wept more. Said I, (for my heart was
ready to break to see his grief; for it is a touching thing to see a man
cry), Tell me the worst! Is my master coming? No, no, said he, and
sobbed.--Well, said I, is there any news of my poor father and mother?
How do they do?--I hope well, said he, I know nothing to the contrary.
There is no mishap, I hope, to Mrs. Jervis or to Mr. Longman, or my
fellow-servants!--No--said he, poor man! with a long N--o, as if his
heart would burst. Well, thank God then! said I.
The man's a fool, said Mrs. Jewkes, I think: What ado is here! Why, sure
thou'rt in love, John. Dost thou not see young madam is well? What ails
thee, man? Nothing at all, said he; but I am such a fool as to cry for
joy to see good Mrs. Pamela: But I have a letter for you.
I took it, and saw it was from my master; so I put it in my pocket. Mrs.
Jewkes, said I, you need not, I hope, see this. No, no, said she, I see
whose it is, well enough; or else, may be, I must have insisted on
reading it.
And here is one for you, Mrs. Jewkes, said he; but yours, said he to me,
requires an answer, which I must carry back early in the morning, or to-
night, if I can.
You have no more, John, said Mrs. Jewkes, for Mrs. Pamela, have you? No,
said he, I have not, but every body's kind love and service. Ay, to us
both, to be sure, said she. John, said I, I will read the letter, and
pray take care of yourself; for you are a good man, God bless you! and I
rejoice to see you, and hear from you all. But I longed to say more;
only that nasty Mrs. Jewkes.
So I went up, and locked myself in my closet, and opened the letter; and
this is a copy of it:
'My DEAREST PAMELA,
'I send purposely to you on an affair that concerns you very much, and me
somewhat, but chiefly for your sake. I am conscious that I have
proceeded by you in such a manner as may justly alarm your fears, and
give concern to your honest friends: and all my pleasure is, that I can
and will make you amends for the disturbance I have given you. As I
promised, I sent to your father the day after your departure, that he
might not be too much concerned for you, and assured him of my honour to
you; and made an excuse, such an one as ought to have satisfied him, for
your not coming to him. But this was not sufficient, it seems; for he,
poor man! came to me next morning, and set my family almost in an uproar
about you.
'O my dear girl! what trouble has not your obstinacy given me, and
yourself too! I had no way to pacify him, but to promise that he should
see a letter written from you to Mrs. Jervis, to satisfy him you are
well.
'Now all my care in this case is for your aged parents, lest they should
be touched with too fatal a grief; and for you, whose duty and affection
for them I know to be so strong and laudable; for this reason I beg you
will write a few lines to them, and let me prescribe the form; which I
have done, putting myself as near as I can in your place, and expressing
your sense, with a warmth that I doubt will have too much possessed you.
'After what is done, and which cannot now be helped, but which, I assure
you, shall turn out honourably for you, I expect not to be refused;
because I cannot possibly have any view in it, but to satisfy your
parents; which is more your concern than mine; and so I must beg you will
not alter one tittle of the underneath. If you do, it will be impossible
for me to send it, or that it should answer the good end I propose by it.
'I have promised, that I will not approach you without your leave. If I
find you easy, and not attempting to dispute or avoid your present lot, I
will keep to my word, although it is a difficulty upon me. Nor shall
your restraint last long: for I will assure you, that I am resolved very
soon to convince you of my good intentions, and with what ardour I am
'Yours, etc.'
The letter he prescribed for me was as this:
'DEAR Mrs. JERVIS,
'I have, instead of being driven by Robin to my dear father's, been
carried off, where I have no liberty to tell. However, at present, I am
not used hardly; and I write to beg you to let my dear father and mother,
whose hearts must be well nigh broken, know that I am well; and that I
am, and, by the grace of God, ever will be, their honest, as well as
dutiful daughter, and 'Your obliged friend.'
'I must neither send date nor place; but have most solemn assurances of
honourable usage.'
I knew not what to do on this most strange request and occasion. But my
heart bled so much for you, my dear father, who had taken the pains to go
yourself, and inquire after your poor daughter, as well as for my dear
mother, that I resolved to write, and pretty much in the above form, that
it might be sent to pacify you, till I could let you, somehow or other,
know the true state of the matter. And I wrote thus to my strange wicked
master himself:
'SIR,
'If you knew but the anguish of my mind, and how much I suffer by your
dreadful usage of me, you would surely pity me, and consent to my
deliverance. What have I done, that I should be the only mark of your
cruelty? I can have no hope, no desire of living left me, because I
cannot have the least dependence, after what has passed, upon your solemn
assurances.--It is impossible they should be consistent with the
dishonourable methods you take.
'Nothing but your promise of not seeing me here in my deplorable bondage,
can give me the least ray of hope.
'Don't, I beseech you, drive the poor distressed Pamela upon a rock, that
may be the destruction both of her soul and body! You don't know, sir,
how dreadfully I dare, weak as I am of mind and intellect, when my virtue
is in danger. And, O! hasten my deliverance, that a poor unworthy
creature, below the notice of such a gentleman as you, may not be made
the sport of a high condition, for no reason in the world, but because
she is not able to defend herself, nor has a friend that can right her.
'I have, sir, in part to shew my obedience to you, but indeed, I own,
more to give ease to the minds of my poor distressed parents, whose
poverty, one would think, should screen them from violences of this sort,
as well as their poor daughter, followed pretty much the form you have
prescribed for me, in the letter to Mrs. Jervis; and the alterations I
have made (for I could not help a few) are of such a nature, as, though
they shew my concern a little, yet must answer the end you are pleased to
say you propose by this letter.
'For God's sake, good sir, pity my lowly condition, and my present great
misery; and let me join with all the rest of your servants to bless that
goodness, which you have extended to every one but the poor afflicted,
heart-broken 'PAMELA.'
I thought, when I had written this letter, and that which he had
prescribed, it would look like placing a confidence in Mrs. Jewkes, to
shew them to her; and I shewed her, at the same time, my master's letter
to me; for I believed the value he expressed for me, would give me credit
with one who professed in every thing to serve him, right or wrong;
though I had so little reason, I fear, to pride myself in it: and I was
not mistaken; for it has seemed to influence her not a little, and she is
at present mighty obliging, and runs over in my praises; but is the less
to be minded, because she praises as much the author of my miseries, and
his honourable intentions, as she calls them; for I see, that she is
capable of thinking, as I fear he does, that every thing that makes for
his wicked will is honourable, though to the ruin of the innocent. Pray
God I may find it otherwise! Though, I hope, whatever the wicked
gentleman may intend, that I shall be at last rid of her impertinent bold
way of talk, when she seems to think, from his letter, that he means
honourably.
I am now come to MONDAY, the 5th Day of my Bondage and Misery.
I was in hope to have an opportunity to see John, and have a little
private talk with him, before he went away; but it could not be. The
poor man's excessive sorrow made Mrs. Jewkes take it into her head, to
think he loved me; and so she brought up a message to me from him this
morning that he was going. I desired he might come up to my closet, as I
called it, and she came with him. The honest man, as I thought him, was
as full of concern as before, at taking leave and I gave him two letters,
the one for Mrs. Jervis, enclosed in another for my master: but Mrs.
Jewkes would see me seal them up, lest I should enclose any thing else.--
I was surprised, at the man's going away, to see him drop a bit of paper,
just at the head of the stairs, which I took up without being observed by
Mrs. Jewkes: but I was a thousand times more surprised, when I returned
to my closet, and opening it read as follows:
'GOOD MRS. PAMELA,
'I am grieved to tell you how much you have been deceived and betrayed,
and that by such a vile dog as I. Little did I think it would come to
this. But I must say, if ever there was a rogue in the world, it is me.
I have all along shewed your letters to my master: He employed me for
that purpose; and he saw every one, before I carried them to your father
and mother; and then scaled them up, and sent me with them. I had some
business that way, but not half so often as I pretended: and as soon as I
heard how it was, I was ready to hang myself. You may well think I could
not stand in your presence. O vile, vile wretch, to bring you to this!
If you are ruined, I am the rogue that caused it. All the justice I can
do you, is to tell you, you are in vile hands; and I am afraid will be
undone in spite of all your sweet innocence; and I believe I shall never
live, after I know it. If you can forgive me, you are exceeding good;
but I shall never forgive myself, that's certain. Howsomever, it will do
you no good to make this known; and may-hap I may live to do you service.
If I can, I will: I am sure I ought.--Master kept your last two or three
letters, and did not send them at all. I am the most abandoned wretch of
wretches. 'J. ARNOLD.'
'You see your undoing has been long hatching. Pray take care of your
sweet self. Mrs. Jewkes is a devil: but in my master's t'other house you
have not one false heart, but myself. Out upon me for a villain!'
My dear father and mother, when you come to this place, I make no doubt
your hair will stand on end as mine does!--O the deceitfulness of the
heart of man!--This John, that I took to be the honestest of men; that
you took for the same; that was always praising you to me, and me to you,
and for nothing so much as for our honest hearts; this very fellow was
all the while a vile hypocrite, and a perfidious wretch, and helping to
carry on my ruin.
But he says so much of himself, that I will only sit down with this sad
reflection, That power and riches never want tools to promote their
vilest ends, and there is nothing so hard to be known as the heart of
man:--I can but pity the poor wretch, since he seems to have great
remorse, and I believe it best to keep his wickedness secret. If it lies
in my way, I will encourage his penitence; for I may possibly make some
discoveries by it.
One thing I should mention in this place; he brought down, in a
portmanteau, all the clothes and things my lady and master had given me,
and moreover two velvet hoods, and a velvet scarf, that used to be worn
by my lady; but I have no comfort in them, or any thing else.
Mrs. Jewkes had the portmanteau brought into my closet, and she shewed me
what was in it; but then locked it up, and said, she would let me have
what I would out of it, when I asked; but if I had the key, it might make
me want to go abroad, may be; and so the confident woman put it in her
pocket.
I gave myself over to sad reflections upon this strange and surprising
discovery of John's, and wept much for him, and for myself too; for now I
see, as he says, my ruin has been long hatching, that I can make no doubt
what my master's honourable professions will end in. What a heap of hard
names does the poor fellow call himself! But what must they deserve,
then, who set him to work? O what has this wicked master to answer for,
to be so corrupt himself, and to corrupt others, who would have been all
innocent; and to carry on a poor plot, I am sure for a gentleman, to ruin
a poor creature, who never did him harm, nor wished him any; and who can
still pray for his happiness, and his repentance?
I can't but wonder what these gentlemen, as they are called, can think of
themselves for these vile doings! John had some inducement; for he hoped
to please his master, who rewarded him and was bountiful to him; and the
same may be said, bad as she is, for this same odious Mrs. Jewkes. But
what inducement has my master for taking so much pains to do the devil's
work for him?--If he loves me, as 'tis falsely called, must he therefore
lay traps for me, to ruin me and make me as bad as himself? I cannot
imagine what good the undoing of such a poor creature as I can procure
him.--To be sure, I am a very worthless body. People, indeed, say I am
handsome; but if I was so, should not a gentleman prefer an honest
servant to a guilty harlot? And must he be more earnest to seduce me,
because I dread of all things to be seduced, and would rather lose my
life than my honesty?
Well, these are strange things to me! I cannot account for them, for my
share; but sure nobody will say, that these fine gentlemen have any
tempter but their own wicked wills!--his naughty master could run away
from me, when he apprehended his servants might discover his vile
attempts upon me in that sad closet affair; but is it not strange that he
should not be afraid of the all-seeing eye, from which even that base
plotting heart of his, in its most secret motions, could not be hid?--But
what avail me these sorrowful reflections? He is and will be wicked, and
designs me a victim to his lawless attempts, if the God in whom I trust,
and to whom I hourly pray, prevent it not.
Tuesday and Wednesday.
I have been hindered by this wicked woman's watching me so close, from
writing on Tuesday; and so I will put both these days together. I have
been a little turn with her for an airing, in the chariot, and walked
several times in the garden; but have always her at my heels.
Mr. Williams came to see us, and took a walk with us once; and while her
back was just turned, (encouraged by the hint he had before given me,) I
said, Sir, I see two tiles upon that parsley-bed; might not one cover
them with mould, with a note between them, on occasion?--A good hint,
said he; let that sunflower by the back-door of the garden be the place;
I have a key to the door; for it is my nearest way to the town.
So I was forced to begin. O what inventions will necessity push us upon!
I hugged myself at the thought; and she coming to us, he said, as if he
was continuing a discourse we were in: No, not extraordinary pleasant.
What's that? what's that? said Mrs. Jewkes.--Only, said he, the town, I'm
saying, is not very pleasant. No, indeed, said she, it is not; it is a
poor town, to my thinking. Are there any gentry in it? said I. And so
we chatted on about the town, to deceive her. But my deceit intended no
hurt to any body.
We then talked of the garden, how large and pleasant, and the like; and
sat down on the tufted slope of the fine fish-pond, to see the fishes
play upon the surface of the water; and she said, I should angle if I
would.
I wish, said I, you'd be so kind to fetch me a rod and baits. Pretty
mistress! said she--I know better than that, I'll assure you, at this
time.--I mean no harm, said I, indeed. Let me tell you, said she. I
know none who have their thoughts more about them than you. A body ought
to look to it where you are. But we'll angle a little to-morrow. Mr.
Williams, who is much afraid of her, turned the discourse to a general
subject. I sauntered in, and left them to talk by themselves; but he
went away to town, and she was soon after me.
I had got to my pen and ink; and I said, I want some paper, Mrs. Jewkes,
(putting what I was about in my bosom:) You know I have written two
letters, and sent them by John. (O how his name, poor guilty fellow,
grieves me!) Well, said she, you have some left; one sheet did for those
two letters. Yes, said I; but I used half another for a cover, you know;
and see how I have scribbled the other half; and so I shewed her a parcel
of broken scraps of verses, which I had tried to recollect, and had
written purposely that she might see, and think me usually employed to
such idle purposes. Ay, said she, so you have; well, I'll give you two
sheets more; but let me see how you dispose of them, either written or
blank. Well, thought I, I hope still, Argus, to be too hard for thee.
Now Argus, the poets say, had a hundred eyes, and was set to watch with
them all, as she does.
She brought me the paper, and said, Now, madam, let me see you write
something. I will, said I; and took the pen and wrote, 'I wish Mrs.
Jewkes would be so good to me, as I would be to her, if I had it in my
power.'--That's pretty now, said she; well, I hope I am; but what then?
'Why then (wrote I) she would do me the favour to let me know, what I
have done to be made her prisoner; and what she thinks is to become of
me.' Well, and what then? said she. 'Why then, of consequence,
(scribbled I,) she would let me see her instructions, that I may know how
far to blame, or to acquit her.'
Thus I fooled on, to shew her my fondness for scribbling; for I had no
expectation of any good from her; that so she might suppose I employed
myself, as I said, to no better purpose at other times: for she will have
it, that I am upon some plot, I am so silent, and love so much to be by
myself.--She would have made me write on a little further. No, said I;
you have not answered me. Why, said she, what can you doubt, when my
master himself assures you of his honour? Ay, said I; but lay your hand
to your heart, Mrs. Jewkes, and tell me, if you yourself believe him.
Yes, said she, to be sure I do. But, said I, what do you call honour?
Why, said she, what does he call honour, think you?--Ruin! shame!
disgrace! said I, I fear.--Pho! pho! said she; if you have any doubt
about it, he can best explain his own meaning:--I'll send him word to
come and satisfy you, if you will.--Horrid creature! said I, all in a
fright--Can'st thou not stab me to the heart? I'd rather thou would'st,
than say such another word!--But I hope there is no such thought of his
coming.
She had the wickedness to say, No, no; he don't intend to come, as I know
of--But if I was he, I would not be long away. What means the woman?
said I.--Mean! said she, (turning it off;) why I mean, I would come, if I
was he, and put an end to all your fears--by making you as happy as you
wish. It is out of his power, said I, to make me happy, great and rich
as he is! but by leaving me innocent, and giving me liberty to go to my
dear father and mother.
She went away soon after, and I ended my letter, in hopes to have an
opportunity to lay it in the appointed place. So I went to her, and
said; I suppose, as it is not dark, I may take another turn in the
garden. It is too late, said she; but if you will go, don't stay; and,
Nan, see and attend madam, as she called me.
So I went towards the pond, the maid following me, and dropt purposely my
hussy: and when I came near the tiles, I said, Mrs. Anne, I have dropt my
hussy; be so kind as to look for it; I had it by the pond side. She went
back to look, and I slipt the note between the tiles, and covered them as
quick as I could with the light mould, quite unperceived; and the maid
finding the hussy, I took it, and sauntered in again, and met Mrs. Jewkes
coming to see after me. What I wrote was this:
'REVEREND SIR,
'The want of an opportunity to speak my mind to you, I am sure will
excuse this boldness in a poor creature that is betrayed hither, I have
reason to think, for the worst of purposes. You know something, to be
sure, of my story, my native poverty, which I am not ashamed of, my late
lady's goodness, and my master's designs upon me. It is true he promises
honour, and all that; but the honour of the wicked is disgrace and shame
to the virtuous: And he may think he keeps his promises, according to the
notions he may allow himself to hold; and yet, according to nine and
every good body's, basely ruin me.
'I am so wretched, and ill-treated by this Mrs. Jewkes, and she is so
ill-principled a woman, that, as I may soon want the opportunity which
the happy hint of this day affords to my hopes, I throw myself at once
upon your goodness, without the least reserve; for I cannot be worse than
I am, should that fail me; which, I dare say, to your power, it will not:
For I see it, sir, in your looks, I hope it from your cloth, and I doubt
it not from your inclination, in a case circumstanced as my unhappy one
is. For, sir, in helping me out of my present distress, you perform all
the acts of religion in one; and the highest mercy and charity, both to
the body and soul of a poor wretch, that, believe me, sir, has, at
present, not so much as in thought swerved from her innocence.
'Is there not some way to be found out for my escape, without danger to
yourself? Is there no gentleman or lady of virtue in this neighbourhood,
to whom I may fly, only till l can find a way to get to my poor father
and mother? Cannot Lady Davers be made acquainted with my sad story, by
your conveying a letter to her? My poor parents are so low in the world,
they can do nothing but break their hearts for me; and that, I fear, will
be the end of it.
'My master promises, if I will be easy, as he calls it, in my present
lot, he will not come down without my consent. Alas! sir, this is
nothing: For what's the promise of a person who thinks himself at liberty
to act as he has done by me? If he comes, it must be to ruin me; and
come to be sure he will, when he thinks he has silenced the clamours of
my friends, and lulled me, as no doubt he hopes, into a fatal security.
'Now, therefore, sir, is all the time I have to work and struggle for the
preservation of my honesty. If I stay till he comes, I am undone. You
have a key to the back garden door; I have great hopes from that. Study,
good sir, and contrive for me. I will faithfully keep your secret.--Yet
I should be loath to have you suffer for me! I say no more, but commit
this to the happy tiles, in the bosom of that earth, where, I hope, my
deliverance will take root, and bring forth such fruit, as may turn to my
inexpressible joy, and your eternal reward, both here and hereafter: As
shall ever pray, 'Your oppressed humble servant.'
Thursday.
This completes a terrible week since my setting out, as I hoped to see
you, my dear father and mother. O how different were my hopes then, from
what they are now! Yet who knows what these happy tiles may produce!
But I must tell you, first, how I have been beaten by Mrs. Jewkes! It is
very true!--And thus it came about:
My impatience was great to walk in the garden, to see if any thing had
offered, answerable to my hopes. But this wicked Mrs. Jewkes would not
let me go without her; and said, she was not at leisure. We had a great
many words about it; for I told her, it was very hard I could not be
trusted to walk by myself in the garden for a little air, but must be
dogged and watched worse than a thief.
She still pleaded her instructions, and said she was not to trust me out
of her sight: And you had better, said she, be easy and contented, I
assure you; for I have worse orders than you have yet found. I remember,
added she, your asking Mr. Williams, If there were any gentry in the
neighbourhood? This makes me suspect you want to get away to them, to
tell your sad dismal story, as you call it.
My heart was at my mouth; for I feared, by that hint, she had seen my
letter under the tiles: O how uneasy I was! At last she said, Well,
since you take on so, you may take a turn, and I will be with you in a
minute.
When I was out of sight of her window, I speeded towards the hopeful
place; but was soon forced to slacken my pace, by her odious voice: Hey-
day, why so nimble, and whither so fast? said she: What! are you upon a
wager? I stopt for her, till her pursy sides were waddled up to me; and
she held by my arm, half out of breath: So I was forced to pass by the
dear place, without daring to look at it.
The gardener was at work a little farther, and so we looked upon him, and
I began to talk about his art; but she said, softly, My instructions are,
not to let you be so familiar with the servants. Why, said I, are you
afraid I should confederate with them to commit a robbery upon my master?
May be I am, said the odious wretch; for to rob him of yourself, would be
the worst that could happen to him, in his opinion.
And pray, said I, walking on, how came I to be his property? What right
has he in me, but such as a thief may plead to stolen goods?--Why, was
ever the like heard? says she.--This is downright rebellion, I protest!--
Well, well, lambkin, (which the foolish often calls me,) if I was in his
place, he should not have his property in you long questionable. Why,
what would you do, said I, if you were he?--Not stand shill-I-shall-I, as
he does; but put you and himself both out of your pain.--Why, Jezebel,
said I, (I could not help it,) would you ruin me by force?--Upon this she
gave me a deadly slap upon my shoulder: Take that, said she; whom do you
call Jezebel?
I was so surprised, (for you never beat me, my dear father and mother, in
your lives,) that I was like one thunder-struck; and looked round, as if
I wanted somebody to help me; but, alas! I had nobody; and said, at last,
rubbing my shoulder, Is this also in your instructions?--Alas! for me! am
I to be beaten too? And so fell a crying, and threw myself upon the
grass-walk we were upon.--Said she, in a great pet, I won't be called
such names, I'll assure you. Marry come up! I see you have a spirit:
You must and shall be kept under. I'll manage such little provoking
things as you, I warrant ye! Come, come, we'll go in a'doors, and I'll
lock you up, and you shall have no shoes, nor any thing else, if this be
the case.
I did not know what to do. This was a cruel thing to me, and I blamed
myself for my free speech; for now I have given her some pretence: and O!
thought I, here I have, by my malapertness, ruined the only project I had
left.
The gardener saw this scene: but she called to him, Well, Jacob, what do
you stare at? Pray mind what you're upon. And away he walked, to
another quarter, out of sight.
Well, thought I, I must put on the dissembler a little, I see. She took
my hand roughly; Come, get up, said she, and come in a'doors!--I'll
Jezebel you, I will so!--Why, dear Mrs. Jewkes, said I.--None of your
dears, and your coaxing! said she; why not Jezebel again?--She was in a
fearful passion, I saw, and I was out of my wits. thought I, I have often
heard women blamed for their tongues; I wish mine had been shorter. But
I can't go in, said I, indeed I can't!--Why, said she, can't you? I'll
warrant I can take such a thin body as you under my arm, and carry you
in, if you won't walk. You don't know my strength.--Yes, but I do, said
I, too well; and will you not use me worse when I come in?--So I arose,
and she muttered to herself all the way, She to be a Jezebel with me,
that had used me so well! and such like.
When I came near the house, I said, sitting down upon a settle-bench,
Well, I will not go in, till you say you forgive me, Mrs. Jewkes.--If you
will forgive my calling you that name, I will forgive your beating me.--
She sat down by me, and seemed in a great pucker, and said, Well, come, I
will forgive you for this time: and so kissed me, as a mark of
reconciliation.--But pray, said I, tell me where I am to walk and go, and
give me what liberty you can; and when I know the most you can favour me
with, you shall see I will be as content as I can, and not ask you for
more.
Ay, said she, this is something like: I wish I could give you all the
liberty you desire; for you must think it is no pleasure to me to tie you
to my petticoat, as it were, and not let you stir without me.--But people
that will do their duties, must have some trouble: and what I do, is to
serve as good a master, to be sure, as lives.--Yes, said I, to every body
but me! He loves you too well, to be sure, returned she; and that's the
reason: so you ought to bear it. I say, love! replied I. Come, said
she, don't let the wench see you have been crying, nor tell her any
tales: for you won't tell them fairly, I am sure: and I'll send her, and
you shall take another walk in the garden, if you will: May be it will
get you a stomach to your dinner: for you don't eat enough to keep life
and soul together. You are beauty to the bone, added the strange wretch,
or you could not look so well as you do, with so little stomach, so
little rest, and so much pining and whining for nothing at all. Well,
thought I, say what thou wilt, so I can be rid of thy bad tongue and
company: and I hope to find some opportunity now to come at my sunflower.
But I walked the other way, to take that in my return, to avoid
suspicion.
I forced my discourse to the maid; but it was all upon general things;
for I find she is asked after every thing I say and do. When I came near
the place, as I had been devising, I said, Pray step to the gardener, and
ask him to gather a sallad for me to dinner. She called out, Jacob! said
I, He can't hear you so far off; and pray tell him, I should like a
cucumber too, if he has one. When she had stept about a bow-shot from
me, I popt down, and whipt my fingers under the upper tile, and pulled
out a letter without direction, and thrust it in my bosom, trembling for
joy. She was with me, before I could well secure it; and I was in such a
taking that I feared I should discover myself. You seem frightened,
madam, said she; Why, said I, with a lucky thought, (alas! your poor
daughter will make an intriguer by and by; but I hope an innocent one!) I
stooped to smell at the sunflower, and a great nasty worm ran into the
ground, that startled me; for I can't abide worms. Said she, Sunflowers
don't smell. So I find, replied I. And then we walked in; and Mrs.
Jewkes said; Well, you have made haste now.--You shall go another time.
I went up to my closet, locked myself in, and opening my letter, found in
it these words:
'I am infinitely concerned for your distress. I most heartily wish it
may be in my power to serve and save so much innocence, beauty, and
merit. My whole dependance is upon Mr. B----, and I have a near view of
being provided for by his favour to me. But yet I would sooner forfeit
all my hopes in him, (trusting in God for the rest,) than not assist you,
if possible. I never looked upon Mr. B---- in the light he now appears
in to me, in your case. To be sure, he is no professed debauchee. But I
am entirely of opinion, you should, if possible, get out of his hands;
and especially as you are in very bad ones in Mrs. Jewkes's.
'We have here the widow Lady Jones, mistress of a good fortune; and a
woman of virtue, I believe. We have also old Sir Simon Darnford, and his
lady, who is a good woman; and they have two daughters, virtuous young
ladies. All the rest are but middling people, and traders, at best. I
will try, if you please, either Lady Jones, or Lady Darnford, if they'll
permit you to take refuge with them. I see no probability of keeping
myself concealed in this matter; but will, as I said, risk all things to
serve you; for I never saw a sweetness and innocence like yours; and your
hard case has attached me entirely to you; for I know, as you so happily
express, if I can serve you in this case, I shall thereby perform all the
acts of religion in one.
'As to Lady Davers, I will convey a letter, if you please, to her; but it
must not be from our post-house, I give you caution; for the man owes all
his bread to Mr. B----, and his place too; and I believe, by something
that dropt from him, over a can of ale, has his instructions. You don't
know how you are surrounded; all which confirms me in your opinion, that
no honour is meant you, let what will be professed; and I am glad you
want no caution on that head.
'Give me leave to say, that I had heard much in your praise; but, I
think, greatly short of what you deserve, both as to person and mind: My
eyes convince me of the one, your letter of the other. For fear of
losing the present lucky opportunity, I am longer than otherwise I should
be. But I will not enlarge, any further than to assure you that I am, to
the best of my power,
'Your faithful friend and servant,
'ARTHUR WILLIAMS.'
'I will come once every morning, and once every evening, after school-
time, to look for your letters. I'll come in, and return without going
into the house, if I see the coast clear: Otherwise, to avoid suspicion,
I'll come in.'
I instantly, in answer to this pleasing letter, wrote as follows:
'REVEREND SIR,
'O how suited to your function, and your character, is your kind letter!
God bless you for it! I now think I am beginning to be happy. I should
be sorry to have you suffer on my account: but I hope it will be made up
to you an hundred-fold, by that God whom you so faithfully serve. I
should be too happy, could I ever have it in my power to contribute in
the least to it. But, alas! to serve me, must be for God's sake only;
for I am poor and lowly in fortune; though in mind, I hope, too high to
do a mean or unworthy deed to gain a kingdom. But I lose time.----
'Any way you think best, I should be pleased with; for I know not the
persons, nor in what manner it is best to apply to them. I am glad of
the hint you so kindly give me of the man at the post-house. I was
thinking of opening a way for myself by letter, when I could have
opportunity; but I see more and more that I am, indeed, strangely
surrounded with dangers; and that there is no dependance to be made on my
master's honour.
'I should think, sir, if either of those ladies would give leave, I might
some way get out by favour of your key: and as it is impossible, watched
as I am, to know when it can be, suppose, sir, you get one made by it,
and put it, the next opportunity, under the sunflower?--I am sure no time
is to be lost, because it is rather my wonder, that she is not thoughtful
about this key, than otherwise; for she forgets not the minutest thing.
But, sir, if I had this key, I could, if these ladies would not shelter
me, run away any where: and if I was once out of the house, they could
have no pretence to force me again; for I have done no harm, and hope to
make my story good to any compassionate body; and by this way you need
not to be known. Torture should not wring it from me, I assure you.
'One thing more, good sir. Have you no correspondence with my master's
Bedfordshire family? By that means, may be, I could be informed of his
intention of coming hither, and when I enclose you a letter of a
deceitful wretch; for I can trust you with any thing; poor John Arnold.
Its contents will tell why I enclose it. Perhaps by his means, something
may be discovered; for he seems willing to atone for his treachery to me,
by the intimation of future service. I leave the hint to you to improve
upon, and am,
'Reverend Sir,
'Your for ever obliged, and thankful servant.'
'I hope, sir, by your favour, I could send a little packet, now and then,
some how, to my poor father and mother. I have a little stock of money,
about five or six guineas: Shall I put half in your hands, to defray the
charge of a man and horse, or any other incidents?'
I had but just time to transcribe this, before I was called to dinner;
and I put that for Mr. Williams, with a wafer in it, in my bosom, to get
an opportunity to lay it in the dear place.
O good sirs, of all the flowers in the garden, the sunflower, sure, is
the loveliest!--It is a propitious one to me! How nobly my plot
succeeds! But I begin to be afraid my writings may be discovered; for
they grow large: I stitch them hitherto in my under-coat, next my linen.
But if this brute should search me--I must try to please her, and then
she won't.
Well, I am but just come off from a walk in the garden, and have
deposited my letter by a simple wile. I got some horse-beans; and we
took a turn in the garden, to angle, as Mrs. Jewkes had promised me. She
baited the hook, and I held it, and soon hooked a lovely carp. Play it,
play it, said she: I did, and brought it to the bank. A sad thought just
then came into my head; and I took it, and threw it in again; and O the
pleasure it seemed to have, to flounce in, when at liberty!--Why this?
says she. O Mrs. Jewkes! said I, I was thinking this poor carp was the
unhappy Pamela. I was likening you and myself to my naughty master. As
we hooked and deceived the poor carp, so was I betrayed by false baits;
and when you said, Play it, play it, it went to my heart, to think I
should sport with the destruction of the poor fish I had betrayed; and I
could not but fling it in again: and did you not see the joy with which
the happy carp flounced from us? O! said I, may some good merciful body
procure me my liberty in the same manner; for to be sure, I think my
danger equal!
Lord bless thee! said she, what a thought is there!--Well, I can angle no
more, added I. I'll try my fortune, said she, and took the rod. Do,
answered I; and I will plant life, if I can, while you are destroying it.
I have some horse-beans here, and will go and stick them in one of the
borders, to see how long they will be coming up; and I will call them my
garden.
So you see, dear father and mother, (I hope now you will soon see; for,
may be, if I can't get away so soon myself, I may send my papers some
how; I say you will see,) that this furnishes me with a good excuse to
look after my garden another time; and if the mould should look a little
freshish, it won't be so much suspected. She mistrusted nothing of this;
and I went and stuck in here and there my beans, for about the length of
five ells, of each side of the sunflower; and easily deposited my letter.
And not a little proud am I of this contrivance. Sure something will do
at last!
Friday, Saturday.
I have just now told you a trick of mine; now I'll tell you a trick of
this wicked woman's. She comes up to me: Says she, I have a bill I
cannot change till to-morrow; and a tradesman wants his money most sadly:
and I don't love to turn poor trades-folks away without their money: Have
you any about you? I have a little, replied I: How much will do? Oh!
said she, I want eight pounds. Alack! said I, I have but between five
and six. Lend me that, said she, till to-morrow. I did so; and she went
down stairs: and when she came up, she laughed, and said, Well, I have
paid the tradesman. Said I, I hope you'll give it me again to-morrow.
At that, the assurance, laughing loud, said, Why, what occasion have you
for money? To tell you the truth, lambkin, I didn't want it. I only
feared you might make a bad use of it; and now I can trust Nan with you a
little oftener, especially as I have got the key of your portmanteau; so
that you can neither corrupt her with money, nor fine things. Never did
any body look more silly than I.--O how I fretted, to be so foolishly
outwitted!--And the more, as I had hinted to Mr. Williams, that I would
put some in his hands to defray the charges of my sending to you. I
cried for vexation.--And now I have not five shillings left to support
me, if I can get away.--Was ever such a fool as I! I must be priding
myself in my contrivances, indeed! said I. Was this your instructions,
wolfkin? (for she called me lambkin). Jezebel, you mean, child! said
she.--Well, I now forgive you heartily; let's buss and be friends.--Out
upon you said I; I cannot bear you!--But I durst not call her names
again; for I dread her huge paw most sadly. The more I think of this
thing, the more do I regret it, and blame myself.
This night the man from the post-house brought a letter for Mrs. Jewkes,
in which was one enclosed for me: She brought it me up. Said she, Well,
my good master don't forget us. He has sent you a letter: and see what
he writes to me. So she read, That he hoped her fair charge was well,
happy, and contented. Ay, to be sure, said I, I can't choose--That he
did not doubt her care and kindness to me: that I was very dear to him,
and she could not use me too well; and the like. There's a master for
you! said she: sure you will love and pray for him. I desired her to
read the rest. No, no, said she, but I won't. Said I, Are there any
orders for taking my shoes away, and for beating me? No, said she, nor
about Jezebel neither. Well, returned I, I cry truce; for I have no mind
to be beat again. I thought, said she, we had forgiven one another.
My letter is as follows:
'MY DEAR PAMELA,
'I begin to repent already, that I have bound myself, by promise, not to
see you till you give me leave; for I think the time very tedious. Can
you place so much confidence in me, as to invite me down? Assure
yourself, that your generosity shall not be thrown away upon me. I the
rather would press this, as I am uneasy for your uneasiness; for Mrs.
Jewkes acquaints me, that you take your restraint very heavily; and
neither eat, drink, nor rest well; and I have too great interest in your
health, not to wish to shorten the time of this trial; which will be the
consequence of my coming down to you. John, too, has intimated to me
your concern, with a grief that hardly gave him leave for utterance; a
grief that a little alarmed my tenderness for you. Not that I fear any
thing, but that your disregard to me, which yet my proud heart will
hardly permit me to own, may throw you upon some rashness, that might
encourage a daring hope: But how poorly do I descend, to be anxious about
such a menial as he!--I will only say one thing, that if you will give me
leave to attend you at the Hall, (consider who it is that requests this
from you as a favour,) I solemnly declare, that you shall have cause to
be pleased with this obliging mark of your confidence in me, and
consideration for me; and if I find Mrs. Jewkes has not behaved to you
with the respect due to one I so dearly love, I will put it entirely into
your power to discharge her the house, if you think proper; and Mrs.
Jervis, or who else you please, shall attend you in her place. This I
say on a hint John gave me, as if you resented something from that
quarter. Dearest Pamela, answer favourably this earnest request of one
that cannot live without you, and on whose honour to you, you may
absolutely depend; and so much the more, as you place a confidence in it.
I am, and assuredly ever will be,
'Your faithful and affectionate, etc.'
'You will be glad, I know, to hear your father and mother are well, and
easy upon your last letter. That gave me a pleasure that I am resolved
you shall not repent. Mrs. Jewkes will convey to me your answer.'
I but slightly read this letter for the present, to give way to one I had
hopes of finding by this time from Mr. Williams. I took an evening turn,
as I called it, in Mrs. Jewkes's company: and walking by the place, I
said, Do you think, Mrs. Jewkes, any of my beans can have struck since
yesterday? She laughed, and said, You are a poor gardener: but I love to
see you divert yourself. She passing on, I found my good friend had
provided for me; and, slipping it in my bosom, (for her back was towards
me,) Here, said I, (having a bean in my hand,) is one of them; but it has
not stirred. No, to be sure, said she, and turned upon me a most wicked
jest, unbecoming the mouth of a woman, about planting, etc. When I came
in, I hied to my closet, and read as follows:
'I am sorry to tell you that I have had a repulse from Lady Jones. She
is concerned at your case, she says, but don't care to make herself
enemies. I applied to Lady Darnford, and told her in the most pathetic
manner I could, your sad story, and shewed her your more pathetic letter.
I found her well disposed, but she would advise with Sir Simon, who by
the by is not a man of an extraordinary character for virtue; but he said
to his lady in my presence, 'Why, what is all this, my dear, but that our
neighbour has a mind to his mother's waiting-maid! And if he takes care
she wants for nothing, I don't see any great injury will be done her. He
hurts no family by this:' (So, my dear father and mother, it seems that
poor people's honesty is to go for nothing) 'And I think, Mr. Williams,
you, of all men, should not engage in this affair, against your friend
and patron.' He spoke this in so determined a manner, that the lady had
done; and I had only to beg no notice should be taken of the matter as
from me.
'I have hinted your case to Mr. Peters, the minister of this parish; but
I am concerned to say, that he imputed selfish views to me, as if I would
make an interest in your affections by my zeal. And when I represented
the duties of our function, and the like, and protested my
disinterestedness, he coldly said, I was very good; but was a young man,
and knew little of the world. And though it was a thing to be lamented,
yet when he and I should set about to reform mankind in this respect, we
should have enough upon our hands; for, he said, it was too common and
fashionable a case to be withstood by a private clergyman or two: and
then he uttered some reflections upon the conduct of the present fathers
of the church, in regard to the first personages of the realm, as a
justification of his coldness on this score.
'I represented the different circumstances of your affair; that other
women lived evilly by their own consent, but to serve you, was to save an
innocence that had but few examples; and then I shewed him your letter.
'He said it was prettily written: and he was sorry for you; and that your
good intentions ought to be encouraged: But what, said he, would you have
me do, Mr. Williams? Why suppose, sir, said I, you give her shelter in
your house, with your spouse and niece, till she can get to her friends.
--What! and embroil myself with a man of Mr. B----'s power and fortune!
No, not I, I'll assure you!--And I would have you consider what you are
about. Besides, she owns, continued he, that he promises to do
honourably by her; and her shyness will procure her good terns enough;
for he is no covetous nor wicked gentleman, except in this case; and 'tis
what all young gentlemen will do.
'I am greatly concerned for him, I assure you: but I am not discouraged
by this ill success, let what will come of it, if I can serve you.
'I don't hear, as yet, that Mr. B---- is coming. I am glad of your hint
as to that unhappy fellow John Arnold. Something, perhaps, will strike
out from that, which may be useful. As to your packets, if you seal them
up, and lay them in the usual place, if you find it not suspected, I will
watch an opportunity to convey them; but if they are large, you had best
be very cautious. This evil woman, I find, mistrusts me much.
'I just hear, that the gentleman is dying, whose living Mr. B---- has
promised me. I have almost a scruple to take it, as I am acting so
contrary to his desires: but I hope he will one day thank me for it. As
to money, don't think of it at present. Be assured you may command all
in my power to do for you without reserve.
'I believe, when we hear he is coming, it will be best to make use of the
key, which I shall soon procure you; and I can borrow a horse for you, I
believe, to wait within half a mile of the back-door, over the pasture;
and will contrive, by myself, or somebody, to have you conducted some
miles distant, to one of the villages thereabouts; so don't be
discomforted, I beseech you. I am, excellent Mrs. Pamela,
'Your faithful friend, etc.'
I made a thousand sad reflections upon the former part of this honest
gentleman's kind letter; and but for the hope he gave me at last, should
have given up my case as quite desperate. I then wrote to thank him most
gratefully for his kind endeavours; to lament the little concern the
gentry had for my deplorable case; the wickedness of the world, first to
give way to such iniquitous fashions, and then plead the frequency of
them, against the attempt to amend them; and how unaffected people were
with the distresses of others. I recalled my former hint as to writing
to Lady Davers, which I feared, I said, would only serve to apprise her
brother, that she knew his wicked scheme, and more harden him in it, and
make him come down the sooner, and to be the more determined on my ruin;
besides that it might make Mr. Williams guessed at, as a means of
conveying my letter: And being very fearful, that if that good lady would
interest herself in my behalf, (which was a doubt, because she both loved
and feared her brother,) it would have no effect upon him; and that
therefore I would wait the happy event I might hope for from his kind
assistance in the key, and the horse. I intimated my master's letter,
begging to be permitted to come down: was fearful it might be sudden; and
that I was of opinion no time was to be lost; for we might let slip all
our opportunities; telling him the money trick of this vile woman, etc.
I had not time to take a copy of this letter, I was so watched. And when
I had it ready in my bosom, I was easy. And so I went to seek out Mrs.
Jewkes, and told her, I would have her advice upon the letter I had
received from my master; which point of confidence in her pleased her not
a little. Ay, said she, now this is something like: and we'll take a
turn in the garden, or where you please. I pretended it was indifferent
to me; and so we walked into the garden. I began to talk to her of the
letter; but was far from acquainting her with all the contents; only that
he wanted my consent to come down, and hoped she used me kindly, and the
like. And I said, Now, Mrs. Jewkes, let me have your advice as to this.
Why then, said she, I will give it you freely; E'en send to him to come
down. It will highly oblige him, and I dare say you'll fare the better
for it. How the better? said I.--I dare say, you think yourself, that he
intends my ruin. I hate, said she, that foolish word, your ruin!--Why,
ne'er a lady in the land may live happier than you if you will, or be
more honourably used.
Well, Mrs. Jewkes, said I, I shall not, at this time, dispute with you
about the words ruin and honourable: for I find we have quite different
notions of both: But now I will speak plainer than ever I did. Do you
think he intends to make proposals to me as to a kept mistress, or kept
slave rather, or do you not?--Why, lambkin, said she, what dost thou
think thyself?--I fear, said I, he does. Well, said she, but if he does,
(for I know nothing of the matter, I assure you,) you may have your own
terms--I see that; for you may do any thing with him.
I could not bear this to be spoken, though it was all I feared of a long
time; and began to exclaim most sadly. Nay, said she, he may marry you,
as far as I know.--No, no, said I, that cannot be.--I neither desire nor
expect it. His condition don't permit me to have such a thought; and
that, and the whole series of his conduct, convinces me of the contrary;
and you would have me invite him to come down, would you? Is not this to
invite my ruin?
'Tis what I would do, said she, in your place; and if it was to be as you
think, I should rather be out of my pain, than live in continual frights
and apprehensions, as you do. No, replied I, an hour of innocence is
worth an age of guilt; and were my life to be made ever so miserable by
it, I should never forgive myself, if I were not to lengthen out to the
longest minute my happy time of honesty. Who knows what Providence may
do for me!
Why, may be, said she, as he loves you so well, you may prevail upon him
by your prayers and tears; and for that reason, I should think, you'd
better let him come down. Well, said I, I will write him a letter,
because he expects an answer, or may be he will make a pretence to come
down. How can it go?
I'll take care of that, said she; it is in my instructions.--Ay, thought
I, so I doubt, by the hint Mr. Williams gave me about the post-house.
The gardener coming by, I said, Mr. Jacob, I have planted a few beans,
and I call the place my garden. It is just by the door out yonder: I'll
shew it you; pray don't dig them up. So I went on with him; and when we
had turned the alley, out of her sight and were near the place said I,
Pray step to Mrs. Jewkes, and ask her if she has any more beans for me to
plant? He smiled, I suppose at my foolishness; and I popped the letter
under the mould, and stepped back, as if waiting for his return; which,
being near, was immediate; and she followed him. What should I do with
beans? said she,--and sadly scared me; for she whispered me, I am afraid
of some fetch! You don't use to send on such simple errands.--What
fetch? said I: It is hard I can neither stir, nor speak, but I must be
suspected.--Why, said she, my master writes, that I must have all my eyes
about me; for though you are as innocent as a dove, yet you are as
cunning as a serpent. But I'll forgive you, if you cheat me.
Then I thought of my money, and could have called her names, had I dared:
And I said, Pray Mrs. Jewkes, now you talk of forgiving me, if I cheat
you, be so kind as to pay me my money; for though I have no occasion for
it, yet I know you was but in jest, and intended to give it me again.
You shall have it in a proper time, said she; but, indeed, I was in
earnest to get it out of your hands, for fear you should make an ill use
of it. And so we cavilled upon this subject as we walked in, and I went
up to write my letter to my master; and, as I intended to shew it her, I
resolved to write accordingly as to her part of it; for I made little
account of his offer of Mrs. Jervis to me, instead of this wicked woman,
(though the most agreeable thing that could have befallen me, except my
escape from hence,) nor indeed any thing he said. For to be honourable,
in the just sense of the word, he need not have caused me to be run away
with, and confined as I am. I wrote as follows:
'HONOURED SIR,
'When I consider how easily you might make me happy, since all I desire
is to be permitted to go to my poor father and mother; when I reflect
upon your former proposal to me in relation to a certain person, not one
word of which is now mentioned; and upon my being in that strange manner
run away with, and still kept here a miserable prisoner; do you think,
sir, (pardon your poor servant's freedom; my fears make me bold; do you
think, I say,) that your general assurances of honour to me, can have the
effect upon me, that, were it not for these things, all your words ought
to have?--O, good sir! I too much apprehend that your notions of honour
and mine are very different from one another: and I have no other hopes
but in your continued absence. If you have any proposals to make me,
that are consistent with your honourable professions, in my humble sense
of the word, a few lines will communicate them to me, and I will return
such an answer as befits me. But, oh! What proposals can one in your
high station have to make to one in my low one! I know what belongs to
your degree too well, to imagine, that any thing can be expected but sad
temptations, and utter distress, if you come down; and you know not, sir,
when I am made desperate, what the wretched Pamela dares to do!
'Whatever rashness you may impute to me, I cannot help it; but I wish I
may not be forced upon any, that otherwise would never enter into my
thoughts. Forgive me, sir, my plainness; I should be loath to behave to
my master unbecomingly; but I must needs say, sir, my innocence is so
dear to me, that all other considerations are, and, I hope, shall ever
be, treated by me as niceties, that ought, for that, to be dispensed
with. If you mean honourably, why, sir, should you not let me know it
plainly? Why is it necessary to imprison me, to convince me of it? And
why must I be close watched, and attended, hindered from stirring out,
from speaking to any body, from going so much as to church to pray for
you, who have been, till of late, so generous a benefactor to me? Why,
sir, I humbly ask, why all this, if you mean honourably?--It is not for
me to expostulate so freely, but in a case so near to me, with you, sir,
so greatly my superior. Pardon me, I hope you will; but as to seeing
you, I cannot bear the dreadful apprehension. Whatever you have to
propose, whatever you intend by me, let my assent be that of a free
person, mean as I am, and not of a sordid slave, who is to be threatened
and frightened into a compliance with measures, which your conduct to her
seems to imply would be otherwise abhorred by her.--My restraint is
indeed hard upon me: I am very uneasy under it. Shorten it, I beseech
you, or--but I will not dare to say more, than that I am
'Your greatly oppressed unhappy servant.'
After I had taken a copy of this, I folded it up; and Mrs. Jewkes, coming
just as I had done, sat down by me; and said, when she saw me direct it,
I wish you would tell me if you have taken my advice, and consented to my
master's coming down. If it will oblige you, said I, I will read it to
you. That's good, said she; then I'll love you dearly.--Said I, Then you
must not offer to alter one word. I won't, replied she. So I read it to
her, and she praised me much for my wording it; but said she thought I
pushed the matter very close; and it would better bear talking of, than
writing about. She wanted an explanation or two, as about the proposal
to a certain person; but I said, she must take it as she heard it. Well,
well, said she, I make no doubt you understand one another, and will do
so more and more. I sealed up the letter, and she undertook to convey
it.
Sunday.
For my part, I knew it in vain to expect to have leave to go to church
now, and so I did not ask; and I was the more indifferent, because, if I
might have had permission, the sight of the neighbouring gentry, who had
despised my sufferings, would have given me great regret and sorrow; and
it was impossible I should have edified under any doctrine preached by
Mr. Peters: So I applied myself to my private devotions.
Mr. Williams came yesterday, and this day, as usual, and took my letter;
but, having no good opportunity, we avoided one another's conversation,
and kept at a distance: But I was concerned I had not the key; for I
would not have lost a moment in that case, had I been he, and he I. When
I was at my devotion, Mrs. Jewkes came up, and wanted me sadly to sing
her a psalm, as she had often on common days importuned me for a song
upon the spinnet: but I declined it, because my spirits were so low I
could hardly speak, nor cared to be spoken to; but when she was gone, I
remembering the cxxxviith psalm to be a little touching, turned to it,
and took the liberty to alter it, somewhat nearer to my case. I hope I
did not sin in it; but thus I turned it:
I.
When sad I sat in B----n Hall,
All guarded round about,
And thought of ev'ry absent friend,
The tears for grief burst out.
II.
My joys and hopes all overthrown,
My heart-strings almost broke,
Unfit my mind for melody,
Much more to bear a joke.
III.
Then she to whom I pris'ner was,
Said to me, tauntingly,
Now cheer your heart, and sing a song
And tune your mind to joy.
IV.
Alas! said I, how can I frame
My heavy heart to sing,
Or tune my mind, while thus enthrall'd
By such a wicked thing!
V.
But yet, if from my innocence
I, ev'n in thought, should slide,
Then let my fingers quite forget
The sweet spinnet to guide.
VI.
And let my tongue within my mouth
Be lock'd for ever fast,
If I rejoice, before I see
My full deliv'rance past.
VII.
And thou, Almighty, recompense
The evils I endure,
From those who seek my sad disgrace,
So causeless, to procure.
VIII.
Remember, Lord, this Mrs. Jewkes,
When, with a mighty sound,
She cries, Down with her chastity,
Down to the very ground!
IX.
Ev'n so shalt thou, O wicked one!
At length to shame be brought,
And happy shall all those be call'd
That my deliv'rance wrought.
X.
Yea, blessed shall the man be called
That shames thee of thy evil,
And saves me from thy vile attempts,
And thee, too, from the D---l.
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday.
I write now with a little more liking, though less opportunity, because
Mr. Williams has got a large parcel of my papers, safe in his hands, to
send them to you, as he has opportunity; so I am not quite uselessly
employed: and I am delivered besides, from the fear of their being found,
if I should be searched, or discovered. I have been permitted to take an
airing, five or six miles, with Mrs. Jewkes: But, though I know not the
reason, she watches me more closely than ever; so that we have
discontinued, by consent, for these three days, the sunflower
correspondence.
The poor cook-maid has had a bad mischance; for she has been hurt much by
a bull in the pasture, by the side of the garden, not far from the back-
door. Now this pasture I am to cross, which is about half a mile, and
then is a common, and near that a private horse-road, where I hope to
find an opportunity for escaping, as soon as Mr. Williams can get me a
horse, and has made all ready for me: for he has got me the key, which he
put under the mould, just by the door, as he found an opportunity to hint
to me.
He just now has signified, that the gentleman is dead, whose living he
has had hope of; and he came pretendedly to tell Mrs. Jewkes of it; and
so could speak this to her before me. She wished him joy. See what the
world is! One man's death is another man's joy. Thus we thrust out one
another!--My hard case makes me serious. He found means to slide a
letter into my hands, and is gone away: He looked at me with such respect
and solemness at parting, that Mrs. Jewkes said, Why, madam, I believe
our young parson is half in love with you.--Ah! Mrs. Jewkes, said I, he
knows better. Said she, (I believe to sound me,) Why, I can't see you
can either of you do better; and I have lately been so touched for you,
seeing how heavily you apprehend dishonour from my master, that I think
it is pity you should not have Mr. Williams.
I knew this must be a fetch of hers; because, instead of being troubled
for me, as she pretended, she watched me closer, and him too: and so I
said, There is not the man living that I desire to marry. If I can but
keep myself honest, it is all my desire: And to be a comfort and
assistance to my poor parents, if it should be my happy lot to be so, is
the very top of my ambition. Well, but, said she, I have been thinking
very seriously, that Mr. Williams would make you a good husband; and as
he will owe all his fortune to my master, he will be very glad, to be
sure, to be obliged to him for a wife of his choosing: especially, said
she, such a pretty one, and one so ingenious, and genteelly educated.
This gave me a doubt, whether she knew of my master's intimation of that
sort formerly; and I asked her, if she had reason to surmise that that
was in view? No, she said; it was only her own thought; but it was very
likely that my master had either that in view, or something better for
me. But, if I approved of it, she would propose such a thing to her
master directly; and gave a detestable hint, that I might take
resolutions upon it, of bringing such an affair to effect. I told her I
abhorred her vile insinuation; and as to Mr. Williams, I thought him a
civil good sort of man; but, as on one side, he was above me; so, on the
other, I said of all things I did not love a parson. So, finding she
could make nothing of me, she quitted the subject. I will open his
letter by and by, and give you the contents of it; for she is up and down
so much, that I am afraid of her surprising me.
Well, I see Providence has not abandoned me: I shall be under no
necessity to make advances to Mr. Williams, if I was (as I am sure I am
not) disposed to it. This is his letter:
'I know not how to express myself, lest I should appear to you to have a
selfish view in the service I would do you. But I really know but one
effectual and honourable way to disengage yourself from the dangerous
situation you are in. It is that of marriage with some person that you
could make happy in your approbation. As for my own part, it would be,
as things stand, my apparent ruin; and, worse still, I should involve you
in misery too. But, yet, so great is my veneration for you, and so
entire my reliance on Providence, upon so just an occasion, that I should
think myself but too happy, if I might be accepted. I would, in this
case, forego all my expectations, and be your conductor to some safe
distance. But why do I say, in this case? That I will do, whether you
think fit to reward me so eminently or not: And I will, the moment I hear
of Mr. B----'s setting out, (and I think now I have settled a very good
method of intelligence of all his motions,) get a horse ready, and myself
to conduct you. I refer myself wholly to your goodness and direction;
and am, with the highest respect,
'Your most faithful humble servant.'
'Don't think this a sudden resolution. I always admired your hear-say
character; and the moment I saw you, wished to serve so much excellence.'
What shall I say, my dear father and mother, to this unexpected
declaration? I want, now, more than ever, your blessing and direction.
But, after all, I have no mind to marry; I had rather live with you. But
yet, I would marry a man who begs from door to door, and has no home nor
being, rather than endanger my honesty. Yet I cannot, methinks, hear of
being a wife.--After a thousand different thoughts, I wrote as follows:
'REVEREND SIR,
'I am greatly confused at the contents of your last. You are much too
generous, and I can't bear you should risk all your future prospects for
so unworthy a creature. I cannot think of your offer without equal
concern and gratitude: for nothing, but to avoid my utter ruin, can make
me think of a change of condition; and so, sir, you ought not to accept
of such an involuntary compliance, as mine would be, were I, upon the
last necessity, to yield to your very generous proposal. I will rely
wholly upon your goodness to me, in assisting my escape; but shall not,
on your account principally, think of the honour you propose for me at
present; and never, but at the pleasure of my parents; who, poor as they
are, in such a weighty point, are as much entitled to my obedience and
duty, as if they were ever so rich. I beg you, therefore, sir, not to
think of any thing from me, but everlasting gratitude, which shall always
bind me to be 'Your most obliged servant.'
Thursday, Friday, Saturday, the 14th, 15th, and 16th, of my bondage.
Mrs. Jewkes has received a letter, and is much civiller to me, and Mr.
Williams too, than she used to be. I wonder I have not one in answer to
mine to my master. I suppose I put the matter too home to him: and he is
angry. I am not the more pleased with her civility; for she is horrid
cunning, and is not a whit less watchful. I laid a trap to get at her
instructions, which she carries in the bosom of her stays; but it has not
succeeded.
My last letter is come safe to Mr. Williams by the old conveyance, so
that he is not suspected. He has intimated, that though I have not come
so readily as he hoped into his scheme, yet his diligence shall not be
slackened, and he will leave it to Providence and himself to dispose of
him as he shall be found to deserve. He has signified to me, that he
shall soon send a special messenger with the packet to you, and I have
added to it what has occurred since.
Sunday.
I am just now quite astonished!--I hope all is right!--but I have a
strange turn to acquaint you with. Mr. Williams and Mrs. Jewkes came to
me both together; he in ecstacies, she with a strange fluttering sort of
air. Well, said she, Mrs. Pamela, I give you joy! I give you joy!--Let
nobody speak but me! Then she sat down, as out of breath, puffing and
blowing. Why, every thing turns as I said it would! said she: Why, there
is to be a match between you and Mr. Williams! Well, I always thought
it. Never was so good a master!--Go to, go to, naughty, mistrustful Mrs.
Pamela; nay, Mrs. Williams, said the forward creature, I may as good call
you: you ought on your knees to beg his pardon a thousand times for
mistrusting him.
She was going on; but I said, Don't torture me thus, I beseech you, Mrs.
Jewkes. Let me know all!--Ah! Mr. Williams, said I, take care, take
care!--Mistrustful again! said she: Why, Mr. Williams, shew her your
letter, and I will shew her mine: they were brought by the same hand.
I trembled at the thoughts of what this might mean; and said, You have so
surprised me, that I cannot stand, nor hear, nor read! Why did you come
up in such a manner to attack such weak spirits? said he, to Mrs. Jewkes,
Shall we leave our letters with Mrs. Pamela, and let her recover from her
surprise? Ay, said she, with all my heart; here is nothing but flaming
honour and good will! And so saying, they left me their letters and
withdrew.
My heart was quite sick with the surprise, so that I could not presently
read them, notwithstanding my impatience; but, after a while, recovering,
I found the contents thus strange and unexpected:
'MR. WILLIAMS,
'The death of Mr. Fownes has now given me the opportunity I have long
wanted, to make you happy, and that in a double respect: For I shall soon
put you in possession of his living; and, if you have the art of making
yourself well received, of one of the loveliest wives in England. She
has not been used (as she has reason to think) according to her merit;
but when she finds herself under the protection of a man of virtue and
probity, and a happy competency to support life in the manner to which
she has been of late years accustomed, I am persuaded she will forgive
those seeming hardships which have paved the way to so happy a lot, as I
hope it will be to you both. I have only to account for and excuse the
odd conduct I have been guilty of, which I shall do when I see you: but
as I shall soon set out for London, I believe it will not be yet this
month. Mean time, if you can prevail with Pamela, you need not suspend
for that your mutual happiness; only let me have notice of it first, and
that she approves of it; which ought to be, in so material a point,
entirely at her option; as I assure you, on the other hand, I would have
it at yours, that nothing may be wanting to complete your happiness.
'I am your humble servant.'
Was ever the like heard?--Lie still, my throbbing heart, divided as thou
art, between thy hopes and thy fears!--But this is the letter Mrs. Jewkes
left with me:
'MRS. JEWKES,
'You have been very careful and diligent in the task, which, for reasons
I shall hereafter explain, I had imposed upon you. Your trouble is now
almost at an end; for I have written my intentions to Mr. Williams so
particularly, that I need say the less here, because he will not scruple,
I believe, to let you know the contents of my letter. I have only one
thing to mention, that if you find what I have hinted to him in the least
measure disagreeable to either, you assure them both, that they are at
entire liberty to pursue their own inclinations. I hope you continue
your civilities to the mistrustful, uneasy Pamela, who now will begin to
think better of hers and 'Your friend, etc.'
I had hardly time to transcribe these letters, though, writing so much, I
write pretty fast, before they both came up again in high spirits; and
Mr. Williams said, I am glad at my heart, madam, that I was beforehand in
my declarations to you: this generous letter has made me the happiest man
on earth; and, Mrs. Jewkes, you may be sure, that if I can procure this
fair one's consent, I shall think myself--I interrupted the good man, and
said, Ah! Mr. Williams, take care, take care; don't let--There I stopt;
and Mrs. Jewkes said, Still mistrustful!--I never saw the like in my
life!--But I see, said she, I was not wrong, while my old orders lasted,
to be wary of you both--I should have had a hard task to prevent you, I
find; for, as the saying is, Nought can restrain consent of twain.
I doubted not her taking hold of his joyful indiscretion.--I took her
letter, and said, Here, Mrs. Jewkes, is yours; I thank you for it; but I
have been so long in a maze, that I can say nothing of this for the
present. Time will bring all to light.--Sir, said I, here is yours: May
every thing turn to your happiness! I give you joy of my master's
goodness in the living.--It will be dying, said he, not a living, without
you.--Forbear, sir, said I; while I have a father and mother, I am not my
own mistress, poor as they are; and I'll see myself quite at liberty,
before I shall think myself fit to make a choice.
Mrs. Jewkes held up her eyes and hands, and said, Such art, such caution,
such cunning, for thy years!--Well!--Why, said I, (that he might be more
on his guard, though I hope there cannot be deceit in this; 'twould be
strange villany, and that is a hard word, if there should!) I have been
so used to be made a fool of by fortune, that I hardly can tell how to
govern myself; and am almost an infidel as to mankind. But I hope I may
be wrong; henceforth, Mrs. Jewkes, you shall regulate my opinions as you
please, and I will consult you in every thing--(that I think proper, said
I to myself)--for, to be sure, though I may forgive her, I can never love
her.
She left Mr. Williams and me, a few minutes, together; and I said,
Consider, sir, consider what you have done. 'Tis impossible, said he,
there can be deceit. I hope so, said I; but what necessity was there for
you to talk of your former declaration? Let this be as it will, that
could do no good, especially before this woman. Forgive me, sir; they
talk of women's promptness of speech; but, indeed, I see an honest heart
is not always to be trusted with itself in bad company.
He was going to reply, but though her task is said to be ALMOST (I took
notice of that word) at an end, she came up to us again, and said; Well,
I had a good mind to show you the way to church to-morrow. I was glad of
this, because, though in my present doubtful situation I should not have
chosen it, yet I would have encouraged her proposal, to be able to judge
by her being in earnest or otherwise, whether one might depend upon the
rest. But Mr. Williams again indiscreetly helped her to an excuse, by
saying, that it was now best to defer it one Sunday, and till matters
were riper for my appearance: and she readily took hold of it, and
confirmed his opinion.
After all, I hope the best: but if this should turn out to be a plot, I
fear nothing but a miracle can save me. But, sure the heart of man is
not capable of such black deceit. Besides, Mr. Williams has it under his
own hand, and he dare not but be in earnest: and then again, though to be
sure he has been very wrong to me, yet his education, and parents'
example, have neither of them taught him such very black contrivances.
So I will hope for the best.
Mr. Williams, Mrs. Jewkes, and I, have been all three walking together in
the garden; and she pulled out her key, and we walked a little in the
pasture to look at the bull, an ugly, grim, surly creature, that hurt the
poor cook-maid; who is got pretty well again. Mr. Williams pointed at
the sunflower, but I was forced to be very reserved to him; for the poor
gentleman has no guard, no caution at all.
We have just supped together, all three: and I cannot yet think that all
must be right.--Only I am resolved not to marry, if I can help it; and I
will give no encouragement, I am resolved, at least, till I am with you.
Mr. Williams said, before Mrs. Jewkes, he would send a messenger with a
letter to my father and mother.--I think the man has no discretion in the
world: but l desire you will send no answer, till I have the pleasure and
happiness which now I hope for soon, of seeing you. He will, in sending
my packet, send a most tedious parcel of stuff, of my oppressions, my
distresses, my fears; and so I will send this with it; (for Mrs. Jewkes
gives me leave to send a letter to my father, which looks well;) and I am
glad I can conclude, after all my sufferings, with my hopes, to be soon
with you, which I know will give you comfort; and so I rest, begging the
continuance of your prayers and blessings,
Your ever dutiful DAUGHTER.
MY DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
I have so much time upon my hands that I must write on, to employ myself.
The Sunday evening, where I left off, Mrs. Jewkes asked me, If I chose to
be by myself; I said, Yes, with all my heart, if she pleased. Well, said
she, after to-night you shall. I asked her for more paper; and she gave
me a bottle of ink, eight sheets of paper, which she said was all her
store, (for now she would get me to write for her to our master, if she
had occasion,) and six pens, with a piece of sealing wax. This looks
mighty well.
She pressed me, when she came to bed, very much, to give encouragement to
Mr. Williams, and said many things in his behalf; and blamed my shyness
to him. I told her, I was resolved to give no encouragement, till I had
talked to my father and mother. She said, he fancied I thought of
somebody else, or I could never be so insensible. I assured her, as I
could do very safely, that there was not a man on earth I wished to have:
and as to Mr. Williams, he might do better by far: and I had proposed so
much happiness in living with my poor father and mother, that I could not
think of any scheme of life with pleasure, till I had tried that. I
asked her for my money; and she said, it was above in her strong box, but
that I should have it to-morrow. All these things look well, as I said.
Mr. Williams would go home this night, though late, because he would
despatch a messenger to you with a letter he had proposed from himself,
and my packet. But pray don't encourage him, as I said; for he is much
too heady and precipitate as to this matter, in my way of thinking;
though, to be sure, he is a very good man, and I am much obliged to him.
Monday morning.
Alas-a-day! we have bad news from poor Mr. Williams. He has had a sad
mischance; fallen among rogues in his way home last night: but by good
chance has saved my papers. This is the account he gives of it to Mrs.
Jewkes:
'GOOD MRS. JEWKES,
'I have had a sore misfortune in going from you. When I had got as near
the town as the dam, and was going to cross the wooden bridge, two
fellows got hold of me, and swore bitterly they would kill me, if I did
not give them what I had. They rummaged my pockets, and took from me my
snuff-box, my seal-ring, and half a guinea, and some silver, and
halfpence; also my handkerchief, and two or three letters I had in my
pockets. By good fortune, the letter Mrs. Pamela gave me was in my
bosom, and so that escaped but they bruised my head and face, and cursing
me for having no more money, tipped me into the dam, crying, be there,
parson, till to-morrow! My shins and knees were bruised much in the fall
against one of the stumps; and I had like to have been suffocated in
water and mud. To be sure, I shan't be able to stir out this day or two:
for I am a frightful spectacle! My hat and wig I was forced to leave
behind me, and go home, a mile and a half, without; but they were found
next morning, and brought me, with my snuff-box, which the rogues must
have dropped. My cassock is sadly torn, as is my band. To be sure, I
was much frightened, for a robbery in these parts has not been known many
years. Diligent search is making after the rogues. My humble respects
to good Mrs. Pamela: if she pities my misfortunes, I shall be the sooner
well, and fit to wait on her and you. This did not hinder me in writing
a letter, though with great pain, as I do this, (To be sure this good man
can keep no secret!) and sending it away by a man and horse, this
morning. I am, good Mrs. Jewkes,
'Your most obliged humble servant.'
'God be praised it is no worse! And I find I have got no cold, though
miserably wet from top to toe. My fright, I believe, prevented me from
catching cold: for I was not rightly myself for some hours, and know not
how I got home. I will write a letter of thanks this night, if I am
able, to my kind patron, for his inestimable goodness to me. I wish I
was enabled to say all I hope, with regard to the better part of his
bounty to me, incomparable Mrs. Pamela.'
The wicked brute fell a laughing, when she had read this letter, till her
fat sides shook. Said she, I can but think how the poor parson looked,
after parting with his pretty mistress in such high spirits, when he
found himself at the bottom of the dam! And what a figure he must cut in
his tattered band and cassock, and without a hat and wig, when he got
home. I warrant, added she, he was in a sweet pickle!--I said, I thought
it was very barbarous to laugh at such a misfortune; but she replied, As
he was safe, she laughed; otherwise she would have been sorry: and she
was glad to see me so concerned for him--It looked promising, she said.
I heeded not her reflections; but as I have been used to causes for
mistrusts, I cannot help saying, that I don't like this thing: And their
taking his letters most alarms me.--How happy it was they missed my
packet! I knew not what to think of it!--But why should I let every
accident break my peace? Yet it will do so, while I stay here.
Mrs. Jewkes is mightily at me, to go with her in the chariot, to visit
Mr. Williams. She is so officious to bring on the affair between us,
that, being a cunning, artful woman, I know not what to make of it: I
have refused her absolutely; urging, that except I intended to encourage
his suit, I ought not to do it. And she is gone without me.
I have strange temptations to get away in her absence, for all these fine
appearances. 'Tis sad to have nobody to advise with!--I know not what to
do. But, alas for me! I have no money, if I should, to buy any body's
civilities, or to pay for necessaries or lodgings. But I'll go into the
garden, and resolve afterwards----
I have been in the garden, and to the back-door: and there I stood, my
heart up at my mouth. I could not see I was watched; so this looks well.
But if any thing should go bad afterwards, I should never forgive myself,
for not taking this opportunity. Well, I will go down again, and see if
all is clear, and how it looks out at the back-door in the pasture.
To be sure, there is witchcraft in this house; and I believe Lucifer is
bribed, as well as all about me, and is got into the shape of that nasty
grim bull to watch me!--For I have been again, and ventured to open the
door, and went out about a bow-shot into the pasture; but there stood
that horrid bull, staring me full in the face, with fiery saucer eyes, as
I thought. So I got in again, for fear he should come at me. Nobody saw
me, however.--Do you think there are such things as witches and spirits?
If there be, I believe, in my heart, Mrs. Jewkes has got this bull of her
side. But yet, what could I do without money, or a friend'--O this
wicked woman! to trick me so! Every thing, man, woman, and beast, is in
a plot against your poor Pamela, I think!--Then I know not one step of
the way, nor how far to any house or cottage; and whether I could gain
protection, if I got to a house: And now the robbers are abroad too, I
may run into as great danger as I want to escape; nay, greater much, if
these promising appearances hold: And sure my master cannot be so black
as that they should not!--What can I do?--I have a good mind to try for
it once more; but then I may be pursued and taken: and it will be worse
for me; and this wicked woman will beat me, and take my shoes away, and
lock me up.
But, after all, if my master should mean well, he can't be angry at my
fears, if I should escape; and nobody can blame me; and I can more easily
be induced, with you, when all my apprehensions are over, to consider his
proposal of Mr. Williams, than I could here; and he pretends, as you have
read in his letter, he will leave me to my choice: Why then should I be
afraid? I will go down again, I think! But yet my heart misgives me,
because of the difficulties before me, in escaping; and being so poor and
so friendless!--O good God! the preserver of the innocent! direct me what
to do!
Well, I have just now a sort of strange persuasion upon me, that I ought
to try to get way, and leave the issue to Providence. So, once more--
I'll see, at least, if this bull be still there.
Alack-a-day! what a fate is this! I have not the courage to go, neither
can I think to stay. But I must resolve. The gardener was in sight last
time; so made me come up again. But I'll contrive to send him out of the
way, if I can:--For if I never should have such another opportunity, I
could not forgive myself. Once more I'll venture. God direct my
footsteps, and make smooth my path and my way to safety!
Well, here I am, come back again! frightened, like a fool, out of all my
purposes! O how terrible every thing appears to me! I had got twice as
far again, as I was before, out of the back-door: and I looked and saw
the bull, as I thought, between me and the door; and another bull coming
towards me the other way: Well, thought I, here is double witchcraft, to
be sure! Here is the spirit of my master in one bull, and Mrs. Jewkes's
in the other. And now I am gone, to be sure! O help! cried I, like a
fool, and ran back to the door, as swift as if I flew. When I had got
the door in my hand, I ventured to look back, to see if these supposed
bulls were coming; and I saw they were only two poor cows, a grazing in
distant places, that my fears had made all this rout about. But as every
thing is so frightful to me, I find I am not fit to think of my escape:
for I shall be as much frightened at the first strange man that I meet
with: and I am persuaded that fear brings one into more dangers, than the
caution, that goes along with it, delivers one from.
I then locked the door, and put the key in my pocket, and was in a sad
quandary; but I was soon determined; for the maid Nan came in sight, and
asked, if any thing was the matter, that I was so often up and down
stairs? God forgive me, (but I had a sad lie at my tongue's end,) said
I; Though Mrs. Jewkes is sometimes a little hard upon me, yet I know not
where I am without her: I go up, and I come down to walk about in the
garden; and, not having her, know scarcely what to do with myself. Ay,
said the ideot, she is main good company, madam, no wonder you miss her.
So here I am again, and here likely to be; for I have no courage to help
myself any where else. O why are poor foolish maidens tried with such
dangers, when they have such weak minds to grapple with them!--I will,
since it is so, hope the best: but yet I cannot but observe how
grievously every thing makes against me: for here are the robbers; though
I fell not into their hands myself, yet they gave me as much terror, and
had as great an effect upon my fears, as if I had: And here is the bull;
it has as effectually frightened me, as if I had been hurt by it instead
of the cook-maid; and so these joined together, as I may say, to make a
very dastard of me. But my folly was the worst of all, because that
deprived me of my money: for had I had that, I believe I should have
ventured both the bull and the robbers.
Monday afternoon.
So, Mrs. Jewkes is returned from her visit: Well, said she, I would have
you set your heart at rest; for Mr. Williams will do very well again. He
is not half so bad as he fancied. O these scholars, said she, they have
not the hearts of mice! He has only a few scratches on his face; which,
said she, I suppose he got by grappling among the gravel at the bottom of
the dam, to try to find a hole in the ground, to hide himself from the
robbers. His shin and his knee are hardly to be seen to ail any thing.
He says in his letter, he was a frightful spectacle: He might be so,
indeed, when he first came in a doors; but he looks well enough now: and,
only for a few groans now and then, when he thinks of his danger, I see
nothing is the matter with him. So, Mrs. Pamela, said she, I would have
you be very easy about it. I am glad of it, said I, for all your jokes,
to Mrs. Jewkes.
Well, said she, he talks of nothing but you: and when I told him I would
fain have persuaded you to come with me, the man was out of his wits with
his gratitude to me: and so has laid open all his heart to me, and told
me all that has passed, and was contriving between you two. This alarmed
me prodigiously; and the rather, as I saw, by two or three instances,
that his honest heart could keep nothing, believing every one as
undesigning as himself. I said, but yet with a heavy heart, Ah! Mrs.
Jewkes, Mrs. Jewkes, this might have done with me, had he had any thing
that he could have told you of. But you know well enough, that had we
been disposed, we had no opportunity for it, from your watchful care and
circumspection. No, said she, that's very true, Mrs. Pamela; not so much
as for that declaration that he owned before me, he had found
opportunity, for all my watchfulness, to make you. Come, come, said she,
no more of these shams with me! You have an excellent head-piece for
your years; but may be I am as cunning as you.--However, said she, all is
well now; because my watchments are now over, by my master's direction.
How have you employed yourself in my absence?
I was so troubled at what might have passed between Mr. Williams and her,
that I could not hide it; and she said, Well, Mrs. Pamela, since all
matters are likely to be so soon and so happily ended, let me advise you
to be a little less concerned at his discoveries; and make me your
confidant, as he has done, and I shall think you have some favour for me,
and reliance upon me; and perhaps you might not repent it.
She was so earnest, that I mistrusted she did this to pump me; and I knew
how, now, to account for her kindness to Mr. Williams in her visit to
him; which was only to get out of him what she could. Why, Mrs. Jewkes,
said I, is all this fishing about for something, where there is nothing,
if there be an end of your watchments, as you call them? Nothing, said
she, but womanish curiosity, I'll assure you; for one is naturally led to
find out matters, where there is such privacy intended. Well, said I,
pray let me know what he has said; and then I'll give you an answer to
your curiosity. I don't care, said she, whether you do or not for I have
as much as I wanted from him; and I despair of getting out of you any
thing you ha'n't a mind I should know, my little cunning dear.--Well,
said I, let him have said what he would, I care not: for I am sure he can
say no harm of me; and so let us change the talk.
I was the easier, indeed, because, for all her pumps, she gave no hints
of the key and the door, etc. which, had he communicated to her, she
would not have forborne giving me a touch of.--And so we gave up one
another, as despairing to gain our ends of each other. But I am sure he
must have said more than he should.--And I am the more apprehensive all
is not right, because she has now been actually, these two hours, shut up
a writing; though she pretended she had given me up all her stores of
papers, etc. and that I should write for her. I begin to wish I had
ventured every thing and gone off, when I might. O when will this state
of doubt and uneasiness end!
She has just been with me, and says she shall send a messenger to
Bedfordshire; and he shall carry a letter of thanks for me, if I will
write it for my master's favour to me. Indeed, said I, I have no thanks
to give, till I am with my father and mother: and besides, I sent a
letter, as you know; but have had no answer to it. She said, she thought
that his letter to Mr. Williams was sufficient; and the least I could do
was to thank him, if but in two lines. No need of it, said I; for I
don't intend to have Mr. Williams: What then is that letter to me? Well,
said she, I see thou art quite unfathomable!
I don't like all this. O my foolish fears of bulls and robbers!--For now
all my uneasiness begins to double upon me. O what has this incautious
man said! That, no doubt, is the subject of her long letter.
I will close this day's writing, with just saying, that she is mighty
silent and reserved, to what she was: and says nothing but No, or Yes, to
what I ask. Something must be hatching, I doubt!--I the rather think so,
because I find she does not keep her word with me, about lying by myself,
and my money; to both which points she returned suspicious answers,
saying, as to the one, Why, you are mighty earnest for your money; I
shan't run away with it. And to the other, Good-lack! you need not be so
willing, as I know of, to part with me for a bed-fellow, till you are
sure of one you like better. This cut me to the heart; and, at the same
time, stopped my mouth.
Tuesday, Wednesday.
Mr. Williams has been here; but we have had no opportunity to talk
together: He seemed confounded at Mrs. Jewkes's change of temper, and
reservedness, after her kind visit, and their freedom with one another,
and much more at what I am going to tell you. He asked, If I would take
a turn in the garden with Mrs. Jewkes and him. No, said she, I can't go.
Said he, May not Mrs. Pamela take a walk?--No, said she; I desire she
won't. Why, Mrs. Jewkes? said he: I am afraid I have somehow disobliged
you. Not at all, replied she; but I suppose you will soon be at liberty
to walk together as much as you please: and I have sent a messenger for
my last instructions, about this and more weighty matters; and when they
come I shall leave you to do as you both will; but, till then, it is no
matter how little you are together. This alarmed us both; and he seemed
quite struck of a heap, and put on, as I thought, a self-accusing
countenance. So I went behind her back, and held my two hands together,
flat, with a bit of paper, I had, between them, and looked at him: and he
seemed to take me as I intended; intimating the renewing of the
correspondence by the tiles.
I left them both together, and retired to my closet to write a letter for
the tiles; but having no time for a copy, I will give you the substance
only.
I expostulated with him on his too great openness and easiness to fall
into Mrs. Jewkes's snares: told him my apprehensions of foul play; and
gave briefly the reasons which moved me: begged to know what he had said;
and intimated, that I thought there was the highest reason to resume our
prospect of the escape by the back-door. I put this in the usual place
in the evening; and now wait with impatience for an answer.
Thursday.
I have the following answer:
'DEAREST MADAM,
'I am utterly confounded, and must plead guilty to all your just
reproaches. I wish I were master of all but half your caution and
discretion! I hope, after all, this is only a touch of this ill woman's
temper, to shew her power and importance: For I think Mr. B---- neither
can nor dare deceive me in so black a manner. I would expose him all the
world over if he did. But it is not, cannot be in him. I have received
a letter from John Arnold, in which he tells me, that his master is
preparing for his London journey; and believes, afterwards, he will come
into these parts: But he says, Lady Davers is at their house, and is to
accompany her brother to London, or meet him there, he knows not which.
He professes great zeal and affection to your service: and I find he
refers to a letter he sent me before, but which is not come to my hand.
I think there can be no treachery; for it is a particular friend at
Gainsborough, that I have ordered him to direct to; and this is come safe
to my hands by this means; for well I know, I durst trust nothing to
Brett, at the post-house here. This gives me a little pain; but I hope
all will end well, and we shall soon hear, if it be necessary to pursue
our former intentions. If it be, I will lose no time to provide a horse
for you, and another for myself; for I can never do either God or myself
better service, though I were to forego all my expectations for it here,
I am 'Your most faithful humble servant.'
'I was too free indeed with Mrs. Jewkes, led to it by her dissimulation,
and by her pretended concern to make me happy with you. I hinted, that I
would not have scrupled to have procured your deliverance by any means;
and that I had proposed to you, as the only honourable one, marriage with
me. But I assured her, though she would hardly believe me, that you
discouraged my application: which is too true! But not a word of the
back-door key, etc.'
Mrs. Jewkes continues still sullen and ill-natured, and I am almost
afraid to speak to her. She watches me as close as ever, and pretends to
wonder why I shun her company as I do.
I have just put under the tiles these lines inspired by my fears, which
are indeed very strong; and, I doubt, not without reason.
'SIR,
'Every thing gives me additional disturbance. The missed letter of John
Arnold's makes me suspect a plot. Yet am I loath to think myself of so
much importance, as to suppose every one in a plot against me. Are you
sure, however, the London journey is not to be a Lincolnshire one? May
not John, who has been once a traitor, be so again?--Why need I be thus
in doubt?--If I could have this horse, I would turn the reins on his
neck, and trust to Providence to guide him for my safeguard! For I would
not endanger you, now just upon the edge of your preferment. Yet, sir, I
fear your fatal openness will make you suspected as accessary, let us be
ever so cautious.
'Were my life in question, instead of my honesty, I would not wish to
involve you, or any body, in the least difficulty, for so worthless a
poor creature. But, O sir! my soul is of equal importance with the soul
of a princess; though my quality is inferior to that of the meanest
slave.
'Save then my innocence, good Heaven! and preserve my mind spotless; and
happy shall I be to lay down my worthless life; and see an end to all my
troubles and anxieties.
'Forgive my impatience: But my presaging mind bodes horrid mischiefs!
Every thing looks dark around me; and this woman's impenetrable
sullenness and silence, without any apparent reason, from a conduct so
very contrary, bid me fear the worst.--blame me, sir, if you think me
wrong; and let me have your advice what to do; which will oblige
'Your most afflicted servant.'
Friday.
I have this half-angry answer; but, what is more to me than all the
letters in the world could be, yours, my dear father, enclosed.
'MADAM,
'I think you are too apprehensive by much; I am sorry for your
uneasiness. You may depend upon me, and all I can do. But I make no
doubt of the London journey, nor of John's contrition and fidelity. I
have just received, from my Gainsborough friend, this letter, as I
suppose, from your good father, in a cover, directed for me, as I had
desired. I hope it contains nothing to add to your uneasiness. Pray,
dearest madam, lay aside your fears, and wait a few days for the issue of
Mrs. Jewkes's letter, and mine of thanks to Mr. B----. Things, I hope,
must be better than you expect. Providence will not desert such piety
and innocence: and be this your comfort and reliance: Which is the best
advice that can at present be given, by
'Your most faithful humble servant.'
N. B. The father's letter was as follows:
'My DEAREST DAUGHTER,
'Our prayers are at length heard, and we are overwhelmed with joy. O
what sufferings, what trials, hast thou gone through! Blessed be the
Divine goodness, which has enabled thee to withstand so many temptations!
We have not yet had leisure to read through your long accounts of all
your hardships. I say long, because I wonder how you could find time and
opportunity for them: but otherwise they are the delight of our spare
hours; and we shall read them over and over, as long as we live, with
thankfulness to God, who has given us so virtuous and so discreet a
daughter. How happy is our lot in the midst of our poverty! O let none
ever think children a burden to them; when the poorest circumstances can
produce so much riches in a Pamela! Persist, my dear daughter, in the
same excellent course; and we shall not envy the highest estate, but defy
them to produce such a daughter as ours.
'I said, we had not read through all yours in course. We were too
impatient, and so turned to the end; where we find your virtue within
view of its reward, and your master's heart turned to see the folly of
his ways, and the injury he had intended to our dear child: For, to be
sure, my dear, he would have ruined you, if he could. But seeing your
virtue, his heart is touched; and he has, no doubt, been awakened by your
good example.
'We don't see that you can do any way so well, as to come into the
present proposal, and make Mr. Williams, the worthy Mr. Williams! God
bless him!--happy. And though we are poor, and can add no merit, no
reputation, no fortune, to our dear child, but rather must be a disgrace
to her, as the world will think; yet I hope I do not sin in my pride, to
say, that there is no good man, of a common degree, (especially as your
late lady's kindness gave you such good opportunities, which you have had
the grace to improve,) but may think himself happy in you. But, as you
say, you had rather not marry at present, far be it from us to offer
violence to your inclination! So much prudence as you have shewn in all
your conduct, would make it very wrong in us to mistrust it in this, or
to offer to direct you in your choice. Rut, alas! my child, what can we
do for you?--To partake our hard lot, and involve yourself into as hard a
life, would not help us, but add to your afflictions. But it will be
time enough to talk of these things, when we have the pleasure you now
put us in hope of, of seeing you with us; which God grant. Amen, amen,
say 'Your most indulgent parents. Amen!'
'Our humblest service and thanks to the worthy Mr. Williams. Again we
say, God bless him for ever!
'O what a deal we have to say to you! God give us a happy meeting! We
understand the 'squire is setting out for London. He is a fine
gentleman, and has wit at will. I wish he was as good. But I hope he
will now reform.'
O what inexpressible comfort, my dear father, has your letter given me!--
You ask, What can you do for me?--What is it you cannot do for your
child!--You can give her the advice she has so much wanted, and still
wants, and will always want: You can confirm her in the paths of virtue,
into which you first initiated her; and you can pray for her, with hearts
so sincere and pure, that are not to be met with in palaces!--Oh! how I
long to throw myself at your feet, and receive from your own lips the
blessings of such good parents! But, alas! how are my prospects again
overclouded, to what they were when I closed my last parcel!--More
trials, more dangers, I fear, must your poor Pamela be engaged in: But
through the Divine goodness, and your prayers, I hope, at last, to get
well out of all my difficulties; and the rather, as they are not the
effect of my own vanity or presumption!
But I will proceed with my hopeless story. I saw Mr. Williams was a
little nettled at my impatience; and so I wrote to assure him I would be
as easy as I could, and wholly directed by him; especially as my father,
whose respects I mentioned, had assured me my master was setting out for
London, which he must have somehow from his own family or he would not
have written me word of it.
Saturday, Sunday.
Mr. Williams has been here both these days, as usual; but is very
indifferently received still by Mrs. Jewkes; and, to avoid suspicion, I
left them together, and went up to my closet, most of the time he was
here. He and she, I found by her, had a quarrel: and she seems quite out
of humour with him: but I thought it best not to say any thing: and he
said, he would very little trouble the house till he had an answer to his
letter from Mr. B----. And she returned, The less, the better. Poor
man! he has got but little by his openness, making Mrs. Jewkes his
confidant, as she bragged, and would have had me to do likewise.
I am more and more satisfied there is mischief brewing; and shall begin
to hide my papers, and be circumspect. She seems mighty impatient for an
answer to her letter to my master.
Monday, Tuesday, the 25th and 26th days of my heavy restraint.
Still more and more strange things to write! A messenger is returned,
and now all is out! O wretched, wretched Pamela! What, at last, will
become of me!--Such strange turns and trials sure never poor creature, of
my years, experienced. He brought two letters, one to Mrs. Jewkes, and
one to me: but, as the greatest wits may be sometimes mistaken, they
being folded and sealed alike, that for me was directed to Mrs. Jewkes;
and that for her was directed to me. But both are stark naught,
abominably bad! She brought me up that directed for me, and said, Here's
a letter for you: Long-looked-for is come at last. I will ask the
messenger a few questions, and then I will read mine. So she went down,
and I broke it open in my closet, and found it directed To MRS. PAMELA
ANDREWS. But when I opened it, it began, Mrs. Jewkes. I was quite
confounded; but, thought I, this may be a lucky mistake; I may discover
something: And so I read on these horrid contents:
'MRS. JEWKES,
'What you write me, has given me no small disturbance. This wretched
fool's play-thing, no doubt, is ready to leap at any thing that offers,
rather than express the least sense of gratitude for all the benefits she
has received from my family, and which I was determined more and more to
heap upon her. I reserve her for my future resentment; and I charge you
double your diligence in watching her, to prevent her escape. I send
this by an honest Swiss, who attended me in my travels; a man I can
trust; and so let him be your assistant: for the artful creature is
enough to corrupt a nation by her seeming innocence and simplicity; and
she may have got a party, perhaps, among my servants with you, as she has
here. Even John Arnold, whom I confided in, and favoured more than any,
has proved an execrable villain; and shall meet his reward for it.
'As to that college novice, Williams, I need not bid you take care he
sees not this painted bauble: for I have ordered Mr. Shorter, my
attorney, to throw him instantly into gaol, on an action of debt, for
money he has had of me, which I had intended never to carry to account
against him; for I know all his rascally practices, besides what you
write me of his perfidious intrigue with that girl, and his acknowledged
contrivances for her escape; when he knew not, for certain, that I
designed her any mischief; and when, if he had been guided by a sense of
piety, or compassion for injured innocence, as he pretends, he would have
expostulated with me, as his function, and my friendship for him, might
have allowed him. But to enter into a vile intrigue with the amiable
gewgaw, to favour her escape in so base a manner, (to say nothing of his
disgraceful practices against me, in Sir Simon Darnford's family, of
which Sir Simon himself has informed me), is a conduct that, instead of
preferring the ungrateful wretch, as I had intended, shall pull down upon
him utter ruin.
'Monsieur Colbrand, my trusty Swiss, will obey you without reserve, if my
other servants refuse.
'As for her denying that she encouraged his declaration, I believe it
not. It is certain the speaking picture, with all that pretended
innocence and bashfulness, would have run away with him. Yes, she would
run away with a fellow that she had been acquainted with (and that not
intimately, if you were as careful as you ought to be) but a few days; at
a time when she had the strongest assurances of my honour to her.
'Well, I think, I now hate her perfectly: and though I will do nothing to
her myself, yet I can bear, for the sake of my revenge, and my injured
honour and slighted love, to see any thing, even what she most fears, be
done to her; and then she may be turned loose to her evil destiny, and
echo to the woods and groves her piteous lamentations for the loss of her
fantastical innocence, which the romantic ideot makes such a work about.
I shall go to London, with my sister Davers; and the moment I can
disengage myself, which, perhaps, may be in three weeks from this time, I
will be with you, and decide her fate, and put an end to your trouble.
Mean time be doubly careful; for this innocent, as I have warned you, is
full of contrivances. I am 'Your friend.'
I had but just read this dreadful letter through, when Mrs. Jewkes came
up in a great fright, guessing at the mistake, and that I had her letter,
and she found me with it open in my hand, just sinking away. What
business, said she, had you to read my letter? and snatched it from me.
You see, said she, looking upon it, it says Mrs. Jewkes, at top: You
ought, in manners, to have read no further. O add not, said I, to my
afflictions! I shall be soon out of all your ways! This is too much!
too much! I never can support this--and threw myself upon the couch, in
my closet, and wept most bitterly. She read it in the next room, and
came in again afterwards. Why, this, said she, is a sad letter indeed: I
am sorry for it: But I feared you would carry your niceties too far!--
Leave me, leave me, Mrs. Jewkes, said I, for a while: I cannot speak nor
talk.--Poor heart! said she; Well, I'll come up again presently, and hope
to find you better. But here, take your own letter; I wish you well; but
this is a sad mistake! And so she put down by me that which was intended
for me: But I have no spirit to read it at present. O man! man! hard-
hearted, cruel man! what mischiefs art thou not capable of, unrelenting
persecutor as thou art!
I sat ruminating, when I had a little come to myself, upon the terms of
this wicked letter; and had no inclination to look into my own. The bad
names, fool's play-thing, artful creature, painted bauble, gewgaw,
speaking picture, are hard words for your poor Pamela! and I began to
think whether I was not indeed a very naughty body, and had not done vile
things: But when I thought of his having discovered poor John, and of Sir
Simon's base officiousness, in telling him of Mr. Williams, with what he
had resolved against him in revenge for his goodness to me, I was quite
dispirited; and yet still more about that fearful Colbrand, and what he
could see done to me: for then I was ready to gasp for breath, and my
heart quite failed me. Then how dreadful are the words, that he will
decide my fate in three weeks! Gracious Heaven, said I, strike me dead,
before that time, with a thunderbolt, or provide some way for my escaping
these threatened mischiefs! God forgive me, if I sinned!
At last, I took up the letter directed for Mrs. Jewkes, but designed for
me; and I find that little better than the other. These are the hard
terms it contains:
'Well have you done, perverse, forward, artful, yet foolish Pamela, to
convince me, before it was too late, how ill I had done to place my
affections on so unworthy an object: I had vowed honour and love to your
unworthiness, believing you a mirror of bashful modesty and unspotted
innocence; and that no perfidious designs lurked in so fair a bosom. But
now I have found you out, you specious hypocrite! and I see, that though
you could not repose the least confidence in one you had known for years,
and who, under my good mother's misplaced favour for you, had grown up in
a manner with you; when my passion, in spite of my pride, and the
difference of our condition, made me stoop to a meanness that now I
despise myself for; yet you could enter into an intrigue with a man you
never knew till within these few days past, and resolve to run away with
a stranger, whom your fair face, and insinuating arts, had bewitched to
break through all the ties of honour and gratitude to me, even at a time
when the happiness of his future life depended upon my favour.
'Henceforth, for Pamela's sake, whenever I see a lovely face, will I
mistrust a deceitful heart; and whenever I hear of the greatest pretences
to innocence, will I suspect some deep-laid mischief. You were
determined to place no confidence in me, though I have solemnly, over and
over, engaged my honour to you. What, though I had alarmed your fears in
sending you one way, when you hoped to go another; yet, had I not, to
convince you of my resolution to do justly by you, (although with great
reluctance, such then was my love for you,) engaged not to come near you
without your own consent? Was not this a voluntary demonstration of the
generosity of my intention to you? Yet how have you requited me? The
very first fellow that your charming face, and insinuating address, could
influence, you have practised upon, corrupted too, I may say, (and even
ruined, as the ungrateful wretch shall find,) and thrown your forward
self upon him. As, therefore, you would place no confidence in me, my
honour owes you nothing; and, in a little time, you shall find how much
you have erred, in treating, as you have done, a man who was once
'Your affectionate and kind friend.'
'Mrs. Jewkes has directions concerning you: and if your lot is now harder
than you might wish, you will bear it the easier, because your own rash
folly has brought it upon you.'
Alas! for me, what a fate is mine, to be thus thought artful, and
forward, and ungrateful; when all I intended was to preserve my
innocence; and when all the poor little shifts, which his superior wicked
wit and cunning have rendered ineffectual, were forced upon me in my own
necessary defence!
When Mrs. Jewkes came up to me again, she found me bathed in tears. She
seemed, as I thought, to be moved to some compassion; and finding myself
now entirely in her power, and that it is not for me to provoke her, I
said, It is now, I see, in vain for me to contend against my evil
destiny, and the superior arts of my barbarous master. I will resign
myself to the Divine will, and prepare to expect the worst. But you see
how this poor Mr. Williams is drawn in and undone: I am sorry I am made
the cause of his ruin. Poor, poor man!--to be thus involved, and for my
sake too!--But if you'll believe me, said I, I gave no encouragement to
what he proposed, as to marriage; nor would he have proposed it, I
believe, but as the only honourable way he thought was left to save me:
And his principal motive to it at all, was virtue and compassion to one
in distress. What other view could he have? You know I am poor and
friendless. All I beg of you is, to let the poor gentleman have notice
of my master's resentment; and let him fly the country, and not be thrown
into gaol. This will answer my master's end as well; for it will as
effectually hinder him from assisting me, as if he was in a prison.
Ask me, said she, to do any thing that is in my power, consistent with my
duty and trust, and I will do it: for I am sorry for you both. But, to
be sure, I shall keep no correspondence with him, nor let you. I offered
to talk of a duty superior to that she mentioned, which would oblige her
to help distressed innocence, and not permit her to go the lengths
enjoined by lawless tyranny; but she plainly bid me be silent on that
head: for it was in vain to attempt to persuade her to betray her trust:
--All I have to advise you, said she, is to be easy; lay aside all your
contrivances and arts to get away, and make me your friend, by giving me
no reason to suspect you; for I glory in my fidelity to my master: And
you have both practised some strange sly arts, to make such a progress as
he has owned there was between you, so seldom as I thought you saw one
another; and I must be more circumspect than I have been.
This doubled my concern; for I now apprehended I should be much closer
watched than before.
Well, said I, since I have, by this strange accident, discovered my hard
destiny; let me read over again that fearful letter of yours, that I may
get it by heart, and with it feed my distress, and make calamity familiar
to me. Then, said she, let me read yours again. I gave her mine, and
she lent me hers: and so I took a copy of it, with her leave; because, as
I said I would, by it, prepare myself for the worst. And when I had
done, I pinned it on the head of the couch: This, said I, is the use I
shall make of this wretched copy of your letter; and here you shall
always find it wet with my tears.
She said she would go down to order supper; and insisted upon my company
to it. I would have excused myself; but she began to put on a commanding
air, that I durst not oppose. And when I went down, she took me by the
hand, and presented me to the most hideous monster I ever saw in my life.
Here, Monsieur Colbrand, said she, here is your pretty ward and mine; let
us try to make her time with us easy. He bowed, and put on his foreign
grimaces, and seemed to bless himself; and, in broken English, told me, I
was happy in de affections of de finest gentleman in de varld!--I was
quite frightened, and ready to drop down; and I will describe him to you,
my dear father and mother, if now you will ever see this: and you shall
judge if I had not reason, especially not knowing he was to be there, and
being apprised, as I was, of his hated employment, to watch me closer.
He is a giant of a man for stature; taller by a good deal than Harry
Mowlidge, in your neighbourhood, and large boned, and scraggy; and has a
hand!--I never saw such an one in my life. He has great staring eyes,
like the bull's that frightened me so; vast jaw-bones sticking out:
eyebrows hanging over his eyes; two great scars upon his forehead, and
one on his left cheek; and two large whiskers, and a monstrous wide
mouth; blubber lips; long yellow teeth, and a hideous grin. He wears his
own frightful long hair, tied up in a great black bag; a black crape
neckcloth about a long ugly neck: and his throat sticking out like a wen.
As to the rest, he was dressed well enough, and had a sword on, with a
nasty red knot to it; leather garters, buckled below his knees; and a
foot--near as long as my arm, I verily think.
He said, he fright de lady; and offered to withdraw; but she bid him not;
and I told Mrs. Jewkes, That as she knew I had been crying, she should
not have called me to the gentleman without letting me know he was there.
I soon went up to my closet; for my heart ached all the time I was at
table, not being able to look upon him without horror; and this brute of
a woman, though she saw my distress, before this addition to it, no doubt
did it on purpose to strike more terror into me. And indeed it had its
effect: for when I went to bed, I could think of nothing but his hideous
person, and my master's more hideous actions: and thought them too well
paired; and when I dropt asleep, I dreamed they were both coming to my
bedside, with the worst designs; and I jumped out of my bed in my sleep,
and frightened Mrs. Jewkes; till, waking with the terror, I told her my
dream; and the wicked creature only laughed, and said, All I feared was
but a dream, as well as that; and when it was over, and I was well awake,
I should laugh at it as such!
And now I am come to the close of Wednesday, the 27th day of my distress.
Poor Mr. Williams is actually arrested, and carried away to Stamford. So
there is an end of all my hopes from him, poor gentleman! His over-
security and openness have ruined us both! I was but too well convinced,
that we ought not to have lost a moment's time; but he was half angry,
and thought me too impatient; and then his fatal confessions, and the
detestable artifice of my master!--But one might well think, that he who
had so cunningly, and so wickedly, contrived all his stratagems hitherto,
that it was impossible to avoid them, would stick at nothing to complete
them. I fear I shall soon find it so!
But one stratagem I have just invented, though a very discouraging one to
think of; because I have neither friends nor money, nor know one step of
the way, if I was out of the house. But let bulls, and bears, and lions,
and tigers, and, what is worse, false, treacherous, deceitful men, stand
in my way, I cannot be in more danger than I am; and I depend nothing
upon his three weeks: for how do I know, now he is in such a passion, and
has already begun his vengeance on poor Mr. Williams, that he will not
change his mind, and come down to Lincolnshire before he goes to London?
My stratagem is this: I will endeavour to get Mrs. Jewkes to go to bed
without me, as she often does, while I sit locked up in my closet: and as
she sleeps very sound in her first sleep, of which she never fails to
give notice by snoring, if I can but then get out between the two bars of
the window, (for you know I am very slender, and I find I can get my head
through,) then I can drop upon the leads underneath, which are little
more than my height, and which leads are over a little summer-parlour,
that juts out towards the garden; and as I am light, I can easily drop
from them; for they are not high from the ground: then I shall be in the
garden; and then, as I have the key of the back-door, I will get out.
But I have another piece of cunning still: Good Heaven, succeed to me my
dangerous, but innocent devices!--I have read of a great captain, who,
being in danger, leaped overboard into the sea, and his enemies, as he
swam, shooting at him with bows and arrows, he unloosed his upper
garment, and took another course, while they stuck that full of their
darts and arrows; and so he escaped, and lived to triumph over them all.
So what will I do, but strip off my upper petticoat, and throw it into
the pond, with my neckhandkerchief! For to be sure, when they miss me,
they will go to the pond first, thinking I have drowned myself: and so,
when they see some of my clothes floating there, they will be all
employed in dragging the pond, which is a very large one; and as I shall
not, perhaps, be missed till the morning, this will give me opportunity
to get a great way off; and I am sure I will run for it when I am out.
And so I trust, that Providence will direct my steps to some good place
of safety, and make some worthy body my friend; for sure, if I suffer
ever so, I cannot be in more danger, nor in worse hands, than where I am;
and with such avowed bad designs.
O my dear parents! don't be frightened when you come to read this!--But
all will be over before you can see it; and so God direct me for the
best! My writings, for fear I should not escape, I will bury in the
garden; for, to be sure, I shall be searched and used dreadfully if I
can't get off. And so I will close here, for the present, to prepare for
my plot. Prosper thou, O gracious Protector of oppressed innocence! this
last effort of thy poor handmaid! that I may escape the crafty devices
and snares that have begun to entangle my virtue; and from which, but by
this one trial, I see no way of escaping. And oh! whatever becomes of
me, bless my dear parents, and protect poor Mr. Williams from ruin! for
he was happy before he knew me.
Just now, just now! I heard Mrs. Jewkes, who is in her cups, own to the
horrid Colbrand, that the robbing of poor Mr. Williams was a contrivance
of hers, and executed by the groom and a helper, in order to seize my
letters upon him, which they missed. They are now both laughing at the
dismal story, which they little think I overheard--O how my heart aches!
for what are not such wretches capable of! Can you blame me for
endeavouring, through any danger, to get out of such clutches?
Past eleven o'clock.
Mrs. Jewkes is come up, and gone to bed; and bids me not stay long in my
closet, but come to bed. O for a dead sleep for the treacherous brute!
I never saw her so tipsy, and that gives me hopes. I have tried again,
and find I can get my head through the iron bars. I am now all prepared,
as soon as I hear her fast; and now I'll seal up these, and my other
papers, my last work: and to thy providence, O my gracious God! commit
the rest.--Once more, God bless you both! and send us a happy meeting; if
not here, in his heavenly kingdom. Amen.
Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, the 28th, 29th, 30th, and 31st days
of my distress.
And distress indeed! For here I am still; and every thing has been worse
and worse! Oh! the poor unhappy Pamela!--Without any hope left, and
ruined in all my contrivances. But, oh! my dear parents, rejoice with
me, even in this low plunge of my distress; for your poor Pamela has
escaped from an enemy worse than any she ever met with; an enemy she
never thought of before, and was hardly able to stand against: I mean,
the weakness and presumption, both in one, of her own mind; which had
well nigh, had not the divine grace interposed, sunk her into the lowest,
last abyss of misery and perdition!
I will proceed, as I have opportunity, with my sad relation: for my pen
and ink (in my now doubly-secured closet) are all I have to employ myself
with: and indeed I have been so weak, that, till yesterday evening, I
have not been able to hold a pen.
I took with me but one shift, besides what I had on, and two
handkerchiefs, and two caps, which my pocket held, (for it was not for me
to encumber myself,) and all my stock of money, which was but five or six
shillings, to set out for I knew not where; and got out of the window,
not without some difficulty, sticking a little at my shoulders and hips;
but I was resolved to get out, if possible. And it was farther from the
leads than I thought, and I was afraid I had sprained my ancle; and when
I had dropt from the leads to the ground, it was still farther off; but I
did pretty well there, at least. I got no hurt to hinder me from
pursuing my intentions. So being now on the ground, I hid my papers
under a rose-bush, and covered them with mould, and there they still lie,
as I hope. Then I hied away to the pond: The clock struck twelve, just
as I got out; and it was a dark misty night, and very cold; but I felt it
not then.
When I came to the pond-side, I flung in my upper-coat, as I had
designed, and my neckhandkerchief, and a round-eared cap, with a knot;
and then with great speed ran to the door, and took the key out of my
pocket, my poor heart beating all the time against my bosom, as if it
would have forced its way through it: and beat it well might! for I then,
too late, found, that I was most miserably disappointed; for the wicked
woman had taken off that lock, and put another on; so that my key would
not open it. I tried, and tried, and feeling about, I found a padlock
besides, on another part of the door. O then how my heart sunk!--I dropt
down with grief and confusion, unable to stir or support myself, for a
while. But my fears awakening my resolution, and knowing that my attempt
would be as terrible for me as any other danger I could then encounter, I
clambered up upon the ledges of the door, and upon the lock, which was a
great wooden one; and reached the top of the door with my hands; then,
little thinking I could climb so well, I made shift to lay hold on the
top of the wall with my hands; but, alas for me! nothing but ill luck!--
no escape for poor Pamela! The wall being old, the bricks I held by gave
way, just as I was taking a spring to get up; and down came I, and
received such a blow upon my head, with one of the bricks, that it quite
stunned me; and I broke my shins and my ancle besides, and beat off the
heel of one of my shoes.
In this dreadful way, flat upon the ground, lay poor I, for I believe
five or six minutes; and then trying to get up, I sunk down again two or
three times; and my left hip and shoulder were very stiff, and full of
pain, with bruises; and, besides, my head bled, and ached grievously with
the blow I had with the brick. Yet these hurts I valued not; but crept a
good way upon my feet and hands, in search of a ladder, I just
recollected to have seen against the wall two days before, on which the
gardener was nailing a nectarine branch that was loosened from the wall:
but no ladder could I find, and the wall was very high. What now,
thought I, must become of the miserable Pamela!--Then I began to wish
myself most heartily again in my closet, and to repent of my attempt,
which I now censured as rash, because it did not succeed.
God forgive me! but a sad thought came just then into my head!--I tremble
to think of it! Indeed my apprehensions of the usage I should meet with,
had like to have made me miserable for ever! O my dear, dear parents,
forgive your poor child; but being then quite desperate, I crept along,
till I could raise myself on my staggering feet; and away limped I!--What
to do, but to throw myself into the pond, and so put a period to all my
griefs in this world!--But, O! to find them infinitely aggravated (had I
not, by the divine grace, been withheld) in a miserable eternity! As I
have escaped this temptation, (blessed be God for it!) I will tell you my
conflicts on this dreadful occasion, that the divine mercies may be
magnified in my deliverance, that I am yet on this side the dreadful
gulf, from which there could have been no return.
It was well for me, as I have since thought, that I was so maimed, as
made me the longer before I got to the water; for this gave me time to
consider, and abated the impetuousness of my passions, which possibly
might otherwise have hurried me, in my first transport of grief, (on my
seeing no way to escape, and the hard usage I had reason to expect from
my dreadful keepers,) to throw myself in. But my weakness of body made
me move so slowly, that it gave time, as I said, for a little reflection,
a ray of grace, to dart in upon my benighted mind; and so, when I came to
the pond-side, I sat myself down on the sloping bank, and began to ponder
my wretched condition; and thus I reasoned with myself.
Pause here a little, Pamela, on what thou art about, before thou takest
the dreadful leap; and consider whether there be no way yet left, no
hope, if not to escape from this wicked house, yet from the mischiefs
threatened thee in it.
I then considered; and, after I had cast about in my mind every thing
that could make me hope, and saw no probability; a wicked woman, devoid
of all compassion! a horrid helper, just arrived, in this dreadful
Colbrand! an angry and resenting master, who now hated me, and threatened
the most afflicting evils! and that I should, in all probability, be
deprived even of the opportunity, I now had before me, to free myself
from all their persecutions!--What hast thou to do, distressed creature,
said I to myself, but throw thyself upon a merciful God, (who knows how
innocently I suffer,) to avoid the merciless wickedness of those who are
determined on my ruin?
And then, thought I, (and oh! that thought was surely of the devil's
instigation; for it was very soothing, and powerful with me,) these
wicked wretches, who now have no remorse, no pity on me, will then be
moved to lament their misdoings; and when they see the dead corpse of the
unhappy Pamela dragged out to these dewy banks, and lying breathless at
their feet, they will find that remorse to soften their obdurate heart,
which, now, has no place there!--And my master, my angry master, will
then forget his resentments, and say, O, this is the unhappy Pamela! that
I have so causelessly persecuted and destroyed! Now do I see she
preferred her honesty to her life, will he say, and is no hypocrite, nor
deceiver; but really was the innocent creature she pretended to be!
Then, thought I, will he, perhaps, shed a few tears over the poor corpse
of his persecuted servant; and though he may give out, it was love and
disappointment; and that, perhaps, (in order to hide his own guilt,) for
the unfortunate Mr. Williams, yet will he be inwardly grieved, and order
me a decent funeral, and save me, or rather this part of me, from the
dreadful stake, and the highway interment; and the young men and maidens
all around my dear father's will pity poor Pamela! But, O! I hope I
shall not be the subject of their ballads and elegies; but that my
memory, for the sake of my dear father and mother, may quickly slide into
oblivion.
I was once rising, so indulgent was I to this sad way of thinking, to
throw myself in: But, again, my bruises made me slow; and I thought, What
art thou about to do, wretched Pamela? How knowest thou, though the
prospect be all dark to thy short-sighted eye, what God may do for thee,
even when all human means fail? God Almighty would not lay me under
these sore afflictions, if he had not given me strength to grapple with
them, if I will exert it as I ought: And who knows, but that the very
presence I so much dread of my angry and designing master, (for he has
had me in his power before, and yet I have escaped;) may be better for
me, than these persecuting emissaries of his, who, for his money, are
true to their wicked trust, and are hardened by that, and a long habit of
wickedness, against compunction of heart? God can touch his heart in an
instant; and if this should not be done, I can then but put an end to my
life by some other means, if I am so resolved.
But how do I know, thought I, that even these bruises and maims that I
have gotten, while I pursued only the laudable escape I had meditated,
may not kindly have furnished me with the opportunity I am now tempted
with to precipitate myself, and of surrendering up my life, spotless and
unguilty, to that merciful Being who gave it!
Then, thought I, who gave thee, presumptuous as thou art, a power over
thy life? Who authorised thee to put an end to it, when the weakness of
thy mind suggests not to thee a way to preserve it with honour? How
knowest thou what purposes God may have to serve, by the trials with
which thou art now exercised? Art thou to put a bound to the divine
will, and to say, Thus much will I bear, and no more? And wilt thou dare
to say, That if the trial be augmented and continued, thou wilt sooner
die than bear it?
This act of despondency, thought I, is a sin, that, if I pursue it,
admits of no repentance, and can therefore hope no forgiveness.--And wilt
thou, to shorten thy transitory griefs, heavy as they are, and weak as
thou fanciest thyself, plunge both body and soul into everlasting misery!
Hitherto, Pamela, thought I, thou art the innocent, the suffering Pamela;
and wilt thou, to avoid thy sufferings, be the guilty aggressor? And,
because wicked men persecute thee, wilt thou fly in the face of the
Almighty, and distrust his grace and goodness, who can still turn all
these sufferings to benefits? And how do I know, but that God, who sees
all the lurking vileness of my heart, may have permitted these sufferings
on that very score, and to make me rely solely on his grace and
assistance, who, perhaps, have too much prided myself in a vain
dependence on my own foolish contrivances?
Then, again, thought I, wilt thou suffer in one moment all the good
lessons of thy poor honest parents, and the benefit of their example,
(who have persisted in doing their duty with resignation to the divine
will, amidst the extreme degrees of disappointment, poverty, and
distress, and the persecutions of an ungrateful world, and merciless
creditors,) to be thrown away upon thee: and bring down, as in all
probability this thy rashness will, their grey hairs with sorrow to the
grave, when they shall understand, that their beloved daughter, slighting
the tenders of divine grace, despairing of the mercies of a protecting
God, has blemished, in this last act, a whole life, which they had
hitherto approved and delighted in?
What then, presumptuous Pamela, dost thou here? thought I: Quit with
speed these perilous banks, and fly from these curling waters, that seem,
in their meaning murmurs, this still night, to reproach thy rashness!
Tempt not God's goodness on the mossy banks, that have been witnesses of
thy guilty purpose: and while thou hast power left thee, avoid the
tempting evil, lest thy grand enemy, now repulsed by divine grace, and
due reflection, return to the assault with a force that thy weakness may
not be able to resist! and let one rash moment destroy all the
convictions, which now have awed thy rebellious mind into duty and
resignation to the divine will!
And so saying, I arose; but was so stiff with my hurts, so cold with the
moist dew of the night, and the wet grass on which I had sat, as also
with the damps arising from so large a piece of water, that with great
pain I got from this pond, which now I think of with terror; and bending
my limping steps towards the house, took refuge in the corner of an
outhouse, where wood and coals are laid up for family use, till I should
be found by my cruel keepers, and consigned to a more wretched
confinement, and worse usage than I had hitherto experienced; and there
behind a pile of firewood I crept, and lay down, as you may imagine, with
a mind just broken, and a heart sensible to nothing but the extremest woe
and dejection.
This, my dear father and mother, is the issue of your poor Pamela's
fruitless enterprise; and who knows, if I had got out at the back-door,
whether I had been at all in a better case, moneyless, friendless, as I
am, and in a strange place!--But blame not your poor daughter too much:
Nay, if ever you see this miserable scribble, all bathed and blotted with
my tears, let your pity get the better of your reprehension! But I know
it will--And I must leave off for the present.--For, oh! my strength and
my will are at this time very far unequal to one another.--But yet I will
add, that though I should have praised God for my deliverance, had I been
freed from my wicked keepers, and my designing master; yet I have more
abundant reason to praise him, that I have been delivered from a worse
enemy,--myself!
I will conclude my sad relation.
It seems Mrs. Jewkes awaked not till day-break; and not finding me in
bed, she called me; and, no answer being returned, she relates, that she
got out of bed, and ran to my closet; and, missing me, searched under the
bed, and in another closet, finding the chamber-door as she had left it,
quite fast, and the key, as usual, about her wrist. For if I could have
got out of the chamber-door, there were two or three passages, and doors
to them all, double-locked and barred, to go through into the great
garden; so that, to escape, there was no way, but out of the window; and
of that window, because of the summer-parlour under it: for the other
windows are a great way from the ground.
She says she was excessively frightened; and instantly raised the Swiss,
and the two maids, who lay not far off; and finding every door fast, she
said, I must be carried away, as St. Peter was out of prison, by some
angel. It is a wonder she had not a worse thought!
She says, she wept, and wrung her hands, and took on sadly, running about
like a mad woman, little thinking I could have got out of the closet
window, between the iron bars; and, indeed, I don't know whether I could
do so again. But at last finding that casement open, they concluded it
must be so; and ran out into the garden, and found my footsteps in the
mould of the bed which I dropt down upon from the leads: And so speeded
away all of them; that is to say, Mrs. Jewkes, Colbrand, and Nan, towards
the back-door, to see if that was fast; while the cook was sent to the
out-offices to raise the men, and make them get horses ready, to take
each a several way to pursue me.
But, it seems, finding that door double-locked and padlocked, and the
heel of my shoe, and the broken bricks, they verily concluded I was got
away by some means over the wall; and then, they say, Mrs. Jewkes seemed
like a distracted woman: Till, at last, Nan had the thought to go towards
the pond: and there seeing my coat, and cap, and handkerchief, in the
water, cast almost to the banks by the agitation of the waves, she
thought it was me; and, screaming out, ran to Mrs. Jewkes, and said, O,
madam, madam! here's a piteous thing!--Mrs. Pamela lies drowned in the
pond. Thither they all ran; and finding my clothes, doubted not I was at
the bottom; and they all, Swiss among the rest, beat their breasts, and
made most dismal lamentations; and Mrs. Jewkes sent Nan to the men, to
bid them get the drag-net ready, and leave the horses, and come to try to
find the poor innocent! as she, it seems, then called me, beating her
breast, and lamenting my hard hap; but most what would become of them,
and what account they should give to my master.
While every one was thus differently employed, some weeping and wailing,
some running here and there, Nan came into the wood-house; and there lay
poor I; so weak, so low, and dejected, and withal so stiff with my
bruises, that I could not stir, nor help myself to get upon my feet. And
I said, with a low voice, (for I could hardly speak,) Mrs. Ann! Mrs.
Ann!--The creature was sadly frightened, but was taking up a billet to
knock me on the head, believing I was some thief, as she said; but I
cried out, O Mrs. Ann, Mrs. Ann, help me, for pity's sake, to Mrs.
Jewkes! for I cannot get up!--Bless me, said she, what! you, madam!--Why,
our hearts are almost broken, and we were going to drag the pond for you,
believing you had drowned yourself. Now, said she, you'll make us all
alive again!
And, without helping me, she ran away to the pond, and brought all the
crew to the wood-house.--The wicked woman, as she entered, said, Where is
she?--Plague of her spells, and her witchcrafts! She shall dearly repent
of this trick, if my name be Jewkes; and, coming to me, took hold of my
arm so roughly, and gave me such a pull, as made me squeal out, (my
shoulder being bruised on that side,) and drew me on my face. O cruel
creature! said I, if you knew what I have suffered, it would move you to
pity me!
Even Colbrand seemed to be concerned, and said, Fie, madam, fie! you see
she is almost dead! You must not be so rough with her. The coachman
Robin seemed to be sorry for me too, and said, with sobs, What a scene is
here! Don't you see she is all bloody in her head, and cannot stir?--
Curse of her contrivance! said the horrid creature; she has frightened me
out of my wits, I'm sure. How the d---l came you here?--Oh! said I, ask
me now no questions, but let the maids carry me up to my prison; and
there let me die decently, and in peace! For, indeed, I thought I could
not live two hours.
The still more inhuman tigress said, I suppose you want Mr. Williams to
pray by you, don't you? Well, I'll send for my master this minute: let
him come and watch you himself, for me; for there's no such thing as
holding you, I'm sure.
So the maids took me up between them, and carried me to my chamber; and
when the wretch saw how bad I was, she began a little to relent--while
every one wondered (at which I had neither strength nor inclination to
tell them) how all this came to pass, which they imputed to sorcery and
witchcraft.
I was so weak, when I had got up stairs, that I fainted away, with
dejection, pain, and fatigue; and they undressed me, and got me to bed;
and Mrs. Jewkes ordered Nan to bathe my shoulder, and arm, and ancle,
with some old rum warmed; and they cut the hair a little from the back
part of my head, and washed that; for it was clotted with blood, from a
pretty long, but not a deep gash; and put a family plaister upon it; for,
if this woman has any good quality, it is, it seems, in a readiness and
skill to manage in cases, where sudden misfortunes happen in a family.
After this, I fell into a pretty sound and refreshing sleep, and lay till
twelve o'clock, tolerably easy, considering I was very feverish, and
aguishly inclined; and she took a deal of care to fit me to undergo more
trials, which I had hoped would have been happily ended: but Providence
did not see fit.
She would make me rise about twelve: but I was so weak, I could only sit
up till the bed was made, and went into it again; and was, as they said,
delirious some part of the afternoon. But having a tolerable night on
Thursday, I was a good deal better on Friday, and on Saturday got up, and
ate a little spoon-meat, and my feverishness seemed to be gone; and I was
so mended by evening, that I begged her indulgence in my closet, to be
left to myself; which she consented to, it being double-barred the day
before, and I assuring her, that all my contrivances, as she called them,
were at an end. But first she made me tell the whole story of my
enterprise; which I did very faithfully, knowing now that nothing could
stand me in any stead, or contribute to my safety and escape: And she
seemed full of wonder at my resolution; but told me frankly, that I
should have found it a hard matter to get quite off; for that she was
provided with a warrant from my master (who is a justice of peace in this
county as well as in the other) to get me apprehended, if I had got away,
on suspicion of wronging him, let me have been where I would.
O how deep-laid are the mischiefs designed to fall on my devoted head!--
Surely, surely, I cannot be worthy of all this contrivance! This too
well shews me the truth of what was hinted to me formerly at the other
house, that my master swore he would have me! O preserve me, Heaven!
from being his, in his own wicked sense of the adjuration!
I must add, that now the woman sees me pick up so fast, she uses me
worse, and has abridged me of paper, all but one sheet, which I am to
shew her, written or unwritten, on demand: and has reduced me to one pen:
yet my hidden stores stand me in stead. But she is more and more
snappish and cross; and tauntingly calls me Mrs. Williams, and any thing
she thinks will vex me.
Sunday afternoon.
Mrs. Jewkes has thought fit to give me an airing, for three or four
hours, this afternoon; and I am a good deal better and should be much
more so, if I knew for what I am reserved. But health is a blessing
hardly to be coveted in my circumstances, since that but exposes me to
the calamity I am in continual apprehensions of; whereas a weak and
sickly state might possibly move compassion for me. O how I dread the
coming of this angry and incensed master; though I am sure I have done
him no harm!
Just now we heard, that he had like to have been drowned in crossing the
stream, a few days ago, in pursuing his game. What is the matter, that
with all his ill usage of me, I cannot hate him? To be sure, I am not
like other people! He has certainly done enough to make me hate him; but
yet, when I heard his danger, which was very great, I could not in my
heart forbear rejoicing for his safety; though his death would have ended
my afflictions. Ungenerous master! if you knew this, you surely would
not be so much my persecutor! But, for my late good lady's sake, I must
wish him well; and O what an angel would he be in my eyes yet, if he
would cease his attempts, and reform!
Well, I hear by Mrs. Jewkes, that John Arnold is turned away, being
detected in writing to Mr. Williams; and that Mr. Longman, and Mr.
Jonathan the butler, have incurred his displeasure, for offering to speak
in my behalf. Mrs. Jervis too is in danger; for all these three,
probably, went together to beg in my favour; for now it is known where I
am.
Mrs. Jewkes has, with the news about my master, received a letter: but
she says the contents are too bad for me to know. They must be bad
indeed, if they be worse than what I have already known.
Just now the horrid creature tells me, as a secret, that she has reason
to think he has found out a way to satisfy my scruples: It is, by
marrying me to this dreadful Colbrand, and buying me of him on the
wedding day, for a sum of money!--Was ever the like heard?--She says it
will be my duty to obey my husband; and that Mr. Williams will be forced,
as a punishment, to marry us; and that, when my master has paid for me,
and I am surrendered up, the Swiss is to go home again, with the money,
to his former wife and children; for, she says, it is the custom of those
people to have a wife in every nation.
But this, to be sure, is horrid romancing! Yet, abominable as it is, it
may possibly serve to introduce some plot now hatching!--With what
strange perplexities is my poor mind agitated! Perchance, some sham-
marriage may be designed, on purpose to ruin me; But can a husband sell
his wife against her own consent?--And will such a bargain stand good in
law?
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, the 32d, 33d, and 34th days of my
imprisonment.
Nothing offers these days but squabblings between Mrs. Jewkes and me.
She grows worse and worse to me. I vexed her yesterday, because she
talked nastily; and told her she talked more like a vile London
prostitute, than a gentleman's housekeeper; and she thinks she cannot use
me bad enough for it. Bless me! she curses and storms at me like a
trooper, and can hardly keep her hands off me. You may believe she must
talk sadly, to make me say such harsh words: indeed it cannot be
repeated; as she is a disgrace to her sex. And then she ridicules me,
and laughs at my notions of honesty; and tells me, impudent creature as
she is! what a fine bed-fellow I shall make for my master (and such-
like), with such whimsical notions about me!--Do you think this is to be
borne? And yet she talks worse than this, if possible! quite filthily!
O what vile hands am I put into!
Thursday.
I have now all the reason that can be, to apprehend my master will be
here soon; for the servants are busy in setting the house to rights; and
a stable and coach-house are cleaning out, that have not been used some
time. I asked Mrs. Jewkes; but she tells me nothing, nor will hardly
answer me when I ask her a question. Sometimes I think she puts on these
strange wicked airs to me, purposely to make me wish for, what I dread
most of all things, my master's coming down. He talk of love!--If he had
any the least notion of regard for me, to be sure he would not give this
naughty body such power over me:--And if he does come, where is his
promise of not seeing me without I consent to it? But, it seems, his
honour owes me nothing! So he tells me in his letter. And why? Because
I am willing to keep mine. But, indeed, he says, he hates me perfectly:
But it is plain he does, or I should not be left to the mercy of this
woman: and, what is worse, to my woful apprehensions.
Friday, the 36th day of my imprisonment.
I took the liberty yesterday afternoon, finding the gates open, to walk
out before the house; and, ere I was aware, had got to the bottom of the
long row of elms; and there I sat myself down upon the steps of a sort of
broad stile, which leads into the road, and goes towards the town. And
as I sat musing upon what always busies my mind, I saw a whole body of
folks running towards me from the house, men and women, as in a fright.
At first I wondered what was the matter, till they came nearer; and I
found they were all alarmed, thinking I had attempted to get off. There
was first the horrible Colbrand, running with his long legs, well nigh
two yards at a stride; then there was one of the grooms, poor Mr.
Williams's robber; then I spied Nan, half out of breath, and the cook-
maid after her! and lastly, came waddling, as fast as she could, Mrs.
Jewkes, exclaiming most bitterly, as I found, against me. Colbrand said,
O how have you frighted us all!--And went behind me, lest I should run
away, as I suppose.
I sat still, to let them see I had no view to get away; for, besides the
improbability of succeeding, my last sad attempt has cured me of
enterprising again. And when Mrs. Jewkes came within hearing, I found
her terribly incensed, and raving about my contrivances. Why, said I,
should you be so concerned? Here I have sat a few minutes, and had not
the least thought of getting away, or going farther; but to return as
soon as it was duskish. She would not believe me; and the barbarous
creature struck at me with her horrid fist, and, I believe, would have
felled me, had not Colbrand interposed, and said, He saw me sitting
still, looking about me, and not seeming to have the least inclination to
stir. But this would not serve: She ordered the two maids to take me
each by an arm, and lead me back into the house, and up stairs; and there
have I been locked up ever since, without shoes. In vain have I pleaded,
that I had no design, as indeed I had not the least; and last night I was
forced to be between her and Nan; and I find she is resolved to make a
handle of this against me, and in her own behalf.--Indeed, what with her
usage, and my own apprehensions of still worse, I am quite weary of my
life.
Just now she has been with me, and given me my shoes, and has laid her
imperious commands upon me, to dress myself in a suit of clothes out of
the portmanteau, which I have not seen lately, against three or four
o'clock; for she says, she is to have a visit from Lady Darnford's two
daughters, who come purposely to see me; and so she gave me the key of
the portmanteau. But I will not obey her; and I told her, I would not be
made a show of, nor see the ladies. She left me, saying, it would be
worse for me, if I did not. But how can that be?
Five o'clock is come,
And no young ladies!--So that I fancy--But hold! I hear their coach, I
believe. I'll step to the window.--I won't go down to them, I am
resolved--
Good sirs! good sirs! What will become of me! Here is my master come in
his fine chariot!--Indeed he is! What shall I do? Where shall I hide
myself?--O! What shall I do? Pray for me! But oh! you'll not see this!
--Now, good God of heaven, preserve me; if it be thy blessed will!
Seven o'clock.
Though I dread to see him, yet do I wonder I have not. To be sure
something is resolved against me, and he stays to hear all her stories.
I can hardly write; yet, as I can do nothing else, I know not how to
forbear!--Yet I cannot hold my pen--How crooked and trembling the lines!
--I must leave off, till I can get quieter fingers!--Why should the
guiltless tremble so, when the guilty can possess their minds in peace?
Saturday morning.
Now let me give you an account of what passed last night: for I had no
power to write, nor yet opportunity till now.
This vile woman held my master till half an hour after seven; and he came
hither about five in the afternoon. And then I heard his voice on the
stairs, as he was coming up to me. It was about his supper; for he said,
I shall choose a boiled chicken with butter and parsley.--And up he came!
He put on a stern and majestic air; and he can look very majestic when he
pleases. Well, perverse Pamela, ungrateful runaway, said he, for my
first salutation!--You do well, don't you, to give me all this trouble
and vexation! I could not speak; but throwing myself on the floor, hid
my face, and was ready to die with grief and apprehension.--He said, Well
may you hide your face! well may you be ashamed to see me, vile forward
one, as you are!--I sobbed and wept, but could not speak. And he let me
lie, and went to the door, and called Mrs. Jewkes.--There, said he, take
up that fallen angel!--Once I thought her as innocent as an angel of
light but I have now no patience with her. The little hypocrite
prostrates herself thus, in hopes to move my weakness in her favour, and
that I'll raise her from the floor myself. But I shall not touch her:
No, said he, cruel gentleman as he was! let such fellows as Williams be
taken in by her artful wiles! I know her now, and see she is for any
fool's turn, that will be caught by her.
I sighed, as if my heart would break!--And Mrs. Jewkes lifted me up upon
my knees; for I trembled so, I could not stand. Come, said she, Mrs.
Pamela, learn to know your best friend; confess your unworthy behaviour,
and beg his honour's forgiveness of all your faults. I was ready to
faint: And he said, She is mistress of arts, I'll assure you; and will
mimic a fit, ten to one, in a minute.
I was struck to the heart at this; but could not speak presently; only
lifted up my eyes to heaven!--And at last made shift to say--God forgive
you, sir!--He seemed in a great passion, and walked up and down the room,
casting sometimes an eye upon me, and seeming as if he would have spoken,
but checked himself--And at last he said, When she has acted this her
first part over, perhaps I will see her again, and she shall soon know
what she has to trust to.
And so he went out of the room: And I was quite sick at heart!--Surely,
said I, I am the wickedest creature that ever breathed! Well, said the
impertinent, not so wicked as that neither; but I am glad you begin to
see your faults. Nothing like being humble!--Come, I'll stand your
friend, and plead for you, if you'll promise to be more dutiful for the
future: Come, come, added the wretch, this may be all made up by to-
morrow morning, if you are not a fool.--Begone, hideous woman! said I,
and let not my affliction be added to by thy inexorable cruelty, and
unwomanly wickedness.
She gave me a push, and went away in a violent passion: And it seems, she
made a story of this; and said, I had such a spirit, there was no bearing
it.
I laid me down on the floor, and had no power to stir, till the clock
struck nine: and then the wicked woman came up again. You must come down
stairs, said she, to my master; that is, if you please, spirit!--Said I,
I believe I cannot stand. Then, said she, I'll send Mons. Colbrand to
carry you down.
I got up as well as I could, and trembled all the way down stairs: And
she went before me into the parlour; and a new servant that he had
waiting on him, instead of John, withdrew as soon as I came in: And, by
the way, he had a new coachman too, which looked as if Bedfordshire Robin
was turned away.
I thought, said he, when I came down, you should have sat at table with
me, when I had not company; but when I find you cannot forget your
original, but must prefer my menials to me, I call you down to wait on me
while I sup, that I may have some talk with you, and throw away as little
time as possible upon you.
Sir, said I, you do me honour to wait upon you:--And I never shall, I
hope, forget my original. But I was forced to stand behind his chair,
that I might hold by it. Fill me, said he, a glass of that Burgundy. I
went to do it, but my hand shook so, that I could not hold the plate with
the glass in it, and spilt some of the wine. So Mrs. Jewkes poured it
for me, and I carried it as well as I could; and made a low courtesy. He
took it, and said, Stand behind me, out of my sight!
Why, Mrs. Jewkes, said he, you tell me she remains very sullen still, and
eats nothing. No, said she, not so much as will keep life and soul
together.--And is always crying, you say, too? Yes, sir, answered she, I
think she is, for one thing or another. Ay, said he, your young wenches
will feed upon their tears; and their obstinacy will serve them for meat
and drink. I think I never saw her look better though, in my life!--But,
I suppose, she lives upon love. This sweet Mr. Williams, and her little
villanous plots together, have kept her alive and well, to be sure: For
mischief, love, and contradiction, are the natural aliments of a woman.
Poor I was forced to hear all this, and be silent; and indeed my heart
was too full to speak.
And so you say, said he, that she had another project, but yesterday, to
get away? She denies it herself, said she; but it had all the appearance
of one. I'm sure she made me in a fearful pucker about it: And I am glad
your honour is come, with all my heart; and I hope, whatever be your
honour's intention concerning her, you will not be long about it; for
you'll find her as slippery as an eel, I'll assure you.
Sir, said I, and clasped his knees with my arms, not knowing what I did,
and falling on my knees, Have mercy on me, and hear me, concerning that
wicked woman's usage of me--
He cruelly interrupted me, and said, I am satisfied she has done her
duty: it signifies nothing what you say against Mrs. Jewkes. That you
are here, little hypocrite as you are, pleading your cause before me, is
owing to her care of you; else you had been with the parson.--Wicked
girl! said he, to tempt a man to undo himself, as you have done him, at a
time I was on the point of making him happy for his life!
I arose; but said with a deep sigh, I have done, sir!--I have done!--I
have a strange tribunal to plead before. The poor sheep in the fable had
such an one; when it was tried before the vulture, on the accusation of
the wolf!
So, Mrs. Jewkes, said he, you are the wolf, I the vulture, and this the
poor innocent lamb on her trial before us.--Oh! you don't know how well
this innocent is read in reflection. She has wit at will, when she has a
mind to display her own romantic innocence, at the price of other
people's characters.
Well, said the aggravated creature, this is nothing to what she has
called me: I have been a Jezebel, a London prostitute, and what not?--But
I am contented with her ill names, now I see it is her fashion, and she
can call your honour a vulture.
Said I, I had no thought of comparing my master--and was going to say on:
but he said, Don't prate, girl!--No, said she, it don't become you, I am
sure.
Well, said I, since I must not speak, I will hold my peace; but there is
a righteous Judge, who knows the secrets of all hearts; and to him I
appeal.
See there! said he: now this meek, good creature is praying for fire from
heaven upon us! O she can curse most heartily, in the spirit of
Christian meekness, I'll assure you!--Come, saucy-face, give me another
glass of wine.
So I did, as well as I could; but wept so, that he said, I suppose I
shall have some of your tears in my wine!
When he had supped, he stood up, and said, O how happy for you it is,
that you can, at will, thus make your speaking eyes overflow in this
manner, without losing any of their brilliancy! You have been told, I
suppose, that you are most beautiful in your tears!--Did you ever, said
he to her, (who all this while was standing in one corner of the
parlour,) see a more charming creature than this? Is it to be wondered
at, that I demean myself thus to take notice of her?--See, said he, and
took the glass with one hand, and turned me round with the other, what a
shape! what a neck! what a hand! and what a bloom on that lovely face!--
But who can describe the tricks and artifices, that lie lurking in her
little, plotting, guileful heart! 'Tis no wonder the poor parson was
infatuated with her.--I blame him less than I do her; for who could
expect such artifice in so young a sorceress?
I went to the farther part of the room, and held my face against the
wainscot; and in spite of all I could do to refrain crying, sobbed as if
my heart would break. He said, I am surprised, Mrs. Jewkes, at the
mistake of the letters you tell me of! But, you see, I am not afraid any
body should read what I write. I don't carry on private correspondences,
and reveal every secret that comes to my knowledge, and then corrupt
people to carry my letters against their duty, and all good conscience.
Come hither, hussy! said he: You and I have a dreadful reckoning to make.
Why don't you come, when I bid you?--Fie upon it, Mrs. Pamela, said she.
What! not stir, when his honour commands you to come to him!--Who knows
but his goodness will forgive you?
He came to me, (for I had no power to stir,) and put his arms about my
neck, and would kiss me; and said, Well, Mrs. Jewkes, if it were not for
the thought of this cursed parson, I believe in my heart, so great is my
weakness, that I could not forgive this intriguing little slut, and take
her to my bosom.
O, said the sycophant, you are very good, sir, very forgiving, indeed!--
But come, added the profligate wretch, I hope you will be so good, as to
take her to your bosom; and that, by to-morrow morning, you'll bring her
to a better sense of her duty!
Could any thing in womanhood be so vile? I had no patience: but yet
grief and indignation choaked up the passage of my words; and I could
only stammer out a passionate exclamation to Heaven, to protect my
innocence. But the word was the subject of their ridicule. Was ever
poor creature worse beset!
He said, as if he had been considering whether he could forgive me or
not, No, I cannot yet forgive her neither.--She has given me great
disturbance, has brought great discredit upon me, both abroad and at
home: has corrupted all my servants at the other house; has despised my
honourable views and intentions to her, and sought to run away with this
ungrateful parson.--And surely I ought not to forgive all this!--Yet,
with all this wretched grimace, he kissed me again, and would have put
his hand into my bosom; but I struggled, and said, I would die before I
would be used thus.--Consider, Pamela, said he, in a threatening tone,
consider where you are! and don't play the fool: If you do, a more
dreadful fate awaits you than you expect. But take her up stairs, Mrs.
Jewkes, and I'll send a few lines to her to consider of; and let me have
your answer, Pamela, in the morning. 'Till then you have to resolve: and
after that your doom is fixed.--So I went up stairs, and gave myself up
to grief, and expectation of what he would send: but yet I was glad of
this night's reprieve!
He sent me, however, nothing at all. And about twelve o'clock, Mrs.
Jewkes and Nan came up, as the night before, to be my bed-fellows: and I
would go to bed with some of my clothes on: which they muttered at sadly;
and Mrs. Jewkes railed at me particularly. Indeed I would have sat up
all night, for fear, if she would have let me. For I had but very little
rest that night, apprehending this woman would let my master in. She did
nothing but praise him, and blame me: but I answered her as little as I
could.
He has Sir Simon Tell-tale, alias Darnford, to dine with him to-day,
whose family sent to welcome him into the country; and it seems the old
knight wants to see me; so I suppose I shall be sent for, as Samson was,
to make sport for him.--Here I am, and must bear it all!
Twelve o'clock, Saturday noon.
Just now he has sent me up, by Mrs. Jewkes, the following proposals. So
here are the honourable intentions all at once laid open. They are, my
dear parents, to make me a vile kept mistress: which, I hope, I shall
always detest the thoughts of. But you'll see how they are accommodated
to what I should have most desired, could I have honestly promoted it,
your welfare and happiness. I have answered them, as I am sure you'll
approve; and I am prepared for the worst: For though I fear there will be
nothing omitted to ruin me, and though my poor strength will not be able
to defend me, yet I will be innocent of crime in my intention, and in the
sight of God; and to him leave the avenging of all my wrongs, time and
manner. I shall write to you my answer against his articles; and hope
the best, though I fear the worst. But if I should come home to you
ruined and undone, and may not be able to look you in the face; yet pity
and inspirit the poor Pamela, to make her little remnant of life easy;
for long I shall not survive my disgrace: and you may be assured it shall
not be my fault, if it be my misfortune.
'To MRS. PAMELA ANDREWS.
'The following ARTICLES are proposed to your serious consideration; and
let me have an answer, in writing, to them, that I may take my
resolutions accordingly. Only remember, that I will not be trifled with;
and what you give for answer will absolutely decide your fate, without
expostulation, or farther trouble.
This is my ANSWER.
Forgive, sir, the spirit your poor servant is about to show in
her answer to your ARTICLES. Not to be warm, and in earnest,
on such an occasion as the present, would shew a degree of guilt,
that, I hope, my soul abhors. I will not trifle with you, nor
act like a person doubtful of her own mind; for it wants not one
moment's consideration with me; and I therefore return the ANSWER
following, let what will be the consequence.
'I. If you can convince me that the hated parson has had no
encouragement from you in his addresses; and that you have no inclination
for him in preference to me; then I will offer the following proposals to
you, which I will punctually make good.
I. As to the first article, sir, it may behove me (that I may
not deserve, in your opinion, the opprobrious terms of forward
and artful, and such like) to declare solemnly, that Mr. Williams
never had the least encouragement from me, as to what you hint;
and I believe his principal motive was the apprehended duty of his
function, quite contrary to his apparent interest, to assist a
person he thought in distress. You may, sir, the rather believe
me, when I declare, that I know not the man breathing I would wish
to marry; and that the only one I could honour more than another,
is the gentleman, who, of all others, seeks my everlasting dishonour.
'II. I will directly make you a present of 500 guineas, for your own
use, which you may dispose of to any purpose you please: and will give
it absolutely into the hands of any person you shall appoint to receive
it; and expect no favour in return, till you are satisfied in the
possession of it.
II. As to your second proposal, let the consequence be what it
will, I reject it with all my soul. Money, sir, is not my chief
good: May God Almighty desert me, whenever it is! and whenever,
for the sake of that, I can give up my title to that blessed hope
which will stand me in stead, at a time when millions of gold will
not purchase one happy moment of reflection on a past misspent life!
'III. I will likewise directly make over to you a purchase I lately made
in Kent, which brings in 250l. per annum, clear of all deductions. This
shall be made over to you in full property for your life, and for the
lives of any children to perpetuity, that you may happen to have: And
your father shall be immediately put into possession of it in trust for
these purposes: and the management of it will yield a comfortable
subsistence to him, and your mother, for life; and I will make up any
deficiencies, if such should happen, to that clear sum, and allow him
50l. per annum, besides, for his life, and that of your mother, for his
care and management of this your estate.
III. Your third proposal, sir, I reject for the same reason;
and am sorry you could think my poor honest parents would enter
into their part of it, and be concerned for the management of
an estate, which would be owing to the prostitution of their
poor daughter. Forgive, sir, my warmth on this occasion; but
you know not the poor man, and the poor woman, my ever-dear
father and mother, if you think, that they would not much rather
choose to starve in a ditch, or rot in a noisome dungeon, than
accept of the fortune of a monarch, upon such wicked terms.
I dare not say all that my full mind suggests to me on this
grievous occasion--But, indeed, sir, you know them not; nor
shall the terrors of death, in its most frightful form, I hope,
through God's assisting grace, ever make me act unworthy of
such poor honest parents!
'IV. I will, moreover, extend my favour to any other of your relations,
that you may think worthy of it, or that are valued by you.
IV. Your fourth proposal, I take upon me, sir, to answer as the
third. If I have any friends that want the favour of the great,
may they ever want it, if they are capable of desiring it on
unworthy terms!
'V. I will, besides, order patterns to be sent you for choosing four
complete suits of rich clothes, that you may appear with reputation, as
if you were my wife. And will give you the two diamond rings, and two
pair of ear-rings, and diamond necklace, that were bought by my mother,
to present to Miss Tomlins, if the match that was proposed between her
and me had been brought to effect: and I will confer upon you still other
gratuities, as I shall find myself obliged, by your good behaviour and
affection.
V. Fine clothes, sir, become not me; nor have I any ambition
to wear them. I have greater pride in my poverty and meanness,
than I should have in dress and finery. Believe me, sir, I think
such things less become the humble-born Pamela, than the rags
your good mother raised me from. Your rings, sir, your necklace,
and your ear-rings, will better befit ladies of degree, than me:
and to lose the best jewel, my virtue, would be poorly recompensed
by those you propose to give me. What should I think, when I
looked upon my finger, or saw in the glass those diamonds on my
neck, and in my ears, but that they were the price of my honesty;
and that I wore those jewels outwardly, because I had none inwardly.
'VI. Now, Pamela, will you see by this, what a value I set upon the
free-will of a person already in my power; and who, if these proposals
are not accepted, shall find, that I have not taken all these pains, and
risked my reputation, as I have done, without resolving to gratify my
passion for you, at all adventures; and if you refuse, without making any
terms at all.
VI. I know, sir, by woful experience, that I am in your power:
I know all the resistance I can make will be poor and weak, and,
perhaps, stand me in little stead: I dread your will to ruin me
is as great as your power: yet, sir, will I dare to tell you,
that I will make no free-will offering of my virtue. All that
I can do, poor as it is, I will do, to convince you, that your
offers shall have no part in my choice; and if I cannot escape
the violence of man, I hope, by God's grace, I shall have nothing
to reproach myself, for not doing all in my power to avoid my
disgrace; and then I can safely appeal to the great God, my only
refuge and protector, with this consolation, That my will bore no
part in my violation.
'VII. You shall be mistress of my person and fortune, as much as if the
foolish ceremony had passed. All my servants shall be yours; and you
shall choose any two persons to attend yourself, either male or female,
without any control of mine: and if your conduct be such, that I have
reason to be satisfied with it, I know not (but will not engage for this)
that I may, after a twelvemonth's cohabitation, marry you; for, if my
love increases for you, as it has done for many months past, it will be
impossible for me to deny you any thing.
'And now, Pamela, consider well, it is in your power to oblige me on such
terms, as will make yourself, and all your friends, happy: but this will
be over this very day, irrevocably over; and you shall find all you would
be thought to fear, without the least benefit arising from it to
yourself.
'And I beg you'll well weigh the matter, and comply with my proposals;
and I will instantly set about securing to you the full effect of them:
And let me, if you value yourself, experience a grateful return on this
occasion, and I'll forgive all that's past.'
VII. I have not once dared to look so high, as to such a
proposal as your seventh article contains. Hence have proceeded
all my little abortive artifices to escape from the confinement
you have put me in; although you promised to be honourable to me.
Your honour, well I know, would not let you stoop to so mean and
so unworthy a slave, as the poor Pamela: All I desire is, to be
permitted to return to my native meanness unviolated. What have
I done, sir, to deserve it should be otherwise? For the obtaining
of this, though I would not have married your chaplain, yet would
I have run away with your meanest servant, if I had thought I could
have got safe to my beloved poverty. I heard you once say, sir,
That a certain great commander, who could live upon lentils, might
well refuse the bribes of the greatest monarch: And I hope, as I
can contentedly live at the meanest rate, and think not myself
above the lowest condition, that I am also above making an exchange
of my honesty for all the riches of the Indies. When I come to be
proud and vain of gaudy apparel, and outside finery, then (which I
hope will never be) may I rest my principal good in such vain
trinkets, and despise for them the more solid ornaments of a good
fame, and a chastity inviolate!
Give me leave to say, sir, in answer to what you hint, That you may in a
twelvemonth's time marry me, on the continuance of my good behaviour;
that this weighs less with me, if possible, than any thing else you have
said: for, in the first place, there is an end of all merit, and all good
behaviour, on my side, if I have now any, the moment I consent to your
proposals: And I should be so far from expecting such an honour, that I
will pronounce, that I should be most unworthy of it. What, sir, would
the world say, were you to marry your harlot? That a gentleman of your
rank in life should stoop, not only to the base-born Pamela, but to a
base-born prostitute?--Little, sir, as I know of the world, I am not to
be caught by a bait so poorly covered as this!
Yet, after all, dreadful is the thought, that I, a poor, weak,
friendless, unhappy creature, am too full in your power! But permit me,
sir, to pray, as I now write on my bended knees, That before you resolve
upon my ruin, you will weigh well the matter. Hitherto, sir, though you
have taken large strides to this crying sin, yet are you on this side the
commission of it.--When once it is done, nothing can recall it! And
where will be your triumph?--What glory will the spoils of such a weak
enemy yield you? Let me but enjoy my poverty with honesty, is all my
prayer, and I will bless you, and pray for you, every moment of my life!
Think, O think! before it is yet too late! what stings, what remorse will
attend your dying hour, when you come to reflect, that you have ruined,
perhaps soul and body, a wretched creature, whose only pride was her
virtue! And how pleased you will be, on the contrary, if in that
tremendous moment you shall be able to acquit yourself of this foul
crime, and to plead in your own behalf, that you suffered the earnest
supplications of an unhappy wretch to prevail with you to be innocent
yourself, and let her remain so!--May God Almighty, whose mercy so lately
saved you from the peril of perishing in deep waters, (on which, I hope,
you will give me cause to congratulate you!) touch your heart in my
favour, and save you from this sin, and me from this ruin!--And to him do
I commit my cause; and to him will I give the glory, and night and day
pray for you, if I may be permitted to escape this great evil!----
Your poor oppressed, broken spirited servant.
I took a copy of this for your perusal, my dear parents, if I shall ever
be so happy to see you again; (for I hope my conduct will be approved of
by you;) and at night, when Sir Simon was gone, he sent for me down.
Well, said he, have you considered my proposals? Yes, sir, said I, I
have: and there is my answer: But pray let me not see you read it. Is it
your bashfulness, said he, or your obstinacy, that makes you not choose I
should read it before you?
I offered to go away; and he said, Don't run from me; I won't read it
till you are gone. But, said he, tell me, Pamela, whether you comply
with my proposals, or not? Sir, said I, you will see presently; pray
don't hold me; for he took my hand. Said he, Did you well consider
before you answered?--I did, sir, said I. If it be not what you think
will please me, said he, dear girl, take it back again, and reconsider
it; for if I have this as your absolute answer, and I don't like it, you
are undone; for I will not sue meanly, where I can command. I fear, said
he, it is not what I like, by your manner: and let me tell you, that I
cannot bear denial. If the terms I have offered are not sufficient, I
will augment them to two-thirds of my estate; for, said he, and swore a
dreadful oath, I cannot live without you: and, since the thing is gone so
far, I will not! And so he clasped me in his arms in such a manner as
quite frightened me; and kissed me two or three times.
I got from him, and run up stairs, and went to the closet, and was quite
uneasy and fearful.
In an hour's time he called Mrs. Jewkes down to him! And I heard him
very high in passion: and all about me! And I heard her say, It was his
own fault; there would be an end of all my complaining and perverseness,
if he was once resolved; and other most impudent aggravations. I am
resolved not to go to bed this night, if I can help it!--Lie still, lie
still, my poor fluttering heart!--What will become of me!
Almost twelve o'clock, Saturday night.
He sent Mrs. Jewkes, about ten o'clock, to tell me to come to him.
Where? said I. I'll shew you, said she. I went down three or four
steps, and saw her making to his chamber, the door of which was open: So
I said, I cannot go there!--Don't be foolish, said she; but come; no harm
will be done to you!--Well, said I, if I die, I cannot go there. I heard
him say, Let her come, or it shall be worse for her. I can't bear, said
he, to speak to her myself!--Well, said I, I cannot come, indeed I
cannot; and so I went up again into my closet, expecting to be fetched by
force.
But she came up soon after, and bid me make haste to bed: Said I, I will
not go to bed this night, that's certain!--Then, said she, you shall be
made to come to bed; and Nan and I will undress you. I knew neither
prayers nor tears would move this wicked woman: So I said, I am sure you
will let master in, and I shall be undone! Mighty piece of undone! she
said: but he was too much exasperated against me, to be so familiar with
me, she would assure me!--Ay, said she, you'll be disposed of another way
soon, I can tell you for your comfort: and I hope your husband will have
your obedience, though nobody else can have it. No husband in the world,
said I, shall make me do an unjust or base thing.--She said, That would
be soon tried; and Nan coming in, What! said I, am I to have two bed-
fellows again, these warm nights? Yes, said she, slippery-one, you are,
till you can have one good one instead of us. Said I, Mrs. Jewkes, don't
talk nastily to me: I see you are beginning again; and I shall affront
you, may be; for next to bad actions, are bad words; for they could not
be spoken, if they were not in the heart.--Come to bed, purity! said she.
You are a nonsuch, I suppose. Indeed, said I, I can't come to bed; and
it will do you no harm to let me stay all night in the great chair. Nan,
said she, undress my young lady. If she won't let you, I'll help you;
and, if neither of us can do it quietly, we'll call my master to do it
for us; though, said she, I think it an office worthier of Monsieur
Colbrand!--You are very wicked, said I. I know it, said she; I am a
Jezebel, and a London prostitute, you know. You did great feats, said I,
to tell my master all this poor stuff; but you did not tell him how you
beat me. No, lambkin, said she, (a word I had not heard a good while,)
that I left for you to tell and you was going to do it if the vulture had
not taken the wolf's part, and bid the poor innocent lamb be silent!--Ay,
said I, no matter for your fleers, Mrs. Jewkes; though I can have neither
justice nor mercy here, and cannot be heard in my defence, yet a time
will come, may be, when I shall be heard, and when your own guilt will
strike you dumb.--Ay! spirit, said she; and the vulture too! Must we
both be dumb? Why that, lambkin, will be pretty!--Then, said the wicked
one, you'll have all the talk to yourself!--Then how will the tongue of
the pretty lambkin bleat out innocence, and virtue, and honesty, till the
whole trial be at an end!--You're a wicked woman, that's certain, said I;
and if you thought any thing of another world, could not talk thus. But
no wonder!--It shews what hands I'm got into!--Ay, so it does, said she;
but I beg you'll undress, and come to bed, or I believe your innocence
won't keep you from still worse hands. I will come to bed, said I, if
you will let me have the keys in my own hand; not else, if I can help it.
Yes, said she, and then, hey for another contrivance, another escape!--
No, no, said I, all my contrivances are over, I'll assure you! Pray let
me have the keys, and I will come to bed. She came to me, and took me in
her huge arms, as if I was a feather: Said she, I do this to shew you
what a poor resistance you can make against me, if I please to exert
myself; and so, lambkin, don't say to your wolf, I won't come to bed!--
And set me down, and tapped me on the neck: Ah! said she, thou art a
pretty creature, 'tis true; but so obstinate! so full of spirit! if thy
strength was but answerable to that, thou would'st run away with us all,
and this great house too on thy back!--But, undress, undress, I tell you.
Well, said I, I see my misfortunes make you very merry, and very witty
too: but I will love you, if you will humour me with the keys of the
chamber-doors.--Are you sure you will love me? said she: Now speak your
conscience!--Why, said I, you must not put it so close; neither would
you, if you thought you had not given reason to doubt it!--But I will
love you as well as I can!--I would not tell a wilful lie: and if I did,
you would not believe me, after your hard usage of me. Well, said she,
that's all fair, I own!--But Nan, pray pull off my young lady's shoes and
stockings.--No, pray don't, said I; I will come to bed presently, since I
must.
And so I went to the closet, and scribbled a little about this idle chit-
chat. And she being importunate, I was forced to go to bed; but with
some of my clothes on, as the former night; and she let me hold the two
keys; for there are two locks, there being a double door; and so I got a
little sleep that night, having had none for two or three nights before.
I can't imagine what she means; but Nan offered to talk a little once or
twice; and she snubbed her, and said, I charge you, wench, don't open
your lips before me; and if you are asked any questions by Mrs. Pamela,
don't answer her one word, while I am here!--But she is a lordly woman to
the maid-servants; and that has always been her character: O how unlike
good Mrs. Jervis in every thing.
Sunday morning.
A thought came into my head; I meant no harm; but it was a little bold.
For, seeing my master dressing to go to church; and his chariot getting
ready, I went to my closet, and I writ,
The prayers of this congregation are earnestly desired for a
gentleman of great worth and honour, who labours under a temptation
to exert his great power to ruin a poor, distressed, worthless
maiden:
And also,
The prayers of this congregation are earnestly desired by a poor
distressed creature, for the preservation of her virtue and
innocence.
Mrs. Jewkes came up: Always writing! said she; and would see it: And
strait, all that ever I could say, carried it down to my master.--He
looked upon it, and said, Tell her, she shall soon see how her prayers
are answered; she is very bold: but as she has rejected all my favours,
her reckoning for all is not far off. I looked after him out of the
window; and he was charmingly dressed: To be sure he is a handsome fine
gentleman!--What pity his heart is not as good as his appearance! Why
can't I hate him?--But don't be uneasy, if you should see this; for it is
impossible I should love him; for his vices all ugly him over, as I may
say.
My master sends word, that he shall not come home to dinner: I suppose he
dines with this Sir Simon Darnford. I am much concerned for poor Mr.
Williams. Mrs. Jewkes says, he is confined still, and takes on much.
All his trouble is brought upon him for my sake: This grieves me much.
My master, it seems, will have his money from him. This is very hard;
for it is three fifty pounds, he gave him, as he thought, as a salary for
three years that he has been with him: but there was no agreement between
them; and he absolutely depended on my master's favour. To be sure, it
was the more generous of him to run these risks for the sake of oppressed
innocence: and I hope he will meet with his reward in due time. Alas for
me! I dare not plead for him; that would raise my oppressor's jealousy
more. And I have not interest to save myself!
Sunday evening.
Mrs. Jewkes has received a line from my master: I wonder what it is, for
his chariot is come home without him. But she will tell me nothing; so
it is in vain to ask her. I am so fearful of plots and tricks, I know
not what to do!--Every thing I suspect; for, now my disgrace is avowed,
what can I think!--To be sure, the worst will be attempted! I can only
pour out my soul in prayer to God, for his blessed protection. But, if I
must suffer, let me not be long a mournful survivor!--Only let me not
shorten my own time sinfully!----
This woman left upon the table, in the chamber, this letter of my
master's to her; and I bolted myself in, till I had transcribed it.
You'll see how tremblingly, by the lines. I wish poor Mr. Williams's
release at any rate; but this letter makes my heart ache. Yet I have
another day's reprieve, thank God!
'MRS. JEWKES,
'I have been so pressed on Williams's affair, that I shall set out this
afternoon, in Sir Simon's chariot, and with Parson Peters, who is his
intercessor, for Stamford; and shall not be back till to-morrow evening,
if then. As to your ward, I am thoroughly incensed against her: She has
withstood her time; and now, would she sign and seal to my articles, it
is too late. I shall discover something, perhaps, by him; and will, on
my return, let her know, that all her ensnaring loveliness shall not save
her from the fate that awaits her. But let her know nothing of this,
lest it put her fruitful mind upon plots and artifices. Be sure trust
her not without another with you at night, lest she venture the window in
her foolish rashness: for I shall require her at your hands.
'Yours, etc.'
I had but just finished taking a copy of this, and laid the letter where
I had it, and unbolted the door, when she came up in a great fright, for
fear I should have seen it; but I being in my closet, and that lying as
she left it, she did not mistrust. O, said she, I was afraid you had
seen my master's letter here, which I carelessly left on the table. I
wish, said I, I had known that. Why sure, said she, if you had, you
would not have offered to read my letters! Indeed, said I, I should, at
this time, if it had been in my way:--Do let me see it.--Well, said she,
I wish poor Mr. Williams well off: I understand my master is gone to make
up matters with him; which is very good. To be sure, added she, he is a
very good gentleman, and very forgiving!--Why, said I, as if I had known
nothing of the matter, how can he make up matters with him? Is not Mr.
Williams at Stamford? Yes, said she, I believe so; but Parson Peters
pleads for him, and he is gone with him to Stamford, and will not be back
to-night: so we have nothing to do, but to eat our suppers betimes, and
go to bed. Ay, that's pure, said I; and I shall have good rest this
night, I hope. So, said she, you might every night, but for your own
idle fears. You are afraid of your friends, when none are near you. Ay,
that's true, said I; for I have not one near me.
So I have one more good honest night before me: What the next may be I
know not, and so I'll try to take in a good deal of sleep, while I can be
a little easy. Therefore, here I say, Good night, my dear parents; for I
have no more to write about this night: and though his letter shocks me,
yet I will be as brisk as I can, that she mayn't suspect I have seen it.
Tuesday night.
For the future, I will always mistrust most when appearances look
fairest. O your poor daughter! what has she not suffered since what I
wrote on Sunday night!--My worst trial, and my fearfullest danger! O how
I shudder to write you an account of this wicked interval of time! For,
my dear parents, will you not be too much frightened and affected with my
distress, when I tell you, that his journey to Stamford was all
abominable pretence! for he came home privately, and had well nigh
effected all his vile purposes, and the ruin of your poor daughter! and
that by such a plot as I was not in the least apprehensive of: And, oh!
you'll hear what a vile and unwomanly part that wicked wretch, Mrs.
Jewkes, acted in it!
I left off with letting you know how much I was pleased that I had one
night's reprieve added to my honesty. But I had less occasion to rejoice
than ever, as you will judge by what I have said already. Take, then,
the dreadful story, as well as I can relate it.
The maid Nan is a little apt to drink, if she can get at liquor; and Mrs.
Jewkes happened, or designed, as is too probable, to leave a bottle of
cherry-brandy in her way, and the wench drank some of it more than she
should; and when she came in to lay the cloth, Mrs. Jewkes perceived it,
and fell a rating at her most sadly; for she has too many faults of her
own, to suffer any of the like sort in any body else, if she can help it;
and she bid her get out of her sight, when we had supped, and go to bed,
to sleep off her liquor, before we came to bed. And so the poor maid
went muttering up stairs.
About two hours after, which was near eleven o'clock, Mrs. Jewkes and I
went up to go to bed; I pleasing myself with what a charming night I
should have. We locked both doors, and saw poor Nan, as I thought, (but,
oh! 'twas my abominable master, as you shall hear by and by,) sitting
fast asleep, in an elbow-chair, in a dark corner of the room, with her
apron thrown over her head and neck. And Mrs. Jewkes said, There is that
beast of a wench fast asleep, instead of being a-bed! I knew, said she,
she had taken a fine dose. I'll wake her, said I. No, don't, said she;
let her sleep on; we shall he better without her. Ay, said I, so we
shall; but won't she get cold?
Said she, I hope you have no writing to-night. No, replied I, I will go
to bed with you, Mrs. Jewkes. Said she, I wonder what you can find to
write about so much! and am sure you have better conveniences of that
kind, and more paper than I am aware of; and I had intended to rummage
you, if my master had not come down; for I spied a broken tea-cup with
ink, which gave me suspicion: but as he is come, let him look after you,
if he will; and if you deceive him, it will be his own fault.
All this time we were undressing ourselves: And I fetched a deep sigh!
What do you sigh for? said she. I am thinking, Mrs. Jewkes, answered I,
what a sad life I live, and how hard is my lot. I am sure, the thief
that has robbed is much better off than I, 'bating the guilt; and I
should, I think, take it for a mercy, to be hanged out of the way, rather
than live in these cruel apprehensions. So, being not sleepy, and in a
prattling vein, I began to give a little history of myself, as I did,
once before, to Mrs. Jervis; in this manner:
Here, said I, were my poor honest parents; they took care to instill good
principles into my mind, till I was almost twelve years of age; and
taught me to prefer goodness and poverty to the highest condition of
life; and they confirmed their lessons by their own practice; for they
were, of late years, remarkably poor, and always as remarkably honest,
even to a proverb: for, As honest as goodman ANDREWS, was a byeword.
Well then, said I, comes my late dear good lady, and takes a fancy to me,
and said, she would be the making of me, if I was a good girl; and she
put me to sing, to dance, to play on the spinnet, in order to divert her
melancholy hours; and also taught me all manner of fine needle-work; but
still this was her lesson, My good Pamela, be virtuous, and keep the men
at a distance. Well, so I was, I hope, and so I did; and yet, though I
say it, they all loved me and respected me; and would do any thing for
me, as if I was a gentlewoman.
But, then, what comes next?--Why, it pleased God to take my good lady:
and then comes my master: And what says he?--Why, in effect, it is, Be
not virtuous, Pamela.
So here I have lived about sixteen years in virtue and reputation; and
all at once, when I come to know what is good, and what is evil, I must
renounce all the good, all the whole sixteen years' innocence, which,
next to God's grace, I owed chiefly to my parents, and my lady's good
lessons and examples, and choose the evil; and so, in a moment's time,
become the vilest of creatures! And all this, for what, I pray? Why,
truly, for a pair of diamond ear-rings, a necklace, and a diamond ring
for my finger; which would not become me: For a few paltry fine clothes,
which, when I wore them, would make but my former poverty more ridiculous
to every body that saw me; especially when they knew the base terms I
wore them upon. But, indeed, I was to have a great parcel of guineas
beside; I forget how many; for, had there been ten times more, they would
have been not so much to me, as the honest six guineas you tricked me out
of, Mrs. Jewkes.
Well, forsooth! but then I was to have I know not how many pounds a year
for my life; and my poor father (there was the jest of it!) was to be the
manager for the abandoned prostitute his daughter: And then, (there was
the jest again!) my kind, forgiving, virtuous master, would pardon me all
my misdeeds!
Yes, thank him for nothing, truly. And what, pray, are all these violent
misdeeds?--Why, they are for daring to adhere to the good lessons that
were taught me; and not learning a new one, that would have reversed all
my former: For not being contented when I was run away with, in order to
be ruined; but contriving, if my poor wits had been able, to get out of
danger, and preserve myself honest.
Then was he once jealous of poor John, though he knew John was his own
creature, and helped to deceive me.
Then was he outrageous against poor Parson Williams! and him has this
good, merciful master, thrown into gaol; and for what? Why, truly, for
that, being a divine, and a good man, he had the fear of God before his
eyes, and was willing to forego all his expectations of interest, and
assist an oppressed poor creature.
But, to be sure, I must be forward, bold, saucy, and what not! to dare to
run away from certain ruin, and to strive to escape from an unjust
confinement; and I must be married to the parson, nothing so sure!
He would have had but a poor catch of me, had I consented: But he, and
you too, know I did not want to marry any body. I only wanted to go to
my poor parents, and to have my own liberty, and not to be confined by
such an unlawful restraint; and which would not have been inflicted upon
me, but only that I am a poor, destitute, young body, and have no friend
that is able to right me.
So, Mrs. Jewkes, said I, here is my history in brief. And I am a very
unhappy young creature, to be sure!--And why am I so?--Why, because my
master sees something in my person that takes his present fancy; and
because I would not be undone.--Why, therefore to choose, I must, and I
shall be undone!--And this is all the reason that can be given!
She heard me run on all this time, while I was undressing, without any
interruption; and I said, Well, I must go to the two closets, ever since
an affair of the closet at the other house, though he is so far off. And
I have a good mind to wake this poor maid. No, don't, said she, I charge
you. I am very angry with her, and she'll get no harm there; and if she
wakes, she may come to bed well enough, as long as there is a candle in
the chimney.
So I looked into the closet, and kneeled down in my own, as I used to do,
to say my prayers, and this with my underclothes in my hand, all
undressed; and passed by the poor sleeping wench, as I thought, in my
return. But, oh! little did I think it was my wicked, wicked master, in
a gown and petticoat of hers, and her apron over his face and shoulders.
What meanness will not Lucifer make his votaries stoop to, to gain their
abominable ends!
Mrs. Jewkes, by this time, was got to bed, on the farther side, as she
used to be; and, to make room for the maid, when she should awake, I got
into bed, and lay close to her. And I said, Where are the keys? though,
said I, I am not so much afraid to-night. Here, said the wicked woman,
put your arm under mine, and you shall find them about my wrist, as they
used to be. So I did, and the abominable designer held my hand with her
right-hand, as my right-arm was under her left.
In less than a quarter of an hour, I said, There's poor Nan awake; I hear
her stir. Let us go to sleep, said she, and not mind her: she'll come to
bed, when she's quite awake. Poor soul! said I, I'll warrant she will
have the head-ache finely to-morrow for this! Be silent, said she, and
go to sleep; you keep me awake; and I never found you in so talkative a
humour in my life. Don't chide me, said I; I will but say one thing
more: Do you think Nan could hear me talk of my master's offers? No, no,
said she; she was dead asleep. I'm glad of that, said I; because I would
not expose my master to his common servants; and I knew you were no
stranger to his fine articles. Said she, I think they were fine
articles, and you were bewitched you did not close with them: But let us
go to sleep. So I was silent; and the pretended Nan (O wicked, base,
villanous designer! what a plot, what an unexpected plot was this!)
seemed to be awaking; and Mrs. Jewkes, abhorrent creature! said, Come,
Nan!--what, are you awake at last?--Pr'ythee come to bed; for Mrs. Pamela
is in a talking fit, and won't go to sleep one while.
At that, the pretended she came to the bed side; and, sitting down in a
chair, where the curtain hid her, began to undress. Said I, Poor Mrs.
Anne, I warrant your head aches most sadly! How do you do?
Says he, One word with you, Pamela; one word hear me but; I must say one
word to you, it is this: You see now you are in my power!--You cannot get
from me, nor help yourself: Yet have I not offered any thing amiss to
you. But if you resolve not to comply with my proposals, I will not lose
this opportunity: If you do, I will yet leave you.
O sir, said I, leave me, leave me but, and I will do any thing I ought to
do.--Swear then to me, said he, that you will accept my proposals! With
struggling, fright, terror, I fainted away quite, and did not come to
myself soon, so that they both, from the cold sweats that I was in,
thought me dying.--And I remember no more, than that, when with great
difficulty they brought me to myself, she was sitting on one side of the
bed, with her clothes on; and he on the other with his, and in his gown
and slippers.
Your poor Pamela cannot answer for the liberties taken with her in her
deplorable state of death. And when I saw them there, I sat up in my
bed, without any regard to what appearance I made, and nothing about my
neck; and he soothing me, with an aspect of pity and concern, I put my
hand to his mouth, and said, O tell me, yet tell me not, what have I
suffered in this distress? And I talked quite wild, and knew not what:
for, to be sure, I was on the point of distraction.
He most solemnly, and with a bitter imprecation, vowed, that he had not
offered the least indecency; that he was frightened at the terrible
manner I was taken with the fit: that he should desist from his attempt;
and begged but to see me easy and quiet, and he would leave me directly,
and go to his own bed. O then, said I, take with you this most wicked
woman, this vile Mrs. Jewkes, as an earnest, that I may believe you!
And will you, sir, said the wicked wretch, for a fit or two, give up such
an opportunity as this?--I thought you had known the sex better. She is
now, you see, quite well again!
This I heard; more she might say; but I fainted away once more, at these
words, and at his clasping his arms about me again. And, when I came a
little to myself, I saw him sit there, and the maid Nan, holding a
smelling-bottle to my nose, and no Mrs. Jewkes.
He said, taking my hand, Now will I vow to you, my dear Pamela, that I
will leave you the moment I see you better, and pacified. Here's Nan
knows, and will tell you, my concern for you. I vow to God, I have not
offered any indecency to you: and, since I found Mrs. Jewkes so offensive
to you, I have sent her to the maid's bed, and the maid shall be with you
to-night. And but promise me, that you will compose yourself, and I will
leave you. But, said I, will not Nan also hold my hand? And will not
she let you come in again to me?--He said, By heaven! I will not come in
again to-night. Nan, undress yourself, go to bed, and do all you can to
comfort the dear creature: And now, Pamela, said he, give me but your
hand, and say you forgive me, and I will leave you to your repose. I
held out my trembling hand, which he vouchsafed to kiss; and I said, God
forgive you, sir, as you have been just in my distress; and as you will
be just to what you promise! And he withdrew, with a countenance of
remorse, as I hoped; and she shut the doors, and, at my request, brought
the keys to bed.
This, O my dear parents! was a most dreadful trial. I tremble still to
think of it; and dare not recall all the horrid circumstances of it. I
hope, as he assures me, he was not guilty of indecency; but have reason
to bless God, who, by disabling me in my faculties, empowered me to
preserve my innocence; and, when all my strength would have signified
nothing, magnified himself in my weakness.
I was so weak all day on Monday, that I could not get out of my bed. My
master shewed great tenderness for me; and I hope he is really sorry, and
that this will be his last attempt; but he does not say so neither.
He came in the morning, as soon as he heard the door open and I began to
be fearful. He stopped short of the bed, and said, Rather than give you
apprehensions, I will come no farther. I said, Your honour, sir, and
your mercy, is all I have to beg. He sat himself on the side of the bed,
and asked kindly, how I did?--begged me to be composed; said, I still
looked a little wildly. And I said, Pray, good sir, let me not see this
infamous Mrs. Jewkes; I doubt I cannot bear her sight. She shan't come
near you all this day, if you'll promise to compose yourself. Then, sir,
I will try. He pressed my hand very tenderly, and went out. What a
change does this shew!--O may it be lasting!--But, alas! he seems only to
have altered his method of proceeding; and retains, I doubt, his wicked
purpose.
On Tuesday, about ten o'clock, when my master heard I was up, he sent for
me down into the parlour. As soon as he saw me, he said, Come nearer to
me, Pamela. I did so, and he took my hand, and said, You begin to look
well again: I am glad of it. You little slut, how did you frighten me on
Sunday night.
Sir, said I, pray name not that night; and my eyes overflowed at the
remembrance, and I turned my head aside.
Said he, Place some little confidence in me: I know what those charming
eyes mean, and you shall not need to explain yourself: for I do assure
you, that as soon as I saw you change, and a cold sweat bedew your pretty
face, and you fainted away, I quitted the bed, and Mrs. Jewkes did so
too. And I put on my gown, and she fetched her smelling-bottle, and we
both did all we could to restore you; and my passion for you was all
swallowed up in the concern I had for your recovery; for I thought I
never saw a fit so strong and violent in my life: and feared we should
not bring you to life again; for what I saw you in once before was
nothing to it. This, said he, might be my folly, and my unacquaintedness
with what passion your sex can shew when they are in earnest. But this I
repeat to you, that your mind may be entirely comforted--Whatever I
offered to you, was before you fainted away, and that, I am sure, was
innocent.
Sir, said I, that was very bad: and it was too plain you had the worst
designs. When, said he, I tell you the truth in one instance, you may
believe me in the other. I know not, I declare, beyond this lovely
bosom, your sex: but that I did intend what you call the worst is most
certain: and though I would not too much alarm you now, I could curse my
weakness, and my folly, which makes me own, that I love you beyond all
your sex, and cannot live without you. But if I am master of myself, and
my own resolution, I will not attempt to force you to any thing again.
Sir, said I, you may easily keep your resolution, if you'll send me out
of your way, to my poor parents; that is all I beg.
'Tis a folly to talk of it, said he. You must not, shall not go! And if
I could be assured you would not attempt it, you should have better
usage, and your confinement should be made easier to you.
But to what end, sir, am I to stay? said I: You yourself seem not sure
you can keep your own present good resolutions; and do you think, if I
was to stay, when I could get away, and be safe, it would not look, as if
either I confided too much in my own strength, or would tempt my ruin?
And as if I was not in earnest to wish myself safe, and out of danger?--
And then, how long am I to stay? And to what purpose? And in what light
must I appear to the world? Would not that censure me, although I might
be innocent? And you will allow, sir, that, if there be any thing
valuable or exemplary in a good name, or fair reputation, one must not
despise the world's censure, if one can avoid it.
Well, said he, I sent not for you on this account, just now; but for two
reasons. The first is, That you promise me, that for a fortnight to come
you will not offer to go away without my express consent; and this I
expect for your own sake, that I may give you a little more liberty. And
the second is, That you will see and forgive Mrs. Jewkes: she takes on
much, and thinks that, as all her fault was her obedience to me, it would
be very hard to sacrifice her, as she calls it, to your resentment.
As to the first, sir, said I, it is a hard injunction, for the reasons I
have mentioned. And as to the second, considering her vile, unwomanly
wickedness, and her endeavours to instigate you more to ruin me, when
your returning goodness seemed to have some compassion upon me, it is
still harder. But, to shew my obedience to your commands, (for you know,
my dear parents, I might as well make a merit of my compliance, when my
refusal would stand me in no stead,) I will consent to both; and to every
thing else, that you shall be pleased to enjoin, which I can do, with
innocence.
That's my good girl! said he, and kissed me: This is quite prudent, and
shews me, that you don't take insolent advantage of my favour for you;
and will, perhaps, stand you in more stead than you are aware of.
So he rung the bell, and said, Call down Mrs. Jewkes. She came down, and
he took my hand, and put it into hers; and said, Mrs. Jewkes, I am
obliged to you for all your diligence and fidelity to me; but Pamela, I
must own, is not; because the service I employed you in was not so very
obliging to her, as I could have wished she would have thought it: and
you were not to favour her, but obey me. But yet I'll assure you, at the
very first word, she has once obliged me, by consenting to be friends
with you; and if she gives me no great cause, I shall not, perhaps, put
you on such disagreeable service again.--Now, therefore, be you once more
bed-fellows and board-fellows, as I may say, for some days longer; and
see that Pamela sends no letters nor messages out of the house, nor keeps
a correspondence unknown to me, especially with that Williams; and, as
for the rest, shew the dear girl all the respect that is due to one I
must love, if she will deserve it, as I hope she will yet; and let her be
under no unnecessary or harsh restraints. But your watchful care is not,
however, to cease: and remember that you are not to disoblige me, to
oblige her; and that I will not, cannot, yet part with her.
Mrs. Jewkes looked very sullen, and as if she would be glad still to do
me a good turn, if it lay in her power.
I took courage then to drop a word or two for poor Mr. Williams; but he
was angry with me for it, and said he could not endure to hear his name
in my mouth; so I was forced to have done for that time.
All this time, my papers, that I buried under the rose-bush, lay there
still; and I begged for leave to send a letter to you. So I should, he
said, if he might read it first. But this did not answer my design; and
yet I would have sent you such a letter as he might see, if I had been
sure my danger was over. But that I cannot; for he now seems to take
another method, and what I am more afraid of, because, may be, he may
watch an opportunity, and join force with it, on occasion, when I am
least prepared: for now he seems to abound with kindness, and talks of
love without reserve, and makes nothing of allowing himself in the
liberty of kissing me, which he calls innocent; but which I do not like,
and especially in the manner he does it: but for a master to do it at all
to a servant, has meaning too much in it, not to alarm an honest body.
Wednesday morning.
I find I am watched and suspected still very close; and I wish I was with
you; but that must not be, it seems, this fortnight. I don't like this
fortnight; and it will be a tedious and a dangerous one to me, I doubt.
My master just now sent for me down to take a walk with him in the
garden: but I like him not at all, nor his ways; for he would have, all
the way, his arm about my waist, and said abundance of fond things to me,
enough to make me proud, if his design had not been apparent. After
walking about, he led me into a little alcove, on the farther part of the
garden; and really made me afraid of myself, for he began to be very
teasing, and made me sit on his knee; and was so often kissing me, that I
said, Sir, I don't like to be here at all, I assure you. Indeed you make
me afraid!--And what made me the more so, was what he once said to Mrs.
Jewkes, and did not think I heard him, and which, though always uppermost
with me, I did not mention before, because I did not know how to bring it
in, in my writing.
She, I suppose, had been encouraging him in his wickedness; for it was
before the last dreadful trial: and I only heard what he answered.
Said he, I will try once more; but I have begun wrong for I see terror
does but add to her frost; but she is a charming girl, and may be thawed
by kindness; and I should have melted her by love, instead of freezing
her by fear.
Is he not a wicked, sad man for this?--To be sure, I blush while I write
it. But I trust, that that God, who has delivered me from the paw of the
lion and the bear; that is, his and Mrs. Jewkes's violences, will soon
deliver me from this Philistine, that I may not defy the commands of the
living God!
But, as I was saying, this expression coming into my thoughts, I was of
opinion, I could not be too much on my guard, at all times: more
especially when he took such liberties: for he professed honour all the
time with his mouth, while his actions did not correspond. I begged and
prayed he would let me go: and had I not appeared quite regardless of all
he said, and resolved not to stay, if I could help it, I know not how far
he would have proceeded; for I was forced to fall down upon my knees.
At last he walked out with me, still bragging of his honour and his love.
Yes, yes, sir, said I, your honour is to destroy mine: and your love is
to ruin me; I see it too plainly. But, indeed, I will not talk with you,
sir, said I, any more. Do you know, said he, whom you talk to, and where
you are?
You may believe I had reason to think him not so decent as he should be;
for I said, As to where I am, sir, I know it too well; and that I have no
creature to befriend me: and, as to whom I talk to, sir, let me ask you,
What you would have me answer?
Why, tell me, said he, what answer you would make? It will only make you
angry, said I; and so I shall fare worse, if possible. I won't be angry,
said he. Why, then, sir, said I, you cannot be my late good lady's son;
for she loved me, and taught me virtue. You cannot then be my master;
for no master demeans himself so to his poor servant.
He put his arm round me, and his other hand on my neck, which made me
more angry and bold: and he said, What then am I? Why, said I,
(struggling from him, and in a great passion,) to be sure you are Lucifer
himself, in the shape of my master, or you could not use me thus. These
are too great liberties, said he, in anger; and I desire that you will
not repeat them, for your own sake: For if you have no decency towards
me, I'll have none towards you.
I was running from him, and he said, Come back, when I bid you.--So,
knowing every place was alike dangerous to me, and I had nobody to run
to, I came back, at his call; and seeing him look displeased, I held my
hands together, and wept, and said, Pray, sir, forgive me. No, said he,
rather say, Pray, Lucifer, forgive me! And, now, since you take me for
the devil, how can you expect any good from me?--How, rather, can you
expect any thing but the worst treatment from me?--You have given me a
character, Pamela; and blame me not that I act up to it. Sir, said I,
let me beg you to forgive me: I am really sorry for my boldness; but
indeed you don't use me like a gentleman: and how can I express my
resentment, if I mince the matter, while you are so indecent? Precise
fool! said he, what indecencies have I offered you?--I was bewitched I
had not gone through my purpose last Sunday night; and then your
licentious tongue had not given the worst name to little puny freedoms,
that shew my love and my folly at the same time. But, begone! said he,
taking my hand, and tossing it from him, and learn another conduct and
more wit; and I will lay aside my foolish regard for you, and assert
myself. Begone! said he, again, with a haughty air.
Indeed, sir, said I, I cannot go, till you pardon me, which I beg on my
bended knees. I am truly sorry for my boldness.--But I see how you go
on: you creep by little and little upon me; and now soothe me, and now
threaten me; and if I should forbear to shew my resentment, when you
offer incivilities to me, would not that be to be lost by degrees? Would
it not shew, that I could bear any thing from you, if I did not express
all the indignation I could express, at the first approaches you make to
what I dread? And have you not as good as avowed my ruin?--And have you
once made me hope you will quit your purposes against me? How then, sir,
can I act, but by shewing my abhorrence of every step that makes towards
my undoing? And what is left me but words?--And can these words be other
than such strong ones, as shall shew the detestation which, from the
bottom of my heart, I have for every attempt upon my virtue? Judge for
me, sir, and pardon me.
Pardon you! said he, What! when you don't repent?--When you have the
boldness to justify yourself in your fault? Why don't you say, you never
will again offend me? I will endeavour, sir, said I, always to preserve
that decency towards you which becomes me. But really, sir, I must beg
your excuse for saying, That when you forget what belongs to decency in
your actions, and when words are all that are left me, to shew my
resentment of such actions, I will not promise to forbear the strongest
expressions that my distressed mind shall suggest to me: nor shall your
angriest frowns deter me, when my honesty is in question.
What, then, said he, do you beg pardon for? Where is the promise of
amendment, for which I should forgive you? Indeed, sir, said I, I own
that must absolutely depend on your usage of me: for I will bear any
thing you can inflict upon me with patience, even to the laying down of
my life, to shew my obedience to you in other cases; but I cannot be
patient, I cannot be passive, when my virtue is at stake! It would be
criminal in me, if I was.
He said, he never saw such a fool in his life. And he walked by the side
of me some yards, without saying a word, and seemed vexed; and at last
walked in, bidding me attend him in the garden, after dinner. So having
a little time, I went up, and wrote thus far.
Wednesday night.
If, my dear parents, I am not destined more surely than ever for ruin, I
have now more comfort before me than ever I yet knew: and am either
nearer my happiness, or my misery, than ever I was. God protect me from
the latter, if it be his blessed will! I have now such a scene to open
to you, that, I know, will alarm both your hopes and your fears, as it
does mine. And this it is:
After my master had dined, he took a turn into the stables, to look at
his stud of horses; and, when he came in, he opened the parlour-door,
where Mrs. Jewkes and I sat at dinner; and, at his entrance, we both rose
up; but he said, Sit still, sit still, and let me see how you eat your
victuals, Pamela. O, said Mrs. Jewkes, very poorly, indeed, sir! No,
said I, pretty well, sir, considering. None of your considerings, said
he, pretty face; and tapped me on the cheek. I blushed, but was glad he
was so good-humoured; but I could not tell how to sit before him, nor to
behave myself. So he said, I know, Pamela, you are a nice carver: my
mother used to say so. My lady, sir, said I, was very good to me in
every thing, and would always make me do the honours of her table for
her, when she was with her few select friends that she loved. Cut up,
said he, that chicken. I did so. Now, said he, and took a knife and
fork, and put a wing upon my plate, let me see you eat that. O sir, said
I, I have eaten a whole breast of a chicken already, and cannot eat so
much. But he said, I must eat it for his sake, and he would teach me to
eat heartily: So I did eat it; but was much confused at his so kind and
unusual freedom and condescension. And, good lack! you can't imagine how
Mrs. Jewkes looked and stared, and how respectful she seemed to me, and
called me good madam, I'll assure you, urging me to take a little bit of
tart.
My master took two or three turns about the room, musing and thoughtful,
as I had never before seen him; and at last he went out, saying, I am
going into the garden: You know, Pamela, what I said to you before
dinner. I rose, and courtesied, saying, I would attend his honour; and
he said, Do, good girl!
Well, said Mrs. Jewkes, I see how things will go. O, madam, as she
called me again, I am sure you are to be our mistress! And then I know
what will become of me. Ah Mrs. Jewkes, said I, if I can but keep myself
virtuous, 'tis the most of my ambition; and I hope, no temptation shall
make me otherwise.
Notwithstanding I had no reason to be pleased with his treatment of me
before dinner, yet I made haste to attend him; and I found him walking by
the side of that pond, which, for want of grace, and through a sinful
despondence, had like to have been so fatal to me, and the sight of
which, ever since, has been a trouble and reproach to me. And it was by
the side of this pond, and not far from the place where I had that
dreaded conflict, that my present hopes, if I am not to be deceived
again, began to dawn: which I presume to flatter myself with being a
happy omen for me, as if God Almighty would shew your poor sinful
daughter, how well I did to put my affiance in his goodness, and not to
throw away myself, because my ruin seemed inevitable, to my short-sighted
apprehension.
So he was pleased to say, Well, Pamela, I am glad you are come of your
own accord, as I may say: give me your hand. I did so; and he looked at
me very steadily, and pressing my hand all the time, at last said, I will
now talk to you in a serious manner.
You have a good deal of wit, a great deal of penetration, much beyond
your years, and, as I thought, your opportunities. You are possessed of
an open, frank, and generous mind; and a person so lovely, that you excel
all your sex, in my eyes. All these accomplishments have engaged my
affection so deeply, that, as I have often said, I cannot live without
you; and I would divide, with all my soul, my estate with you, to make
you mine upon my own terms. These you have absolutely rejected; and
that, though in saucy terms enough, yet in such a manner as makes me
admire you the more. Your pretty chit-chat to Mrs. Jewkes, the last
Sunday night, so innocent, and so full of beautiful simplicity, half
disarmed my resolution before I approached your bed: And I see you so
watchful over your virtue, that though I hoped to find it otherwise, I
cannot but confess my passion for you is increased by it. But now, what
shall I say farther, Pamela?--I will make you, though a party, my adviser
in this matter, though not, perhaps, my definitive judge.
You know I am not a very abandoned profligate; I have hitherto been
guilty of no very enormous or vile actions. This of seizing you, and
confining you thus, may perhaps be one of the worst, at least to persons
of real innocence. Had I been utterly given up to my passions, I should
before now have gratified them, and not have shewn that remorse and
compassion for you, which have reprieved you, more than once, when
absolutely in my power; and you are as inviolate a virgin as you were
when you came into my house.
But what can I do? Consider the pride of my condition. I cannot endure
the thought of marriage, even with a person of equal or superior degree
to myself; and have declined several proposals of that kind: How then,
with the distance between us in the world's judgment, can I think of
making you my wife?--Yet I must have you; I cannot bear the thoughts of
any other man supplanting me in your affections: and the very
apprehension of that has made me hate the name of Williams, and use him
in a manner unworthy of my temper.
Now, Pamela, judge for me; and, since I have told you, thus candidly, my
mind, and I see yours is big with some important meaning, by your eyes,
your blushes, and that sweet confusion which I behold struggling in your
bosom, tell me, with like openness and candour, what you think I ought to
do, and what you would have me do.
It is impossible for me to express the agitations of my mind, on this
unexpected declaration, so contrary to his former behaviour. His manner
too had something so noble, and so sincere, as I thought, that, alas for
me! I found I had need of all my poor discretion, to ward off the blow
which this treatment gave to my most guarded thoughts. I threw myself at
his feet; for I trembled, and could hardly stand: O sir, said I, spare
your poor servant's confusion! O spare the poor Pamela!--Speak out, said
he, and tell me, when I bid you, What you think I ought to do? I cannot
say what you ought to do, answered I: but I only beg you will not ruin
me; and, if you think me virtuous, if you think me sincerely honest, let
me go to my poor parents. I will vow to you, that I will never suffer
myself to be engaged without your approbation.
Still he insisted upon a more explicit answer to his question, of what I
thought he ought to do. And I did, As to my poor thoughts of what you
ought to do, I must needs say, that indeed I think you ought to regard
the world's opinion, and avoid doing any thing disgraceful to your birth
and fortune; and, therefore, if you really honour the poor Pamela with
your respect, a little time, absence, and the conversation of worthier
persons of my sex, will effectually enable you to overcome a regard so
unworthy your condition: And this, good sir, is the best advice I can
offer.
Charming creature! lovely Pamela! said he, (with an ardour that was never
before so agreeable to me,) this generous manner is of a piece with all
the rest of your conduct. But tell me, still more explicitly, what you
would advise me to, in the case.
O, sir! said I, take not advantage of my credulity, and these my weak
moments: but were I the first lady in the land, instead of the poor
abject Pamela, I would, I could tell you. But I can say no more--
O my dear father and mother! now I know you will indeed be concerned for
me;--for now I am for myself.--And now I begin to be afraid I know too
well the reason why all his hard trials of me, and my black
apprehensions, would not let me hate him.
But be assured still, by God's grace, that I shall do nothing unworthy of
your Pamela; and if I find that he is still capable of deceiving me, and
that this conduct is only put on to delude me more, I shall think nothing
in this world so vile, and so odious; and nothing, if he be not the worst
of his kind, (as he says, and, I hope, he is not,) so desperately
guileful, as the heart of man.
He generously said, I will spare your confusion, Pamela. But I hope I
may promise myself, that you can love me preferably to any other man; and
that no one in the world has had any share in your affections; for I am
very jealous of what I love; and if I thought you had a secret whispering
in your soul, that had not yet come up to a wish, for any other man
breathing, I should not forgive myself to persist in my affection for
you; nor you, if you did not frankly acquaint me with it.
As I still continued on my knees, on the grass border by the pond-side,
he sat himself down on the grass by me, and took me in his arms: Why
hesitates my Pamela? said he.--Can you not answer me with truth, as I
wish? If you cannot, speak, and I will forgive you.
O good sir, said I, it is not that; indeed it is not: but a frightful
word or two that you said to Mrs. Jewkes, when you thought I was not in
hearing, comes cross my mind; and makes me dread that I am in more danger
than ever I was in my life.
You have never found me a common liar, said he, (too fearful and foolish
Pamela!) nor will I answer how long I may hold in my present mind; for my
pride struggles hard within me, I'll assure you; and if you doubt me, I
have no obligation to your confidence or opinion. But, at present, I am
really sincere in what I say: And I expect you will be so too; and answer
directly my question.
I find, sir, said I, I know not myself; and your question is of such a
nature, that I only want to tell you what I heard, and to have your kind
answer to it; or else, what I have to say to your question, may pave the
way to my ruin, and shew a weakness that I did not believe was in me.
Well, said he, you may say what you have overheard; for, in not answering
me directly, you put my soul upon the rack; and half the trouble I have
had with you would have brought to my arms one of the finest ladies in
England.
O sir, said I, my virtue is as dear to me, as if I was of the highest
quality; and my doubts (for which you know I have had too much reason)
have made me troublesome. But now, sir, I will tell you what I heard,
which has given me great uneasiness.
You talked to Mrs. Jewkes of having begun wrong with me, in trying to
subdue me with terror, and of frost, and such like--You remember it
well:--And that you would, for the future, change your conduct, and try
to melt me, that was your word, by kindness.
I fear not, sir, the grace of God supporting me, that any acts of
kindness would make me forget what I owe to my virtue: but, sir, I may, I
find, be made more miserable by such acts, than by terror; because my
nature is too frank and open to make me wish to be ungrateful: and if I
should be taught a lesson I never yet learnt, with what regret should I
descend to the grave, to think that I could not hate my undoer: and that,
at the last great day, I must stand up as an accuser of the poor unhappy
soul, that I could wish it in my power to save!
Exalted girl! said he, what a thought is that!--Why, now, Pamela, you
excel yourself! You have given me a hint that will hold me long. But,
sweet creature, said he, tell me what is this lesson, which you never yet
learnt, and which you are so afraid of learning?
If, sir, said I, you will again generously spare my confusion, I need not
speak it: But this I will say, in answer to the question you seem most
solicitous about, that I know not the man breathing that I would wish to
be married to, or that ever I thought of with such an idea. I had
brought my mind so to love poverty, that I hoped for nothing but to
return to the best, though the poorest of parents; and to employ myself
in serving God, and comforting them; and you know not, sir, how you
disappointed those hopes, and my proposed honest pleasures, when you sent
me hither.
Well then, said he, I may promise myself, that neither the parson, nor
any other man, is any the least secret motive to your steadfast refusal
of my offers? Indeed, sir, said I, you may; and, as you was pleased to
ask, I answer, that I have not the least shadow of a wish, or thought,
for any man living.
But, said he, (for I am foolishly jealous, and yet it shews my fondness
for you,) have you not encouraged Williams to think you will have him?
Indeed, sir, said I, I have not; but the very contrary. And would you
not have had him, said he, if you had got away by his means? I had
resolved, sir, said I, in my mind, otherwise; and he knew it; and the
poor man--I charge you, said he, say not a word in his favour! You will
excite a whirlwind in my soul, if you name him with kindness; and then
you'll be borne away with the tempest.
Sir, said I, I have done!--Nay, said he, but do not have done; let me
know the whole. If you have any regard for him, speak out; for it would
end fearfully for you, for me, and for him, if I found that you disguised
any secret of your soul from me, in this nice particular.
Sir, said I, if I have ever given you cause to think me sincere--Say
then, said he, interrupting me with great vehemence, and taking both my
hands between his, Say, that you now, in the presence of God, declare
that you have not any the most hidden regard for Williams, or any other
man.
Sir, said I, I do. As God shall bless me, and preserve my innocence, I
have not. Well, said he, I will believe you, Pamela; and in time,
perhaps, I may better bear that man's name. And, if I am convinced that
you are not prepossessed, my vanity makes me assured, that I need not to
fear a place in your esteem, equal, if not preferable, to any man in
England. But yet it stings my pride to the quick, that you was so easily
brought, and at such a short acquaintance, to run away with that college
novice!
O good sir, said I, may I be heard one thing? And though I bring upon me
your highest indignation, I will tell you, perhaps, the unnecessary and
imprudent, but yet the whole truth.
My honesty (I am poor and lowly, and am not entitled to call it honour)
was in danger. I saw no means of securing myself from your avowed
attempts. You had shewed you would not stick at little matters; and
what, sir, could any body have thought of my sincerity, in preferring
that to all other considerations, if I had not escaped from these
dangers, if I could have found any way for it?--I am not going to say any
thing for him; but, indeed, indeed, sir, I was the cause of putting him
upon assisting me in my escape. I got him to acquaint me what gentry
there were in the neighbourhood that I might fly to; and prevailed upon
him--Don't frown at me, good sir; for I must tell you the whole truth--to
apply to one Lady Jones; to Lady Darnford; and he was so good to apply to
Mr. Peters, the minister: But they all refused me; and then it was he let
me know, that there was no honourable way but marriage. That I declined;
and he agreed to assist me for God's sake.
Now, said he, you are going--I boldly put my hand before his mouth,
hardly knowing the liberty I took: Pray, sir, said I, don't be angry; I
have just done--I would only say, that rather than have staid to be
ruined, I would have thrown myself upon the poorest beggar that ever the
world saw, if I thought him honest.--And I hope, when you duly weigh all
matters, you will forgive me, and not think me so bold, and so forward,
as you have been pleased to call me.
Well, said he, even in this your last speech, which, let me tell you,
shews more your honesty of heart than your prudence, you have not over-
much pleased me. But I must love you; and that vexes me not a little.
But tell me, Pamela, for now the former question recurs: Since you so
much prize your honour, and your virtue; since all attempts against that
are so odious to you; and since I have avowedly made several of these
attempts, do you think it is possible for you to love me preferably to
any other of my sex?
Ah, sir! said I, and here my doubt recurs, that you may thus graciously
use me, to take advantage of my credulity.
Still perverse and doubting! said he--Cannot you take me as I am at
present? And that, I have told you, is sincere and undesigning, whatever
I may be hereafter.
Ah, sir! replied I, what can I say? I have already said too much, if
this dreadful hereafter should take place. Don't bid me say how well I
can--And then, my face glowing as the fire, I, all abashed, leaned upon
his shoulder, to hide my confusion.
He clasped me to him with great ardour, and said, Hide your dear face in
my bosom, my beloved Pamela! your innocent freedoms charm me!--But then
say, How well--what?
If you will be good, said I, to your poor servant, and spare her, I
cannot say too much! But if not, I am doubly undone!--Undone indeed!
Said he, I hope my present temper will hold; for I tell you frankly, that
I have known, in this agreeable hour, more sincere pleasure than I have
experienced in all the guilty tumults that my desiring soul compelled me
into, in the hopes of possessing you on my own terms. And, Pamela, you
must pray for the continuance of this temper; and I hope your prayers
will get the better of my temptations.
This sweet goodness overpowered all my reserves. I threw myself at his
feet, and embraced his knees: What pleasure, sir, you give me at these
gracious words, is not lent your poor servant to express!--I shall be too
much rewarded for all my sufferings, if this goodness hold! God grant it
may, for your own soul's sake as well as mine. And oh! how happy should
I be, if----
He stopt me, and said, But, my dear girl, what must we do about the
world, and the world's censure? Indeed, I cannot marry!
Now was I again struck all of a heap. However, soon recollecting myself,
Sir, said I, I have not the presumption to hope such an honour. If I may
be permitted to return in peace and safety to my poor parents, to pray
for you there, it is all I at present request! This, sir, after all my
apprehensions and dangers, will be a great pleasure to me. And, if I
know my own poor heart, I shall wish you happy in a lady of suitable
degree; and rejoice most sincerely in every circumstance that shall make
for the happiness of my late good lady's most beloved son.
Well, said he, this conversation, Pamela, is gone farther than I intended
it. You need not be afraid, at this rate, of trusting yourself with me:
but it is I that ought to be doubtful of myself, when I am with you.--But
before I say any thing farther on this subject, I will take my proud
heart to task; and, till then, let every thing be as if this conversation
had never passed. Only, let me tell you, that the more confidence you
place in me, the more you'll oblige me: but your doubts will only beget
cause of doubts. And with this ambiguous saying, he saluted me with a
more formal manner, if I may so say, than before, and lent me his hand;
and so we walked toward the house, side by side, he seeming very
thoughtful and pensive, as if he had already repented him of his
goodness.
What shall I do, what steps take, if all this be designing--O the
perplexities of these cruel doubtings!--To be sure, if he be false, as I
may call it, I have gone too far, much too far!--I am ready, on the
apprehension of this, to bite my forward tongue (or rather to beat my
more forward heart, that dictated to that poor machine) for what I have
said. But sure, at least, he must be sincere for the time!--He could not
be such a practised dissembler!--If he could, O how desperately wicked is
the heart of man!--And where could he learn all these barbarous arts?--If
so, it must be native surely to the sex!--But, silent be my rash
censurings; be hushed, ye stormy tumults of my disturbed mind! for have I
not a father who is a man?--A man who knows no guile! who would do no
wrong!--who would not deceive or oppress, to gain a kingdom!--How then
can I think it is native to the sex? And I must also hope my good lady's
son cannot be the worst of men!--If he is, hard the lot of the excellent
woman that bore him!--But much harder the hap of your poor Pamela, who
has fallen into such hands!--But yet I will trust in God, and hope the
best: and so lay down my tired pen for this time.
Thursday morning.
Somebody rapped at our chamber-door this morning, soon after it was
light: Mrs. Jewkes asked, who it was? My master said, Open the door,
Mrs. Jewkes! O, said I, for God's sake, Mrs. Jewkes, don't! Indeed,
said she, but I must. Then, said I, and clung about her, let me slip on
my clothes first. But he rapped again, and she broke from me; and I was
frightened out of my wits, and folded myself in the bed-clothes. He
entered, and said, What, Pamela, so fearful, after what passed yesterday
between us! O, sir, sir, said I, I fear my prayers have wanted their
wished effect! Pray, good sir, consider--He sat down on the bed-side,
and interrupted me; No need of your foolish fears; I shall say but a word
or two, and go away.
After you went up stairs, said he, I had an invitation to a ball, which
is to be this night at Stamford, on occasion of a wedding; and I am going
to call on Sir Simon, and his lady and daughters; for the bride is a
relation of theirs: so I shall not be at home till Saturday. I come,
therefore, to caution you, Mrs. Jewkes, before Pamela, (that she may not
wonder at being closer confined, than for these three or four days past,)
that nobody sees her, nor delivers any letter to her, in that space; for
a person has been seen lurking about, and inquiring after her, and I have
been well informed, that either Mrs. Jervis, or Mr. Longman, has written
a letter, with a design of having it conveyed to her: And, said he, you
must know, Pamela, that I have ordered Mr. Longman to give up his
accounts, and have dismissed Jonathan and Mrs. Jervis, since I have been
here; for their behaviour has been intolerable; and they have made such a
breach between my sister Davers and me, as we shall never, perhaps, make
up. Now, Pamela, I shall take it kindly in you, if you will confine
yourself to your chamber pretty much, for the time I am absent, and not
give Mrs. Jewkes cause of trouble or uneasiness; and the rather, as you
know she acts by my orders.
Alas! sir, said I, I fear all these good people have suffered for my
sake!--Why, said he, I believe so too; and there was never a girl of your
innocence, that set a large family in such an uproar, surely.--But let
that pass. You know both of you my mind, and, in part, the reason of it.
I shall only say, that I have had such a letter from my sister, as I
could not have expected; and, Pamela, said he, neither you nor I have
reason to thank her, as you shall know, perhaps at my return.--I go in my
coach, Mrs. Jewkes, because I take Lady Darnford, and Mrs. Peters's
niece, and one of Lady Darnford's daughters, along with me; and Sir Simon
and his other daughter go in his chariot: so let all the gates be
fastened; and don't take any airing in either of the chariots, nor let
any body go to the gate, without you, Mrs. Jewkes. I'll be sure, said
she, to obey your honour.
I will give Mrs. Jewkes no trouble, sir, said I; and will keep pretty
much in my chamber, and not stir so much as into the garden without her;
to shew you I will obey in every thing I can. But I begin to fear--Ay,
said he, more plots and contrivances, don't you?--But I'll assure you,
you never had less reason; and I tell you the truth; for I am really
going to Stamford this time; and upon the occasion I tell you. And so,
Pamela, give me your hand, and one kiss; and then I am gone.
I durst not refuse, and said, God bless you, sir, wherever you go!--But I
am sorry for what you tell me about your servants!
He and Mrs. Jewkes had a little talk without the door; and I heard her
say, You may depend, sir, upon my care and vigilance.
He went in his coach, as he said he should, and very richly dressed,
which looks as if what he said was likely: but really I have been used to
so many tricks, and plots, and surprises, that I know not what to think.
But I mourn for poor Mrs. Jervis.--So here is Parson Williams; here's
poor naughty John; here is good Mrs. Jervis, and Mr. Longman, and Mr.
Jonathan, turned away for me!--Mr. Longman is rich, indeed, and so need
the less matter it; but I know it will grieve him: and for poor Mr.
Jonathan, I am sure it will cut that good old servant to the heart. Alas
for me! what mischiefs am I the occasion of!--Or, rather, my master,
whose actions towards me have made so many of my kind friends forfeit his
favour, for my sake!
I am very sad about these things: If he really loved me, methinks he
should not be so angry, that his servants loved me too.--I know not what
to think!
Friday night.
I have removed my papers from under the rose-bush; for I saw the gardener
begin to dig near that spot; and I was afraid he would find them.
Mrs. Jewkes and I were looking yesterday through the iron gate that
fronts the elms; and a gipsy-like body made up to us, and said; If,
madam, you will give me some broken victuals, I will tell you both your
fortunes. I said, Let us hear our fortunes, Mrs. Jewkes. She said, I
don't like these sort of people; but we will hear what she'll say to us,
however. I shan't fetch you any victuals, woman; but I will give you
some pence, said she.
But Nan coming out, she said, Fetch some bread, and some of the cold
meat, and you shall have your fortune told, Nan.
This, you'll think, like some of my other matters, a very trifling thing
to write about. But mark the discovery of a dreadful plot, which I have
made by it. O, bless me! What can I think of this naughty, this very
naughty gentleman!--Now will I hate him most heartily. Thus it was:--
Mrs. Jewkes had no suspicion of the woman, the iron gate being locked,
and she on the outside, and we on the inside; and so put her hand
through. She said, muttering over a parcel of cramp words; Why, madam,
you will marry soon, I can tell you. At that she seemed pleased, and
said, I am glad to hear that; and shook her fat sides with laughing. The
woman looked most earnestly at me, all the time, and as if she had
meaning. Then it came into my head, from my master's caution, that
possibly this woman might be employed to try to get a letter into my
hands; and I was resolved to watch all her motions. So Mrs. Jewkes said,
What sort of a man shall I have, pray?--Why, said she, a man younger than
yourself; and a very good husband he'll prove.--I am glad of that, said
she; and laughed again. Come, madam, let us hear your fortune.
The woman came to me, and took my hand. O! said she, I cannot tell your
fortune: your hand is so white and fine, I cannot see the lines: but,
said she, and, stooping, pulled up a little tuft of grass, I have a way
for that; and so rubbed my hand with the mould part of the tuft: Now,
said she, I can see the lines.
Mrs. Jewkes was very watchful of all her ways, and took the tuft, and
looked upon it, lest any thing should be in that. And then the woman
said, Here is the line of Jupiter crossing the line of life; and Mars--
Odd! my pretty mistress, said she, you had best take care of yourself;
for you are hard beset, I'll assure you. You will never be married, I
can see; and will die of your first child. Out upon thee, woman! said I,
better thou hadst never come here.
Said Mrs. Jewkes, whispering, I don't like this: it looks like a cheat:
Pray, Mrs. Pamela, go in, this moment. So I will, said I; for I have
enough of fortune-telling. And in I went.
The woman wanted sadly to tell me more, which made Mrs. Jewkes threaten
her, suspecting still the more; and away the woman went, having told Nan
her fortune, and she would be drowned.
This thing ran strongly in all our heads; and we went, an hour after, to
see if the woman was lurking about, and took Mr. Colbrand for our guard.
Looking through the iron gate, he spied a man sauntering about the middle
of the walk; which filled Mrs. Jewkes with still more suspicions; and she
said, Mr. Colbrand, you and I will walk towards this fellow, and see what
he saunters there for: And, Nan, do you and madam stay at the gate.
So they opened the iron gate and walked down towards the man; and
guessing the woman, if employed, must mean something by the tuft of
grass, I cast my eye that way, whence she pulled it, and saw more grass
seemingly pulled up: then I doubted not something was there for me; and I
walked to it, and standing over it, said to Nan, That's a pretty sort of
wild flower, that grows yonder, near the elm, the fifth from us on the
left; pray pull it for me. Said she, It is a common weed. Well, said I,
but pull it for me; there are sometimes beautiful colours in a weed.
While she went on, I stooped, and pulled up a good handful of the grass,
and in it a bit of paper, which I put instantly in my bosom, and dropt
the grass: and my heart went pit-a-pat at the odd adventure. Said I,
Let's go in, Mrs. Anne. No, said she, we must stay till Mrs. Jewkes
comes.
I was all impatience to read this paper: and when Colbrand and she
returned, I went in. Said she, Certainly there is some reason for my
master's caution: I can make nothing of this sauntering fellow; but, to
be sure, there was some roguery in the gipsy. Well, said I, if there
was, she lost her aim, you see! Ay, very true, said she; but that was
owing to my watchfulness; and you was very good to go away, when I spoke
to you.
I hastened up stairs to my closet, and found the billet to contain, in a
hand that seemed disguised, and bad spelling, the following words:
'Twenty contrivances have been thought of to let you know your danger:
but all have proved in vain. Your friends hope it is not yet too late to
give you this caution, if it reaches your hands. The 'squire is
absolutely determined to ruin you; and, because he despairs of any other
way, he will pretend great love and kindness to you, and that he will
marry you. You may expect a parson, for this purpose, in a few days; but
it is a sly artful fellow, of a broken attorney, that he has hired to
personate a minister. The man has a broad face, pitted much with the
small-pox, and is a very great companion. So take care of yourself.
Doubt not this advice. Perhaps you'll have had but too much reason
already to confirm you in the truth of it. From your zealous well-
wisher, 'SOMEBODY.'
Now, my dear father and mother, what shall we say of this truly
diabolical master! O, how shall I find words to paint my griefs, and his
deceit! I have as good as confessed I love him; but, indeed, it was on
supposing him good.--This, however, has given him too much advantage.
But now I will break this wicked forward heart of mine, if it will not be
taught to hate him! O, what a black dismal heart must he have! So here
is a plot to ruin me, and by my own consent to!--No wonder he did not
improve his wicked opportunities, (which I thought owing to remorse for
his sin, and compassion for me,) when he had such a project as this in
reserve!--Here should I have been deluded with the hopes of a happiness
that my highest ambition could have had aspired to!--But how dreadful
must have been my lot, when I had found myself an undone creature, and a
guilty harlot, instead of a lawful wife! Oh! this is indeed too much,
too much, for your poor Pamela to support! This is the worse, as I hoped
all the worst was over; and that I had the pleasure of beholding a
reclaimed man, and not an abandoned libertine. What now must your poor
daughter do? Now all her hopes are dashed! And if this fails him, then
comes, to be sure, my forced disgrace! for this shews he will never leave
till he has ruined me--O, the wretched, wretched Pamela!
Saturday noon, one o'clock.
My master is come home; and, to be sure, has been where he said. So once
he has told truth; and this matter seems to be gone off without a plot:
No doubt he depends upon his sham wicked marriage! He has brought a
gentleman with him to dinner; and so I have not seen him yet.
Two o'clock.
I am very sorrowful, and still have greater reason; for, just now, as I
was in my closet, opening the parcel I had hid under the rose-bush, to
see if it was damaged by lying so long, Mrs. Jewkes came upon me by
surprise, and laid her hands upon it; for she had been looking through
the key-hole, it seems.
I know not what I shall do! For now he will see all my private thoughts
of him, and all my secrets, as I may say. What a careless creature I
am!--To be sure I deserve to be punished.
You know I had the good luck, by Mr. Williams's means, to send you all my
papers down to Sunday night, the 17th day of my imprisonment. But now
these papers contain all my matters from that time, to Wednesday the 27th
day of my distress: And which, as you may now, perhaps, never see, I will
briefly mention the contents to you.
In these papers, then, are included, 'An account of Mrs. Jewkes's arts to
draw me in to approve of Mr. Williams's proposal for marriage; and my
refusing to do so; and desiring you not to encourage his suit to me. Mr.
Williams's being wickedly robbed, and a visit of hers to him; whereby she
discovered all his secrets. How I was inclined to get off, while she was
gone; but was ridiculously prevented by my foolish fears, etc. My having
the key of the back-door. Mrs. Jewkes's writing to my master all the
secrets she had discovered of Mr. Williams, and her behaviour to me and
him upon it. Continuance of my correspondence with Mr. Williams by the
tiles; begun in the parcel you had. My reproaches to him for his
revealing himself to Mrs. Jewkes; and his letter to me in answer,
threatening to expose my master, if he deceived him; mentioning in it
John Arnold's correspondence with him; and a letter which John sent, and
was intercepted, as it seems. Of the correspondence being carried on by
a friend of his at Gainsborough. Of the horse he was to provide for me,
and one for himself. Of what Mr. Williams had owned to Mrs. Jewkes; and
of my discouraging his proposals. Then it contained a pressing letter of
mine to him, urging my escape before my master came; with his half-angry
answer to me. Your good letter to me, my dear father, sent to me by Mr.
Williams's conveyance; in which you would have me encourage Mr. Williams,
but leave it to me; and in which, fortunately enough, you take notice of
my being uninclined to marry.--My earnest desire to be with you. The
substance of my answer to Mr. Williams, expressing more patience, etc. A
dreadful letter of my master to Mrs. Jewkes; which, by mistake, was
directed to me; and one to me, directed by like mistake to her; and very
free reflections of mine upon both. The concern I expressed for Mr.
Williams's being taken in, deceived, and ruined. An account of Mrs.
Jewkes's glorying in her wicked fidelity. A sad description I gave of
Monsieur Colbrand, a person he sent down to assist Mrs. Jewkes in
watching me. How Mr. Williams was arrested, and thrown into gaol; and
the concern I expressed upon it; and my free reflections on my master for
it. A projected contrivance of mine, to get away out of the window, and
by the back-door; and throwing by petticoat and handkerchief into the
pond to amuse them, while I got off: An attempt that had like to have
ended very dreadfully for me! My further concern for Mr. Williams's
ruin, on my account: And, lastly, my over-hearing Mrs. Jewkes brag of her
contrivance to rob Mr. Williams, in order to get at my papers; which,
however, he preserved, and sent safe to you.'
These, down to the execution of my unfortunate plot to escape, are, to
the best of my remembrance, the contents of the papers, which this
merciless woman seized: For, how badly I came off, and what followed, I
still have safe, as I hope, sewed in my under-coat, about my hips.
In vain were all my prayers and tears to her, to get her not to shew them
to my master. For she said, It had now come out, why I affected to be so
much alone; and why I was always writing. And she thought herself happy,
she said, she had found these; for often and often had she searched every
place she could think of, for writings, to no purpose before. And she
hoped, she said, there was nothing in them by what any body might see;
for, said she, you know you are all innocence!--Insolent creature! said
I, I am sure you are all guilt!--And so you must do your worst; for now I
can't help myself, and I see there is no mercy to be expected from you.
Just now, my master being come up, she went to him upon the stairs, and
gave him my papers. There, sir, said she; you always said Mrs. Pamela
was a great writer; but I never could get at any thing of hers before.
He took them; and, without coming to me, went down to the parlour again.
And what with the gipsy affair, and what with this, I could not think of
going down to dinner; and she told him that too; and so I suppose I shall
have him up stairs, as soon as his company is gone.
Saturday, six o'clock.
My master came up, and, in a pleasanter manner than I expected, said, So,
Pamela, we have seized, it seems, your treasonable papers? Treasonable!
said I, very sullenly. Ay, said he, I suppose so; for you are a great
plotter: but I have not read them yet.
Then, sir, said I, very gravely, it will be truly honourable in you not
to read them; but to give them to me again. To whom, says he, are they
written?--To my father, sir; but I suppose you see to whom.--Indeed,
returned he, I have not read three lines yet. Then, pray, sir, don't
read them; but give them to me again. That I will not, said he, till I
have read them. Sir, said I, you served me not well in the letters I
used to write formerly: I think it was not worthy your character to
contrive to get them in your hands, by that false John Arnold! for should
such a gentleman as you mind what your poor servant writes?--Yes, said
he, by all means, mind what such a servant as my Pamela writes.
Your Pamela! thought I. Then the sham marriage came into my head; and
indeed it has not been out of it, since the gipsy affair.--But, said he,
have you any thing in these papers you would not have me see? To be
sure, sir, said I, there is; for what one writes to one's father and
mother, is not for every body to see. Nor, said he, am I every body.
Those letters, added he, that I did see by John's means, were not to your
disadvantage, I'll assure you; for they gave me a very high opinion of
your wit and innocence: And if I had not loved you, do you think I would
have troubled myself about your letters?
Alas! sir, said I, great pride to me that! For they gave you such an
opinion of my innocence, that you was resolved to ruin me. And what
advantage have they brought me!--Who have been made a prisoner, and used
as I have been between you and your housekeeper.
Why, Pamela, said he, a little seriously, why this behaviour, for my
goodness to you in the garden?--This is not of a piece with your conduct
and softness there, that quite charmed me in your favour: And you must
not give me cause to think that you will be the more insolent, as you
find me kinder. Ah! sir, said I, you know best your own heart and
designs! But I fear I was too open-hearted then; and that you still keep
your resolution to undo me, and have only changed the form of your
proceedings.
When I tell you once again, said he, a little sternly, that you cannot
oblige me more, than by placing some confidence in me, I will let you
know, that these foolish and perverse doubts are the worst things you can
be guilty of. But, said he, I shall possibly account for the cause of
them, in these papers of yours; for I doubt not you have been sincere to
your father and mother, though you begin to make me suspect you: For I
tell you, perverse girl, that it is impossible you should be thus cold
and insensible, after what has passed in the garden, if you were not
prepossessed in some other person's favour: And let me add, that if I
find it so, it shall be attended with such effects, as will make every
vein in your heart bleed.
He was going away in wrath; and I said, One word, good sir, one word
before you read them, since you will read them: Pray make allowances--for
all the harsh reflections that you will find in them, on your own conduct
to me: And remember only, that they were not written for your sight; and
were penned by a poor creature hardly used, and who was in constant
apprehension of receiving from you the worst treatment that you could
inflict upon her.
If that be all, said he, and there be nothing of another nature, that I
cannot forgive, you have no cause for uneasiness; for I had as many
instances of your saucy reflections upon me in your former letters, as
there were lines; and yet, you see, I have never upbraided you on that
score; though, perhaps, I wished you had been more sparing of your
epithets, and your freedoms of that sort.
Well, sir, said I, since you will, you must read them; and I think I have
no reason to be afraid of being found insincere, or having, in any
respect, told you a falsehood; because, though I don't remember all I
wrote, yet I know I wrote my heart; and that is not deceitful. And
remember, sir, another thing, that I always declared I thought myself
right to endeavour to make my escape from this forced and illegal
restraint; and so you must not be angry that I would have done so, if I
could.
I'll judge you, never fear, said he, as favourably as you deserve; for
you have too powerful a pleader within me. And so went down stairs.
About nine o'clock he sent for me down into the parlour. I went a little
fearfully; and he held the paper in his hand, and said, Now, Pamela, you
come upon your trial. Said I, I hope I have a just judge to hear my
cause. Ay, said he, and you may hope for a merciful one too, or else I
know not what will become of you.
I expect, continued he, that you will answer me directly, and plainly, to
every question I shall ask you.--In the first place, here are several
love-letters between you and Williams. Love-letters! sir, said I.--Well,
call them what you will, said he, I don't entirely like them, I'll assure
you, with all the allowances you desired me to make for you. Do you
find, sir, said I, that I encouraged his proposal, or do you not? Why,
said he, you discourage his address in appearance; but no otherwise than
all your cunning sex do to ours, to make us more eager in pursuing you.
Well, sir, said I, that is your comment; but it does not appear so in the
text. Smartly said! says he: Where a d---l gottest thou, at these years,
all this knowledge? And then thou hast a memory, as I see by your
papers, that nothing escapes. Alas! sir, said I, what poor abilities I
have, serve only to make me more miserable!--I have no pleasure in my
memory, which impresses things upon me, that I could be glad never were,
or everlastingly to forget.
Well, said he, so much for that--But where are the accounts (since you
have kept so exact a journal of all that has befallen you) previous to
these here in my hand? My father has them, sir, said I.--By whose means?
said he--By Mr. Williams's, said I. Well answered, said he. But cannot
you contrive to get me a sight of them? That would be pretty! said I. I
wish I could have contrived to have kept those you have from your sight.
Said he, I must see them, Pamela, or I shall never be easy; for I must
know how this correspondence between you and Williams began: and if I can
see them, it shall be better for you, if they answer what these give me
hope they will.
I can tell you, sir, very faithfully, said I, what the beginning was; for
I was bold enough to be the beginner. That won't do, said he; for though
this may appear a punctilio to you, to me it is of high importance. Sir,
said I, if you please to let me go to my father, I will send them to you
by any messenger you shall send for them. Will you so? But I dare say,
if you will write for them, they will send them to you, without the
trouble of such a journey to yourself: and I beg you will.
I think, sir, said I, as you have seen all my former letters through
John's baseness, and now these, through your faithful housekeeper's
officious watchfulness, you might see all the rest: But I hope you will
not desire it, till I can see how much my pleasing you in this particular
will be of use to myself.
You must trust to my honour for that. But tell me, Pamela, said the sly
gentleman, since I have seen these, would you have voluntarily shewn me
those, had they been in your possession?
I was not aware of this inference, and said, Yes, truly, sir, I think I
should, if you commanded it. Well then, Pamela, said he, as I am sure
you have found means to continue your journal, I desire, till the former
part can come, that you will shew me the succeeding.--O sir, sir, said I,
have you caught me so?--But indeed you must excuse me there.
Why, said he, tell me truly, have you not continued your account till
now? Don't ask me, sir, said I. But I insist upon your answer, replied
he. Why then, sir, I will not tell an untruth; I have.--That's my good
girl! said he, I love sincerity at my heart.--In another, sir, said I, I
presume you mean!--Well, said he, I'll allow you to be a little witty
upon me; because it is in you, and you cannot help it: but you will
greatly oblige me, to shew me voluntarily what you have written. I long
to see the particulars of your plot, and your disappointment, where your
papers leave off: for you have so beautiful a manner, that it is partly
that, and partly my love for you, that has made me desirous of reading
all you write; though a great deal of it is against myself; for which you
must expect to suffer a little: and as I have furnished you with the
subject, I have a title to see the fruits of your pen.--Besides, said he,
there is such a pretty air of romance, as you relate them, in your plots,
and my plots, that I shall be better directed in what manner to wind up
the catastrophe of the pretty novel.
If I was your equal, sir, said I, I should say this is a very provoking
way of jeering at the misfortunes you have brought upon me.
O, said he, the liberties you have taken with my character in your
letters, sets us upon a par, at least in that respect. Sir, I could not
have taken those liberties, if you had not given me the cause: and the
cause, sir, you know, is before the effect.
True, Pamela, said he; you chop logic very prettily. What the deuse do
we men go to school for? If our wits were equal to women's, we might
spare much time and pains in our education: for nature teaches your sex,
what, in a long course of labour and study, ours can hardly attain to.--
But, indeed, every lady is not a Pamela.
You delight to banter your poor servant, said I.
Nay, continued he, I believe I must assume to myself half the merit of
your wit, too; for the innocent exercises you have had for it, from me,
have certainly sharpened your invention.
Sir, said I, could I have been without those innocent exercises, as you
are pleased to call them, I should have been glad to have been as dull as
a beetle. But then, Pamela, said he, I should not have loved you so
well. But then, sir, I should have been safe, easy, and happy.--Ay, may
be so, and may be not; and the wife, too, of some clouterly plough-boy.
But then, sir, I should have been content and innocent; and that's better
than being a princess, and not so. And may be not, said he; for if you
had had that pretty face, some of us keen fox-hunters should have found
you out; and, in spite of your romantic notions, (which then, too,
perhaps, would not have had so strong a place in your mind,) might have
been more happy with the ploughman's wife, than I have been with my
mother's Pamela. I hope, sir, said I, God would have given me more
grace.
Well, but, resumed he, as to these writings of yours, that follow your
fine plot, I must see them. Indeed, sir, you must not, if I can help it.
Nothing, said he, pleases me better, than that, in all your arts, shifts,
and stratagems, you have had a great regard to truth; and have, in all
your little pieces of deceit, told very few wilful fibs. Now I expect
you'll continue this laudable rule in your conversation with me.--Let me
know then, where you have found supplies of pen, ink, and paper, when
Mrs. Jewkes was so vigilant, and gave you but two sheets at a time?--Tell
me truth.
Why, sir, little did I think I should have such occasion for them; but,
when I went away from your house, I begged some of each of good Mr.
Longman, who gave me plenty. Yes, yes, said he, it must be good Mr.
Longman! All your confederates are good, every one of them: but such of
my servants as have done their duty, and obeyed my orders, are painted
out by you as black as devils! nay, so am I too, for that matter.
Sir, said I, I hope you won't be angry, but, saving yourself, do you
think they are painted worse than they deserve? or worse than the parts
they acted require?
You say, saving myself, Pamela; but is not that saying a mere compliment
to me, because I am present, and you are in my hands? Tell me truly.--
Good sir, excuse me; but I fancy I might ask you, Why you should think
so, if there was not a little bit of conscience that told you, there was
but too much reason for it?
He kissed me, and said, I must either do thus, or be angry with you; for
you are very saucy, Pamela.--But, with your bewitching chit-chat, and
pretty impertinence, I will not lose my question. Where did you hide
your paper, pens, and ink?
Some, sir, in one place, some in another; that I might have some left, if
others should be found.--That's a good girl! said he; I love you for your
sweet veracity. Now tell me where it is you hide your written papers,
your saucy journal?--I must beg your excuse for that, sir, said I. But
indeed, answered he, you will not have it: for I will know, and I will
see them.--This is very hard, sir, said I; but I must say, you shall not,
if I can help it.
We were standing most of this time; but he then sat down, and took me by
both my hands, and said, Well said, my pretty Pamela, if you can help it!
But I will not let you help it. Tell me, are they in your pocket? No,
sir, said I; my heart up at my mouth. Said he, I know you won't tell a
downright fib for the world: but for equivocation! no jesuit ever went
beyond you. Answer me then, Are they in neither of your pockets? No,
sir, said I. Are they not, said he, about your stays? No, sir, replied
I: But pray no more questions: for ask me ever so much, I will not tell
you.
O, said he, I have a way for that. I can do as they do abroad, when the
criminals won't confess; torture them till they do.--But pray, sir, said
I, is this fair, just, or honest? I am no criminal; and I won't confess.
O, my girl! said he, many an innocent person has been put to the torture.
But let me know where they are, and you shall escape the question, as
they call it abroad.
Sir, said I, the torture is not used in England, and I hope you won't
bring it up. Admirably said! said the naughty gentleman.--But I can tell
you of as good a punishment. If a criminal won't plead with us, here in
England, we press him to death, or till he does plead. And so now,
Pamela, that is a punishment shall certainly be yours, if you won't tell
without.
Tears stood in my eyes, and I said, This, sir, is very cruel and
barbarous.--No matter, said he; it is but like your Lucifer, you know, in
my shape! And, after I have done so many heinous things by you as you
think, you have no great reason to judge so hardly of this; or, at least,
it is but of a piece with the rest.
But, sir, said I, (dreadfully afraid he had some notion they were about
me,) if you will be obeyed in this unreasonable manner, though it is sad
tyranny, to be sure!--let me go up to them, and read them over again, and
you shall see so far as to the end of the sad story that follows those
you have.
I'll see them all, said he, down to this time, if you have written so
far:--Or, at least, till within this week.--Then let me go up to them,
said I, and see what I have written, and to what day, to shew them to
you; for you won't desire to see every thing. But I will, replied he.--
But say, Pamela, tell me truth: Are they above? I was much affrighted.
He saw my confusion. Tell me truth, said he. Why, sir, answered I, I
have sometimes hid them under the dry mould in the garden; sometimes in
one place, sometimes in another; and those you have in your hand, were
several days under a rose-bush, in the garden. Artful slut! said he,
What's this to my question?--Are they not about you?--If, said I, I must
pluck them out of my hiding-place behind the wainscot, won't you see me?
--Still more and more artful! said he--Is this an answer to my question?
--I have searched every place above, and in your closet, for them, and
cannot find them; so I will know where they are. Now, said he, it is my
opinion they are about you; and I never undressed a girl in my life; but
I will now begin to strip my pretty Pamela; and I hope I shall not go far
before I find them.
I fell a crying, and said, I will not be used in this manner. Pray, sir,
said I, (for he began to unpin my handkerchief,) consider! Pray sir,
do!--And pray, said he, do you consider. For I will see these papers.
But may be, said he, they are tied about your knees, with your garters,
and stooped. Was ever any thing so vile and so wicked?--I fell on my
knees, and said, What can I do? What can I do? If you'll let me go up
I'll fetch them to you. Will you, said he, on your honour, let me see
them uncurtailed, and not offer to make them away; no not a single
paper?--I will, sir.--On your honour? Yes, sir. And so he let me go up
stairs, crying sadly for vexation to be so used. Sure nobody was ever so
served as I am!
I went to my closet, and there I sat me down, and could not bear the
thoughts of giving up my papers. Besides, I must all undress me, in a
manner, to untack them. So I writ thus:
'SIR,
'To expostulate with such an arbitrary gentleman, I know will signify
nothing; and most hardly do you use the power you so wickedly have got
over me. I have heart enough, sir, to do a deed that would make you
regret using me thus; and I can hardly bear it, and what I am further to
undergo. But a superior consideration withholds me; thank God, it does!
--I will, however, keep my word, if you insist upon it when you have read
this; but, sir, let me beg of you to give me time till to-morrow morning,
that I may just run them over, and see what I put into your hands against
me: and I will then give my papers to you, without the least alteration,
or adding or diminishing: But I should beg still to be excused, if you
please: But if not, spare them to me but till to-morrow morning: and
this, so hardly am I used, shall be thought a favour, which I shall be
very thankful for.'
I guessed it would not be long before I heard from him and he accordingly
sent up Mrs. Jewkes for what I had promised. So I gave her this note to
carry to him. And he sent word, that I must keep my promise, and he
would give me till morning; but that I must bring them to him, without
his asking again.
So I took off my under-coat, and with great trouble of mind, unsewed them
from it. And there is a vast quantity of it. I will just slightly touch
upon the subjects; because I may not, perhaps, get them again for you to
see.
They begin with an account of 'my attempting to get away out of the
window first, and then throwing my petticoat and handkerchief into the
pond. How sadly I was disappointed, the lock of the back-door being
changed. How, in trying to climb over the door, I tumbled down, and was
piteously bruised; the bricks giving way, and tumbling upon me. How,
finding I could not get off, and dreading the hard usage I should
receive, I was so wicked as to think of throwing myself into the water.
My sad reflections upon this matter. How Mrs. Jewkes used me upon this
occasion, when she found me. How my master had like to have been drowned
in hunting; and my concern for his danger, notwithstanding his usage of
me. Mrs. Jewkes's wicked reports, to frighten me, that I was to be
married to the ugly Swiss; who was to sell me on the wedding-day to my
master. Her vile way of talking to me, like a London prostitute. My
apprehensions of seeing preparations made for my master's coming. Her
causeless fears that I was trying to get away again, when I had no
thoughts of it; and my bad usage upon it. My master's dreadful arrival;
and his hard, very hard treatment of me; and Mrs. Jewkes's insulting of
me. His jealousy of Mr. Williams and me. How Mrs. Jewkes vilely
instigated him to wickedness.' And down to here, I put into one parcel,
hoping that would content him. But for fear it should not, I put into
another parcel the following; viz.
'A copy of his proposals to me, of a great parcel of gold, and fine
clothes and rings, and an estate of I can't tell what a year; and 50l. a
year for the life of both you, my dear parents, to be his mistress; with
an insinuation, that, may be, he would marry me at the year's end: All
sadly vile: With threatenings, if I did not comply, that he would ruin
me, without allowing me any thing. A copy of my answer, refusing all,
with just abhorrence: But begging at last his goodness towards me, and
mercy on me, in the most moving manner I could think of. An account of
his angry behaviour, and Mrs. Jewkes's wicked advice hereupon. His
trying to get me to his chamber; and my refusal to go. A deal of stuff
and chit-chat between me and the odious Mrs. Jewkes; in which she was
very wicked and very insulting. Two notes I wrote, as if to be carried
to church, to pray for his reclaiming, and my safety; which Mrs. Jewkes
seized, and officiously shewed him. A confession of mine, that,
notwithstanding his bad usage, I could not hate him. My concern for Mr.
Williams. A horrid contrivance of my master's to ruin me; being in my
room, disguised in clothes of the maid's, who lay with me and Mrs.
Jewkes. How narrowly I escaped, (it makes my heart ache to think of it
still!) by falling into fits. Mrs. Jewkes's detestable part in this sad
affair. How he seemed moved at my danger, and forbore his abominable
designs; and assured me he had offered no indecency. How ill I was for a
day or two after; and how kind he seemed. How he made me forgive Mrs.
Jewkes. How, after this, and great kindness pretended, he made rude
offers to me in the garden, which I escaped. How I resented them.' Then
I had written, 'How kindly he behaved himself to me; and how he praised
me, and gave me great hopes of his being good at last. Of the too tender
impression this made upon me; and how I began to be afraid of my own
weakness and consideration for him, though he had used me so ill. How
sadly jealous he was of Mr. Williams; and how I, as justly could, cleared
myself as to his doubts on that score. How, just when he had raised me
up to the highest hope of his goodness, he dashed me sadly again, and
went off more coldly. My free reflections upon this trying occasion.'
This brought down matters from Thursday, the 20th day of my imprisonment,
to Wednesday the 41st, and here I was resolved to end, let what would
come; for only Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, remain to give an account
of; and Thursday he set out to a ball at Stamford; and Friday was the
gipsy story; and this is Saturday, his return from Stamford. And truly,
I shall have but little heart to write, if he is to see all.
So these two parcels of papers I have got ready for him against to-morrow
morning. To be sure I have always used him very freely in my writings,
and shewed him no mercy; but yet he must thank himself for it; for I have
only writ truth; and I wish he had deserved a better character at my
hands, as well for his own sake as mine.--So, though I don't know whether
ever you'll see what I write, I must say, that I will go to bed, with
remembering you in my prayers, as I always do, and as I know you do me:
And so, my dear parents, good night.
Sunday morning.
I remembered what he said, of not being obliged to ask again for my
papers; and what I should be forced to do, and could not help, I thought
I might as well do in such a manner as might shew I would not disoblige
on purpose: though I stomached this matter very heavily too. I had
therefore got in readiness my two parcels; and he, not going to church in
the morning, bid Mrs. Jewkes tell me he was gone into the garden.
I knew that was for me to go to him; and so I went: for how can I help
being at his beck? which grieves me not a little, though he is my master,
as I may say; for I am so wholly in his power, that it would do me no
good to incense him; and if I refused to obey him in little matters, my
refusal in greater would have the less weight. So I went down to the
garden; but as he walked in one walk, I took another, that I might not
seem too forward neither.
He soon 'spied me, and said, Do you expect to be courted to come to me?
Sir, said I, and crossed the walk to attend him, I did not know but I
should interrupt you in your meditations this good day.
Was that the case, said he, truly, and from your heart? Why, sir, said
I, I don't doubt but you have very good thoughts sometimes, though not
towards me. I wish, said he, I could avoid thinking so well of you as I
do. But where are the papers?--I dare say you had them about you
yesterday; for you say in those I have, that you will bury your writings
in the garden, for fear you should be searched, if you did not escape.
This, added he, gave me a glorious pretence to search you; and I have
been vexing myself all night, that I did not strip you garment by
garment, till I had found them. O fie, sir, said I; let me not be
scared, with hearing that you had such a thought in earnest.
Well, said he, I hope you have not now the papers to give me; for I had
rather find them myself, I'll assure you.
I did not like this way of talk at all; and thinking it best not to dwell
upon it, said, Well, but, sir, you will excuse me, I hope, giving up my
papers.
Don't trifle with me, said he; Where are they?--I think I was very good
to you last night, to humour you as I did. If you have either added or
diminished, and have not strictly kept your promise, woe be to you!
Indeed, sir, said I, I have neither added nor diminished. But there is
the parcel that goes on with my sad attempt to escape, and the terrible
consequences it had like to have been followed with. And it goes down to
the naughty articles you sent me. And as you know all that has happened
since, I hope these will satisfy you.
He was going to speak; but I said, to drive him from thinking of any
more, And I must beg you, sir, to read the matter favourably, if I have
exceeded in any liberties of my pen.
I think, said he, half-smiling, you may wonder at my patience, that I can
be so easy to read myself abused as I am by such a saucy slut.--Sir, said
I, I have wondered you should be so desirous to see my bold stuff; and,
for that very reason, I have thought it a very good, or a very bad sign.
What, said he, is your good sign?--That it may have an effect upon your
temper, at last, in my favour, when you see me so sincere. Your bad
sign? Why, that if you can read my reflections and observations upon
your treatment of me, with tranquillity, and not be moved, it is a sign
of a very cruel and determined heart. Now, pray, sir, don't be angry at
my boldness in telling you so freely my thoughts. You may, perhaps, said
he, be least mistaken, when you think of your bad sign. God forbid!
said I.
So I took out my papers; and said, Here, sir, they are. But if you
please to return them, without breaking the seal, it will be very
generous: and I will take it for a great favour, and a good omen.
He broke the seal instantly, and opened them: So much for your omen!
replied he. I am sorry for it, said I, very seriously; and was walking
away. Whither now? said he. I was going in, sir, that you might have
time to read them, if you thought fit. He put them into his pocket, and
said, You have more than these. Yes, sir: but all they contain, you know
as well as I.--But I don't know, said he, the light you put things in;
and so give them me, if you have not a mind to be searched.
Sir, said I, I can't stay, if you won't forbear that ugly world.--Give me
then no reason for it. Where are the other papers? Why, then, unkind
sir, if it must be so, here they are. And so I gave him, out of my
pocket, the second parcel, sealed up, as the former, with this
superscription; From the naughty articles, down, through sad attempts, to
Thursday the 42d day of my imprisonment. This is last Thursday, is it?
Yes, sir; but now you will see what I write, I will find some other way
to employ my time: for how can I write with any face, what must be for
your perusal, and not for those I intended to read my melancholy stories?
Yes, said he, I would have you continue your penmanship by all means;
and, I assure you, in the mind I am in, I will not ask you for any after
these; except any thing very extraordinary occurs. And I have another
thing to tell you, added he, that if you send for those from your father,
and let me read them, I may, very probably, give them all back again to
you. And so I desire you will do it.
This a little encourages me to continue my scribbling; but, for fear of
the worst, I will, when they come to any bulk, contrive some way to hide
them, if I can, that I may protest I have them not about me, which,
before, I could not say of a truth; and that made him so resolutely bent
to try to find them upon me; for which I might have suffered frightful
indecencies.
He led me, then, to the side of the pond; and sitting down on the slope,
made me sit by him. Come, said he, this being the scene of part of your
project, and where you so artfully threw in some of your clothes, I will
just look upon that part of your relation. Sir, said I, let me then walk
about, at a little distance; for I cannot bear the thought of it. Don't
go far, said he.
When he came, as I suppose, to the place where I mentioned the bricks
falling upon me, he got up, and walked to the door, and looked upon the
broken part of the wall; for it had not been mended; and came back,
reading on to himself, towards me; and took my hand, and put it under his
arm.
Why, this, said he, my girl, is a very moving tale. It was a very
desperate attempt, and, had you got out, you might have been in great
danger; for you had a very bad and lonely way; and I had taken such
measures, that, let you have been where you would, I should have had you.
You may see, sir, said I, what I ventured, rather than be ruined; and you
will be so good as hence to judge of the sincerity of my profession, that
my honesty is dearer to me than my life. Romantic girl! said he, and
read on.
He was very serious at my reflections, on what God had enabled me to
escape. And when he came to my reasonings about throwing myself into the
water, he said, Walk gently before; and seemed so moved, that he turned
away his face from me; and I blessed this good sign, and began not so
much to repent at his seeing this mournful part of my story.
He put the papers in his pocket, when he had read my reflections, and
thanks for escaping from myself; and said, taking me about the waist, O
my dear girl! you have touched me sensibly with your mournful relation,
and your sweet reflections upon it. I should truly have been very
miserable had it taken effect. I see you have been used too roughly; and
it is a mercy you stood proof in that fatal moment.
Then he most kindly folded me in his arms: Let us, say I too, my Pamela,
walk from this accursed piece of water; for I shall not, with pleasure,
look upon it again, to think how near it was to have been fatal to my
fair one. I thought, added he, of terrifying you to my will, since I
could not move you by love; and Mrs. Jewkes too well obeyed me, when the
terrors of your return, after your disappointment, were so great, that
you had hardly courage to withstand them; but had like to have made so
fatal a choice, to escape the treatment you apprehended.
O sir, said I, I have reason, I am sure, to bless my dear parents, and my
good lady, your mother, for giving me something of a religious education;
for, but for that, and God's grace, I should, more than upon one
occasion, have attempted, at least, a desperate act: and I the less
wonder how poor creatures, who have not the fear of God before their
eyes, and give way to despondency, cast themselves into perdition.
Come, kiss me, said he, and tell me you forgive me for pushing you into
so much danger and distress. If my mind hold, and I can see those former
papers of yours, and that these in my pocket give me no cause to altar my
opinion, I will endeavour to defy the world and the world's censures, and
make my Pamela amends, if it be in the power of my whole life, for all
the hardships I have made her undergo.
All this looked well; but you shall see how strangely it was all turned.
For this sham-marriage then came into my mind again; and I said, Your
poor servant is far unworthy of this great honour; for what will it be
but to create envy to herself, and discredit to you? Therefore, sir,
permit me to return to my poor parents, and that is all I have to ask.
He was in a fearful passion then. And is it thus, said he, in my fond
conceding moments, that I am to be despised and answered?--Precise,
perverse, unseasonable Pamela! begone from my sight! and know as well how
to behave in a hopeful prospect, as in a distressful state; and then, and
not till then, shalt thou attract the shadow of my notice.
I was startled, and going to speak: but he stamped with his foot, and
said, Begone! I tell you: I cannot bear this stupid romantic folly.
One word, said I; but one word, I beseech you, sir.
He turned from me in great wrath, and took down another alley, and so I
went, with a very heavy heart; and fear I was too unseasonable, just at a
time when he was so condescending: but if it was a piece of art of his
side, as I apprehended, to introduce the sham-wedding, (and, to be sure,
he is very full of stratagem and art,) I think I was not so much to
blame.
So I went up to my closet; and wrote thus far, while he walked about till
dinner was ready; and he is now sat down to it, as I hear by Mrs. Jewkes,
very sullen, thoughtful, and out of humour; and she asks, What I have
done to him?--Now, again, I dread to see him!--When will my fears be
over?
Three o'clock.
Well, he continues exceeding wrath. He has ordered his travelling
chariot to be got ready with all speed. What is to come next, I wonder!
Sure I did not say so much!--But see the lordliness of a high condition!
--A poor body must not put in a word, when they take it into their heads
to be angry! What a fine time a person of an equal condition would have
of it, if she were even to marry such a one!--His poor dear mother
spoiled him at first. Nobody must speak to him or contradict him, as I
have heard, when he was a child; and so he has not been used to be
controlled, and cannot bear the least thing that crosses his violent
will. This is one of the blessings attending men of high condition!
Much good may do them with their pride of birth, and pride of fortune!
say I:--All that it serves for, as far as I can see, is, to multiply
their disquiets, and every body's else that has to do with them.
So, so! where will this end?--Mrs. Jewkes has been with me from him, and
she says, I must get out of the house this moment. Well, said I, but
whither am I to be carried next? Why, home, said she, to your father and
mother. And can it be? said I; No, no, I doubt I shall not be so happy
as that!--To be sure some bad design is on foot again! To be sure it
is!--Sure, sure, said I, Mrs. Jewkes, he has not found out some other
housekeeper worse than you! She was very angry, you may well think. But
I know she can't be made worse than she is.
She came up again. Are you ready? said she. Bless me, said I, you are
very hasty! I have heard of this not a quarter of an hour ago. But I
shall be soon ready; for I have but little to take with me, and no kind
friends in this house to take leave of, to delay me. Yet, like a fool, I
can't help crying.--Pray, said I, just step down, and ask, if I may not
have my papers.
So, I am quite ready now, against she comes up with an answer; and so I
will put up these few writings in my bosom, that I have left.
I don't know what to think--nor how to judge; but I shall never believe I
am with you, till I am on my knees before you, begging both your
blessings. Yet I am sorry he is so angry with me! I thought I did not
say so much!
There is, I see, the chariot drawn out, the horses too, the grim Colbrand
going to get on horseback. What will be the end of all this?
Monday.
Well, where this will end, I cannot say. But here I am, at a little poor
village, almost such a one as yours! I shall learn the name of it by and
by: and Robin assures me, he has orders to carry me to you, my dear
father and mother. O that he may say truth, and not deceive me again!
But having nothing else to do, and I am sure I shall not sleep a wink to-
night, if I was to go to bed, I will write my time away, and take up my
story where I left off, on Sunday afternoon.
Mrs. Jewkes came up to me, with this answer about my papers: My master
says, he will not read them yet, lest he should be moved by any thing in
them to alter his resolution. But if he should think it worth while to
read them, he will send them to you, afterwards, to your father's. But,
said she, here are your guineas that I borrowed: for all is over now with
you, I find.
She saw me cry, and said, Do you repent?--Of what? said I.--Nay, I can't
tell, replied she; but, to be sure, he has had a taste of your satirical
flings, or he would not be so angry. O! continued she, and held up her
hand, thou hast a spirit!--But I hope it will now be brought down.--I
hope so too, said I.
Well, added I, I am ready. She lifted up the window, and said, I'll call
Robin to take your portmanteau: Bag and baggage! proceeded she, I'm glad
you're going. I have no words, said I, to throw away upon you, Mrs.
Jewkes; but, making her a very low courtesy, I most heartily thank you
for all your virtuous civilities to me. And so adieu; for I'll have no
portmanteau, I'll assure you, nor any thing but these few things that I
brought with me in my handkerchief, besides what I have on. For I had
all this time worn my own bought clothes, though my master would have had
it otherwise often: but I had put up paper, ink, and pens, however.
So down I went, and as I passed by the parlour, she stepped in, and said,
Sir, you have nothing to say to the girl before she goes? I heard him
reply, though I did not see him, Who bid you say, the girl, Mrs. Jewkes,
in that manner? She has offended only me.
I beg your honour's pardon, said the wretch; but if I was your honour,
she should not, for all the trouble she has cost you, go away scot-free.
No more of this, as I told you before, said he: What! when I have such
proof, that her virtue is all her pride, shall I rob her of that?--No,
added he, let her go, perverse and foolish as she is; but she deserves to
go honest, and she shall go so!
I was so transported with this unexpected goodness, that I opened the
door before I knew what I did; and said, falling on my knees at the door,
with my hands folded, and lifted up, O thank you, thank your honour, a
million of times!--May God bless you for this instance of your goodness
to me! I will pray for you as long as I live, and so shall my dear
father and mother. And, Mrs. Jewkes, said I, I will pray for you too,
poor wicked wretch that you are!
He turned from me, and went into his closet, and shut the door. He need
not have done so; for I would not have gone nearer to him!
Surely I did not say so much, to incur all this displeasure.
I think I was loath to leave the house. Can you believe it?--What could
be the matter with me, I wonder?--I felt something so strange, and my
heart was so lumpish!--I wonder what ailed me!--But this was so
unexpected!--I believe that was all!--Yet I am very strange still.
Surely, surely, I cannot be like the old murmuring Israelites, to long
after the onions and garlick of Egypt, when they had suffered there such
heavy bondage?--I'll take thee, O lumpish, contradictory, ungovernable
heart! to severe task, for this thy strange impulse, when I get to my
dear father's and mother's; and if I find any thing in thee that should
not be, depend upon it thou shalt be humbled, if strict abstinence,
prayer, and mortification, will do it!
But yet, after all, this last goodness of his has touched me too
sensibly. I wish I had not heard it, almost; and yet, methinks, I am
glad I did; for I should rejoice to think the best of him, for his own
sake.
Well, and so I went out to the chariot, the same that brought me down.
So, Mr. Robert, said I, here I am again! a poor sporting-piece for the
great! a mere tennis-ball of fortune! You have your orders, I hope.
Yes, madam, said he. Pray, now, said I, don't madam me, nor stand with
your hat off to such a one as I. Had not my master, said he, ordered me
not to be wanting in respect to you, I would have shewn you all I could.
Well, said I, with my heart full, that's very kind, Mr. Robert.
Mr. Colbrand, mounted on horseback, with pistols before him, came up to
me, as soon as I got in, with his hat off too. What, monsieur! said I,
are you to go with me?--Part of the way, he said, to see you safe. I
hope that's kind too, in you, Mr. Colbrand, said I.
I had nobody to wave my handkerchief to now, nor to take leave of; and so
I resigned myself to my contemplations, with this strange wayward heart
of mine, that I never found so ungovernable and awkward before.
So away drove the chariot!--And when I had got out of the elm-walk, and
into the great road, I could hardly think but I was in a dream all the
time. A few hours before, in my master's arms almost, with twenty kind
things said to me, and a generous concern for the misfortunes he had
brought upon me; and only by one rash half-word exasperated against me,
and turned out of doors, at an hour's warning; and all his kindness
changed to hate! And I now, from three o'clock to five, several miles
off! But if I am going to you, all will be well again, I hope.
Lack-a-day, what strange creatures are men! gentlemen, I should say,
rather! For, my dear deserving good mother, though poverty be both your
lots, has had better hap, and you are, and have always been, blest in one
another!--Yet this pleases me too; he was so good, he would not let Mrs.
Jewkes speak ill of me, and scorned to take her odious unwomanly advice.
O, what a black heart has this poor wretch! So I need not rail against
men so much; for my master, bad as I have thought him, is not half so bad
as this woman.--To be sure she must be an atheist!--Do you think she is
not?
We could not reach further than this little poor place and sad alehouse,
rather than inn; for it began to be dark, and Robin did not make so much
haste as he might have done; and he was forced to make hard shift for his
horses.
Mr. Colbrand, and Robert too, are very civil. I see he has got my
portmanteau lashed behind the coach. I did not desire it; but I shall
not come quite empty.
A thorough riddance of me, I see!--Bag and baggage! as Mrs. Jewkes says.
Well, my story surely would furnish out a surprising kind of novel, if it
was to be well told.
Mr. Robert came up to me, just now, and begged me to eat something: I
thanked him; but said, I could not eat. I bid him ask Mr. Colbrand to
walk up; and he came; but neither of them would sit; nor put their hats
on. What mockado is this, to such a poor soul as I! I asked them, if
they were at liberty to tell me the truth of what they were to do with
me? If not, I would not desire it.--They both said, Robin was ordered to
carry me to my father's; and Mr. Colbrand was to leave me within ten
miles, and then strike off for the other house, and wait till my master
arrived there. They both spoke so solemnly, that I could not but believe
them.
But when Robin went down, the other said, he had a letter to give me next
day at noon, when we baited, as we were to do, at Mrs. Jewkes's
relation's.--May I not, said I, beg the favour to see it to-night? He
seemed so loath to deny me, that I have hopes I shall prevail on him by
and by.
Well, my dear father and mother, I have got the letter, on great promises
of secrecy, and making no use of it. I will try if I can open it without
breaking the seal, and will take a copy of it by and by; for Robin is in
and out: there being hardly any room in this little house for one to be
long alone. Well, this is the letter:
'When these lines are delivered to you, you will be far on your way to
your father and mother, where you have so long desired to be: and, I
hope, I shall forbear thinking of you with the least shadow of that
fondness my foolish heart had entertained for you: I bear you, however,
no ill will; but the end of my detaining you being over, I would not that
you should tarry with me an hour more than needed, after the ungenerous
preference you gave, at a time that I was inclined to pass over all other
considerations, for an honourable address to you; for well I found the
tables entirely turned upon me, and that I was in far more danger from
you, than you were from me; for I was just upon resolving to defy all the
censures of the world, and to make you my wife.
'I will acknowledge another truth: That, had I not parted with you as I
did, but permitted you to stay till I had read your journal, reflecting,
as I doubt not I shall find it, and till I had heard your bewitching
pleas in your own behalf, I feared I could not trust myself with my own
resolution. And this is the reason, I frankly own, that I have
determined not to see you, nor hear you speak; for well I know my
weakness in your favour.
'But I will get the better of this fond folly: Nay, I hope I have already
done it, since it was likely to cost me so dear. And I write this to
tell you, that I wish you well with all my heart, though you have spread
such mischief through my family.--And yet I cannot but say that I could
wish you would not think of marrying in haste; and, particularly, that
you would not have this cursed Williams.--But what is all this to me
now?--Only, my weakness makes me say, That as I had already looked upon
you as mine, and you have so soon got rid of your first husband; so you
will not refuse, to my memory, the decency that every common person
observes, to pay a twelvemonth's compliment, though but a mere
compliment, to my ashes.
'Your papers shall be faithfully returned you; and I have paid so dear
for my curiosity in the affection they have rivetted upon me for you,
that you would look upon yourself amply revenged if you knew what they
have cost me.
'I thought of writing only a few lines; but I have run into length. I
will now try to recollect my scattered thoughts, and resume my reason;
and shall find trouble enough to replace my affairs, and my own family,
and to supply the chasms you have made in it: For, let me tell you,
though I can forgive you, I never can my sister, nor my domestics; for my
vengeance must be wreaked somewhere.
'I doubt not your prudence in forbearing to expose me any more than is
necessary for your own justification; and for that I will suffer myself
to be accused by you, and will also accuse myself, if it be needful. For
I am, and will ever be, 'Your affectionate well-wisher.'
This letter, when I expected some new plot, has affected me more than any
thing of that sort could have done. For here is plainly his great value
for me confessed, and his rigorous behaviour accounted for in such a
manner, as tortures me much. And all this wicked gipsy story is, as it
seems, a forgery upon us both, and has quite ruined me: For, O my dear
parents, forgive me! but I found, to my grief, before, that my heart was
too partial in his favour; but now with so much openness, so much
affection; nay, so much honour too, (which was all I had before doubted,
and kept me on the reserve,) I am quite overcome. This was a happiness,
however, I had no reason to expect. But, to be sure, I must own to you,
that I shall never be able to think of any body in the world but him.--
Presumption! you will say; and so it is: But love is not a voluntary
thing: Love, did I say?--But come, I hope not:--At least it is not, I
hope, gone so far as to make me very uneasy: For I know not how it came,
nor when it began; but crept, crept it has, like a thief, upon me; and
before I knew what was the matter, it looked like love.
I wish, since it is too late, and my lot determined, that I had not had
this letter, nor heard him take my part to that vile woman; for then I
should have blessed myself in having escaped so happily his designing
arts upon my virtue: but now my poor mind is all topsy-turvied, and I
have made an escape to be more a prisoner.
But I hope, since thus it is, that all will be for the best; and I shall,
with your prudent advice, and pious prayers, be able to overcome this
weakness.--But, to be sure, my dear sir, I will keep a longer time than a
twelvemonth, as a true widow, for a compliment, and more than a
compliment, to your ashes! O the dear word!--How kind, how moving, how
affectionate is the word! O why was I not a duchess, to shew my
gratitude for it! But must labour under the weight of an obligation,
even had this happiness befallen me, that would have pressed me to death,
and which I never could return by a whole life of faithful love, and
cheerful obedience.
O forgive your poor daughter!--I am sorry to find this trial so sore upon
me; and that all the weakness of my weak sex, and tender years, who never
before knew what it was to be so touched, is come upon me, and too mighty
to be withstood by me.--But time, prayer, and resignation to God's will,
and the benefits of your good lessons, and examples, I hope, will enable
me to get over this so heavy a trial.
O my treacherous, treacherous heart! to serve me thus! and give no notice
to me of the mischiefs thou wast about to bring upon me!--But thus
foolishly to give thyself up to the proud invader, without ever
consulting thy poor mistress in the least! But thy punishment will be
the first and the greatest; and well deservest thou to smart, O
perfidious traitor! for giving up so weakly thy whole self, before a
summons came; and to one, too, who had used me so hardly; and when,
likewise, thou hadst so well maintained thy post against the most violent
and avowed, and, therefore, as I thought, more dangerous attacks!
After all, I must either not shew you this my weakness, or tear it out of
my writing. Memorandum: to consider of this, when I get home.
Monday morning, eleven o'clock.
We are just come in here, to the inn kept by Mrs. Jewkes's relation. The
first compliment I had, was in a very impudent manner, How I liked the
'squire?--I could not help saying, Bold, forward woman! Is it for you,
who keep an inn, to treat passengers at this rate? She was but in jest,
she said, and asked pardon: And she came, and begged excuse again, very
submissively, after Robin and Mr. Colbrand had talked to her a little.
The latter here, in great form, gave me, before Robin, the letter which I
had given him back for that purpose. And I retired, as if to read it;
and so I did; for I think I can't read it too often; though, for my peace
of mind's sake, I might better try to forget it. I am sorry, methinks, I
cannot bring you back a sound heart; but, indeed, it is an honest one, as
to any body but me; for it has deceived nobody else: Wicked thing that it
is!
More and more surprising things still----
Just as I had sat down, to try to eat a bit of victuals, to get ready to
pursue my journey, came in Mr. Colbrand in a mighty hurry. O madam!
madam! said he, here be de groom from de 'Squire B----, all over in a
lather, man and horse! O how my heart went pit-a-pat! What now, thought
I, is to come next! He went out, and presently returned with a letter
for me, and another, enclosed, for Mr. Colbrand. This seemed odd, and
put me all in a trembling. So I shut the door; and never, sure, was the
like known! found the following agreeable contents:--
'In vain, my Pamela, do I find it to struggle against my affection for
you. I must needs, after you were gone, venture to entertain myself with
your Journal, when I found Mrs. Jewkes's bad usage of you, after your
dreadful temptations and hurts; and particularly your generous concern
for me, on hearing how narrowly I escaped drowning; (though my death
would have been your freedom, and I had made it your interest to wish
it); and your most agreeable confession in another place, that,
notwithstanding all my hard usage of you, you could not hate me; and that
expressed in so sweet, so soft, and so innocent a manner, that I flatter
myself you may be brought to love me: (together with the other parts of
your admirable Journal:) I began to repent my parting with you; but, God
is my witness! for no unlawful end, as you would call it; but the very
contrary: and the rather, as all this was improved in your favour, by
your behaviour at leaving my house: For, oh! that melodious voice praying
for me at your departure, and thanking me for my rebuke to Mrs. Jewkes,
still hangs upon my ears, and delights my memory. And though I went to
bed, I could not rest; but about two got up, and made Thomas get one of
the best horses ready, in order to set out to overtake you, while I sat
down to write this to you.
'Now, my dear Pamela, let me beg of you, on the receipt of this, to order
Robin to drive you back again to my house. I would have set out myself,
for the pleasure of bearing you company back in the chariot; but am
really indisposed; I believe, with vexation that I should part thus with
my soul's delight, as I now find you are, and must be, in spite of the
pride of my own heart.
'You cannot imagine the obligation your return will lay me under to your
goodness; and yet, if you will not so far favour me, you shall be under
no restraint, as you will see by my letter enclosed to Colbrand; which I
have not sealed, that you may read it. But spare me, my dearest girl!
the confusion of following you to your father's; which I must do, if you
persist to go on; for I find I cannot live a day without you.
'If you are the generous Pamela I imagine you to be, (for hitherto you
have been all goodness, where it has not been merited,) let me see, by
this new instance, the further excellence of your disposition; let me see
you can forgive the man who loves you more than himself; let me see, by
it, that you are not prepossessed in any other person's favour: And one
instance more I would beg, and then I am all gratitude; and that is, that
you would despatch Monsieur Colbrand with a letter to your father,
assuring him that all will end happily; and to desire, that he will send
to you, at my house, the letters you found means, by Williams's
conveyance, to send him. And when I have all my proud, and, perhaps,
punctilious doubts answered, I shall have nothing to do, but to make you
happy, and be so myself. For I must be 'Yours, and only yours.'
'Monday morn, near three o'clock.'
O my exulting heart! how it throbs in my bosom, as if it would reproach
me for so lately upbraiding it for giving way to the love of so dear a
gentleman!--But take care thou art not too credulous neither, O fond
believer! Things that we wish, are apt to gain a too ready credence with
us. This sham-marriage is not yet cleared up: Mrs. Jewkes, the vile Mrs.
Jewkes! may yet instigate the mind of this master: His pride of heart,
and pride of condition, may again take place: And a man that could in so
little a space, first love me, then hate, then banish me his house, and
send me away disgracefully; and now send for me again, in such
affectionate terms, may still waver, may still deceive thee. Therefore
will I not acquit thee yet, O credulous, fluttering, throbbing mischief!
that art so ready to believe what thou wishest! And I charge thee to
keep better guard than thou hast lately done, and lead me not to follow
too implicitly thy flattering and desirable impulses. Thus foolishly
dialogued I with my heart; and yet, all the time, this heart is Pamela.
I opened the letter to Monsieur Colbrand; which was in these words:--
'MONSIEUR,
'I am sure you'll excuse the trouble I give you. I have, for good
reasons, changed my mind; and I have besought it, as a favour, that Mrs.
Andrews will return to me the moment Tom reaches you. I hope, for the
reasons I have given her, she will have the goodness to oblige me. But,
if not, you are to order Robin to pursue his directions, and set her down
at her father's door. If she will oblige me in her return, perhaps
she'll give you a letter to her father, for some papers to be delivered
to you for her; which you'll be so good, in that case, to bring to her
here: But if she will not give you such a letter, you'll return with her
to me, if she please to favour me so far; and that with all expedition,
that her health and safety will permit; for I am pretty much indisposed;
but hope it will be but slight, and soon go off. I am 'Yours, etc.'
'On second thoughts, let Tom go forward with Mrs. Andrews's letter, if
she pleases to give one; and you return with her, for her safety.'
Now this is a dear generous manner of treating me. O how I love to be
generously used!--Now, my dear parents, I wish I could consult you for
your opinions, how I should act. Should I go back, or should I not?--I
doubt he has got too great hold in my heart, for me to be easy presently,
if I should refuse: And yet this gipsy information makes me fearful.
Well, I will, I think, trust in his generosity! Yet is it not too great
a trust?--especially considering how I have been used!--But then that was
while he avowed his bad designs; and now he gives great hope of his good
ones. And I may be the means of making many happy, as well as myself, by
placing a generous confidence in him.
And then, I think, he might have sent to Colbrand, or to Robin, to carry
me back, whether I would or not. And how different is his behaviour to
that! And would it not look as if I was prepossessed, as he calls it, if
I don't oblige him; and as if it was a silly female piece of pride, to
make him follow me to my father's; and as if I would use him hardly in my
turn, for his having used me ill in his? Upon the whole, I resolved to
obey him; and if he uses me ill afterwards, double will be his ungenerous
guilt!--Though hard will be my lot, to have my credulity so justly
blamable, as it will then seem. For, to be sure, the world, the wise
world, that never is wrong itself, judges always by events. And if he
should use me ill, then I shall be blamed for trusting him: If well, O
then I did right, to be sure!--But how would my censurers act in my case,
before the event justifies or condemns the action, is the question?
Then I have no notion of obliging by halves; but of doing things with a
grace, as one may say, where they are to be done; and so I wrote the
desired letter to you, assuring you, that I had before me happier
prospects than ever I had; and hoped all would end well: And that I
begged you would send me, by the bearer, Mr. Thomas, my master's groom,
those papers, which I had sent you by Mr. Williams's conveyance: For that
they imported me much, for clearing up a point in my conduct, that my
master was desirous to know, before he resolved to favour me, as he had
intended.--But you will have that letter, before you can have this; for I
would not send you this without the preceding; which now is in my
master's hands.
And so, having given the letter to Mr. Thomas for him to carry to you,
when he had baited and rested after his great fatigue, I sent for
Monsieur Colbrand, and Robin, and gave to the former his letter; and when
he had read it, I said, You see how things stand. I am resolved to
return to our master; and as he is not so well as were to be wished, the
more haste you make the better: and don't mind my fatigue, but consider
only yourselves, and the horses. Robin, who guessed the matter, by his
conversation with Thomas, (as I suppose,) said, God bless you, madam, and
reward you, as your obligingness to my good master deserves; and may we
all live to see you triumph over Mrs. Jewkes!
I wondered to hear him say so; for I was always careful of exposing my
master, or even that naughty woman, before the common servants. But yet
I question whether Robin would have said this, if he had not guessed, by
Thomas's message, and my resolving to return, that I might stand well
with his master. So selfish are the hearts of poor mortals, that they
are ready to change as favour goes!
So they were not long getting ready; and I am just setting out, back
again: and I hope I shall have no reason to repent it.
Robin put on very vehemently; and when we came to the little town, where
we lay on Sunday night, he gave his horses a bait, and said, he would
push for his master's that night, as it would be moon-light, if I should
not be too much fatigued because there was no place between that and the
town adjacent to his master's, fit to put up at, for the night. But
Monsieur Colbrand's horse beginning to give way, made a doubt between
them: wherefore I said, (hating to be on the road,) if it could be done,
I should bear it well enough, I hoped; and that Monsieur Colbrand might
leave his horse, when it failed, at some house, and come into the
chariot. This pleased them both; and, about twelve miles short, he left
the horse, and took off his spurs and holsters, etc. and, with abundance
of ceremonial excuses, came into the chariot; and I sat the easier for
it; for my bones ached sadly with the jolting, and so many miles
travelling in so few hours, as I have done, from Sunday night, five
o'clock. But, for all this, it was eleven o'clock at night, when we came
to the village adjacent to my master's; and the horses began to be very
much tired, and Robin too: but I said, It would be pity to put up only
three miles short of the house.
So about one we reached the gate; but every body was a-bed. But one of
the helpers got the keys from Mrs. Jewkes, and opened the gates; and the
horses could hardly crawl into the stable. And I, when I went to get out
of the chariot, fell down, and thought I had lost the use of my limbs.
Mrs. Jewkes came down with her clothes huddled on, and lifted up her
hands and eyes, at my return; but shewed more care of the horses than of
me. By that time the two maids came; and I made shift to creep in, as
well as I could.
It seems my poor master was very ill indeed, and had been upon the bed
most part of the day; and Abraham (who succeeded John) sat up with him.
And he was got into a fine sleep, and heard not the coach come in, nor
the noise we made; for his chamber lies towards the garden,--on the other
side of the house. Mrs. Jewkes said, He had a feverish complaint, and
had been blooded; and, very prudently, ordered Abraham, when he awaked,
not to tell him I was come, for fear of surprising him, and augmenting
his fever; nor, indeed, to say any thing of me, till she herself broke it
to him in the morning, as she should see how he was.
So I went to bed with Mrs. Jewkes, after she had caused me to drink
almost half a pint of burnt wine, made very rich and cordial, with
spices; which I found very refreshing, and set me into a sleep I little
hoped for.
Tuesday morning.
Getting up pretty early, I have written thus far, while Mrs. Jewkes lies
snoring in bed, fetching up her last night's disturbance. I long for her
rising, to know how my poor master does. 'Tis well for her she can sleep
so purely. No love, but for herself, will ever break her rest, I am
sure. I am deadly sore all over, as if I had been soundly beaten. I did
not think I could have lived under such fatigue.
Mrs. Jewkes, as soon as she got up, went to know how my master did, and
he had had a good night; and, having drank plentifully of sack whey, had
sweated much; so that his fever had abated considerably. She said to
him, that he must not be surprised, and she would tell him news. He
asked, What? And she said, I was come. He raised himself up in his bed;
Can it be? said he--What, already!--She told him I came last night.
Monsieur Colbrand coming to inquire of his health, he ordered him to draw
near him, and was highly pleased with the account he gave him of the
journey, my readiness to come back, and my willingness to reach home that
night. And he said, Why, these tender fair ones, I think, bear fatigue
better than us men. But she is very good, to give me such an instance of
her readiness to oblige me. Pray, Mrs. Jewkes, said he, take great care
of her health! and let her be a-bed all day. She told him I had been up
these two hours. Ask her, said he, if she will be so good as to make me
a visit: If she won't, I'll rise, and go to her. Indeed, sir, said she,
you must be still; and I'll go to her. But don't urge her too much, said
he, if she be unwilling.
She came to me, and told me all the above; and I said, I would most
willingly wait upon him; for, indeed, I longed to see him, and was much
grieved he was so ill.--So I went down with her. Will she come? said he,
as I entered the room. Yes, sir, said we; and she said, at the first
word, Most willingly.--Sweet excellence! said he.
As soon as he saw me, he said, O my beloved Pamela! you have made me
quite well. I'm concerned to return my acknowledgments to you in so
unfit a place and manner; but will you give me your hand? I did, and he
kissed it with great eagerness. Sir, said I, you do me too much honour!
--I am sorry you are so ill.--I can't be ill, said he, while you are with
me. I am very well already.
Well, said he, and kissed my hand again, you shall not repent this
goodness. My heart is too full of it to express myself as I ought. But
I am sorry you have had such a fatiguing time of it.--Life is no life
without you! If you had refused me, and yet I had hardly hopes you would
oblige me, I should have had a severe fit of it, I believe; for I was
taken very oddly, and knew not what to make of myself: but now I shall be
well instantly. You need not, Mrs. Jewkes, added he, send for the doctor
from Stamford, as we talked yesterday; for this lovely creature is my
doctor, as her absence was my disease.
He begged me to sit down by his bed-side, and asked me, if I had obliged
him with sending for my former packet? I said I had, and hoped it would
be brought. He said it was doubly kind.
I would not stay long because of disturbing him. And he got up in the
afternoon, and desired my company; and seemed quite pleased, easy, and
much better. He said, Mrs. Jewkes, after this instance of my good
Pamela's obligingness in her return, I am sure we ought to leave her
entirely at her own liberty; and pray, if she pleases to take a turn in
our chariot, or in the garden, or to the town, or wherever she will, let
her be left at liberty, and asked no questions; and do you do all in your
power to oblige her. She said she would, to be sure.
He took my hand, and said, One thing I will tell you, Pamela, because I
know you will be glad to hear it, and yet not care to ask me: I had,
before you went, taken Williams's bond for the money; for how the poor
man had behaved I can't tell, but he could get no bail; and if I have no
fresh reason given me, perhaps I shall not exact the payment; and he has
been some time at liberty, and now follows his school; but, methinks, I
could wish you would not see him at present.
Sir, said I, I will not do any thing to disoblige you wilfully; and I am
glad he is at liberty, because I was the occasion of his misfortunes. I
durst say no more, though I wanted to plead for the poor gentleman;
which, in gratitude, I thought I ought, when I could do him service. I
said, I am sorry, sir, Lady Davers, who loves you so well, should have
incurred your displeasure, and that there should be any variance between
your honour and her; I hope it was not on my account. He took out of his
waistcoat pocket, as he sat in his gown, his letter-case, and said, Here,
Pamela, read that when you go up stairs, and let me have your thoughts
upon it; and that will let you into the affair.
He said he was very heavy of a sudden, and would lie down, and indulge
for that day; and if he was better in the morning, would take an airing
in the chariot. And so I took my leave for the present, and went up to
my closet, and read the letter he was pleased to put into my hands; which
is as follows:--
'BROTHER,
'I am very uneasy at what I hear of you; and must write, whether it
please you or not, my full mind. I have had some people with me,
desiring me to interpose with you; and they have a greater regard for
your honour, than, I am sorry to say it, you have yourself. Could I
think, that a brother of mine would so meanly run away with my late dear
mother's waiting-maid, and keep her a prisoner from all her friends, and
to the disgrace of your own? But I thought, when you would not let the
wench come to me on my mother's death, that you meant no good.--I blush
for you, I'll assure you. The girl was an innocent, good girl; but I
suppose that's over with her now, or soon will. What can you mean by
this, let me ask you? Either you will have her for a kept mistress, or
for a wife. If the former, there are enough to be had without ruining a
poor wench that my mother loved, and who really was a very good girl: and
of this you may be ashamed. As to the other, I dare say you don't think
of it; but if you should, you would be utterly inexcusable. Consider,
brother, that ours is no upstart family; but is as ancient as the best in
the kingdom! and, for several hundreds of years, it has never been known,
that the heirs of it have disgraced themselves by unequal matches: And
you know you have been sought to by some of the best families in the
nation, for your alliance. It might be well enough, if you were
descended of a family of yesterday, or but a remove or two from the dirt
you seem so fond of. But, let me tell you, that I, and all mine, will
renounce you for ever, if you can descend so meanly; and I shall be
ashamed to be called your sister. A handsome man, as you are, in your
person; so happy in the gifts of your mind, that every body courts your
company; and possessed of such a noble and clear estate; and very rich in
money besides, left you by the best of fathers and mothers, with such
ancient blood in your veins, untainted! for you to throw away yourself
thus, is intolerable; and it would be very wicked in you to ruin the
wench too. So that I beg you will restore her to her parents, and give
her 100l. or so, to make her happy in some honest fellow of her own
degree; and that will be doing something, and will also oblige and pacify
'Your much grieved sister.'
'If I have written too sharply, consider it is my love to you, and the
shame you are bringing upon yourself; and I wish this may have the effect
upon you, intended by your very loving sister.'
This is a sad letter, my dear father and mother; and one may see how poor
people are despised by the proud and the rich! and yet we were all on a
foot originally: And many of these gentry, that brag of their ancient
blood, would be glad to have it as wholesome, and as really untainted, as
ours!--Surely these proud people never think what a short stage life is;
and that, with all their vanity; a time is coming, when they shall be
obliged to submit to be on a level with us: And true said the
philosopher, when he looked upon the skull of a king, and that of a poor
man, that he saw no difference between them. Besides, do they not know,
that the richest of princes, and the poorest of beggars, are to have one
great and tremendous judge, at the last day; who will not distinguish
between them, according to their circumstances in life?--But, on the
contrary, may make their condemnations the greater, as their neglected
opportunities were the greater? Poor souls! how do I pity their pride!--
O keep me, Heaven! from their high condition, if my mind shall ever be
tainted with their vice! or polluted with so cruel and inconsiderate a
contempt of the humble estate which they behold with so much scorn!
But, besides, how do these gentry know, that, supposing they could trace
back their ancestry for one, two, three, or even five hundred years, that
then the original stems of these poor families, though they have not kept
such elaborate records of their good-for nothingness, as it often proves,
were not still deeper rooted?--And how can they be assured, that one
hundred years hence, or two, some of those now despised upstart families
may not revel in their estates, while their descendants may be reduced to
the others' dunghills!--And, perhaps, such is the vanity, as well as
changeableness, of human estates, in their turns set up for pride of
family, and despise the others!
These reflections occurred to my thoughts, made serious by my master's
indisposition, and this proud letter of the lowly Lady Davers, against
the high-minded Pamela. Lowly, I say, because she could stoop to such
vain pride; and high-minded I, because I hope I am too proud ever to do
the like!--But, after all, poor wretches that we be! we scarce know what
we are, much less what we shall be!--But, once more pray I to be kept
from the sinful pride of a high estate.
On this occasion I recall the following lines, which I have read; where
the poet argues in a much better manner:--
"------------Wise Providence
Does various parts for various minds dispense:
The meanest slaves, or those who hedge and ditch,
Are useful, by their sweat, to feed the rich.
The rich, in due return, impart their store;
Which comfortably feeds the lab'ring poor.
Nor let the rich the lowest slave disdain:
He's equally a link of Nature's chain:
Labours to the same end, joins in one view;
And both alike the will divine pursue;
And, at the last, are levell'd, king and slave,
Without distinction, in the silent grave."
Wednesday morning.
My master sent me a message just now, that he was so much better, that he
would take a turn, after breakfast, in the chariot, and would have me
give him my company. I hope I shall know how to be humble, and comport
myself as I should do, under all these favours.
Mrs. Jewkes is one of the most obliging creatures in the world; and I
have such respects shewn me by every one, as if I was as great as Lady
Davers--But now, if this should all end in the sham-marriage!--It cannot
be, I hope. Yet the pride of greatness and ancestry, and such-like, is
so strongly set out in Lady Davers's letter, that I cannot flatter myself
to be so happy as all these desirable appearances make for me. Should I
be now deceived, I should be worse off than ever. But I shall see what
light this new honour will procure me!--So I'll get ready. But I won't,
I think, change my garb. Should I do it, it would look as if I would be
nearer on a level with him: and yet, should I not, it might be thought a
disgrace to him: but I will, I think, open the portmanteau, and, for the
first time since I came hither, put on my best silk nightgown. But then
that will be making myself a sort of right to the clothes I had
renounced; and I am not yet quite sure I shall have no other crosses to
encounter. So I will go as I am; for, though ordinary, I am as clean as
a penny, though I say it. So I'll e'en go as I am, except he orders
otherwise. Yet Mrs. Jewkes says, I ought to dress as fine as I can.--But
I say, I think not. As my master is up, and at breakfast, I will venture
down to ask him how he will have me be.
Well, he is kinder and kinder, and, thank God, purely recovered!--How
charmingly he looks, to what he did yesterday! Blessed be God for it!
He arose, and came to me, and took me by the hand, and would set me down
by him; and he said, My charming girl seemed going to speak. What would
you say?--Sir, said I, (a little ashamed,) I think it is too great an
honour to go into the chariot with you. No, my dear Pamela, said he; the
pleasure of your company will be greater than the honour of mine; and so
say no more on that head.
But, sir, said I, I shall disgrace you to go thus. You would grace a
prince, my fair-one, said the good, kind, kind gentleman! in that dress,
or any you shall choose: And you look so pretty, that, if you shall not
catch cold in that round-eared cap, you shall go just as you are. But,
sir, said I, then you'll be pleased to go a bye-way, that it mayn't be
seen you do so much honor to your servant. O my good girl! said he, I
doubt you are afraid of yourself being talked of, more than me: for I
hope by degrees to take off the world's wonder, and teach them to expect
what is to follow, as a due to my Pamela.
O the dear good man! There's for you, my dear father and mother!--Did I
not do well now to come back?--O could I get rid of my fears of this
sham-marriage, (for all this is not yet inconsistent with that frightful
scheme,) I should be too happy!
So I came up, with great pleasure, for my gloves: and now wait his kind
commands. Dear, dear sir! said I to myself, as if I was speaking to him,
for God's sake let me have no more trials and reverses; for I could not
bear it now, I verily think!
At last the welcome message came, that my master was ready; and so I went
down as fast as I could; and he, before all the servants, handed me in,
as if I was a lady; and then came in himself. Mrs. Jewkes begged he
would take care he did not catch cold, as he had been ill. And I had the
pride to hear his new coachman say, to one of his fellow-servants, They
are a charming pair, I am sure! 'tis pity they should be parted!--O my
dear father and mother! I fear your girl will grow as proud as any
thing! And, especially, you will think I have reason to guard against
it, when you read the kind particulars I am going to relate.
He ordered dinner to be ready by two; and Abraham, who succeeds John,
went behind the coach. He bid Robin drive gently, and told me, he wanted
to talk to me about his sister Davers, and other matters. Indeed, at
first setting out he kissed me a little too often, that he did; and I was
afraid of Robin's looking back, through the fore-glass, and people seeing
us, as they passed; but he was exceedingly kind to me, in his words, as
well. At last, he said,
You have, I doubt not, read, over and over, my sister's saucy letter; and
find, as I told you, that you are no more obliged to her than I am. You
see she intimates, that some people had been with her; and who should
they be, but the officious Mrs. Jervis, and Mr. Longman, and Jonathan!
and so that has made me take the measures I did in dismissing them my
service.--I see, said he, you are going to speak on their behalfs; but
your time is not come to do that, if ever I shall permit it.
My sister, says he, I have been beforehand with; for I have renounced
her. I am sure I have been a kind brother to her; and gave her to the
value of 3000l. more than her share came to by my father's will, when I
entered upon my estate. And the woman, surely, was beside herself with
passion and insolence, when she wrote me such a letter; for well she knew
I would not bear it. But you must know, Pamela, that she is much
incensed, that I will give no ear to a proposal of hers, of a daughter of
my Lord ----, who, said he, neither in person, or mind, or acquirements,
even with all her opportunities, is to be named in a day with my Pamela.
But yet you see the plea, my girl, which I made to you before, of the
pride of condition, and the world's censure, which, I own, sticks a
little too close with me still: for a woman shines not forth to the
public as man; and the world sees not your excellencies and perfections:
If it did, I should entirely stand acquitted by the severest censures.
But it will be taken in the lump; that here is Mr. B----, with such and
such an estate, has married his mother's waiting-maid: not considering
there is not a lady in the kingdom that can out-do her, or better support
the condition to which she will be raised, if I should marry her. And,
said he, putting his arm round me, and again kissing me, I pity my dear
girl too, for her part in this censure; for, here will she have to combat
the pride and slights of the neighbouring gentry all around us. Sister
Davers, you see, will never be reconciled to you. The other ladies will
not visit you; and you will, with a merit superior to them all, be
treated as if unworthy their notice. Should I now marry my Pamela, how
will my girl relish all this? Won't these be cutting things to my fair-
one? For, as to me, I shall have nothing to do, but, with a good estate
in possession, to brazen out the matter of my former pleasantry on this
subject, with my companions of the chase, the green, and the assemblee;
stand their rude jests for once or twice, and my fortune will create me
always respect enough, I warrant you. But, I say, what will my poor girl
do, as to her part, with her own sex? For some company you must keep.
My station will not admit it to be with my servants; and the ladies will
fly your acquaintance; and still, though my wife, will treat you as my
mother's waiting-maid.--What says my girl to this?
You may well guess, my dear father and mother, how transporting these
kind, these generous and condescending sentiments were to me!--I thought
I had the harmony of the spheres all around me; and every word that
dropped from his lips was as sweet as the honey of Hybla to me.--Oh! sir,
said I, how inexpressibly kind and good is all this! Your poor servant
has a much greater struggle than this to go through, a more knotty
difficulty to overcome.
What is that? said he, a little impatiently: I will not forgive your
doubts now.--No, sir, said I, I cannot doubt; but it is, how I shall
support, how I shall deserve your goodness to me.--Dear girl! said he,
and hugged me to his breast, I was afraid you would have made me angry
again; but that I would not be, because I see you have a grateful heart;
and this your kind and cheerful return, after such cruel usage as you had
experienced in my house, enough to make you detest the place, has made me
resolve to bear any thing in you, but doubts of my honour, at a time when
I am pouring out my soul, with a true and affectionate ardour, before
you.
But, good sir, said I, my greatest concern will be for the rude jests you
will have yourself to encounter with, for thus stooping beneath yourself.
For, as to me, considering my lowly estate, and little merit, even the
slights and reflections of the ladies will be an honour to me: and I
shall have the pride to place more than half their ill will to their envy
at my happiness. And if I can, by the most cheerful duty, and resigned
obedience, have the pleasure to be agreeable to you, I shall think myself
but too happy, let the world say what it will.
He said, You are very good, my dearest girl! But how will you bestow
your time, when you will have no visits to receive or pay? No parties of
pleasure to join in? No card-tables to employ your winter evenings; and
even, as the taste is, half the day, summer and winter? And you have
often played with my mother, too, and so know how to perform a part
there, as well as in the other diversions: and I'll assure you, my girl,
I shall not desire you to live without such amusements, as my wife might
expect, were I to marry a lady of the first quality.
O, sir, said I, you are all goodness! How shall I bear it?--But do you
think, sir, in such a family as yours, a person whom you shall honour
with the name of mistress of it, will not find useful employments for her
time, without looking abroad for any others?
In the first place, sir, if you will give me leave, I will myself look
into such parts of the family economy, as may not be beneath the rank to
which I shall have the honour of being exalted, if any such there can be;
and this, I hope, without incurring the ill will of any honest servant.
Then, sir, I will ease you of as much of your family accounts, as I
possibly can, when I have convinced you that I am to be trusted with
them; and you know, sir, my late good lady made me her treasurer, her
almoner, and every thing.
Then, sir, if I must needs be visiting or visited, and the ladies won't
honour me so much, or even if they would now and then, I will visit, if
your goodness will allow me so to do, the sick poor in the neighbourhood
around you; and administer to their wants and necessities, in such
matters as may not be hurtful to your estate, but comfortable to them;
and entail upon you their blessings, and their prayers for your dear
health and welfare.
Then I will assist your housekeeper, as I used to do, in the making
jellies, comfits, sweetmeats, marmalades, cordials; and to pot, and
candy, and preserve for the uses of the family; and to make, myself, all
the fine linen of it for yourself and me.
Then, sir, if you will sometimes indulge me with your company, I will
take an airing in your chariot now and then: and when you shall return
home from your diversions on the green, or from the chase, or where you
shall please to go, I shall have the pleasure of receiving you with duty,
and a cheerful delight; and, in your absence, count the moments till you
return; and you will, may be, fill up some part of my time, the sweetest
by far! with your agreeable conversation, for an hour or two now and
then; and be indulgent to the impertinent overflowings of my grateful
heart, for all your goodness to me.
The breakfasting-time, the preparations for dinner, and sometimes to
entertain your chosen friends, and the company you shall bring home with
you, gentlemen, if not ladies, and the supperings, will fill up a great
part of the day in a very necessary manner.
And, may be, sir, now and then a good-humoured lady will drop in; and, I
hope, if they do, I shall so behave myself, as not to add to the disgrace
you will have brought upon yourself: for, indeed, I will be very
circumspect, and try to be as discreet as I can; and as humble too, as
shall be consistent with your honour.
Cards, 'tis true, I can play at, in all the usual games that our sex
delight in; but this I am not fond of, nor shall ever desire to play,
unless to induce such ladies, as you may wish to see, not to abandon your
house for want of an amusement they are accustomed to.
Music, which our good lady taught me, will fill up some intervals, if I
should have any.
And then, sir, you know, I love reading and scribbling; and though all
the latter will be employed in the family accounts, between the servants
and me, and me and your good self: yet reading, at proper times, will be
a pleasure to me, which I shall be unwilling to give up, for the best
company in the world, except yours. And, O sir! that will help to polish
my mind, and make me worthier of your company and conversation; and, with
the explanations you will give me, of what I shall not understand, will
be a sweet employment, and improvement too.
But one thing, sir, I ought not to forget, because it is the chief: My
duty to God will, I hope, always employ some good portion of my time,
with thanks for his superlative goodness to me; and to pray for you and
myself: for you, sir, for a blessing on you, for your great goodness to
such an unworthy creature: for myself, that I may be enabled to discharge
my duty to you, and be found grateful for all the blessings I shall
receive at the hands of Providence, by means of your generosity and
condescension.
With all this, sir, said I, can you think I shall be at a loss to pass my
time? But, as I know, that every slight to me, if I come to be so happy,
will be, in some measure, a slight to you, I will beg of you, sir, not to
let me go very fine in dress; but appear only so, as that you may not be
ashamed of it after the honour I shall have of being called by your
worthy name: for well I know, sir, that nothing so much excites the envy
of my own sex, as seeing a person above them in appearance, and in dress.
And that would bring down upon me an hundred saucy things, and low-born
brats, and I can't tell what!
There I stopped; for I had prattled a great deal too much so early: and
he said, clasping me to him, Why stops my dear Pamela?--Why does she not
proceed? I could dwell upon your words all the day long; and you shall
be the directress of your own pleasures, and your own time, so sweetly do
you choose to employ it: and thus shall I find some of my own bad actions
atoned for by your exemplary goodness, and God will bless me for your
sake.
O, said he, what pleasure you give me in this sweet foretaste of my
happiness! I will now defy the saucy, busy censurers of the world; and
bid them know your excellence, and my happiness, before they, with
unhallowed lips, presume to judge of my actions, and your merit!--And let
me tell you, my Pamela, that I can add my hopes of a still more pleasing
amusement, and what your bashful modesty would not permit you to hint;
and which I will no otherwise touch upon, lest it should seem, to your
nicety, to detract from the present purity of my good intentions, than to
say, I hope to have superadded to all these, such an employment, as will
give me a view of perpetuating my happy prospects, and my family at the
same time; of which I am almost the only male.
I blushed, I believe; yet could not be displeased at the decent and
charming manner with which he insinuated this distant hope: And oh! judge
for me, how my heart was affected with all these things!
He was pleased to add another charming reflection, which shewed me the
noble sincerity of his kind professions. I do own to you, my Pamela,
said he, that I love you with a purer flame than ever I knew in my whole
life; a flame to which I was a stranger; and which commenced for you in
the garden; though you, unkindly, by your unseasonable doubts, nipped the
opening bud, while it was too tender to bear the cold blasts of slight or
negligence. And I know more sincere joy and satisfaction in this sweet
hour's conversation with you, than all the guilty tumults of my former
passion ever did, or (had even my attempts succeeded) ever could have
afforded me.
O, sir, said I, expect not words from your poor servant, equal to these
most generous professions. Both the means, and the will, I now see, are
given to you, to lay me under an everlasting obligation. How happy shall
I be, if, though I cannot be worthy of all this goodness and
condescension, I can prove myself not entirely unworthy of it! But I can
only answer for a grateful heart; and if ever I give you cause, wilfully,
(and you will generously allow for involuntary imperfections,) to be
disgusted with me, may I be an outcast from your house and favour, and as
much repudiated, as if the law had divorced me from you!
But sir, continued I, though I was so unseasonable as I was in the
garden, you would, I flatter myself, had you then heard me, have pardoned
my imprudence, and owned I had some cause to fear, and to wish to be with
my poor father and mother: and this I the rather say, that you should not
think me capable of returning insolence for your goodness; or appearing
foolishly ungrateful to you, when you was so kind to me.
Indeed, Pamela, said he, you gave me great uneasiness; for I love you too
well not to be jealous of the least appearance of your indifference to
me, or preference to any other person, not excepting your parents
themselves. This made me resolve not to hear you; for I had not got over
my reluctance to marriage; and a little weight, you know, turns the
scale, when it hangs in an equal balance. But yet, you see, that though
I could part with you, while my anger held, yet the regard I had then
newly professed for your virtue, made me resolve not to offer to violate
it; and you have seen likewise, that the painful struggle I underwent
when I began to reflect, and to read your moving journal, between my
desire to recall you, and my doubt whether you would return, (though yet
I resolved not to force you to it,) had like to have cost me a severe
illness: but your kind and cheerful return has dispelled all my fears,
and given me hope, that I am not indifferent to you; and you see how your
presence has chased away my illness.
I bless God for it, said I; but since you are so good as to encourage me,
and will not despise my weakness, I will acknowledge, that I suffered
more than I could have imagined, till I experienced it, in being banished
your presence in so much anger; and the more still was I affected, when
you answered the wicked Mrs. Jewkes so generously in my favour, at my
leaving your house. For this, sir, awakened all my reverence for you;
and you saw I could not forbear, not knowing what I did, to break boldly
in upon you, and acknowledge your goodness on my knees. 'Tis true, my
dear Pamela, said he, we have sufficiently tortured one another; and the
only comfort that can result from it, will be, reflecting upon the matter
coolly and with pleasure, when all these storms are overblown, (as I hope
they now are,) and we sit together secured in each other's good opinion,
recounting the uncommon gradations by which we have ascended to the
summit of that felicity, which I hope we shall shortly arrive at.
Meantime, said the good gentleman, let me hear what my dear girl would
have said in her justification, could I have trusted myself with her, as
to her fears, and the reason of her wishing herself from me, at a time
that I had begun to shew my fondness for her, in a manner that I thought
would have been agreeable to her and virtue.
I pulled out of my pocket the gipsy letter; but I said, before I shewed
it to him, I have this letter, sir, to shew you, as what, I believe, you
will allow must have given me the greatest disturbance: but, first, as I
know not who is the writer, and it seems to be in a disguised hand, I
would beg it as a favour, that, if you guess who it is, which I cannot,
it may not turn to their prejudice, because it was written, very
probably, with no other view, than to serve me.
He took it, and read it. And it being signed Somebody, he said, Yes,
this is indeed from Somebody; and, disguised as the hand is, I know the
writer: Don't you see, by the setness of some of these letters, and a
little secretary cut here and there, especially in that c, and that r,
that it is the hand of a person bred in the law-way? Why, Pamela, said
he, 'tis old Longman's hand: an officious rascal as he is!--But I have
done with him. O sir, said I, it would be too insolent in me to offer
(so much am I myself overwhelmed with your goodness,) to defend any body
that you are angry with: Yet, sir, so far as they have incurred your
displeasure for my sake, and for no other want of duty or respect, I
could wish--But I dare not say more.
But, said he, as to the letter and the information it contains: Let me
know, Pamela, when you received this? On the Friday, sir, said I, that
you were gone to the wedding at Stamford.--How could it be conveyed to
you, said he, unknown to Mrs. Jewkes, when I gave her such a strict
charge to attend you, and you had promised me, that you would not throw
yourself in the way of such intelligence? For, said he, when I went to
Stamford, I knew, from a private intimation given me, that there would be
an attempt made to see you, or give you a letter, by somebody, if not to
get you away; but was not certain from what quarter, whether from my
sister Davers, Mrs. Jervis, Mr. Longman, or John Arnold, or your father;
and as I was then but struggling with myself, whether to give way to my
honourable inclinations, or to free you, and let you go to your father,
that I might avoid the danger I found myself in of the former; (for I had
absolutely resolved never to wound again even your ears with any
proposals of a contrary nature;) that was the reason I desired you to
permit Mrs. Jewkes to be so much on her guard till I came back, when I
thought I should have decided this disputed point within myself, between
my pride and my inclinations.
This, good sir, said I, accounts well to me for your conduct in that
case, and for what you said to me and Mrs. Jewkes on that occasion: And I
see more and more how much I may depend upon your honour and goodness to
me.--But I will tell you all the truth. And then I recounted to him the
whole affair of the gipsy, and how the letter was put among the loose
grass, etc. And he said, The man who thinks a thousand dragons
sufficient to watch a woman, when her inclination takes a contrary bent,
will find all too little; and she will engage the stones in the street,
or the grass in the field, to act for her, and help on her
correspondence. If the mind, said he, be not engaged, I see there is
hardly any confinement sufficient for the body; and you have told me a
very pretty story; and, as you never gave me any reason to question your
veracity, even in your severest trials, I make no doubt of the truth of
what you have now mentioned: and I will, in my turn, give you such a
proof of mine, that you shall find it carry a conviction with it.
You must know, then, my Pamela, that I had actually formed such a
project, so well informed was this old rascally Somebody! and the time
was fixed for the very person described in this letter to be here; and I
had thought he should have read some part of the ceremony (as little as
was possible, to deceive you) in my chamber; and so I hoped to have you
mine upon terms that then would have been much more agreeable to me than
real matrimony. And I did not in haste intend you the mortification of
being undeceived; so that we might have lived for years, perhaps, very
lovingly together; and I had, at the same time, been at liberty to
confirm or abrogate it as I pleased.
O sir, said I, I am out of breath with the thoughts of my danger! But
what good angel prevented the execution of this deep-laid design?
Why, your good angel, Pamela, said he; for when I began to consider, that
it would have made you miserable, and me not happy; that if you should
have a dear little one, it would be out of my own power to legitimate it,
if I should wish it to inherit my estate; and that, as I am almost the
last of my family, and most of what I possess must descend to a strange
line, and disagreeable and unworthy persons; notwithstanding that I
might, in this case, have issue of my own body; when I further considered
your untainted virtue, what dangers and trials you had undergone by my
means, and what a world of troubles I had involved you in, only because
you were beautiful and virtuous, which had excited all my passion for
you; and reflected also upon your tried prudence and truth! I, though I
doubted not effecting this my last plot, resolved to overcome myself;
and, however I might suffer in struggling with my affection for you, to
part with you, rather than to betray you under so black a veil. Besides,
said he, I remember how much I had exclaimed against and censured an
action of this kind, that had been attributed to one of the first men of
the law, and of the kingdom, as he afterwards became; and that it was but
treading in a path that another had marked out for me; and, as I was
assured, with no great satisfaction to himself, when he came to reflect;
my foolish pride was a little piqued with this, because I loved to be, if
I went out of the way, my own original, as I may call it. On all these
considerations it was, that I rejected this project, and sent word to the
person, that I had better considered of the matter, and would not have
him come, till he heard further from me: And, in this suspense I suppose,
some of your confederates, Pamela, (for we have been a couple of
plotters, though your virtue and merit have procured you faithful friends
and partisans, which my money and promises could hardly do,) one way or
other got knowledge of it, and gave you this notice; but, perhaps, it
would have come too late, had not your white angel got the better of my
black one, and inspired me with resolutions to abandon the project, just
as it was to have been put into execution. But yet I own, that, from
these appearances, you were but too well justified in your fears, on this
odd way of coming at this intelligence; and I have only one thing to
blame you for, that though I was resolved not to hear you in your own
defence, yet, as you have so ready a talent at your pen, you might have
cleared your part of this matter up to me by a line or two; and when I
had known what seeming good grounds you had for pouring cold water on a
young flame, that was just then rising to an honourable expansion, should
not have imputed it, as I was apt to do, to unseasonable insult for my
tenderness to you, on one hand; to perverse nicety, on the other; or to
(what I was most alarmed by, and concerned for) prepossession for some
other person: And this would have saved us both much fatigue, I of mind,
you of body.
And, indeed, sir, said I, of mind too; and I could not better manifest
this, than by the cheerfulness with which I obeyed your recalling me to
your presence.
Ay, that, my dear Pamela, said he, and clasped me in his arms, was the
kind, the inexpressibly kind action, that has rivetted my affections to
you, and obliges me, in this free and unreserved manner, to pour my whole
soul into your bosom.
I said, I had the less merit in this my return, because I was driven, by
an irresistible impulse to it; and could not help it, if I would.
This, said he, (and honoured me by kissing my hand,) is engaging, indeed;
if I may hope, that my Pamela's gentle inclination for her persecutor was
the strongest motive to her return; and I so much value a voluntary love
in the person I would wish for my wife, that I would have even prudence
and interest hardly named in comparison with it: And can you return me
sincerely the honest compliment I now make you?--In the choice I have
made, it is impossible I should have any view to my interest. Love, true
love, is the only motive by which I am induced. And were I not what I
am, could you give me the preference to any other you know in the world,
notwithstanding what has passed between us? Why, said I, should your so
much obliged Pamela refuse to answer this kind question? Cruel as I have
thought you, and dangerous as your views to my honesty have been; you,
sir, are the only person living that ever was more than indifferent to
me: and before I knew this to be what I blush now to call it, I could not
hate you, or wish you ill, though, from my soul, the attempts you made
were shocking, and most distasteful to me.
I am satisfied, my Pamela, said he; nor shall I want to see those papers
that you have kindly written for to your father; though I still wish to
see them too, for the sake of the sweet manner in which you relate what
has passed, and to have before me the whole series of your sufferings,
that I may learn what degree of kindness may be sufficient to recompense
you for them.
In this manner, my dear father and mother, did your happy daughter find
herself blessed by her generous master! An ample recompense for all her
sufferings did I think this sweet conversation only. A hundred tender
things he expressed besides, that though they never can escape my memory,
yet would be too tedious to write down. Oh, how I blessed God, and, I
hope, ever shall, for all his gracious favours to his unworthy handmaid!
What a happy change is this! And who knows but my kind, my generous
master, may put it in my power, when he shall see me not quite unworthy
of it, to be a means, without injuring him, to dispense around me, to
many persons, the happy influences of the condition to which I shall be,
by his kind favour, exalted? Doubly blest shall I be, in particular, if
I can return the hundredth part of the obligations I owe to such honest
good parents, to whose pious instructions and examples, under God, I owe
all my present happiness, and future prospects.--O the joy that fills my
mind on these proud hopes! on these delightful prospects!--It is too
mighty for me, and I must sit down to ponder all these things, and to
admire and bless the goodness of that Providence, which has, through so
many intricate mazes, made me tread the paths of innocence, and so amply
rewarded me for what it has itself enabled me to do! All glory to God
alone be ever given for it, by your poor enraptured daughter!----
I will now continue my most pleasing relation.
As the chariot was returning home from this sweet airing, he said, From
all that has passed between us in this pleasing turn, my Pamela will see,
and will believe, that the trials of her virtue are all over from me:
But, perhaps, there will be some few yet to come of her patience and
humility. For I have, at the earnest importunity of Lady Darnford, and
her daughters, promised them a sight of my beloved girl: And so I intend
to have their whole family, and Lady Jones, and Mrs. Peters's family, to
dine with me once in a few days. And, since I believe you would hardly
choose, at present, to grace the table on the occasion, till you can do
it in your own right, I should be glad you would not refuse coming down
to us if I should desire it; for I would preface our nuptials, said the
dear gentleman! O what a sweet word was that!--with their good opinion
of your merits: and to see you, and your sweet manner, will be enough for
that purpose; and so, by degrees, prepare my neighbours for what is to
follow: And they already have your character from me, and are disposed to
admire you.
Sir, said I, after all that has passed, I should be unworthy, if I could
not say, that I can have no will but yours: And however awkwardly I shall
behave in such company, weighed down with a sense of your obligations on
one side, and my own unworthiness, with their observations on the other,
I will not scruple to obey you.
I am obliged to you, Pamela, said he, and pray be only dressed as you
are; for since they know your condition, and I have told them the story
of your present dress, and how you came by it, one of the young ladies
begs it as a favour, that they may see you just as you are: and I am the
rather pleased it should be so, because they will perceive you owe
nothing to dress, but make a much better figure with your own native
stock of loveliness, than the greatest ladies arrayed in the most
splendid attire, and adorned with the most glittering jewels.
O sir, said I, your goodness beholds your poor servant in a light greatly
beyond her merit! But it must not be expected, that others, ladies
especially, will look upon me with your favourable eyes: but,
nevertheless, I should be best pleased to wear always this humble garb,
till you, for your own sake, shall order it otherwise: for, oh, sir, said
I, I hope it will be always my pride to glory most in your goodness! and
it will be a pleasure to me to shew every one, that, with respect to my
happiness in this life, I am entirely the work of your bounty; and to let
the world see from what a lowly original you have raised me to honours,
that the greatest ladies would rejoice in.
Admirable Pamela! said he; excellent girl!--Surely thy sentiments are
superior to those of all thy sex!--I might have addressed a hundred fine
ladies; but never, surely, could have had reason to admire one as I do
you.
As, my dear father and mother, I repeat these generous sayings, only
because they are the effect of my master's goodness, being far from
presuming to think I deserve one of them; so I hope you will not
attribute it to my vanity; for I do assure you, I think I ought rather to
be more humble, as I am more obliged: for it must be always a sign of a
poor condition, to receive obligations one cannot repay; as it is of a
rich mind, when it can confer them without expecting or needing a return.
It is, on one side, the state of the human creature, compared, on the
other, to the Creator; and so, with due deference, may his beneficence be
said to be Godlike, and that is the highest that can be said.
The chariot brought us home at near the hour of two; and, blessed be God,
my master is pure well, and cheerful; and that makes me hope he does not
repent him of his late generous treatment of me. He handed me out of the
chariot, and to the parlour, with the same goodness, that he shewed when
he put me into it, before several of the servants. Mrs. Jewkes came to
inquire how he did. Quite well, Mrs. Jewkes, said he; quite well: I
thank God, and this good girl, for it!--I am glad of it, said she; but I
hope you are not the worse for my care, and my doctoring of you!--No, but
the better, Mrs. Jewkes, said he; you have much obliged me by both.
Then he said, Mrs. Jewkes, you and I have used this good girl very
hardly.--I was afraid, sir, said she, I should be the subject of her
complaints.--I assure you, said he, she has not opened her lips about
you. We have had a quite different subject to talk of; and I hope she
will forgive us both: You especially she must; because you have done
nothing but by my orders. But I only mean, that the necessary
consequence of those orders has been very grievous to my Pamela: And now
comes our part to make her amends, if we can.
Sir, said she, I always said to madam (as she called me), that you was
very good, and very forgiving. No, said he, I have been stark naught;
and it is she, I hope, will be very forgiving. But all this preamble is
to tell you, Mrs. Jewkes, that now I desire you'll study to oblige her,
as much as (to obey me) you was forced to disoblige her before. And
you'll remember, that in every thing she is to be her own mistress.
Yes, said she, and mine too, I suppose, sir? Ay, said the generous
gentleman, I believe it will be so in a little time.--Then, said she, I
know how it will go with me! And so put her handkerchief to her eyes.--
Pamela, said my master, comfort poor Mrs. Jewkes.
This was very generous, already to seem to put her in my power: and I
took her by the hand, and said, I shall never take upon me, Mrs. Jewkes,
to make a bad use of any opportunities that may be put into my hands by
my generous master; nor shall I ever wish to do you any disservice, if I
might: for I shall consider, that what you have done, was in obedience to
a will which it will become me also to submit to and so, if the effects
of our obedience may be different, yet as they proceed from one cause,
that must be always reverenced by me.
See there, Mrs. Jewkes, said my master, we are both in generous hands;
and indeed, if Pamela did not pardon you, I should think she but half
forgave me, because you acted by my instructions.--Well, said she, God
bless you both together, since it must be so; and I will double my
diligence to oblige my lady, as I find she will soon be.
O my dear father and mother! now pray for me on another score; for fear I
should grow too proud, and be giddy and foolish with all these promising
things, so soothing to the vanity of my years and sex. But even to this
hour can I pray, that God would remove from me all these delightful
prospects, if they were likely so to corrupt my mind, as to make me proud
and vain, and not acknowledge, with thankful humility, the blessed
Providence which has so visibly conducted me through the dangerous paths
I have trod, to this happy moment.
My master was pleased to say, that he thought I might as well dine with
him, since he was alone: But I begged he would excuse me, for fear, as I
said, such excess of goodness and condescension, all at once, should turn
my head;--and that he would, by slower degrees, bring on my happiness,
lest I should not know how to bear it.
Persons that doubt themselves, said he, seldom do amiss: And if there was
any fear of what you say, you could not have it in your thoughts: for
none but the presumptuous, the conceited, and the thoughtless, err
capitally. But, nevertheless, said he, I have such an opinion of your
prudence, that I shall generally think what you do right, because it is
you that do it.
Sir, said I, your kind expressions shall not be thrown away upon me, if I
can help it; for they will task me with the care of endeavouring to
deserve your good opinion, and your approbation, as the best rule of my
conduct.
Being then about to go up stairs, Permit me, sir, said I, (looking about
me with some confusion, to see that nobody was there,) thus on my knees
to thank you, as I often wanted to do in the chariot, for all your
goodness to me, which shall never, I hope, be cast away upon me. And so
I had the boldness to kiss his hand.
I wonder, since, how I came to be so forward. But what could I do?--My
poor grateful heart was like a too full river, which overflows its banks:
and it carried away my fear and my shamefacedness, as that does all
before it on the surface of its waters!
He clasped me in his arms with transport, and condescendingly kneeled by
me, and kissing me, said, O my dear obliging good girl, on my knees, as
you on yours, I vow to you everlasting truth and fidelity! and may God
but bless us both with half the pleasures that seem to be before us, and
we shall have no reason to envy the felicity of the greatest princes!--O
sir, said I, how shall I support so much goodness! I am poor, indeed, in
every thing, compared to you! and how far, very far, do you, in every
generous way, leave me behind you!
He raised me, and, as I bent towards the door, led me to the stairs foot,
and, saluting me there again, left me to go up to my closet, where I
threw myself on my knees in raptures of joy, and blessed that gracious
God, who had thus changed my distress to happiness, and so abundantly
rewarded me for all the sufferings I had passed through.--And oh, how
light, how very light, do all those sufferings now appear, which then my
repining mind made so grievous to me!--Hence, in every state of life, and
in all the changes and chances of it, for the future, will I trust in
Providence, who knows what is best for us, and frequently turns the very
evils we most dread, to be the causes of our happiness, and of our
deliverance from greater.--My experiences, young as I am, as to this
great point of reliance on God, are strong, though my judgment in general
may be weak and uninformed: but you'll excuse these reflections, because
they are your beloved daughter's; and, so far as they are not amiss,
derive themselves from the benefit of yours and my late good lady's
examples and instructions.
I have written a vast deal in a little time; and shall only say, to
conclude this delightful Wednesday, That in the afternoon my good master
was so well, that he rode out on horseback, and came home about nine at
night; and then stepped up to me, and, seeing me with pen and ink before
me in my closet, said, I come only to tell you I am very well, my Pamela:
and since I have a letter or two to write, I will leave you to proceed in
yours, as I suppose that was your employment, (for I had put by my papers
at his coming up,) and so he saluted me, bid me good night, and went
down; and I finished up to this place before I went to bed. Mrs. Jewkes
told me, if it was more agreeable to me, she would he in another room;
but I said, No thank you, Mrs. Jewkes; pray let me have your company.
And she made me a fine courtesy, and thanked me.--How times are altered!
Thursday.
This morning my master came up to me, and talked with me on various
subjects, for a good while together, in the most kind manner. Among
other things, he asked me, if I chose to order any new clothes against my
marriage. (O how my heart flutters when he mentions this subject so
freely!) I said, I left every thing to his good pleasure, only repeated
my request, for the reasons aforegiven, that I might not be too fine.
He said, I think, my dear, it shall be very private: I hope you are not
afraid of a sham-marriage; and pray get the service by heart, that you
may see nothing is omitted. I glowed between shame and delight. O how I
felt my cheeks burn!
I said, I feared nothing, I apprehended nothing, but my own unworthiness.
Said he, I think it shall be done within these fourteen days, from this
day, at this house. O how I trembled! but not with grief, you may
believe--What says my girl? Have you to object against any day of the
next fourteen: because my affairs require me to go to my other house, and
I think not to stir from this till I am happy with you?
I have no will but yours, said I (all glowing like the fire, as I could
feel:) But, sir, did you say in the house? Ay, said he; for I care not
how privately it be done; and it must be very public if we go to church.
It is a holy rite, sir, said I; and would be better, methinks, in a holy
place.
I see (said he, most kindly) my lovely maid's confusion; and your
trembling tenderness shews I ought to oblige you all I may. Therefore I
will order my own little chapel, which has not been used for two
generations, for any thing but a lumber-room, because our family seldom
resided here long together, to be cleared and cleaned, and got ready for
the ceremony, if you dislike your own chamber or mine.
Sir, said I, that will be better than the chamber, and I hope it will
never be lumbered again, but kept to the use for which, as I presume, it
has been consecrated. O yes, said he, it has been consecrated, and that
several ages ago, in my great great grandfather's time, who built that
and the good old house together.
But now, my good girl, if I do not too much add to your sweet confusion,
shall it be in the first seven days, or the second of this fortnight? I
looked down, quite out of countenance. Tell me, said he.
In the second, if you please, sir, said I.--As you please, said he most
kindly; but I should thank you, Pamela, if you would choose the first.
I'd rather, sir, if you please, said I, have the second. Well, said he,
be it so; but don't defer it till the last day of the fourteen.
Pray sir, said I, since you embolden me to talk on this important
subject, may I not send my dear father and mother word of my happiness?--
You may, said he; but charge them to keep it secret, till you or I direct
the contrary. And I told you, I would see no more of your papers; but I
meant, I would not without your consent: but if you will shew them to me
(and now I have no other motive for my curiosity, but the pleasure I take
in reading what you write,) I shall acknowledge it as a favour.
If, sir, said I, you will be pleased to let me write over again one
sheet, I will; though I had relied upon your word, and not written them
for your perusal. What is that? said he: though I cannot consent to it
beforehand: for I more desire to see them, because they are your true
sentiments at the time, and because they were not written for my perusal.
Sir, said I, what I am loath you should see, are very severe reflections
on the letter I received by the gipsy, when I apprehended your design of
the sham-marriage; though there are other things I would not have you
see; but that is the worst. It can't be worse, said he, my dear sauce-
box, than I have seen already; and I will allow your treating me in ever
so black a manner, on that occasion, because it must have a very black
appearance to you.--Well, sir, said I, I think I will obey you before
night. But don't alter a word, said he. I won't, sir, replied I, since
you order it.
While we were talking, Mrs. Jewkes came up, and said Thomas was returned.
O, said my master, let him bring up the papers: for he hoped, and so did
I, that you had sent them by him. But it was a great balk, when he came
up and said, Sir, Mr. Andrews did not care to deliver them; and would
have it, that his daughter was forced to write that letter to him: and,
indeed, sir, said he, the old gentleman took on sadly, and would have it
that his daughter was undone, or else, he said, she would not have turned
back, when on her way, (as I told him she did, said Thomas,) instead of
coming to them. I began to be afraid now that all would be bad for me
again.
Well, Tom, said he, don't mince the matter; tell me, before Mrs. Andrews,
what they said. Why, sir, both he and Goody Andrews, after they had
conferred together upon your letter, madam, came out, weeping bitterly,
that grieved my very heart; and they said, Now all was over with their
poor daughter; and either she had written that letter by compulsion, or
had yielded to your honour; so they said; and was, or would be ruined!
My master seemed vexed, as I feared. And I said, Pray, sir, be so good
as to excuse the fears of my honest parents. They cannot know your
goodness to me.
And so (said he, without answering me,) they refused to deliver the
papers? Yes, and please your honour, said Thomas, though I told them,
that you, madam, of your own accord, on a letter I had brought you, very
cheerfully wrote what I carried: But the old gentleman said, Why, wife,
there are in these papers twenty things nobody should see but ourselves,
and especially not the 'squire. O the poor girl has had so many
stratagems to struggle with! and now, at last, she has met with one that
has been too hard for her. And can it be possible for us to account for
her setting out to come to us, and in such post haste, and, when she had
got above half-way, to send us this letter, and to go back again of her
own accord, as you say; when we know that all her delight would have been
to come to us and to escape from the perils she had been so long
contending with? And then, and please your honour, he said, he could not
bear this; for his daughter was ruined, to be sure, before now. And so,
said Thomas, the good old couple sat themselves down, and, hand-in-hand,
leaning upon each other's shoulder, did nothing but lament.--I was
piteously grieved, said he; but all I could say could not comfort them;
nor would they give me the papers; though I told them I should deliver
them only to Mrs. Andrews herself. And so, and please your honour, I was
forced to come away without them.
My good master saw me all bathed in tears at this description of your
distress and fears for me; and he said, I would not have you take on so.
I am not angry with your father in the main; he is a good man; and I
would have you write out of hand, and it shall be sent by the post to Mr.
Atkins, who lives within two miles of your father, and I'll enclose it in
a cover of mine, in which I'll desire Mr. Atkins, the moment it comes to
his hand, to convey it safely to your father or mother; and say nothing
of their sending their papers, that it may not make them uneasy; for I
want not now to see them on any other score than that of mere curiosity;
and that will do at any time. And so saying, he saluted me before
Thomas, and with his own handkerchief wiped my eyes; and said to Thomas,
The good old folks are not to be blamed in the main. They don't know my
honourable intentions by their dear daughter; who, Tom, will, in a little
time, be your mistress; though I shall keep the matter private some days,
and would not have it spoken of by my servants out of my house.
Thomas said, God bless your honour! You know best. And I said, O, sir,
you are all goodness!--How kind is this, to forgive the disappointment,
instead of being angry, as I feared you would! Thomas then withdrew.
And my master said, I need not remind you of writing out of hand, to make
the good folks easy: and I will leave you to yourself for that purpose;
only send me down such of your papers, as you are willing I should see,
with which I shall entertain myself for an hour or two. But, one thing,
added he, I forgot to tell you: The neighbouring gentry I mentioned will
be here tomorrow to dine with me, and I have ordered Mrs. Jewkes to
prepare for them. And must I, sir, said I, be shewn to them? O yes,
said he; that's the chief reason of their coming. And you'll see nobody
equal to yourself: don't be concerned.
I opened my papers, as soon as my master had left me; and laid out those
beginning on the Thursday morning he set out for Stamford, 'with the
morning visit he made me before I was up, and the injunctions of
watchfulness, etc. to Mrs. Jewkes; the next day's gipsy affair, and my
reflections, in which I called him truly diabolical, and was otherwise
very severe, on the strong appearances the matter had then against him.
His return on Saturday, with the dread he put me in, on the offering to
search me for my papers which followed those he had got by Mrs. Jewkes's
means. My being forced to give them up. His carriage to me after he had
read them, and questions to me. His great kindness to me on seeing the
dangers I had escaped and the troubles I had undergone. And how I
unseasonably, in the midst of his goodness, expressed my desire of being
sent to you, having the intelligence of a sham-marriage, from the gipsy,
in my thoughts. How this enraged him, and made him turn me that very
Sunday out of his house, and send me on my way to you. The particulars
of my journey, and my grief at parting with him; and my free
acknowledgment to you, that I found, unknown to myself, I had begun to
love him, and could not help it. His sending after me, to beg my return;
but yet generously leaving me at my liberty, when he might have forced me
to return whether I was willing or not. My resolution to oblige him, and
fatiguing journey back. My concern for his illness on my return. His
kind reception of me, and shewing me his sister Davers's angry letter,
against his behaviour to me, desiring him to set me free, and threatening
to renounce him as a brother, if he should degrade himself by marrying
me. My serious reflections on this letter, etc.' (all which, I hope,
with the others, you will shortly see.) And this carried matters down to
Tuesday night last.
All that followed was so kind on his side, being our chariot conference,
as above, on Wednesday morning, and how good he has been ever since, that
I thought I would go no further; for I was a little ashamed to be so very
open on that tender and most grateful subject; though his great goodness
to me deserves all the acknowledgments I can possibly make.
And when I had looked these out, I carried them down myself into the
parlour to him; and said, putting them into his hands, Your allowances,
good sir, as heretofore; and if I have been too open and free in my
reflections or declarations, let my fears on one side, and my sincerity
on the other, be my excuse. You are very obliging, my good girl, said
he. You have nothing to apprehend from my thoughts, any more than from
my actions.
So I went up, and wrote the letter to you, briefly acquainting you with
my present happiness, and my master's goodness, and expressing the
gratitude of heart, which I owe to the kindest gentleman in the world,
and assuring you, that I should soon have the pleasure of sending back to
you, not only those papers, but all that succeeded them to this time, as
I know you delight to amuse yourself in your leisure hours with my
scribble: And I said, carrying it down to my master, before I sealed it,
Will you please, sir, to take the trouble of reading what I write to my
dear parents? Thank you, Pamela, said he, and set me on his knee, while
he read it; and seemed much pleased with it; and giving it me again, You
are very happy, said he, my beloved girl, in your style and expressions:
and the affectionate things you say of me are inexpressibly obliging; and
again, with this kiss, said he, do I confirm for truth all that you have
promised for my intentions in this letter.--O what halcyon days are
these! God continue them!--A change would kill me quite.
He went out in his chariot in the afternoon; and in the evening returned,
and sent me word, he would be glad of my company for a little walk in the
garden; and down I went that very moment.
He came to meet me. So, says he, how does my dear girl do now?--Whom do
you think I have seen since I have been out?--I don't know, sir, said I.
Why, said he, there is a turning in the road, about five miles off, that
goes round a meadow, that has a pleasant foot-way, by the side of a
little brook, and a double row of limes on each side, where now and then
the gentry in the neighbourhood walk, and angle, and divert themselves.--
I'll shew it you next opportunity.--And I stept out of my chariot, to
walk across this meadow, and bid Robin meet me with it on the further
part of it: And whom should I 'spy there, walking, with a book in his
hand, reading, but your humble servant Mr. Williams! Don't blush,
Pamela, said he. As his back was towards me, I thought I would speak to
the man: and, before he saw me, I said, How do you, old acquaintance?
(for, said he, you know we were of one college for a twelvemonth.) I
thought the man would have jumped into the brook, he gave such a start at
hearing my voice, and seeing me.
Poor man! said I. Ay, said he, but not too much of your poor man, in
that soft accent, neither, Pamela.--Said I, I am sorry my voice is so
startling to you, Mr. Williams. What are you reading? Sir, said he, and
stammered with the surprise, it is the French Telemachus; for I am about
perfecting myself, if I can, in the French tongue.--Thought I, I had
rather so, than perfecting my Pamela in it.--You do well, replied I.--
Don't you think that yonder cloud may give us a small shower? and it did
a little begin to wet.--He said, he believed not much.
If, said I, you are for the village, I'll give you a cast; for I shall
call at Sir Simon's in my return from the little round I am taking. He
asked me if it was not too great a favour?--No, said I, don't talk of
that; let us walk to the further opening there, and we shall meet my
chariot.
So, Pamela, continued my master, we fell into conversation as we walked.
He said he was very sorry he had incurred my displeasure; and the more,
as he had been told, by Lady Jones, who had it from Sir Simon's family,
that I had a more honourable view than at first was apprehended. I said,
We fellows of fortune, Mr. Williams, take sometimes a little more liberty
with the world than we ought to do; wantoning, very probably, as you
contemplative folks would say, in the sunbeams of a dangerous affluence;
and cannot think of confining ourselves to the common paths, though the
safest and most eligible, after all. And you may believe I could not
very well like to be supplanted in a view that lay next my heart; and
that by an old acquaintance, whose good, before this affair, I was
studious to promote.
I would only say, sir, said he, that my first motive was entirely such as
became my function: And, very politely, said my master, he added, And I
am very sure, that however inexcusable I might seem in the progress of
the matter, yourself, sir, would have been sorry to have it said, you had
cast your thoughts on a person, that nobody could have wished for but
yourself.
Well, Mr. Williams, said I, I see you are a man of gallantry, as well as
religion: But what I took most amiss was, that, if you thought me doing a
wrong thing, you did not expostulate with me upon it, as your function
might have allowed you to do; but immediately determined to counterplot
me, and attempt to secure to yourself a prize you would have robbed me
of, and that from my own house. But the matter is at an end, and I
retain not any malice upon it; though you did not know but I might, at
last, do honourably by her, as I actually intend.
I am sorry for myself, sir, said he, that I should so unhappily incur
your displeasure; but I rejoice for her sake in your honourable
intentions: give me leave only to say, that if you make Miss Andrews your
lady, she will do credit to your choice with every body that sees her, or
comes to know her; and, for person and mind both, you may challenge the
county.
In this manner, said my master, did the parson and I confabulate; and I
set him down at his lodgings in the village. But he kept your secret,
Pamela; and would not own, that you gave any encouragement to his
addresses.
Indeed, sir, said I, he could not say that I did; and I hope you believe
me. I do, I do, said he: but 'tis still my opinion, that if, when I saw
plots set up against my plots, I had not discovered the parson as I did,
the correspondence between you might have gone to a length that would
have put our present situation out of both our powers.
Sir, said I, when you consider, that my utmost presumption could not make
me hope for the honour you now seem to design me; that I was so hardly
used, and had no prospect before me but dishonour, you will allow that I
should have seemed very little in earnest in my professions of honesty,
if I had not endeavoured to get away: but yet I resolved not to think of
marriage; for I never saw the man I could love, till your goodness
emboldened me to look up to you.
I should, my dear Pamela, said he, make a very ill compliment to my
vanity, if I did not believe you; though, at the same time, justice calls
upon me to say, that it is, some things considered, beyond my merit.
There was a sweet, noble expression for your poor daughter, my dear
father and mother!--And from my master too!
I was glad to hear this account of the interview between Mr. Williams and
himself; but I dared not to say so. I hope in time he will be reinstated
in his good graces.
He was so good as to tell me, he had given orders for the chapel to be
cleared. O how I look forward with inward joy, yet with fear and
trembling!
Friday.
About twelve o'clock came Sir Simon, and his lady and two daughters; and
Lady Jones, and a sister-in-law of hers; and Mr. Peters, and his spouse
and niece. Mrs. Jewkes, who is more and more obliging, was much
concerned I was not dressed in some of my best clothes, and made me many
compliments.
They all went into the garden for a walk, before dinner; and, I
understood, were so impatient to see me, that my master took them into
the largest alcove, after they had walked two or three turns, and stept
himself to me. Come, my Pamela, said he, the ladies can't be satisfied
without seeing you, and I desire you'll come. I said, I was ashamed; but
I would obey him. Said he, The two young ladies are dressed out in their
best attire; but they make not such an appearance as my charming girl in
this ordinary garb.--Sir, said I, shan't I follow you thither? For I
can't bear you should do me so much honour. Well, said he, I'll go
before you. And he bid Mrs. Jewkes bring a bottle of sack, and some
cake. So he went down to them.
This alcove fronts the longest gravel-walk in the garden, so that they
saw me all the way I came, for a good way: and my master told me
afterwards, with pleasure, all they said of me.
Will you forgive the little vain slut, your daughter, if I tell you all,
as he was pleased to tell me? He said, 'spying me first, Look, there,
ladies, comes my pretty rustic!--They all, I saw, which dashed me, stood
at the windows, and in the door-way, looking full at me.
My master told me, that Lady Jones said, She is a charming creature, I
see that, at this distance. And Sir Simon, it seems, who has been a sad
rake in his younger days, swore he never saw so easy an air, so fine a
shape, and so graceful a presence.--The Lady Darnford said, I was a sweet
girl. And Mrs. Peters said very handsome things. Even the parson said,
I should be the pride of the county. O, dear sirs! all this was owing to
the light my good master's favour placed me in, which made me shine out
in their eyes beyond my deserts. He said the young ladies blushed, and
envied me.
When I came near, he saw me in a little confusion, and was so kind as to
meet me: Give me your hand, said he, my poor girl; you walk too fast,
(for, indeed, I wanted to be out of their gazing). I did so, with a
courtesy, and he led me up the steps of the alcove, and, in a most
gentleman-like manner, presented me to the ladies, and they all saluted
me, and said, They hoped to be better acquainted with me: and Lady
Darnford was pleased to say, I should be the flower of their
neighbourhood. Sir Simon said, Good neighbour, by your leave; and
saluting me, added, Now will I say, that I have kissed the loveliest
maiden in England. But, for all this, methought I owed him a grudge for
a tell-tale, though all had turned out so happily. Mr. Peters very
gravely followed his example, and said, like a bishop, God bless you,
fair excellence! said Lady Jones, Pray, dear madam, sit down by me: and
they all sat down: But I said, I would stand, if they pleased. No,
Pamela, said my master: pray sit down with these good ladies, my
neighbours:--They will indulge it to you, for my sake, till they know you
better; and for your own, when they are acquainted with you. Sir, said
I, I shall be proud to deserve their indulgence.
They all so gazed at me, that I could not look up; for I think it is one
of the distinctions of persons of condition, and well-bred people, to put
bashful bodies out of countenance. Well, Sir Simon, said my master, what
say you now to my pretty rustic?--He swore a great oath, that he should
better know what to say to me if he was as young as himself. Lady
Darnford said, You will never leave, Sir Simon.
Said my master, You are a little confused, my good girl, and out of
breath; but I have told all my kind neighbours here a good deal of your
story, and your excellence. Yes, said Lady Darnford, my dear neighbour,
as I will call you; we that are here present have all heard of your
uncommon story. Madam, said I, you have then heard what must make your
kind allowance for me very necessary. No, said Mrs. Peters, we have
heard what will always make you valued as an honour to our sex, and as a
worthy pattern for all the young ladies in the county. You are very
good, madam, said I, to make me able to look up, and to be thankful for
the honour you are pleased to do me.
Mrs. Jewkes came in with the canary, brought by Nan, to the alcove, and
some cakes on a silver salver; and I said, Mrs. Jewkes, let me be your
assistant; I will serve the ladies with the cake. And so I took the
salver, and went round to the good company with it, ending with my
master. The Lady Jones said, She never was served with such a grace, and
it was giving me too much trouble. O, madam, said I, I hope my good
master's favour will never make me forget, that it is my duty to wait
upon his friends. Master, sweet one! said Sir Simon, I hope you won't
always call Mr. B---- by that name, for fear it should become a fashion
for all our ladies to do the like through the county. I, sir, said I,
shall have many reasons to continue this style, which cannot affect your
good ladies.
Sir Simon, said Lady Jones, you are very arch upon us but I see very
well, that it will be the interest of all the gentlemen, to bring their
ladies into an intimacy with one that can give them such a good example.
I am sure then, madam, said I, it must be after I have been polished and
improved by the honour of such an example as yours.
They all were very good and affable; and the young Lady Darnford, who had
wished to see me in this dress, said, I beg your pardon, dear miss, as
she called me; but I had heard how sweetly this garb became you, and was
told the history of it; and I begged it, as a favour, that you might
oblige us with your appearance in it. I am much obliged to your
ladyship, said I, that your kind prescription was so agreeable to my
choice. Why, said she, was it your choice then?--I am glad of that:
though I am sure your person must give, and not take, ornament from any
dress.
You are very kind, madam, said I: but there will be the less reason to
fear I should forget the high obligations I should have to the kindest of
gentlemen, when I can delight to shew the humble degree from which his
goodness had raised me.--My dear Pamela, said my master, if you proceed
at this rate, I must insist upon your first seven days. You know what I
mean. Sir, said I, you are all goodness!
They drank a glass of sack each, and Sir Simon would make me do so too,
saying, It will be a reflection, madam, upon all the ladies, if you don't
do as they. No, Sir Simon, said I, that can't be, because the ladies'
journey hither makes a glass of canary a proper cordial for them: but I
won't refuse; because I will do myself the honour of drinking good health
to you, and to all this worthy company.
Said good Lady Darnford, to my master, I hope, sir, we shall have Mrs.
Andrews's company at table. He said, very obligingly, Madam, it is her
time now; and I will leave it to her choice. If the good ladies, then,
will forgive me, sir, said I, I had rather be excused. They all said, I
must not be excused. I begged I might. Your reason for it, my dear
Pamela? said my master: since the ladies request it, I wish you would
oblige them. Sir, replied I, your goodness will make me, every day,
worthier of the honour the ladies do me; and when I can persuade myself
that I am more worthy of it than at present, I shall with great joy
embrace all the opportunities they will be pleased to give me.
Mrs. Peters whispered Lady Jones, as my master told me afterwards; Did
you ever see such excellence, such prudence, and discretion? Never in my
life, said the other good lady. She will adorn, she was pleased to say,
her distinction. Ay, says Mrs. Peters, she would adorn any station in
life.
My good master was highly delighted, generous gentleman as he is! with
the favourable opinion of the ladies; and I took the more pleasure in it,
because their favour seemed to lessen the disgrace of his stooping so
much beneath himself.
Lady Darnford said, We will not oppress you; though we could almost blame
your too punctilious exactness: but if we excuse Miss Andrews from
dinner, we must insist upon her company at the card-table, and at a dish
of tea; for we intend to pass the whole day with you, sir, as we told
you. What say you to that, Pamela, said my master. Sir, replied I,
whatever you and the ladies please, I will cheerfully do. They said, I
was very obliging. But Sir Simon rapt out an oath, and said, That they
might dine together, if they would; but he would dine with me, and nobody
else: for, said he, I say, sir, as Parson Williams said, (by which I
found my master had told them the story,) You must not think you have
chosen one that nobody can like but yourself.
The young ladies said, If I pleased they would take a turn about the
garden with me. I answered, I would very gladly attend them; and so we
three, and Lady Jones's sister-in-law, and Mr. Peters's niece, walked
together. They were very affable, kind, and obliging; and we soon
entered into a good deal of familiarity; and I found Miss Darnford a very
agreeable person. Her sister was a little more on the reserve; and I
afterwards heard, that, about a year before, she would fain have had my
master make his addresses to her: but though Sir Simon is reckoned rich,
she was not thought sufficient fortune for him. And now, to have him
look down so low as me, must be a sort of mortification to a poor young
lady!--And I pitied her.--Indeed I did!--I wish all young persons of my
sex could be as happy as I am like to be.
My master told me afterwards, that I left the other ladies, and Sir Simon
and Mr. Peters, full of my praises: so that they could hardly talk of any
thing else; one lanching out upon my complexion, another upon my eyes, my
hand, and, in short, for you'll think me sadly proud, upon my whole
person and behaviour; and they all magnified my readiness and
obligingness in my answers, and the like: And I was glad of it, as I
said, for my good master's sake, who seemed quite pleased and rejoiced.
God bless him for his goodness to me!
Dinner not being ready, the young ladies proposed a tune upon the
spinnet. I said, I believed it was not in tune. They said, they knew it
was but a few months ago. If it is, said I, I wish I had known it;
though indeed, ladies, added I, since you know my story, I must own, that
my mind has not been long in tune, to make use of it. So they would make
me play upon it, and sing to it; which I did, a song my dear good lady
made me learn, and used to be pleased with, and which she brought with
her from Bath: and the ladies were much taken with the song, and were so
kind as to approve my performance: And Miss Darnford was pleased to
compliment me, that I had all the accomplishments of my sex. I said, I
had had a good lady, in my master's mother, who had spared no pains nor
cost to improve me. She said, she wished Mr. B---- could be prevailed
upon to give a ball on an approaching happy occasion, that we might have
a dancing-match, etc.--But I can't say I do; though I did not say so: for
these occasions, I think, are too solemn for the principals, at least of
our sex, to take part in, especially if they have the same thoughts of
that solemnity that I have: For, indeed, though I have before me a
prospect of happiness, that may be envied by ladies of high rank, yet I
must own to you, my dear parents, that I have something very awful upon
my mind, when I think of the matter; and shall, more and more, as it
draws nearer and nearer. This is the song:
I.
Go, happy paper, gently steal,
And underneath her pillow lie;
There, in soft dreams, my love reveal,
That love which I must still conceal,
And, wrapt in awful silence, die.
II.
Should flames be doom'd thy hapless fate,
To atoms thou wouldst quickly turn:
My pains may bear a longer date;
For should I live, and should she hate,
In endless torments I should burn.
III.
Tell fair AURELIA, she has charms,
Might in a hermit stir desire.
T' attain the heav'n that's in her arms,
I'd quit the world's alluring harms,
And to a cell content, retire.
IV.
Of all that pleas'd my ravish'd eye,
Her beauty should supply the place;
Bold Raphael's strokes, and Titian's dye,
Should but in vain presume to vie
With her inimitable face.
V.
No more I'd wish for Phoebus' rays,
To gild the object of my sight;
Much less the taper's fainter blaze:
Her eyes should measure out my days;
And when she slept, it should be night.
About four o'clock.
My master just came up to me, and said, If you should see Mr. Williams
below, do you think, Pamela, you should not be surprised?--No, sir, said
I, I hope not. Why should I? Expect, said he, a stranger then, when you
come down to us in the parlour; for the ladies are preparing themselves
for the card-table, and they insist upon your company.--You have a mind,
sir, said I, I believe, to try all my courage. Why, said he, does it
want courage to see him? No, sir, said I, not at all. But I was
grievously dashed to see all those strange ladies and gentlemen; and now
to see Mr. Williams before them, as some of them refused his application
for me, when I wanted to get away, it will a little shock me, to see them
smile, in recollecting what has passed of that kind. Well, said he,
guard your heart against surprises, though you shall see, when you come
down, a man that I can allow you to love dearly; though hardly preferably
to me.
This surprises me much. I am afraid he begins to be jealous of me. What
will become of me, (for he looked very seriously,) if any turn should
happen now!--My heart aches! I know not what's the matter. But I will
go down as brisk as I can, that nothing may be imputed to me. Yet I wish
this Mr. Williams had not been there now, when they are all there;
because of their fleers at him and me. Otherwise I should be glad to see
the poor gentleman; for, indeed, I think him a good man, and he has
suffered for my sake.
So, I am sent for down to cards. I'll go; but wish I may continue their
good opinions of me: for I shall be very awkward. My master, by his
serious question, and bidding me guard my heart against surprises, though
I should see, when I came down, a man he can allow me to love dearly,
though hardly better than himself, has quite alarmed me, and made me
sad!--I hope he loves me!--But whether he does or not, I am in for it
now, over head and ears, I doubt, and can't help loving him; 'tis a folly
to deny it. But to be sure I can't love any man preferably to him. I
shall soon know what he means.
Now, my dear mother, must I write to you. Well might my good master say
so mysteriously as he did, about guarding my heart against surprises. I
never was so surprised in my life; and never could see a man I loved so
dearly!--O my dear mother, it was my dear, dear father, and not Mr.
Williams, that was below ready to receive and to bless your daughter! and
both my master and he enjoined me to write how the whole matter was, and
what my thoughts were on this joyful occasion.
I will take the matter from the beginning, that Providence directed his
feet to this house, to this time, as I have had it from Mrs. Jewkes, from
my master, my father, the ladies, and my own heart and conduct, as far as
I know of both; because they command it, and you will be pleased with my
relation and so, as you know how I came by the connexion, will make one
uniform relation of it.
It seems, then, my dear father and you were so uneasy to know the truth
of the story which Thomas had told you, that fearing I was betrayed, and
quite undone, he got leave of absence, and set out the day after Thomas
was there; and so, on Friday morning, he got to the neighbouring town;
and there he heard, that the gentry in the neighbourhood were at my
master's, at a great entertainment. He put on a clean shirt and
neckcloth (which he brought in his pocket) at an alehouse there, and got
shaved; and so, after he had eaten some bread and cheese, and drank a can
of ale, he set out for my master's house, with a heavy heart, dreading
for me, and in much fear of being brow-beaten. He had, it seems, asked,
at the alehouse, what family the 'squire had down here, in hopes to hear
something of me: And they said, A housekeeper, two maids, and, at
present, two coachmen, and two grooms, a footman, and a helper. Was that
all? he said. They told him, there was a young creature there, belike
who was, or was to be, his mistress, or somewhat of that nature; but had
been his mother's waiting-maid. This, he said, grieved his heart, and
confirmed his fears.
So he went on, and about three o'clock in the afternoon came to the gate;
and, ringing there, Sir Simon's coachman went to the iron gate; and he
asked for the housekeeper; though, from what I had written, in his heart
he could not abide her. She sent for him in, little thinking who he was,
and asked him, in the little hall, what his business with her was?--Only,
madam, said he, whether I cannot speak one word with the 'squire? No,
friend, said she; he is engaged with several gentlemen and ladies. Said
he, I have business with his honour of greater consequence to me than
either life or death; and tears stood in his eyes.
At that she went into the great parlour, where my master was talking very
pleasantly with the ladies; and she said, Sir, here is a good tight old
man, that wants to see you on business of life and death, he says, and is
very earnest. Ay, said he, Who can that be?--Let him stay in the little
hall, and I'll come to him presently. They all seemed to stare; and Sir
Simon said, No more nor less, I dare say, my good friend, but a bastard-
child. If it is, said Lady Jones, bring it in to us. I will, said he.
Mrs. Jewkes tells me, my master was much surprised, when he saw who it
was; and she much more, when my dear father said,--Good God! give me
patience! but, as great as you are, sir, I must ask for my child! and
burst out into tears. (O what trouble have I given you both!) My master
said, taking him by the hand, Don't be uneasy, Goodman Andrews; your
daughter is in the way to be happy.
This alarmed my dear father, and he said, What! then, is she dying? And
trembled, he could scarce stand. My master made him sit down, and sat
down by him, and said, No; God be praised! she is very well: And pray be
comforted; I cannot bear to see you thus apprehensive; but she has
written you a letter to assure you, that she has reason to be well
satisfied, and happy.
Ah, sir I said he, you told me once she was in London, waiting on a
bishop's lady, when all the time she was a severe prisoner here.--Well,
that's all over now, Goodman Andrews, said my master: but the times are
altered; for now the sweet girl has taken me prisoner; and in a few days
I shall put on the most agreeable fetters that ever man wore.
O, sir! said, he, you are too pleasant for my griefs. My heart's almost
broke. But may I not see my poor child? You shall presently, said he;
for she is coming down to us; and since you won't believe me, I hope you
will her.
I will ask you, good sir, said he, but one question till then, that I may
know how to look upon her when I see her. Is she honest? Is she
virtuous?--As the new-born babe, Mr. Andrews, said my good master; and in
twelve days time, I hope, will be my wife.
O flatter me not, good your honour, said he: It cannot be! it cannot be!
--I fear you have deluded her with strange hopes; and would make me
believe impossibilities!--Mrs. Jewkes, said he, do you tell my dear
Pamela's good father, when I go out, all you know concerning me, and your
mistress that is to be. Meantime, make much of him, and set out what you
have; and make him drink a glass of what he likes best. If this be wine,
added he, fill me a bumper.
She did so; and he took my father by the hand, and said, Believe me, good
man, and be easy; for I can't bear to see you tortured in this cruel
suspense: Your dear daughter is the beloved of my soul. I am glad you
are come: for you'll see us all in the same story. And here's your
dame's health; and God bless you both, for being the happy means of
procuring for me so great a blessing! And so he drank a bumper to this
most obliging health.
What do I hear? It cannot surely be! said my father. And your honour is
too good, I hope, to mock a poor old man--This ugly story, sir, of the
bishop, runs in my head--But you say I shall see my dear child--And I
shall see her honest.--If not, poor as I am, I would not own her.
My master bid Mrs. Jewkes not to let me know yet, that my father was
come; and went to the company, and said, I have been agreeably surprised:
Here is honest old Goodman Andrews come full of grief to see his
daughter; for he fears she is seduced; and tells me, good honest man,
that, poor as he is, he will not own her, if she be not virtuous. O,
said they all, with one voice almost, Dear sir! shall we not see the good
old man you have so praised for his plain good sense, and honest heart?
If, said he, I thought Pamela would not be too much affected with the
surprise, I would make you all witness to their first interview; for
never did daughter love a father, or a father a daughter, as they two do
one another. Miss Darnford, and all the ladies, and the gentlemen too,
begged it might be so. But was not this very cruel, my dear mother? For
well might they think I should not support myself in such an agreeable
surprise.
He said, kindly, I have but one fear, that the dear girl may be too much
affected. O, said Lady Darnford, we'll all help to keep up her spirits.
Says he, I'll go up, and prepare her; but won't tell her of it. So he
came up to me, as I have said, and amused me about Mr. Williams, to half
prepare me for some surprise; though that could not have been any thing
to this: and he left me, as I said, in that suspense, at his mystical
words, saying, He would send to me, when they were going to cards.
My master went from me to my father, and asked if he had eaten any thing.
No, said Mrs. Jewkes; the good man's heart is so full, he cannot eat, nor
do any thing, till he has seen his dear daughter. That shall soon be,
said my master. I will have you come in with me; for she is going to sit
down with my guests, to a game at quadrille; and I will send for her
down. O, sir, said my father, don't, don't let me; I am not fit to
appear before your guests; let me see my daughter by myself, I beseech
you. Said he, They all know your honest character, Goodman Andrews, and
long to see you, for Pamela's sake.
So he took my father by the hand, and led him in, against his will, to
the company. They were all very good. My master kindly said, Ladies and
gentlemen, I present to you one of the honestest men in England, my good
Pamela's father. Mr. Peters went to him, and took him by the hand, and
said, We are all glad to see you, sir; you are the happiest man in the
world in a daughter; whom we never saw before to-day, but cannot enough
admire.
Said my master, This gentleman, Goodman Andrews, is the minister of the
parish; but is not young enough for Mr. Williams. This airy expression,
my poor father said, made him fear, for a moment, that all was a jest.--
Sir Simon also took him by the hand, and said, Ay, you have a sweet
daughter, Honesty; we are all in love with her. And the ladies came, and
said very fine things: Lady Darnford particularly, That he might think
himself the happiest man in England, in such a daughter. If, and please
you, madam, said he, she be but virtuous, 'tis all in all: For all the
rest is accident. But I doubt his honour has been too much upon the jest
with me. No, said Mrs. Peters, we are all witnesses, that he intends
very honourably by her.--It is some comfort, said he, and wiped his eyes,
that such good ladies say so--But I wish I could see her.
They would have had him sit down by them; but he would only sit behind
the door, in the corner of the room, so that one could not soon see him
as one came in; because the door opened against him, and hid him almost.
The ladies all sat down; and my master said, Desire Mrs. Jewkes to step
up, and tell Mrs. Andrews the ladies wait for her. So down I came.
Miss Darnford rose, and met me at the door, and said, Well, Miss Andrews,
we longed for your company. I did not see my dear father; and it seems
his heart was too full to speak; and he got up, and sat down three or
four times successively, unable to come to me, or to say any thing. The
ladies looked that way: but I would not, supposing it was Mr. Williams.
And they made me sit down between Lady Darnford and Lady Jones; and asked
me, what we should play at? I said, At what your ladyships please. I
wondered to see them smile, and look upon me, and to that corner of the
room; but I was afraid of looking that way, for fear of seeing Mr.
Williams; though my face was that way too, and the table before me.
Said my master, Did you send your letter away to the posthouse, my good
girl, for your father? To be sure, sir, said I, I did not forget that: I
took the liberty to desire Mr. Thomas to carry it. What, said he, I
wonder, will the good old couple say to it? O sir, said I, your goodness
will be a cordial to their dear honest hearts! At that, my dear father,
not able to contain himself, nor yet to stir from the place, gushed out
into a flood of tears, which he, good soul! had been struggling with, it
seems; and cried out, O my dear child!
I knew the voice, and, lifting up my eyes, and seeing my father, gave a
spring, overturned the table, without regard to the company, and threw
myself at his feet: O my father! my father! said I, can it be?--Is it
you? Yes, it is! it is!--O bless your happy daughter! I would have
said, and down I sunk.
My master seemed concerned--I feared, said he, that the surprise would be
too much for her spirits; and all the ladies ran to me, and made me drink
a glass of water; and I found myself encircled in the arms of my dearest
father.--O tell me, said I, every thing! How long have you been here?
When did you come? How does my honoured mother? And half a dozen
questions more, before he could answer one.
They permitted me to retire with my father; and then I poured forth all
my vows and thanksgivings to God for this additional blessing; and
confirmed all my master's goodness to his scarce-believing amazement.
And we kneeled together, blessing God, and one another, for several
ecstatic minutes and my master coming in soon after, my dear father said,
O sir, what a change is this! May, God reward and bless you, both in
this world and the next!
May God bless us all! said he. But how does my sweet girl? I have been
in pain for you--I am sorry I did not apprise you beforehand.
O sir, said I, it was you; and all you do must be good--But this was a
blessing so unexpected!----
Well, said he, you have given pain to all the company. They will be glad
to see you, when you can: for you have spoiled all their diversion; and
yet painfully delighted them at the same time. Mr. Andrews, added he, do
you make this house your own; and the longer you stay, the more welcome
you'll be. After you have a little composed yourself, my dear girl, step
in to us again. I am glad to see you so well already. And so he left
us.
See you, my dear father, said I, what goodness there is in this once
naughty master! O pray for him! and pray for me, that I may deserve it!
How long has this happy change been wrought, my dear child?--O, said I,
several happy days!--I have written down every thing; and you'll see,
from the depth of misery, what God has done for your happy daughter!
Blessed be his name! said he. But do you say he will marry you? Can it
be, that such a brave gentleman will make a lady of the child of such a
poor man as I? O the divine goodness! How will your poor dear mother be
able to support these happy tidings? I will set out to-morrow, to
acquaint her with them: for I am but half happy, till the dear good woman
shares them with me!--To be sure, my dear child, we ought to go into some
far country to hide ourselves, that we may not disgrace you by our
poverty!
O, my dear father, said I, now you are unkind for the first time! Your
poverty has been my glory, and my riches; and I have nothing to brag of,
but that I ever thought it an honour, rather than a disgrace; because you
were always so honest, that your child might well boast of such a
parentage!
In this manner, my dear mother, did we pass the happy moments, till Miss
Darnford came to me, and said, How do you do, dear madam? I rejoice to
see you so well! Pray let us have your company. And yours too, good Mr.
Andrews, taking his hand.
This was very obliging, I told her; and we went to the great parlour; and
my master took my father by the hand, and made him sit down by him, and
drink a glass of wine with him. Mean-time, I made my excuses to the
ladies, as well as I could, which they readily granted me. But Sir
Simon, after his comical manner, put his hands on my shoulders: Let me
see, let me see, said he, where your wings grow; for I never saw any body
fly like you.--Why, said he, you have broken Lady Jones's shins with the
table. Shew her else, madam.
His pleasantry made them laugh. And I said, I was very sorry for my
extravagancy: and if it had not been my master's doings, I should have
said, it was a fault to permit me to be surprised, and put out of myself,
before such good company. They said, All was very excusable; and they
were glad I suffered no more by it.
They were so kind as to excuse me at cards, and played by themselves; and
I went by my master's commands and sat on the other side, in the happiest
place I ever was blest with, between two of the dearest men in the world
to me, and each holding one of my hands:--my father, every now and then,
with tears, lifting up his eyes, and saying, Could I ever have hoped
this!
I asked him, If he had been so kind as to bring the papers with him? He
said, He had; and looked at me, as who should say, Must I give them to
you now?--I said, Be pleased to let me have them. He pulled them from
his pocket; and I stood up, and, with my best duty, gave them into my
master's hands. He said, Thank you, Pamela. Your father shall take all
with him, so see what a sad fellow I have been, as well as the present
happier alteration. But I must have them all again, for the writer's
sake.
The ladies and gentlemen would make me govern the tea-table, whatever I
could do; and Abraham attended me, to serve the company. My master and
my father sat together, and drank a glass or two of wine instead of tea,
and Sir Simon joked with my master, saying, I warrant you would not be
such a woman's man, as to drink tea, for ever so much, with the ladies.
But your time's coming, and I doubt not you'll be made as comfortable
as I.
My master was very urgent with them to stay supper; and at last they
complied, on condition that I would grace the table, as they were pleased
to call it. I begged to be excused. My master said, Don't be excused,
Pamela, since the ladies desire it: And besides, said he, we won't part
with your father; and so you may as well stay with us.
I was in hopes my father and I might sup by ourselves, or only with Mrs.
Jewkes. And Miss Darnford, who is a most obliging young lady, said, We
will not part with you, indeed we won't.
When supper was brought in, Lady Darnford took me by the hand, and said
to my master, Sir, by your leave; and would have placed me at the upper
end of the table. Pray, pray, madam, said I, excuse me; I cannot do it,
indeed I cannot. Pamela, said my master, to the great delight of my good
father, as I could see by his looks, oblige Lady Darnford, since she
desires it. It is but a little before your time, you know.
Dear, good sir, said I, pray don't command it! Let me sit by my father,
pray! Why, said Sir Simon, here's ado indeed! Sit down at the upper
end, as you should do; and your father shall sit by you, there. This put
my dear father upon difficulties. And my master said, Come, I'll place
you all: and so put Lady Darnford at the upper end, Lady Jones at her
right hand, and Mrs. Peters on the other; and he placed me between the
two young ladies; but very genteelly put Miss Darnford below her younger
sister; saying, Come, miss, I put you here, because you shall hedge in
this little cuckow; for I take notice, with pleasure, of your goodness to
her; and, besides, all you very young ladies should sit together. This
seemed to please both sisters; for had the youngest miss been put there,
it might have piqued her, as matters have been formerly, to be placed
below me; whereas Miss Darnford giving place to her youngest sister, made
it less odd she should to me; especially with that handsome turn of the
dear man, as if I was a cuckow, and to be hedged in.
My master kindly said, Come, Mr. Andrews, you and I will sit together.
And so took his place at the bottom of the table, and set my father on
his right hand; and Sir Simon would sit on his left. For, said he,
parson, I think the petticoats should sit together; and so do you sit
down by that lady (his sister). A boiled turkey standing by me, my
master said, Cut up that turkey, Pamela, if it be not too strong work for
you, that Lady Darnford may not have too much trouble. So I carved it in
a trice, and helped the ladies. Miss Darnford said, I would give
something to be so dexterous a carver. O madam, said I, my late good
lady would always make me do these things, when she entertained her
female friends, as she used to do on particular days.
Ay, said my master, I remember my poor mother would often say, if I, or
any body at table, happened to be a little out in carving, I'll send up
for my Pamela, to shew you how to carve. Said Lady Jones, Mrs. Andrews
has every accomplishment of her sex. She is quite wonderful for her
years. Miss Darnford said, And I can tell you, madam, that she plays
sweetly upon the spinnet, and sings as sweetly to it; for she has a fine
voice. Foolish! said Sir Simon; who, that hears her speak, knows not
that? And who that sees her fingers, believes not that they were made to
touch any key? O, parson! said he, 'tis well you're by, or I should have
had a blush from the ladies. I hope not, Sir Simon, said Lady Jones; for
a gentleman of your politeness would not say any thing that would make
ladies blush.--No, no, said he, for the world: but if I had, it would
have been, as the poet says,
'They blush, because they understand.'
When the company went away, Lady Darnford, Lady Jones, and Mrs. Peters,
severally invited my master, and me with him, to their houses; and
begged he would permit me, at least, to come before we left those parts.
And they said, We hope, when the happy knot is tied, you will induce Mr.
B---- to reside more among us. We were always glad, said Lady Darnford,
when he was here; but now shall have double reason. O what grateful
things were these to the ears of my good father!
When the company was gone, my master asked my father, if he smoked? He
answered, No. He made us both sit down by him, and said, I have been
telling this sweet girl, that in fourteen days, and two of them are gone,
she must fix on one to make me happy. And have left it to her to choose
either one of the first or last seven. My father held up his hands, and
eyes; God bless your honour! said he, is all I can say. Now, Pamela,
said my master, taking my hand, don't let a little wrong-timed
bashfulness take place, without any other reason, because I should be
glad to go to Bedfordshire as soon as I could; and I would not return
till I carry my servants there a mistress, who should assist me to repair
the mischiefs she has made in it.
I could not look up for confusion. And my father said, My dear child, I
need not, I am sure, prompt your obedience in whatever will most oblige
so good a gentleman. What says my Pamela? said my master: She does not
use to be at a loss for expressions. Sir, said I, were I too sudden, it
would look as if I doubted whether you would hold in your mind, and was
not willing to give you time for reflection: but otherwise, to be sure I
ought to resign myself implicitly to your will. Said he, I want not time
for reflection: for I have often told you, and that long ago, I could not
live without you: and my pride of condition made me both tempt and
terrify you to other terms; but your virtue was proof against all
temptations, and was not to be awed by terrors: Wherefore, as I could not
conquer my passion for you, I corrected myself, and resolved, since you
would not be mine upon my terms, you should upon your own: and now I
desire you not on any other, I assure you: and I think the sooner it is
done, the better. What say you, Mr. Andrews? Sir, said he, there is so
much goodness on your side, and, blessed be God! so much prudence on my
daughter's, that I must be quite silent. But when it is done, I and my
poor wife shall have nothing to do, but to pray for you both, and to look
back, with wonder and joy, on the ways of Providence.
This, said my master, is Friday night; and suppose, my girl, it be next
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday morning?--Say, my Pamela.
Will you, sir, said I, excuse me till to-morrow for an answer? I will,
said he; and touched the bell, and called for Mrs. Jewkes. Where, said
he, does Mr. Andrews lie tonight? You'll take care of him. He's a very
good man; and will bring a blessing upon every house he sets his foot in.
My dear father wept for joy; and I could not refrain keeping him company.
And my master, saluting me, bid us good night, and retired. And I waited
upon my dear father, and was so full of prattle, of my master's goodness,
and my future prospects, that I believed afterwards I was turned all into
tongue: but he indulged me, and was transported with joy; and went to
bed, and dreamed of nothing but Jacob's ladder, and angels ascending and
descending, to bless him and his daughter.
Saturday.
I arose early in the morning; but found my father was up before me, and
was gone to walk in the garden. I went to him: and with what delight,
with what thankfulness, did we go over every scene of it, that had before
been so dreadful to me! The fish-pond, the back-door, and every place.
O what reason had we for thankfulness and gratitude!
About seven o'clock my good master joined us, in his morning gown and
slippers; and looking a little heavy, I said, Sir, I fear you had not
good rest last night. That is your fault, Pamela, said he. After I went
from you, I must needs look into your papers, and could not leave them
till I had read them through; and so 'twas three o'clock before I went to
sleep. I wish, sir, said I, you had had better entertainment. The worst
part of it, said he, was what I had brought upon myself; and you have not
spared me. Sir, said I--He interrupting me, said, Well, I forgive you.
You had too much reason for it. But I find, plainly enough, that if you
had got away, you would soon have been Williams's wife: and I can't see
how it could well have been otherwise. Indeed, sir, said I, I had no
notion of it, or of being any body's. I believe so, said he; but it must
have come as a thing of course; and I see your father was for it. Sir,
said he, I little thought of the honour your goodness would confer upon
her; and I thought that would be a match above what we could do for her,
a great deal. But when I found she was not for it, I resolved not to
urge her; but leave all to her own prudence.
I see, said he, all was sincere, honest, and open; and I speak of it, if
it had been done, as a thing that could hardly well be avoided; and I am
quite satisfied. But, said he, I must observe, as I have a hundred
times, with admiration, what a prodigious memory, and easy and happy
manner of narration, this excellent girl has! And though she is full of
her pretty tricks and artifices, to escape the snares I had laid for her,
yet all is innocent, lovely, and uniformly beautiful. You are
exceedingly happy in a daughter; and I hope I shall be so in a wife--Or,
said my father, may she not have that honour! I fear it not, said he;
and I hope I shall deserve it of her.
But, Pamela, said my master, I am sorry to find in some parts of your
journal, that Mrs. Jewkes carried her orders a little too far: and I the
more take notice of it, because you have not complained to me of her
behaviour, as she might have expected for some parts of it; though a good
deal was occasioned by my strict orders.--But she had the insolence to
strike my girl, I find. Sir, said I, I was a little provoking, I
believe; but as we forgave one another, I was the less entitled to
complain of her.
Well, said he, you are very good; but if you have any particular
resentment, I will indulge it so far, as that she shall hereafter have
nothing to do where you are. Sir, said I, you are so kind, that I ought
to forgive every body; and when I see that my happiness is brought about
by the very means that I thought then my greatest grievance, I ought to
bless those means, and forgive all that was disagreeable to me at the
same time, for the great good that hath issued from it.--That, said he,
and kissed me, is sweetly considered! and it shall be my part to make you
amends for what you have suffered, that you may still think lighter of
the one, and have cause to rejoice in the other.
My dear father's heart was full; and he said, with his hands folded, and
lifted up, Pray, sir, let me go--let me go--to my dear wife, and tell her
all these blessed things, while my heart holds; for it is ready to burst
with joy! Good man! said my master--I hope to hear this honest heart of
yours speaking at your lips. I enjoin you, Pamela, to continue your
relation, as you have opportunity; and though your father be here, write
to your mother, that this wondrous story be perfect, and we, your
friends, may read and admire you more and more. Ay, pray, pray do, my
child, said my father; and this is the reason that I write on, my dear
mother, when I thought not to do it, because my father could tell you all
that passed while he was here.
My master took notice of my psalm, and was pleased to commend it; and
said, That I had very charitably turned the last verses, which, in the
original, were full of heavy curses, to a wish that shewed I was not of
an implacable disposition though my then usage might have excused it, if
I had. But, said he, I think you shall sing it to me to-morrow.
After we have breakfasted, added he, if you have no objection, Pamela,
we'll take an airing together; and it shall be in the coach, because
we'll have your father's company. He would have excused himself; but my
master would have it so: but he was much ashamed, because of the meanness
of his appearance.
My master would make us both breakfast with him on chocolate; and he
said, I would have you, Pamela, begin to dress as you used to do; for
now, at least, you may call your two other bundles your own; and if you
want any thing against the approaching occasion, private as I design it,
I'll send to Lincoln for it, by a special messenger. I said, My good
lady's bounty, and his own, had set me much above my degree, and I had
very good things of all sorts; and I did not desire any other, because I
would not excite the censure of the ladies. That would be a different
thing, he was pleased to say, when he publicly owned his nuptials, after
we came to the other house. But, at present, if I was satisfied, he
would not make words with me.
I hope, Mr. Andrews, said he, to my father, you'll not leave us till you
see the affair over, and then you'll be sure I mean honourably: and,
besides, Pamela will be induced to set the day sooner. O, sir, said he,
I bless God I have no reason to doubt your meaning honourably: and I hope
you'll excuse me, if I set out on Monday morning, very early, to my dear
wife, and make her as happy as I am.
Why, Pamela, says my good master, may it not be performed on Tuesday?
And then your father, maybe, will stay.--I should have been glad to have
had it to-morrow, added he; but I have sent Monsieur Colbrand for a
license, that, you may have no scruple unanswered; and he can't very well
be back before to-morrow night, or Monday morning.
This was most agreeable news. I said, Sir, I know my dear father will
want to be at home: and as you was so good to give me a fortnight from
last Thursday, I should be glad you would be pleased to indulge me still
to some day in the second seven.
Well, said he, I will not be too urgent; but the sooner you fix, the
better. Mr. Andrews, we must leave something to these Jephthah's
daughters, in these cases, he was pleased to say: I suppose the little
bashful folly, which, in the happiest circumstances, may give a kind of
regret to quit the maiden state, and an awkwardness at the entrance into
a new one, is a reason with Pamela; and so she shall name her day. Sir,
said he, you are all goodness.
I went up soon after, and new dressed myself, taking possession, in a
happy moment, I hope, of my two bundles, as my good master was pleased to
call them; (alluding to my former division of those good things my lady
and himself bestowed upon me;) and so put on fine linen, silk shoes, and
fine white cotton stockings, a fine quilted coat, a delicate green Mantea
silk gown and coat, a French necklace, and a laced cambric handkerchief,
and clean gloves; and, taking my fan in my hand, I, like a little proud
hussy, looked in the glass, and thought myself a gentlewoman once more;
but I forgot not to return due thanks, for being able to put on this
dress with so much comfort.
Mrs. Jewkes would help to dress me, and complimented me highly, saying,
among other things, That now I looked like a lady indeed: and as, she
said, the little chapel was ready, and divine service would be read in it
to-morrow, she wished the happy knot might then be tied. Said she, Have
you not seen the chapel, madam, since it has been cleaned out? No, said
I; but are we to have service in it to-morrow, do you say?--I am glad of
that; for I have been a sad heathen lately, sore against my will!--But
who is to officiate?--Somebody, replied she, Mr. Peters will send. You
tell me very good news, said I, Mrs. Jewkes: I hope it will never be a
lumber-room again.--Ay, said she, I can tell you more good news; for the
two Misses Darnford, and Lady Jones, are to be here at the opening of it;
and will stay and dine with you. My master, said I, has not told me
that. You must alter your style, madam, said she: It must not be master
now, sure!--O, returned I, this is a language I shall never forget: he
shall always be my master; and I shall think myself more and more his
servant.
My poor father did not know I went up to dress myself; and he said his
heart misgave him when he saw me first, for fear I was made a fool of,
and that here was some fine lady that was to be my master's true wife.
And he stood in admiration, and said, O, my dear child, how well will you
become your happy condition! Why you look like a lady already! I hope,
my dear father, said I, and boldly kissed him, I shall always be your
dutiful daughter, whatever my condition be.
My master sent me word he was ready; and when he saw me, said, Dress as
you will, Pamela, you're a charming girl! and so handed me to the coach,
and would make my father and me sit both on the foreside, and sat
backwards, over against me; and bid the coachman drive to the meadow;
that is, where he once met Mr. Williams.
The conversation was most agreeable to me, and to my dear father, as we
went; and he more and more exceeded in goodness and generosity; and,
while I was gone up to dress, he had presented my father with twenty
guineas; desiring him to buy himself and my mother such apparel as they
should think proper; and lay it all out: but I knew not this till after
we came home; my father having had no opportunity to tell me of it.
He was pleased to inform me of the chapel being got in tolerable order;
and said, it looked very well; and against he came down next, it should
be all new white-washed, and painted and lined; and a new pulpit-cloth,
cushion, desk, etc. and that it should always be kept in order for the
future. He told me the two Misses Darnford, and Lady Jones, would dine
with him on Sunday: And, with their servants and mine, said he, we shall
make a tolerable congregation. And, added he, have I not well contrived
to shew you that the chapel is really a little house of God, and has been
consecrated, before we solemnize our nuptials in it?--O, sir, replied I,
your goodness to me is inexpressible! Mr. Peters, said he, offered to
come and officiate in it; but would not stay to dine with me, because he
has company at his own house: and so I intend that divine service shall
be performed in it by one to whom I shall make some yearly allowance, as
a sort of chaplain.--You look serious, Pamela, added he: I know you think
of your friend Williams. Indeed, sir, said I, if you won't be angry, I
did. Poor man! I am sorry I have been the cause of his disobliging you.
When we came to the meadow, where the gentry have their walk sometimes,
the coach stopt, and my master alighted, and led me to the brook-side,
and it is a very pretty summer walk. He asked my father, If he chose to
walk out, or go on in the coach to the farther end? He, poor man, chose
to go on in the coach, for fear, he said, any gentry should be walking
there; and he told me, he was most of the way upon his knees in the
coach, thanking God for his gracious mercies and goodness; and begging a
blessing upon my good master and me.
I was quite astonished, when we came into the shady walk, to see Mr.
Williams there. See there, said my master, there's poor Williams, taking
his solitary walk again, with his book. And, it seems, it was so
contrived; for Mr. Peters had been, as I since find, desired to tell him
to be in that walk at such an hour in the morning.
So, old acquaintance, said my master, again have I met you in this place?
What book are you now reading? He said, it was Boileau's Lutrin. Said
my master, You see I have brought with me my little fugitive, that would
have been: While you are perfecting yourself in French, I am trying to
learn English; and hope soon to be master of it.
Mine, sir, said he, is a very beautiful piece of French: but your English
has no equal.
You are very polite, Mr. Williams, said my master: And he that does not
think as you do, deserves no share in her. Why, Pamela, added he, very
generously, why so strange, where you have once been so familiar? I do
assure you both, that I mean not, by this interview, to insult Mr.
Williams, or confound you. Then I said, Mr. Williams, I am very glad to
see you well; and though the generous favour of my good master has
happily changed the scene, since you and I last saw one another, I am
nevertheless very glad of an opportunity to acknowledge, with gratitude,
your good intentions, not so much to serve me, as me, but as a person--
that then had great reason to believe herself in distress. And I hope,
sir, added I, to my master, your goodness will permit me to say this.
You, Pamela, said he, may make what acknowledgments you please to Mr.
Williams's good intentions; and I would have you speak as you think; but
I do not apprehend myself to be quite so much obliged to those
intentions.
Sir, said Mr. Williams, I beg leave to say, I knew well, that, by
education, you was no libertine; nor had I reason to think you so by
inclination; and, when you came to reflect, I hoped you would not be
displeased with me. And this was no small motive to me, at first, to do
as I did.
Ay, but Mr. Williams, said my master, could you think I should have had
reason to thank you, if, loving one person above all her sex, you had
robbed me of her, and married her yourself?--And then, said he, you are
to consider, that she was an old acquaintance of mine, and a quite new
one to you; that I had sent her down to my own house, for better securing
her; and that you, who had access to my house, could not effect your
purpose, without being guilty, in some sort, of a breach of the laws of
hospitality and friendship. As to my designs upon her, I own they had
not the best appearance; but still I was not answerable to Mr. Williams
for those; much less could you be excused to invade a property so very
dear to me, and to endeavour to gain an interest in her affections, when
you could not be certain that matters would not turn out as they have
actually done.
I own, said he, that some parts of my conduct seem exceptionable, as you
state it. But, sir, I am but a young man. I meant no harm. I had no
interest, I am sure, to incur your displeasure; and when you think of
every thing, and the inimitable graces of person, and perfections of
mind, that adorn this excellent lady, (so he called me,) you will,
perhaps, find your generosity allow something as an extenuation of a
fault, which your anger would not permit as an excuse.
I have done, said my master; nor did I meet you here to be angry with
you. Pamela knew not that she should see you: and now you are both
present, I would ask you, Mr. Williams, If, now you know my honourable
designs towards this good girl, you can really be almost, I will not say
quite, as well pleased with the friendship of my wife, as you could be
with the favour of Mrs. Andrews?
Sir, said he, I will answer you truly. I think I could have preferred,
with her, any condition that could have befallen me, had I considered
only myself. But, sir, I was very far from having any encouragement to
expect her favour; and I had much more reason to believe, that, if she
could have hoped for your goodness, her heart would have been too much
pre-engaged to think of any body else. And give me leave further to say,
sir, that, though I tell you sincerely my thoughts, were I only to
consider myself; yet, when I consider her good, and her merit, I should
be highly ungenerous, were it put to my choice, if I could not wish her
in a condition so much superior to what I could raise her to, and so very
answerable to her merit.
Pamela, said my master, you are obliged to Mr. Williams, and ought to
thank him: He has distinguished well. But, as for me, who had like to
have lost you by his means, I am glad the matter was not left to his
choice. Mr. Williams, added he, I give you Pamela's hand, because I know
it will be pleasing to her, in token of her friendship and esteem for
you; and I give you mine, that I will not be your enemy: but yet I must
say, that I think I owe this proper manner of your thinking more to your
disappointment, than to the generosity you talk of.
Mr. Williams kissed my hand, as my master gave it him; and my master
said, Sir, you will go home and dine with me, and I'll shew you my little
chapel; and do you, Pamela, look upon yourself at liberty to number Mr.
Williams in the list of your friends.
How generous, how noble, was this! Mr. Williams (and so had I) had tears
of pleasure in his eyes. I was silent: But Mr. Williams said, Sir, I
shall be taught, by your generosity, to think myself inexcusably wrong,
in every step I took, that could give you offence; and my future life
shall shew my respectful gratitude.
We walked on till we came to the coach, where was my dear father.
Pamela, said my master, tell Mr. Williams who that good man is. O, Mr.
Williams! said I, it is my dear father! and my master was pleased to say,
One of the honestest men in England: Pamela owes every thing that she is
to be, as well as her being, to him; for, I think, she would not have
brought me to this, nor made so great resistance, but for the good
lessons, and religious education, she had imbibed from him.
Mr. Williams said, taking father's hand, You see, good Mr. Andrews, with
inexpressible pleasure, no doubt, the fruits of your pious care; and now
are in a way, with your beloved daughter, to reap the happy effects of
it.--I am overcome, said my dear father, with his honour's goodness: But
I can only say, I bless God, and bless him.
Mr. Williams and I being nearer the coach than my master, and he offering
to draw back, to give way to him, he kindly said, Pray, Mr. Williams,
oblige Pamela with your hand; and step in yourself. He bowed, and took
my hand; and my master made him step in, and sit next me, all that ever
he could do; and sat himself over against him, next my father, who sat
against me.
And he said, Mr. Andrews, I told you yesterday that the divine you saw
was not Mr. Williams; I now tell you, this gentleman is: and though I
have been telling him, I think not myself obliged to his intentions; yet
I will own that Pamela and you are; and though I won't promise to love
him, I would have you.
Sir, said Mr. Williams, you have a way of overcoming, that hardly all my
reading affords an instance of; and it is the more noble, as it is on
this side, as I presume, the happy ceremony, which, great as your fortune
is, will lay you under an obligation to so much virtue and beauty, when
the lady becomes yours; for you will then have a treasure that princes
might envy you.
Said my generous master, (God bless him!) Mr. Williams, it is impossible
that you and I should long live at variance, when our sentiments agree so
well together, on subjects the most material.
I was quite confounded; and my master, seeing it, took my hand, and said,
Look up, my good girl; and collect yourself.--Don't injure Mr. Williams
and me so much, as to think we are capping compliments, as we used to do
verses at school. I dare answer for us both, that we say not a syllable
we don't think.
O sir, said I, how unequal am I to all this goodness! Every moment that
passes adds to the weight of the obligations you oppress me with.
Think not too much of that, said he most generously. Mr. Williams's
compliments to you have great advantage of mine: For, though equally
sincere, I have a great deal to say, and to do, to compensate the
sufferings I have made you undergo; and, at last, must sit down
dissatisfied, because those will never be balanced by all I can do for
you.
He saw my dear father quite unable to support these affecting instances
of his goodness;--and he let go my hand, and took his; and said, seeing
his tears, I wonder not, my dear Pamela's father, that your honest heart
springs thus to your eyes, to see all her trials at an end. I will not
pretend to say, that I had formerly either power or will to act thus: But
since I began to resolve on the change you see, I have reaped so much
pleasure in it, that my own interest will keep me steady: For, till
within these few days, I knew not what it was to be happy.
Poor Mr. Williams, with tears of joy in his eyes, said, How happily, sir,
have you been touched by the divine grace, before you have been hurried
into the commission of sins, that the deepest penitence could hardly have
atoned for!--God has enabled you to stop short of the evil; and you have
nothing to do, but to rejoice in the good, which now will be doubly so,
because you can receive it without the least inward reproach.
You do well, said he, to remind me, that I owe all this to the grace of
God. I bless Him for it; and I thank this good man for his excellent
lessons to his daughter; I thank her for following them: and I hope, from
her good example, and your friendship, Mr. Williams, in time, to be half
as good as my tutoress: and that, said he, I believe you'll own, will
make me, without disparagement to any man, the best fox-hunter in
England.--Mr. Williams was going to speak: and he said, You put on so
grave a look, Mr. Williams, that, I believe, what I have said, with you
practical good folks, is liable to exception: but I see we are become
quite grave; and we must not be too serious neither.
What a happy creature, my dear mother, is your Pamela!--O may my thankful
heart, and the good use I may be enabled to make of the blessings before
me, be a means to continue this delightful prospect to a long date, for
the sake of the dear good gentleman, who thus becomes the happy
instrument, in the hand of Providence, to bless all he smiles upon! To
be sure, I shall never enough acknowledge the value he is pleased to
express for my unworthiness, in that he has prevented my wishes, and,
unasked, sought the occasion of being reconciled to a good man, who, for
my sake, had incurred his displeasure; and whose name he could not, a few
days before, permit to pass through my lips! But see the wonderful ways
of Providence! The very things that I most dreaded his seeing or
knowing, the contents of my papers, have, as I hope, satisfied all his
scruples, and been a means to promote my happiness.
Henceforth let not us poor short-sighted mortals pretend to rely on our
own wisdom; or vainly think, that we are absolutely to direct for
ourselves. I have abundant reason, I am sure, to say, that, when I was
most disappointed, I was nearer my happiness: for had I made my escape,
which was so often my chief point in view, and what I had placed my heart
upon, I had escaped the blessings now before me, and fallen, perhaps
headlong, into the miseries I would have avoided. And yet, after all, it
was necessary I should take the steps I did, to bring on this wonderful
turn: O the unsearchable wisdom of God!--And how much ought I to adore
the divine goodness, and humble myself, who am made a poor instrument, as
I hope, not only to magnify his graciousness to this fine gentleman and
myself, but also to dispense benefits to others! Which God of his mercy
grant!
In the agreeable manner I have mentioned, did we pass the time in our
second happy tour; and I thought Mrs. Jewkes would have sunk into the
ground, when she saw Mr. Williams brought in the coach with us, and
treated so kindly. We dined together in a most pleasant, easy, and frank
manner; and I found I need not, from my master's generosity, to be under
any restraint, as to my conduct to this good clergyman: For he, so often
as he fancied I was reserved, moved me to be free with him, and to him;
and several times called upon me to help my father and Mr. Williams; and
seemed to take great delight in seeing me carve, as, indeed, he does in
every thing I do.
After dinner we went and looked into the chapel, which is a very pretty
one, and very decent; and, when finished as he designs it, against his
next coming down, will be a very pretty place.
My heart, my dear mother, when I first set my foot in it, throbbed a good
deal, with awful joy, at the thoughts of the solemnity, which, I hope,
will in a few days be performed here. And when I came up towards the
little pretty altar-piece, while they were looking at a communion-
picture, and saying it was prettily done, I gently stept into a corner,
out of sight, and poured out my soul to God on my knees, in supplication
and thankfulness, that, after having been so long absent from divine
service, the first time I entered into a house dedicated to his honour,
should be with such blessed prospects before me; and begging of God to
continue me humble, and to make me not unworthy of his mercies; and that
he would be pleased to bless the next author of my happiness, my good
master.
I heard my master say, Where's Pamela? And so I broke off sooner than I
would, and went up to him.
He said, Mr. Williams, I hope I have not so offended you by my conduct
past, (for really it is what I ought to be ashamed of,) as that you will
refuse to officiate, and to give us your instructions here to-morrow.
Mr. Peters was so kind, for the first time, to offer it; but I knew it
would be inconvenient for him; and, besides, I was willing to make this
request to you an introduction to our reconciliation.
Sir, said he, most willingly, and most gratefully, will I obey you:
Though, if you expect a discourse, I am wholly unprepared for the
occasion. I would not have it, replied he, pointed to any particular
occasion; but if you have one upon the text--There is more joy in Heaven
over one sinner that repenteth, than over ninety-nine just persons that
need no repentance; and if it makes me not such a sad fellow as to be
pointed at by mine and the ladies' servants we shall have here, I shall
be well content. 'Tis a general subject, added he, makes me speak of
that; but any one you please will do; for you cannot make a bad choice, I
am sure.
Sir, said he, I have one upon that text; but I am ready to think, that a
thanksgiving one, which I made on a great mercy to myself, if I may be
permitted to make my own acknowledgments of your favour the subject of a
discourse, will be suitable to my grateful sentiments. It is on the
text;--Now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace; for mine eyes have
seen thy salvation.
That text, said I, will be a very suitable one for me. Not so, Pamela,
said my master; because I don't let you depart in peace; but I hope you
will stay here with content.
O but, sir, said I, I have seen God's salvation!--I am sure, added I, if
any body ever had reason, I have to say, with the blessed virgin, My soul
doth magnify the Lord; for he hath regarded the low estate of his
handmaiden--and exalted one of low degree.
Said my good father, I am sure, if there were time for it, the book of
Ruth would afford a fine subject for the honour done my dear child.
Why, good Mr. Andrews, said my master, should you say so?--I know that
story, and Mr. Williams will confirm what I say, that my good girl here
will confer at least as much honour as she will receive.
Sir, said I, you are inexpressibly generous; but I shall never think so.
Why, my Pamela, said he, that's another thing: It will be best for me to
think you will; and it will be kind in you to think you shan't; and then
we shall always have an excellent rule to regulate our conduct by to one
another.
Was not this finely, nobly, wisely said, my dear mother?--O what a
blessed thing it is to be matched to a man of sense and generosity!--How
edifying! How!--But what shall I say?--I am at loss for words.
Mr. Williams said, when we came out of the little chapel, He would go
home, and look over his discourses, for one for the next day. My master
said, I have one thing to say before you go--When my jealousy, on account
of this good girl, put me upon such a vindictive conduct to you, you know
I took a bond for the money I had caused you to be troubled for: I really
am ashamed of the matter; because I never intended, when I presented it
to you, to have it again, you may be sure: But I knew not what might
happen between you and her, nor how far matters might have gone between
you; and so I was willing to have that in awe over you. And I think it
is no extraordinary present, therefore, to give you up your bond again
cancelled. And so he took it from his pocket, and gave it him. I think,
added he, all the charges attending it, and the trouble you had, were
defrayed by my attorney; I ordered that they should. They were, sir,
said he; and ten thousand thanks to you for this goodness, and the kind
manner in which you do it.--If you will go, Mr. Williams, said he, shall
my chariot carry you home? No, sir, answered he, I thank you. My time
will be so well employed all the way, in thinking of your favours, that I
choose to meditate upon them, as I walk home.
My dear father was a little uneasy about his habit, for appearing at
chapel next day, because of Misses Darnford and the servants, for fear,
poor man, he should disgrace my master; and he told me, when he was
mentioning this, of my master's kind present of twenty guineas for
clothes, for you both; which made my heart truly joyful. But oh! to be
sure, I can never deserve the hundredth part of his goodness!--It is
almost a hard thing to be under the weight of such deep obligations on
one side, and such a sense of one's own unworthiness on the other.--O!
what a Godlike power is that of doing good!--I envy the rich and the
great for nothing else.
My master coming to us just then, I said, Oh! sir, will your bounty know
no limits? My dear father has told me what you have given him.--A
trifle, Pamela, said he, a little earnest only of my kindness.--Say no
more of it. But did I not hear the good man expressing some sort of
concern for somewhat? Hide nothing from me, Pamela. Only, sir, said I,
he knew not how to absent himself from divine service, and yet is afraid
of disgracing you by appearing.
Fie, Mr. Andrews! said he, I thought you knew that the outward appearance
was nothing. I wish I had as good a habit inwardly as you have. But
I'll tell you, Pamela, your father is not so much thinner than I am, nor
much shorter; he and I will walk up together to my wardrobe; though it is
not so well stored here, as in Bedfordshire.
And so, said he, pleasantly, don't you pretend to come near us, till I
call for you; for you must not yet see how men dress and undress
themselves. O sir, said my father, I beg to be excused. I am sorry you
were told. So am not I, said my master: Pray come along with me.
He carried him up stairs, and shewed him several suits, and would have
had him take his choice. My poor father was quite confounded: for my
master saw not any he thought too good, and my father none that he
thought bad enough. And my good master, at last, (he fixed his eye upon
a fine drab, which he thought looked the plainest,) would help him to try
the coat and waistcoat on himself; and, indeed, one would not have
thought it, because my master is taller, and rather plumper, as I thought
but, as I saw afterwards, they fitted him very well. And being plain,
and lined with the same colour, and made for travelling in a coach,
pleased my poor father much. He gave him the whole suit, and, calling up
Mrs. Jewkes, said, Let these clothes be well aired against tomorrow
morning. Mr. Andrews brought only with him his common apparel, not
thinking to stay Sunday with us. And pray see for some of my stockings,
and whether any of my shoes will fit him: And see also for some of my
linen; for we have put the good man quite out of his course, by keeping
him Sunday over. He was then pleased to give him the silver buckles out
of his own shoes. So, my good mother, you must expect to see my dear
father a great beau. Wig, said my master, he wants none; for his own
venerable white locks are better than all the perukes in England.--But I
am sure I have hats enough somewhere.--I'll take care of every thing,
sir, said Mrs. Jewkes.--And my poor father, when he came to me, could not
refrain tears. I know not how, said he, to comport myself under these
great favours. O my child, it is all owing to the divine goodness, and
your virtue.
Sunday.
This blessed day all the family seemed to take delight to equip
themselves for the celebration of the Sabbath in the little chapel; and
Lady Jones and Mr. Williams came in her chariot, and the two Misses
Darnford in their own. And we breakfasted together in a most agreeable
manner. My dear father appeared quite spruce and neat, and was quite
caressed by the three ladies. As we were at breakfast, my master told
Mr. Williams, We must let the Psalms alone, he doubted, for want of a
clerk: but Mr. Williams said, No, nothing should be wanting that he could
supply. My father said, If it might be permitted him, he would, as well
as he was able, perform that office; for it was always what he had taken
delight in. And as I knew he had learnt psalmody formerly, in his youth,
and had constantly practised it in private, at home, on Sunday evenings,
(as well as endeavoured to teach it in the little school he so
unsuccessfully set up, at the beginning of his misfortunes, before he
took to hard labour,) I was in no pain for his undertaking it in this
little congregation. They seemed much pleased with this; and so we went
to chapel, and made a pretty tolerable appearance; Mrs. Jewkes, and all
the servants, attending, but the cook: And I never saw divine service
performed with more solemnity, nor assisted at with greater devotion and
decency; my master, Lady Jones, and the two misses, setting a lovely
example.
My good father performed his part with great applause, making the
responses, as if he had been a practised parish-clerk; and giving the
xxiiid psalm,
[The Lord is only my support,
And he that doth me feed:
How can I then lack any thing
Whereof I stand in need?
In pastures green he feedeth me,
Where I do safely lie;
And after leads me to the streams,
Which run most pleasantly.
And when I find myself near lost,
Then home he doth me take;
Conducting me in his right paths,
E'en for his own name's sake.
And tho' I were e'en at death's door,
Yet would I fear no ill:
For both thy rod and shepherd's crook
Afford me comfort still.
Thou hast my table richly spread
In presence of my foe:
Thou hast my head with balm refresh'd,
My cup doth overflow.
And finally, while breath doth last,
Thy grace shall me defend:
And in the house of God will I
My life for ever spend.]
which consisted of but three staves, we had it all; and he read the line,
and began the tune with a heart so entirely affected with the duty, that
he went through it distinctly, calmly, and fervently at the same time; so
that Lady Jones whispered me, That good man were fit for all companies,
and present to every laudable occasion: And Miss Darnford said, God bless
the dear good man!--You must think how I rejoiced in my mind.
I know, my dear mother, you can say most of the shortest psalms by heart;
so I need not transcribe it, especially as your chief treasure is a
bible; and a worthy treasure it is. I know nobody makes more or better
use of it.
Mr. Williams gave us an excellent discourse on liberality and generosity,
and the blessings attending the right use of riches, from the xith
chapter of Proverbs, ver. 24, 25. There is that scattereth, and yet
increaseth; and there is that withholdeth more than is meet, but it
tendeth to poverty. The liberal soul shall be made fat: And he that
watereth, shall be watered also himself. And he treated the subject in
so handsome a manner, that my master's delicacy, who, at first, was
afraid of some personal compliments, was not offended. Mr. Williams
judiciously keeping to generals; and it was an elegant and sensible
discourse, as my master said.
My father was in the clerk's place, just under the desk; and Lady Jones,
by her footman, whispered him to favour us with another psalm, when the
sermon was ended. He thinking, as he said afterwards, that the former
was rather of the longest, chose the shortest in the book, which you know
is the cxviith.
[O all ye nations of the world,
Praise ye the Lord always:
And all ye people every where
Set forth his noble praise.
For great his kindness is to us;
His truth doth not decay:
Wherefore praise ye the Lord our God;
Praise ye the Lord alway.]
My master thanked Mr. Williams for his excellent discourse, and so did
the ladies; as also did I most heartily: and he was pleased to take my
dear father by the hand, as did also Mr. Williams, and thanked him. The
ladies, likewise, made him their compliments; and the servants all looked
upon him with countenances of respect and pleasure.
At dinner, do what I could, I was forced to take the upper end of the
table; and my master sat at the lower end, between Mr. Williams and my
father. And he said, Pamela, you are so dexterous, that I think you may
help the ladies yourself; and I will help my two good friends. I should
have told you, though, that I dressed myself in a flowered satin, that
was my lady's, and looked quite fresh and good, and which was given me,
at first, by my master; and the ladies, who had not seen me out of my
homespun before, made me abundance of fine compliments, as soon as they
saw me first.
Talking of the Psalms just after dinner, my master was very naughty, if I
may so say: For he said to my father, Mr. Andrews, I think in the
afternoon, as we shall have only prayers, we may have one longer psalm;
and what think you of the cxxxviith? O, good sir! said I, pray, pray,
not a word more! Say what you will, Pamela, said he, you shall sing it
to us, according to your on version, before these good ladies go away.
My father smiled, but was half concerned for me; and said, Will it bear,
and please your honour?--O ay, said he, never fear it; so long as Mrs.
Jewkes is not in the hearing.
This excited all the ladies' curiosity; and Lady Jones said, She would be
loath to desire to hear any thing that would give me concern; but should
be glad I would give leave for it. Indeed, madam, said I, I must beg you
won't insist upon it. I cannot bear it.--You shall see it, indeed,
ladies, said my master; and pray, Pamela, not always as you please,
neither.--Then, pray sir, said I, not in my hearing, I hope.--Sure,
Pamela, returned he, you would not write what is not fit to be heard!--
But, sir, said I, there are particular cases, times, and occasions, that
may make a thing passable at one time, that would not be tolerable at
another. O, said he, let me judge of that, as well as you, Pamela.
These ladies know a good part of your story; and, let me tell you, what
they know is more to your credit than mine; so that if I have no
averseness to reviving the occasion, you may very well bear it. Said he,
I will put you out of your pain, Pamela: here it is: and took it out of
his pocket.
I stood up, and said, Indeed, sir, I can't bear it; I hope you'll allow
me to leave the room a minute, if you will read it. Indeed but I won't,
answered he. Lady Jones said, Pray, good sir, don't let us hear it, if
Mrs. Andrews be so unwilling. Well, Pamela, said my master, I will put
it to your choice, whether I shall read it now, or you will sing it by
and by. That's very hard, sir, said I. It must be one, I assure you,
said he. Why then, sir, replied I, you must do as you please; for I
cannot sing it.
Well, then, said my master, I find I must read it; and yet, added he,
after all, I had as well let it alone, for it is no great reputation to
myself. O then, said Miss Darnford, pray let us hear it, to choose.
Why then, proceeded he, the case was this: Pamela, I find, when she was
in the time of her confinement, (that is, added he, when she was taken
prisoner, in order to make me one; for that is the upshot of the matter,)
in the journal she kept, which was intended for nobody's perusal but her
parents, tells them, that she was importuned, one Sunday, by Mrs. Jewkes,
to sing a psalm; but her spirits not permitting, she declined it: But
after Mrs. Jewkes was gone down, she says, she recollected, that the
cxxxviith psalm was applicable to her own case; Mrs. Jewkes having often,
on other days, in vain, besought her to sing a song: That thereupon she
turned it more to her own supposed case; and believing Mrs. Jewkes had a
design against her honour, and looking upon her as her gaoler, she thus
gives her version of this psalm. But pray, Mr. Williams, do you read one
verse of the common translation, and I will read one of Pamela's. Then
Mr. Williams, pulling out his little pocket Common-Prayer-Book, read the
first two stanzas:
I.
When we did sit in Babylon,
The rivers round about;
Then in remembrance of Sion,
The tears for grief burst out.
II.
We hang'd our harps and instruments
The willow trees upon:
For in that place, men, for that use,
Had planted many a one.
My master then read:
I.
When sad I sat in B----n-hall,
All guarded round about,
And thought of ev'ry absent friend,
The tears for grief burst out.
II.
My joys and hopes all overthrown,
My heart-strings almost broke,
Unfit my mind for melody,
Much more to bear a joke.
The ladies said, It was very pretty; and Miss Darnford, That somebody
else had more need to be concerned than the versifier.
I knew, said my master, I should get no credit by shewing this. But let
us read on, Mr. Williams. So Mr. Williams read:
III.
Then they, to whom we pris'ners were,
Said to us, tauntingly,
Now let us hear your Hebrew songs,
And pleasant melody.
Now this, said my master, is very near; and read:
III.
Then she, to whom I prisoner was,
Said to me tauntingly,
Now cheer your heart, and sing a song,
And tune your mind to joy.
Mighty sweet, said Mr. Williams. But let us see how the next verse is
turned. It is this:
IV.
Alas! said we; who can once frame
His heavy heart to sing
The praises of our living God,
Thus under a strange king?
Why, said my master, it is turned with beautiful simplicity, thus:
IV.
Alas! said I, how can I frame
My heavy heart to sing,
Or tune my mind, while thus enthrall'd
By such a wicked thing?
Very pretty, said Mr. Williams. Lady Jones said, O, dear madam! could
you wish that we should be deprived of this new instance of your genius
and accomplishments?
O! said my dear father, you will make my good child proud. No, said my
master very generously, Pamela can't be proud. For no one is proud to
hear themselves praised, but those who are not used to it.--But proceed,
Mr. Williams. He read:
V.
But yet, if I Jerusalem
Out of my heart let slide;
Then let my fingers quite forget
The warbling harp to guide.
Well, now, said my master, for Pamela's version:
V.
But yet, if from my innocence
I ev'n in thought should slide,
Then let my fingers quite forget
The sweet spinnet to guide.
Mr. Williams read:
VI.
And let my tongue, within my mouth,
Be ty'd for ever fast,
If I rejoice, before I see
Thy full deliv'rance past.
This, also, said my master, is very near:
VI.
And let my tongue, within my mouth,
Be lock'd for ever fast,
If I rejoice, before I see
My full deliv'rance past.
Now, good sir, said I, oblige me; don't read any further: pray don't! O
pray, madam, said Mr. Williams, let me beg to have the rest read; for I
long to know whom you make the Sons of Edom, and how you turn the
Psalmist's execrations against the insulting Babylonians.
Well, Mr. Williams, replied I, you should not have said so. O, said my
master, that is one of the best things of all. Poor Mrs. Jewkes stands
for Edom's Sons; and we must not lose this, because I think it one of my
Pamela's excellencies, that, though thus oppressed, she prays for no harm
upon the oppressor. Read, Mr. Williams, the next stanza. So he read:
VII.
Therefore, O Lord! remember now
The cursed noise and cry,
That Edom's sons against us made,
When they ras'd our city.
VIII.
Remember, Lord, their cruel words,
When, with a mighty sound,
They cried, Down, yea down with it,
Unto the very ground!
Well, said my master, here seems, in what I am going to read, a little
bit of a curse indeed, but I think it makes no ill figure in the
comparison.
VII.
And thou, Almighty! recompense
The evils I endure
From those who seek my sad disgrace,
So causeless, to procure.
And now, said he, for Edom's Sons. Though a little severe in the
imputation.
VIII.
Remember, Lord, this Mrs. Jewkes,
When with a mighty sound,
She cries, Down with her chastity,
Down to the very ground!
Sure, sir, said I, this might have been spared! But the ladies and Mr.
Williams said, No, by no means! And I see the poor wicked woman has no
favourers among them.
Now, said my master, read the Psalmist's heavy curses: and Mr. Williams
read:
IX.
Ev'n so shalt thou, O Babylon!
At length to dust be brought:
And happy shall that man be call'd,
That our revenge hath wrought.
X.
Yea, blessed shall the man be call'd
That takes thy little ones,
And dasheth them in pieces small
Against the very stones.
Thus he said, very kindly, has my Pamela turned these lines:
IX.
Ev'n so shalt thou, O wicked one!
At length to shame be brought;
And happy shall all those be call'd,
That my deliv'rance wrought.
X.
Yea, blessed shall the man be call'd
That shames thee of thy evil,
And saves me from thy vile attempts,
And thee, too, from the d---l.
I fancy this blessed man, said my master smiling, was, at that time,
hoped to be you, Mr. Williams, if the truth was known. Sir, said he,
whoever it was intended for then, it can be nobody but your good self
now.
I could hardly hold up my head for the praises the kind ladies were
pleased to heap upon me. I am sure, by this, they are very partial in my
favour; all because my master is so good to me, and loves to hear me
praised; for I see no such excellence in these lines, as they would make
me believe, besides what is borrowed from the Psalmist.
We all, as before, and the cook-maid too, attended the prayers of the
church in the afternoon; and my dear father concluded with the following
stanzas of the cxlvth psalm; suitably magnifying the holy name of God for
all mercies; but did not observe, altogether, the method in which they
stand; which was the less necessary, he thought, as he gave out the
lines.
The Lord is just in all his ways:
His works are holy all:
And he is near all those that do
In truth upon him call.
He the desires of all them
That fear him, will fulfil;
And he will hear them when they cry,
And save them all he will.
The eyes of all do wait on thee;
Thou dost them all relieve:
And thou to each sufficient food,
In season due, dost give.
Thou openest thy plenteous hand,
And bounteously dost fill
All things whatever, that do live,
With gifts of thy good will.
My thankful mouth shall gladly speak
The praises of the Lord:
All flesh, to praise his holy name,
For ever shall accord.
We walked in the garden till tea was ready; and as he went by the back-
door, my master said to me, Of all the flowers in the garden, the sun-
flower is the fairest!--O, sir, said I, let that be now forgot! Mr.
Williams heard him say so, and seemed a little out of countenance:
Whereupon my master said, I mean not to make you serious, Mr. Williams;
but we see how strangely things are brought about. I see other scenes
hereabouts, that, in my Pamela's dangers, give me more cause of concern,
than any thing you ever did should give you. Sir, said he, you are very
generous.
My master and Mr. Williams afterwards walked together for a quarter of an
hour; and talked about general things, and some scholastic subjects; and
joined us, very well pleased with one another's conversation.
Lady Jones said, putting herself on one side of me, as my master was on
the other, But pray, sir, when is the happy time to be? We want it over,
that we may have you with us as long afterwards as you can. Said my
master, I would have it to-morrow, or next day at farthest, if Pamela
will: for I have sent for a license, and the messenger will be here to-
night, or early in the morning, I hope. But, added he, pray, Pamela, do
not take beyond Thursday. She was pleased to say, Sure it will not be
delayed by you, madam, more than needs!--Well, said he, now you are on my
side, I will leave you with her to settle it: and, I hope, she will not
let little bashful niceties be important with her; and so he joined the
two misses.
Lady Jones told me, I was to blame, she would take upon her to say, if I
delayed it a moment; because she understood Lady Davers was very uneasy
at the prospect, that it would be so; and if any thing should happen, it
would be a sad thing!--Madam, said I, when he was pleased to mention it
to me first, he said it should be in fourteen days; and afterwards, asked
me if I would have it in the first or the second seven? I answered--for
how could I do otherwise?--In the second. He desired it might not be the
last day of the second seven. Now, madam, said I, as he was then pleased
to speak his mind, no doubt, I would not, for any thing, seem too
forward.
Well, but, said she, as he now urges you in so genteel and gentlemanly a
manner for a shorter day, I think, if I was in your place, I would agree
to it. She saw me hesitate and blush, and said, Well, you know best; but
I say only what I would do. I said, I would consider of it; and if I saw
he was very earnest, to be sure I should think I ought to oblige him.
Misses Darnford were begging to be at the wedding, and to have a ball:
and they said, Pray, Mrs. Andrews, second our requests, and we shall be
greatly obliged to you. Indeed, ladies, said I, I cannot promise that,
if I might.--Why so? said they.--Because, answered I--I know not what!
But I think one may, with pleasure, celebrate an anniversary of one's
nuptials; but the day itself--Indeed, ladies, I think it is too solemn a
business, for the parties of our sex to be very gay upon: it is a quite
serious and awful affair: and I am sure, in your own cases, you would be
of my mind. Why, then, said Miss Darnford, the more need one has to be
as light-hearted and merry as one can.
I told you, said my master, what sort of an answer you'd have from
Pamela. The younger miss said, She never heard of such grave folks in
her life, on such an occasion: Why, sir, said she, I hope you'll sing
psalms all day, and miss will fast and pray! Such sackcloth and ashes
doings, for a wedding, did I never hear of!--She spoke a little
spitefully, I thought; and I returned no answer. I shall have enough to
do, I reckon, in a while, if I am to answer every one that will envy me!
We went in to tea; and all that the ladies could prevail upon my master
for, was a dancing match before he left this county: But Miss Darnford
said, It should then be at their house; for, truly, if she might not be
at the wedding, she would be affronted, and come no more hither, till we
had been there.
When they were gone, my master would have had my father stay till the
affair was over; but he begged he might set out as soon as it was light
in the morning; for, he said, my mother would be doubly uneasy at his
stay; and he burned with impatience to let her know all the happy things
that had befallen her daughter. When my master found him so desirous to
go, he called Mr. Thomas, and ordered him to get a particular bay horse
ready betimes in the morning, for my father, and a portmanteau, to put
his things in; and to attend him a day's journey: And if, said he, Mr.
Andrews chooses it, see him safe to his own home: And, added he, since
that horse will serve you, Mr. Andrews, to ride backwards and forwards,
to see us, when we go into Bedfordshire, I make you a present of it, with
the accoutrements. And, seeing my father going to speak, he added, I
won't be said nay. O how good was this!
He also said a great many kind things at supper-time, and gave him all
the papers he had of mine; but desired, when he and my mother had read
them, that he would return them to him again. And then he said, So
affectionate a father and daughter may, perhaps, be glad to be alone
together; therefore remember me to your good wife, and tell her, it will
not be long, I hope, before I see you together; on a visit to your
daughter, at my other house: and so I wish you good night, and a good
journey, if you go before I see you. And then he shook hands, and left
my dear father almost unable to speak, through the sense of his favours
and goodness.
You may believe, my dear mother, how loath I was to part with my good
father; and he was also unwilling to part with me; but he was so
impatient to see you, and tell you the blessed tidings, with which his
heart overflowed, that I could hardly wish to detain him.
Mrs. Jewkes brought two bottles of cherry-brandy, and two of cinnamon-
water, and some cake; and they were put up in the portmanteau, with my
father's newly presented clothes; for he said, He would not, for any
thing, be seen in them in his neighbourhood, till I was actually known,
by every body, to be married; nor would he lay out any part of the twenty
guineas till then neither, for fear of reflections; and then he would
consult me as to what he would buy. Well, said I, as you please, my dear
father; and I hope now we shall often have the pleasure of hearing from
one another, without needing any art or contrivances.
He said, He would go to bed betimes, that he might be up as soon as it
was light; and so he took leave of me, and said, He would not love me, if
I got up in the morning to see him go; which would but make us both loath
to part, and grieve us both all day.
Mr. Thomas brought him a pair of boots, and told him, He would call him
up at peep of day, and put up every thing over night; and so I received
his blessing, and his prayers, and his kind promises of procuring the
same from you, my dear mother; and went up to my closet with a heavy
heart, and yet a half-pleased one, if I may so say; for that, as he must
go, he was going to the best of wives, and with the best of tidings. But
I begged he would not work so hard as he had done; for I was sure my
master would not have given him twenty guineas for clothes, if he had not
designed to do something else for him; and that he should be the less
concerned at receiving benefits, from my good master, because he, who had
so many persons to employ in his large possessions, could make him
serviceable, to a degree equivalent, without hurting any body else.
He promised me fair; and, pray, dear mother, see he performs. I hope my
master will not see this: for I will not send it you, at present, till I
can send you the best of news; and the rather, as my dear father can
supply the greatest part of what I have written, since the papers he
carries you, by his own observation. So good night, my dear mother: And
God send my father a safe journey, and a happy meeting to you both!
Monday.
Mr. Colbrand being returned, my master came up to me to my closet, and
brought me the license. O how my heart fluttered at the sight of it!
Now, Pamela, said he, tell me, if you can oblige me with the day. Your
word is all that's wanting. I made bold to kiss his dear hand; and,
though unable to look up, said--I know not what to say, sir, to all your
goodness: I would not, for any consideration, that you should believe me
capable of receiving negligently an honour, that all the duty of a long
life, were it to be lent me, will not be sufficient to enable me to be
grateful for. I ought to resign myself, in every thing I may or can,
implicitly to your will. But--But what? said he, with a kind
impatience.--Why, sir, said I, when from last Thursday you mentioned four
days, I had reason to think that term your choice; and my heart is so
wholly yours, that I am afraid of nothing, but that I may be forwarder
than you wish. Impossible, my dear creature! said he, and folded me in
his arms: Impossible! If this be all, it shall be set about this moment,
and this happy day shall make you mine!--I'll send away instantly, said
the dear gentleman; and was going.
I said, No, pray, sir, pray, sir, hear me!--Indeed it cannot be to-day!--
Cannot! said he.--No, indeed, sir! said I--And was ready to sink to see
his generous impatience. Why flattered you then my fond heart, replied
he, with the hope that it might?--Sir, said I, I will tell you what I had
thought, if you'll vouchsafe me your attention. Do then, said he.
I have, sir, proceeded I, a great desire, that, whenever the day is, it
may be on a Thursday: On a Thursday my dear father and mother were
married; and, though poor, they are a very happy pair.--On a Thursday
your poor Pamela was born. On a Thursday my dear good lady took me from
my parents into her protection. On a Thursday, sir, you caused me to be
carried away to this place, to which I now, by God's goodness, and your
favour, owe so amazingly all my present prospects; and on a Thursday it
was, you named to me, that fourteen days from that you would confirm my
happiness. Now, sir, if you please to indulge my superstitious folly,
you will greatly oblige me. I was sorry, sir, for this reason, when you
bid me not defer till the last day of the fourteen, that Thursday in next
week was that last day.
This, Pamela, is a little superstitious, I must needs say; and I think
you should begin now to make another day in the week a happy one; as for
example; on a Monday, may you say, my father and mother concluded to be
married on the Thursday following. On a Monday, so many years ago, my
mother was preparing all her matters to be brought to bed on the Thursday
following. On a Monday, several weeks ago, it was that you had but two
days more to stay, till you was carried away on Thursday. On a Monday, I
myself, said he, well remember, it was that I wrote you the letter, that
prevailed on you so kindly to return to me; and on the same day you did
return to my house here; which I hope, my girl, will be as propitious an
era as any you have named: And now, lastly, will you say, which will
crown the work; And, on a Monday I was married.--Come, come, my dear,
added he, Thursday has reigned long enough o'conscience; let us now set
Monday in its place, or at least on an equality with it, since you see it
has a very good title, and as we now stand in the week before us, claims
priority: And then, I hope, we shall make Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday,
Saturday, and Sunday, as happy days as Monday and Thursday; and so, by
God's blessing, move round, as the days move, in a delightful circle,
till we are at a loss what day to prefer to the rest.
O how charmingly was this said!--And how sweetly kind!
Indeed, sir, said I, you rally my folly very agreeably; but don't let a
little matter stand in the way, when you are so generously obliging in a
greater: Indeed I like Thursday best, if I may choose.
Well, then, said he, if you can say you have a better reason than this, I
will oblige you; else I'll send away for the parson this moment.
And so, I protest, he was going!--Dear sirs, how I trembled! Stay, stay,
sir, said I: we have a great deal to say first; I have a deal of silly
prate to trouble you with!--Well, say then, in a minute, replied he, the
most material: for all we have to say may be talked of while the parson
is coming.--O, but indeed, and indeed, said I, it cannot be to-day!--
Well, then, shall it be to-morrow? said he.--Why, sir, if it must not be
on a Thursday, you have given so many pleasant distinctions for a Monday,
that let it then be next Monday.--What! a week still? said he. Sir,
answered I, if you please; for that will be, as you enjoined, within the
second seven days. Why, girl, said he, 'twill be seven months till next
Monday. Let it, said he, if not to-morrow, be on Wednesday; I protest I
will stay no longer.
Then, sir, returned I, please to defer it, however, for one day more, and
it will be my beloved Thursday! If I consent to defer it till then, may
I hope, my Pamela, said he, that next Thursday shall certainly be the
happy day?--Yes, sir, said I and I am sure I looked very foolishly!
And yet, my dear father and mother, why should I, with such a fine
gentleman? And whom I so dearly love? And so much to my honour too?
But there is something greatly awful upon my mind, in the solemn
circumstance, and a change of condition never to be recalled, though all
the prospects are so desirable. And I can but wonder at the thoughtless
precipitancy with which most young folks run into this important change
of life!
So now, my dear parents, have I been brought to fix so near a day as next
Thursday; and this is Monday. O dear, it makes one out of breath almost
to think of it! This, though, was a great cut off; a whole week out of
ten days. I hope I am not too forward! I'm sure, if it obliges my dear
master, I am justified; for he deserves of me all things in my poor
power.
After this, he rode out on horseback, attended by Abraham, and did not
return till night. How by degrees things steal upon one! I thought even
this small absence tedious; and the more, as we expected him home to
dinner.--I wish I may not be too fond, and make him indifferent: But yet,
my dear father and mother, you were always fond of one another, and never
indifferent, let the world run as it would.
When he returned, he said, He had had a pleasant ride, and was led out to
a greater distance than he intended. At supper he told me, that he had a
great mind Mr. Williams should marry us; because, he said, it would shew
a thorough reconciliation on his part. But, said he, most generously, I
am apprehensive, from what passed between you, that the poor man will
take it hardly, and as a sort of insult, which I am not capable of. What
says my girl?--Do you think he would? I hope not, sir, said I: As to
what he may think, I can't answer; but as to any reason for his thoughts,
I can: For indeed, sir, said I, you have been already so generous, that
he cannot, I think, mistake your goodness.
He then spoke with some resentment of Lady Davers's behaviour, and I
asked, if any thing new had occurred? Yes, said he; I have had a letter
delivered me from her impertinent husband, professedly at her
instigation, that amounted to little less than a piece of insolent
bravery, on supposing I was about to marry you. I was so provoked, added
he, that after I had read it, I tore it in a hundred pieces, and
scattered them in the air, and bid the man who brought it let his master
know what I had done with his letter; and so would not permit him to
speak to me, as he would fain have done,--I think the fellow talked
somewhat of his lady coming hither; but she shall not set her foot within
my doors; and I suppose this treatment will hinder her.
I was much concerned at this: And he said, Had I a hundred sisters,
Pamela, their opposition should have no weight with me: and I did not
intend you should know it; but you can't but expect a little difficulty
from the pride of my sister, who have suffered so much from that of her
brother; and we are too nearly allied in mind, as well as blood, I find.
--But this is not her business: And if she would have made it so, she
should have done it with more decency. Little occasion had she to boast
of her birth, that knows not what belongs to good manners.
I said, I am very sorry, sir, to be the unhappy occasion of a
misunderstanding between so good a brother and so worthy a sister. Don't
say so, Pamela, because this is an unavoidable consequence of the happy
prospect before us. Only bear it well yourself, because she is my
sister; and leave it to me to make her sensible of her own rashness.
If, sir, said I, the most lowly behaviour, and humble deportment, and in
every thing shewing a dutiful regard to good Lady Davers, will have any
weight with her ladyship, assure yourself of all in my power to mollify
her. No, Pamela, returned he; don't imagine, when you are my wife, I
will suffer you to do any thing unworthy of that character. I know the
duty of a husband, and will protect your gentleness to the utmost, as
much as if you were a princess by descent.
You are inexpressibly good, sir, said I; but I am far from taking a
gentle disposition to shew a meanness of spirit: And this is a trial I
ought to expect; and well I may bear it, that have so many benefits to
set against it, which all spring from the same cause.
Well, said he, all the matter shall be this: We will talk of our marriage
as a thing to be done next week. I find I have spies upon me wherever I
go, and whatever I do: But now, I am on so laudable a pursuit, that I
value them not, nor those who employ them. I have already ordered my
servants to have no conference with any body for ten or twelve days to
come. And Mrs. Jewkes tells me every one names Thursday come se'nnight
for our nuptials. So I will get Mr. Peters, who wants to see my little
chapel, to assist Mr. Williams, under the notion of breakfasting with me
next Thursday morning, since you won't have it sooner; and there will
nobody else be wanting; and I will beg of Mr. Peters to keep it private,
even from his own family, for a few days. Has my girl any objection?
O, sir, answered I, you are so generous in all your ways, I can have no
objections!--But I hope Lady Davers and you will not proceed to
irreconcilable lengths; and when her ladyship comes to see you, and to
tarry with you, two or three weeks, as she used to do, I will keep close
up, so as not to disgust her with the sight of me.
Well, Pamela, said he, we will talk of that afterwards. You must do then
as I shall think fit: And I shall be able to judge what both you and I
ought to do. But what still aggravates the matter is, that she should
instigate the titled ape her husband to write to me, after she had so
little succeeded herself. I wish I had kept his letter, that I might
have shewn you how a man, that generally acts like a fool, can take upon
him to write like a lord. But I suppose it is of my sister's penning,
and he, poor man! is the humble copier.
Tuesday.
Mr. Thomas is returned from you, my dear father, with the good news of
your health, and your proceeding in your journey to my dear mother, where
I hope to hear soon you are arrived. My master has just now been making
me play upon the spinnet, and sing to it; and was pleased to commend me
for both. But he does so for every thing I do, so partial does his
goodness make him to me.
One o'clock.
We are just returned from an airing in the chariot; and I have been
delighted with his conversation upon English authors, poets particularly.
He entertained me also with a description of some of the curiosities he
had seen in Italy and France, when he made what the polite world call the
grand tour. He said he wanted to be at his other seat, for he knew not
well how to employ himself here, having not proposed to stay half the
time: And when I get there, Pamela, said he, you will hardly be troubled
with so much of my company, after we have settled; for I have a great
many things to adjust: And I must go to London; for I have accounts that
have run on longer than ordinary with my banker there. And I don't know,
added he, but the ensuing winter I may give you a little taste of the
diversions of the town for a month or so. I said, His will and pleasure
should determine mine; and I never would, as near as I could, have a
desire after those, or any other entertainments that were not in his own
choice.
He was pleased to say, I make no doubt but that I shall be very happy in
you; and hope you will be so in me: For, said he, I have no very enormous
vices to gratify; though I pretend not to the greatest purity, neither,
my girl. Sir, said I, if you can account to your own mind, I shall
always be easy in whatever you do. But our greatest happiness here, sir,
continued I, is of very short duration; and this life, at the longest, is
a poor transitory one; and I hope we shall be so happy as to be enabled
to look forward, with comfort, to another, where our pleasures will be
everlasting.
You say well, Pamela; and I shall, by degrees, be more habituated to this
way of thinking, as I more and more converse with you; but, at present,
you must not be over serious with me all at once: though I charge you
never forbear to mingle your sweet divinity in our conversation, whenever
it can be brought in a propos, and with such a cheerfulness of temper, as
shall not throw a gloomy cloud over our innocent enjoyments.
I was abashed at this, and silent, fearing I had offended: But he said,
If you attend rightly to what I said, I need not tell you again, Pamela,
not to be discouraged from suggesting to me, on every proper occasion,
the pious impulses of your own amiable mind. Sir, said I, you will be
always indulgent, I make no doubt, to my imperfections, so long as I mean
well.
My master made me dine with him, and would eat nothing but what I helped
him to; and my heart is, every hour, more and more enlarged with his
goodness and condescension. But still, what ails me, I wonder! A
strange sort of weight hangs upon my mind, as Thursday draws on, which
makes me often sigh involuntarily, and damps, at times, the pleasures of
my delightful prospects!--I hope this is not ominous; but only the
foolish weakness of an over-thoughtful mind, on an occasion the most
solemn and important of one's life, next to the last scene, which shuts
up all.
I could be very serious: But I will commit all my ways to that blessed
Providence, which hitherto has so wonderfully conducted me through real
evils to this hopeful situation.
I only fear, and surely I have great reason, that I shall be too unworthy
to hold the affections of so dear a gentleman!--God teach me humility,
and to know my own demerit! And this will be, next to his grace, my
surest guard, in the state of life to which, though most unworthy, I am
going to be exalted. And don't cease your prayers for me, my dear
parents; for, perhaps, this new condition may be subject to still worse
hazards than those I have escaped; as would be the case, were
conceitedness, vanity, and pride, to take hold of my frail heart; and if
I was, for my sins, to be left to my own conduct, a frail bark in a
tempestuous ocean, without ballast, or other pilot than my own
inconsiderate will. But my master said, on another occasion, That those
who doubted most, always erred least; and I hope I shall always doubt my
own strength, my own worthiness.
I will not trouble you with twenty sweet agreeable things that passed in
conversation with my excellent benefactor; nor with the civilities of M.
Colbrand, Mrs. Jewkes, and all the servants, who seem to be highly
pleased with me, and with my conduct to them: And as my master, hitherto,
finds no fault that I go too low, nor they that I carry it too high, I
hope I shall continue to have every body's good-will: But yet will I not
seek to gain any one's by little meannesses or debasements! but aim at an
uniform and regular conduct, willing to conceal involuntary errors, as I
would have my own forgiven; and not too industrious to discover real
ones, or to hide such, if any such should appear, as might encourage bad
hearts, or unclean hands, in material cases, where my master should
receive damage, or where the morals of the transgressors should appear
wilfully and habitually corrupt. In short, I will endeavour, as much as
I can, that good servants shall find in me a kind encourager; indifferent
ones be made better, by inspiring them with a laudable emulation; and bad
ones, if not too bad in nature, and quite irreclaimable, reformed by
kindness, expostulation, and even proper menaces, if necessary; but most
by a good example: All this if God pleases.
Wednesday.
Now, my dear parents, I have but this one day between me and the most
solemn rite that can be performed. My heart cannot yet shake off this
heavy weight. Sure I am ungrateful to the divine goodness, and the
favour of the best of benefactors!--Yet I hope I am not!--For, at times,
my mind is all exultation, with the prospect of what good to-morrow's
happy solemnity may possibly, by the leave of my generous master, put it
in my power to do. O how shall I find words to express, as I ought, my
thankfulness, for all the mercies before me!
Wednesday evening.
My dear master is all love and tenderness. He sees my weakness, and
generously pities and comforts me! I begged to be excused supper; but he
brought me down himself from my closet, and placed me by him, bidding
Abraham not wait. I could not eat, and yet I tried, for fear he should
be angry. He kindly forbore to hint any thing of the dreadful, yet
delightful to-morrow! and put, now and then, a little bit on my plate,
and guided it to my mouth. I was concerned to receive his goodness with
so ill a grace. Well, said he, if you won't eat with me, drink at least
with me: I drank two glasses by his over-persuasions, and said, I am
really ashamed of myself. Why, indeed, said he, my dear girl, I am not a
very dreadful enemy, I hope! I cannot bear any thing that is the least
concerning to you. Oh, sir! said I, all is owing to the sense I have of
my own unworthiness!--To be sure, it cannot be any thing else.
He rung for the things to be taken away; and then reached a chair, and
sat down by me, and put his kind arms about me, and said the most
generous and affecting things that ever dropt from the honey-flowing
mouth of love. All I have not time to repeat: some I will. And oh!
indulge your foolish daughter, who troubles you with her weak nonsense;
because what she has to say, is so affecting to her; and because, if she
went to bed, instead of scribbling, she could not sleep.
This sweet confusion and thoughtfulness in my beloved Pamela, said the
kind man, on the near approach of our happy union, when I hope all doubts
are cleared up, and nothing of dishonour is apprehended, shew me most
abundantly, what a wretch I was to attempt such purity with a worse
intention--No wonder, that one so virtuous should find herself deserted
of life itself on a violence so dreadful to her honour, and seek a refuge
in the shadow of death.--But now, my dearest Pamela, that you have seen a
purity on my side, as nearly imitating your own, as our sex can shew to
yours; and since I have, all the day long, suppressed even the least
intimation of the coming days, that I might not alarm your tender mind;
why all this concern, why all this affecting, yet sweet confusion? You
have a generous friend, my dear girl, in me; a protector now, not a
violator of your innocence: Why then, once more I ask, this strange
perplexity, this sweet confusion?
O sir, said I, and hid my face on his arm; expect not reason from a
foolish creature: You should have still indulged me in my closet: I am
ready to beat myself for this ungrateful return to your goodness. But I
know not what!--I am, to be sure, a silly creature! O had you but
suffered me to stay by myself above, I should have made myself ashamed of
so culpable a behaviour!--But goodness added to goodness every moment,
and the sense of my own unworthiness, quite overcome my spirits.
Now, said the generous man, will I, though reluctantly, make a proposal
to my sweet girl.--If I have been too pressing for the day: If another
day will still be more obliging: If you have fears you will not then
have; you shall say but the word, and I'll submit. Yes, my Pamela; for
though I have, these three days past, thought every tedious hour a day,
till Thursday comes, if you earnestly desire it, I will postpone it.
Say, my dear girl, freely say; but accept not my proposal, without great
reason, which yet I will not ask for.
Sir, said I, I can expect nothing but superlative goodness, I have been
so long used to it from you. This is a most generous instance of it; but
I fear--yes, I fear it will be too much the same thing, some days hence,
when the happy, yet, fool that I am! dreaded time, shall be equally near!
Kind, lovely charmer! said he, now do I see you are to be trusted with
power, from the generous use you make of it!--Not one offensive word or
look, from me, shall wound your nicest thoughts; but pray try to subdue
this over-scrupulousness, and unseasonable timidity. I persuade myself
you will if you can.
Indeed, sir, I will, said I; for I am quite ashamed of myself, with all
these lovely views before me!--The honours you do me, the kindness you
shew me!--I cannot forgive myself! For, oh! if I know the least of this
idle foolish heart of mine, it has not a misgiving thought of your
goodness; and I should abhor it, if it were capable of the least
affectation.--But, dear good sir, leave me a little to myself, and I will
take myself to a severer task than your goodness will let you do and I
will present my heart before you, a worthier offering to you, than at
present its wayward follies will let it seem to be.--But one thing is,
one has no kind friend of one's own sex, to communicate one's foolish
thoughts to, and to be strengthened by their comfortings! But I am left
to myself; and, oh! what a weak silly thing I am!
He kindly withdrew, to give me time to recollect myself; and in about
half an hour returned: and then, that he might not begin at once upon the
subject, and say, at the same time, something agreeable to me, said, Your
father and mother have had a great deal of talk by this time about you,
Pamela. O, sir, returned I, your goodness has made them quite happy!
But I can't help being concerned about Lady Davers.
He said, I am vexed I did not hear the footman out; because it runs in my
head he talked somewhat about her coming hither. She will meet with but
an indifferent reception from me, unless she comes resolved to behave
better than she writes.
Pray, sir, said I, be pleased to bear with my good lady, for two reasons.
What are they? said he. Why, first, sir, answered I, because she is your
sister; and, to be sure, may very well think, what all the world will,
that you have much undervalued yourself in making me happy. And next,
because, if her ladyship finds you out of temper with her, it will still
aggravate her more against me; and every time that any warm words you may
have between you, come into her mind, she will disdain me more.
Don't concern yourself about it, said he; for we have more proud ladies
than she in our other neighbourhood, who, perhaps, have still less reason
to be punctilious about their descent, and yet will form themselves upon
her example, and say, Why, his own sister will not forgive him, nor visit
him! And so, if I can subdue her spirit, which is more than her husband
ever could, or indeed any body else, it is a great point gained: And, if
she gives me reason, I'll try for it, I assure you.
Well, but, my dear girl, continued he, since the subject is so important,
may I not say one word about to-morrow?--Sir, said I, I hope I shall be
less a fool: I have talked as harshly to my heart, as Lady Davers can do;
and the naughty thing suggests to me a better, and more grateful
behaviour.
He smiled, and, kissing me, said, I took notice, Pamela, of what you
observed, that you have none of your own sex with you; I think it is a
little hard upon you; and I should have liked you should have had Miss
Darnford; but then her sister must have been asked; and I might as well
make a public wedding: which, you know, would have required clothes and
other preparations. Besides, added he, a foolish proposal was once made
me of that second sister, who has two or three thousand pounds more than
the other, left her by a godmother, and she can't help being a little
piqued; though, said he, it was a proposal they could not expect should
succeed; for there is nothing in her person nor mind; and her fortune, as
that must have been the only inducement, would not do by any means; and
so I discouraged it at once.
I am thinking, sir, said I, of another mortifying thing too; that were
you to marry a lady of birth and fortune answerable to your own, all the
eve to the day would be taken up in reading, signing, and sealing of
settlements, and portion, and such like: But now the poor Pamela brings
you nothing at all: And the very clothes she wears, so very low is she,
are entirely the effects of your bounty, and that of your good mother:
This makes me a little sad: For, alas! sir, I am so much oppressed by
your favours, and the sense of the obligations I lie under, that I cannot
look up with the confidence that I otherwise should, on this awful
occasion.
There is, my dear Pamela, said he, where the power is wanting, as much
generosity in the will as in the action. To all that know your story,
and your merit, it will appear that I cannot recompense you for what I
have made you suffer. You have had too many hard struggles and
exercises; and have nobly overcome: and who shall grudge you the reward
of the hard-bought victory?--This affair is so much the act of my own
will, that I glory in being capable of distinguishing so much excellence;
and my fortune is the more pleasurable to me, as it gives me hope, that I
may make you some part of satisfaction for what you have undergone.
This, sir, said I, is all goodness, unmerited on my side; and makes my
obligations the greater. I can only wish for more worthiness.--But how
poor is it to offer nothing but words for such generous deeds!--And to
say, I wish!--For what is a wish, but the acknowledged want of power to
oblige, and a demonstration of one's poverty in every thing but will?
And that, my dear girl, said he, is every thing: 'Tis all I want: 'Tis
all that Heaven itself requires of us: But no more of these little
doubts, though they are the natural impulses of a generous and grateful
heart: I want not to be employed in settlements. Those are for such to
regard, who make convenience and fortune the prime considerations. I
have possessions ample enough for us both; and you deserve to share them
with me; and you shall do it, with as little reserve, as if you had
brought me what the world reckons an equivalent: for, as to my own
opinion, you bring me what is infinitely more valuable, an experienced
truth, a well-tried virtue, and a wit and behaviour more than equal to
the station you will be placed in: To say nothing of this sweet person,
that itself might captivate a monarch; and of the meekness of temper, and
sweetness of disposition, which make you superior to all the women I ever
saw.
Thus kind and soothing, and honourably affectionate, was the dear
gentleman, to the unworthy, doubting, yet assured Pamela; and thus
patiently did he indulge, and generously pardon, my impertinent weakness.
He offered to go himself to Lady Jones, in the morning, and reveal the
matter to her, and desire her secrecy and presence; but I said, That
would disoblige the young Ladies Darnford. No, sir, said I, I will cast
myself upon your generous kindness; for why should I fear the kind
protector of my weakness, and the guide and director of my future steps?
You cannot, said he, forgive Mrs. Jewkes; for she must know it; and
suffer her to be with you? Yes, sir, said I, I can. She is very civil
to me now: and her former wickedness I will forgive, for the sake of the
happy fruits that have attended it; and because you mention her.
Well, said he, I will call her in, if you please.--As you please, sir,
said I. And he rung for her; and when she came in, he said, Mrs. Jewkes,
I am going to entrust you with a secret. Sir, answered she, I will be
sure to keep it as such. Why, said he, we intend to-morrow, privately as
possible, for our wedding-day; and Mr. Peters and Mr. Williams are to be
here, as to breakfast with me, and to shew Mr. Peters my little chapel.
As soon as the ceremony is over, we will take a little airing in the
chariot, as we have done at other times; and so it will not be wondered
that we are dressed. And the two parsons have promised secrecy, and will
go home. I believe you can't well avoid letting one of the maids into
the secret; but that I'll leave to you.
Sir, replied she, we all concluded it would be in a few days! and I doubt
it won't be long a secret. No, said he, I don't desire it should; but
you know we are not provided for a public wedding, and I shall declare it
when we go to Bedfordshire, which won't be long. But the men, who lie in
the outhouses, need not know it; for, by some means or other, my sister
Davers knows all that passes.
Do you know, sir, said she, that her ladyship intends to be down here
with you in a few days? Her servant told me so, who brought you the
letter you were angry at.
I hope, said he, we shall be set out for t'other house first; and shall
be pleased she loses her labour. Sir, continued she, her ladyship,
proposes to be here time enough to hinder your nuptials, which she takes,
as we did, will be the latter end of next week. Well, said he, let her
come: but yet I desire not to see her.
Mrs. Jewkes said to me, Give me leave, madam, to wish you all manner of
happiness: But I am afraid I have too well obeyed his honour, to be
forgiven by you. Indeed, Mrs. Jewkes, returned I, you will be more your
own enemy than I will be. I will look all forward: and shall not
presume, so much as by a whisper, to set my good master against any one
he pleases to approve of: And as to his old servants, I shall always
value them, and never offer to dictate to his choice, or influence it by
my own caprices.
Mrs. Jewkes, said my master, you find you have no cause to apprehend any
thing. My Pamela is very placable; and as we have both been sinners
together, we must both be included in one act of grace.
Such an example of condescension, as I have before me, Mrs. Jewkes, said
I, may make you very easy; for I must be highly unworthy, if I did not
forego all my little resentments, if I had any, for the sake of so much
goodness to myself.
You are very kind, madam, said she; and you may depend upon it, I will
atone for all my faults, by my future duty and respect to you, as well as
to my master.
That's well said on both sides, said he: but, Mrs. Jewkes, to assure you,
that my good girl here has no malice, she chooses you to attend her in
the morning at the ceremony, and you must keep up her spirits.--I shall,
replied she, be very proud of the honour: But I cannot, madam, but wonder
to see you so very low-spirited, as you have been these two or three days
past, with so much happiness before you.
Why, Mrs. Jewkes, answered I, there can be but one reason given; and that
is, that I am a sad fool!--But, indeed, I am not ungrateful neither; nor
would I put on a foolish affectation: But my heart, at times, sinks
within me; I know not why, except at my own unworthiness, and because the
honour done me is too high for me to support myself under, as I should
do. It is an honour, Mrs. Jewkes, added I, I was not born to; and no
wonder, then, I behave so awkwardly. She made me a fine compliment upon
it, and withdrew, repeating her promises of care, secrecy, etc.
He parted from me with very great tenderness; and I came up and set to
writing, to amuse my thoughts, and wrote thus far. And Mrs. Jewkes being
come up, and it being past twelve, I will go to bed; but not one wink, I
fear, shall I get this night.--I could beat myself for anger. Sure there
is nothing ominous in this strange folly!--But I suppose all young
maidens are the same, so near so great a change of condition, though they
carry it off more discreetly than I.
Thursday, six o'clock in the morning.
I might as well have not gone to bed last night, for what sleep I had.
Mrs. Jewkes often was talking to me, and said several things that would
have been well enough from any body else of our sex; but the poor woman
has so little purity of heart, that it is all say from her, and goes no
farther than the ear.
I fancy my master has not slept much neither; for I heard him up, and
walking about his chamber, ever since break of day. To be sure, good
gentleman! he must have some concern, as well as I; for here he is going
to marry a poor foolish unworthy girl, brought up on the charity, as one
may say, (at least bounty,) of his worthy family! And this foolish girl
must be, to all intents and purposes, after twelve o'clock this day, as
much his wife, as if he were to marry a duchess!--And here he must stand
the shocks of common reflection! The great Mr. B---- has done finely! he
has married his poor servant wench! will some say. The ridicule and rude
jests of his equals, and companions too, he must stand: And the disdain
of his relations, and indignation of Lady Davers, his lofty sister! Dear
good gentleman! he will have enough to do, to be sure! O how shall I
merit all these things at his hand! I can only do the best I can; and
pray to God to reward him; and resolve to love him with a pure heart, and
serve him with a sincere obedience. I hope the dear gentleman will
continue to love me for this; for, alas! I have nothing else to offer!
But, as I can hardly expect so great a blessing, if I can be secure from
his contempt, I shall not be unfortunate; and must bear his indifference,
if his rich friends should inspire him with it, and proceed with doing my
duty with cheerfulness.
Half an hour past eight o'clock.
My good dear master, my kind friend, my generous benefactor, my worthy
protector, and, oh! all the good words in one, my affectionate husband,
that is soon to be--(be curbed in, my proud heart, know thy self, and be
conscious of thy unworthiness!)--has just left me, with the kindest,
tenderest expressions, and gentlest behaviour, that ever blest a happy
maiden. He approached me with a sort of reined-in rapture. My Pamela!
said he, May I just ask after your employment? Don't let me chide my
dear girl this day, however. The two parsons will be here to breakfast
with us at nine; and yet you are not a bit dressed! Why this absence of
mind, and sweet irresolution?
Why, indeed, sir, said I, I will set about a reformation this instant.
He saw the common-prayer book lying in the window. I hope, said he, my
lovely maiden has been conning the lesson she is by-and-by to repeat.
Have you not, Pamela? and clasped his arms about me, and kissed me.
Indeed, sir, said I, I have been reading over the solemn service.--And
what thinks my fairest (for so he called me) of it?--O sir, 'tis very
awful, and makes one shudder, to reflect upon it!--No wonder, said he, it
should affect my sweet Pamela: I have been looking into it this morning,
and I can't say but I think it a solemn, but very suitable service. But
this I tell my dear love, continued he, and again clasped me to him,
there is not a tittle in it that I cannot joyfully subscribe to: And
that, my dear Pamela, should make you easy, and join cheerfully in it
with me. I kissed his dear hand: O my generous, kind protector, said I,
how gracious is it to confirm thus the doubting mind of your poor
servant! which apprehends nothing so much as her own unworthiness of the
honour and blessing that await her!--He was pleased to say, I know well,
my dearest creature, that, according to the liberties we people of
fortune generally give ourselves, I have promised a great deal, when I
say so. But I would not have said it, if, deliberately, I could not with
all my heart. So banish from your mind all doubt and uneasiness; let a
generous confidence in me take place; and let me see it does, by your
cheerfulness in this day's solemn business; and then I will love you for
ever!
May God Almighty, sir, said I, reward all your goodness to me!--That is
all I can say. But, oh! how kind it is in you, to supply the want of the
presence and comfortings of a dear mother, of a loving sister, or of the
kind companions of my own sex, which most maidens have, to soothe their
anxieties on the so near approach of so awful a solemnity!--You, sir, are
all these tender relations in one to me! Your condescensions and
kindness shall, if possible, embolden me to look up to you without that
sweet terror, that must confound poor bashful maidens, on such an
occasion, when they are surrendered up to a more doubtful happiness, and
to half-strange men, whose good faith, and good usage of them, must be
less experienced, and is all involved in the dark bosom of futurity, and
only to be proved by the event.
This, my dear Pamela, said he, is most kindly said! It shews me that you
enter gratefully into my intention. For I would, by my conduct, supply
all these dear relations to you; and I voluntarily promise, from my
heart, to you, what I think I could not, with such assured resolutions of
performance, to the highest-born lady in the kingdom. For let me tell my
sweet girl, that, after having been long tossed by the boisterous winds
of a more culpable passion, I have now conquered it, and am not so much
the victim of your beauty, all charming as you are, as of your virtue;
and therefore may more boldly promise for myself, having so stable a
foundation for my affection; which, should this outward beauty fail, will
increase with your virtue, and shine forth the brighter, as that is more
illustriously displayed by the augmented opportunities which the
condition you are now entering into will afford you.--O the dear charming
man! how nobly, how encouragingly kind, was all this!
I could not suitably express myself: And he said, I see my girl is at a
loss for words! I doubt not your kind acceptance of my declarations.
And when I have acted too much the part of a libertine formerly, for you
to look back without some anxiety, I ought not, being now happily
convicted, to say less.--But why loses my girl her time? I will now only
add, that I hope for many happy years to make good, by my conduct, what
so willingly flows from my lips.
He kissed me again, and said, But, whatever you do, Pamela, be cheerful;
for else, may be, of the small company we shall have, some one, not
knowing how to account for your too nice modesty, will think there is
some other person in the world, whose addresses would be still more
agreeable to you.
This he said with an air of sweetness and pleasantry; but it alarmed me
exceedingly, and made me resolve to appear as calm and cheerful as
possible. For this was, indeed, a most affecting expression, and enough
to make me, if any thing can, behave as I ought, and to force my idle
fears to give way to hopes so much better grounded.--And I began almost,
on this occasion, to wish Mr. Williams were not to marry me, lest I
should behave like a fool; and so be liable to an imputation, which I
should be most unworthy, if I deserved.
So I set about dressing me instantly; and he sent Mrs. Jewkes to assist
me. But I am never long a dressing, when I set about it; and my master
has now given me a hint, that will, for half an hour more, at least, keep
my spirits in a brisk circulation. Yet it concerns me a little too, lest
he should have any the least shadow of a doubt, that I am not, mind and
person, entirely his.
And so being now ready, and not called to breakfast, I sat down and wrote
thus far.
I might have mentioned, that I dressed myself in a rich white satin
night-gown, that had been my good lady's, and my best head-clothes, etc.
I have got such a knack of writing, that when I am by myself, I cannot
sit without a pen in my hand.--But I am now called to breakfast. I
suppose the gentlemen are come.--Now, courage, Pamela! Remember thou art
upon thy good behaviour!--Fie upon it! my heart begins to flutter again!
--Foolish heart! be still! Never, sure, was any maiden's perverse heart
under so little command as mine!--It gave itself away, at first, without
my leave; it has been, for weeks, pressing me with its wishes; and yet
now, when it should be happy itself, and make me so, it is throb, throb,
throb, like a little fool! and filling me with such unseasonable
misgivings, as abate the rising comforts of all my better prospects.
Thursday, near three o'clock.
I thought I should have found no time nor heart to write again this day.
But here are three gentlemen come, unexpectedly, to dine with my master;
and so I shall not appear. He has done all he could, civilly, to send
them away; but they will stay, though I believe he had rather they would
not. And so I have nothing to do but to write till I go to dinner myself
with Mrs. Jewkes: for my master was not prepared for this company; and it
will be a little latish to-day. So I will begin with my happy story
where I left off.
When I came down to breakfast, Mr. Peters and Mr. Williams were both
there. And as soon as my master heard me coming down, he met me at the
door, and led me in with great tenderness. He had kindly spoken to them,
as he told me afterwards, to mention no more of the matter to me, than
needs must. I paid my respects to them, I believe a little awkwardly,
and was almost out of breath: but said, I had come down a little too
fast.
When Abraham came in to wait, my master said, (that the servants should
not mistrust,) 'Tis well, gentlemen, you came as you did; for my good
girl and I were going to take an airing till dinner-time. I hope you'll
stay and dine with me. Sir, said Mr. Peters, we won't hinder your
airing. I only came, having a little time upon my hands, to see your
chapel; but must be at home at dinner; and Mr. Williams will dine with
me. Well then, said my master, we will pursue our intention, and ride
out for an hour or two, as soon as I have shewn Mr. Peters my little
chapel. Will you, Pamela, after breakfast, walk with us to it? If, if,
said I, and had like to have stammered, foolish that I was! if you
please, sir. I could look none of them in the face. Abraham looking at
me; Why, child, said my master, you have hardly recovered your fright
yet: how came your foot to slip? 'Tis well you did not hurt yourself.
Said Mr. Peters, improving the hint, You ha'n't sprained your ancle,
madam, I hope. No, sir, said I, I believe not; but 'tis a little painful
to me. And so it was; for I meant my foolishness! Abraham, said my
master, bid Robin put the horses to the coach, instead of the chariot;
and if these gentlemen will go, we can set them down. No matter, sir,
said Mr. Peters: I had as lieve walk, if Mr. Williams chooses it. Well
then, said my master, let it be the chariot, as I told him.
I could eat nothing, though I attempted it; and my hand shook so, I
spilled some of my chocolate, and so put it down again; and they were all
very good, and looked another way. My master said, when Abraham was out,
I have a quite plain ring here, Mr. Peters: And I hope the ceremony will
dignify the ring; and that I shall give my girl reason to think it, for
that cause, the most valuable one that can be presented her. Mr. Peters
said, He was sure I should value it more than the richest diamond in the
world.
I had bid Mrs. Jewkes not to dress herself, lest she should give cause of
mistrust; and she took my advice.
When breakfast was over, my master said, before Abraham, Well, gentlemen,
we will step into the chapel; and you must give me your advice, as to the
alterations I design. I am in the more haste, because the survey you are
going to take of it, for the alterations, will take up a little time; and
we shall have but a small space between that and dinner, for the little
tour I design to make.--Pamela, you'll give us your opinion, won't you?
Yes, sir, said I; I'll come after you.
So they went out, and I sat down in the chair again, and fanned myself: I
am sick at heart, said I, I think, Mrs. Jewkes. Said she, Shall I fetch
you a little cordial?--No, said I, I am a sad fool! I want spirits,
that's all. She took her smelling-bottle, and would have given it me:
but I said, Keep it in your hand; may be I shall want it: but I hope not.
She gave me very good words, and begged me to go: And I got up; but my
knees beat so against one another, I was forced to sit down again. But,
at last, I held by her arm, and passing by Abraham, I said, This ugly
slip, coming down stairs, has made me limp, though; so I must hold by
you, Mrs. Jewkes. Do you know what alterations there are to be in the
chapel, that we must all give our opinions of them?
Nan, she told me, was let into the secret; and she had ordered her to
stay at the chapel door, to see that nobody came in. My dear master came
to me, at entering the chapel, and took my hand, and led me up to the
altar. Remember, my dear girl, whispered he, and be cheerful. I am, I
will, sir, said I; but I hardly knew what I said; and so you may believe,
when I said to Mrs. Jewkes, Don't leave me; pray, Mrs. Jewkes, don't
leave me; as if I had all confidence in her, and none where it was most
due. So she kept close to me. God forgive me! but I never was so absent
in my life, as at first; even till Mr. Williams had gone on in the
service, so far as to the awful words about requiring us, as we should
answer at the dreadful day of judgment; and then the solemn words, and my
master's whispering, Mind this, my dear, made me start. Said he, still
whispering, Know you any impediment? I blushed, and said softly, None,
sir, but my great unworthiness.
Then followed the sweet words, Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded
wife? etc. and I began to take heart a little, when my dearest master
answered, audibly, to this question, I will. But I could only make a
courtesy, when they asked me; though, I am sure, my heart was readier
than my speech, and answered to every article of obey, serve, love, and
honour.
Mr. Peters gave me away; and I said, after Mr. Williams, as well as I
could, as my dear master did with a much better grace, the words of
betrothment; and the ceremony of the ring passing next, I received the
dear favour at his worthy hands with a most grateful heart; and he was
pleased to say afterwards in the chariot, that when he had done saying,
With this ring I thee wed, etc. I made a courtesy, and said, Thank you,
sir. May be I did; for I am sure it was a most grateful part of the
service, and my heart was overwhelmed with his goodness, and the tender
grace wherewith he performed it. I was very glad, that the next part was
the prayer, and kneeling; for I trembled so, I could hardly stand,
betwixt fear and joy.
The joining of our hands afterwards, the declaration of our being married
to the few witnesses present; for, reckoning Nan, whose curiosity would
not let her stay at the door, there were but Mr. Peters, Mrs. Jewkes, and
she; the blessing, the psalm, and the subsequent prayers, and the
concluding exhortation; were so many beautiful, welcome, and lovely parts
of this divine office, that my heart began to be delighted with them; and
my spirits to be a little freer.
And thus, my dearest, dear parents, is your happy, happy, thrice happy
Pamela, at last married; and to whom?--Why, to her beloved, gracious
master! the lord of her wishes! And thus the dear, once naughty assailer
of her innocence, by a blessed turn of Providence, is become the kind,
the generous protector and rewarder of it. God be evermore blessed and
praised! and make me not wholly unworthy of such a transcendent honour!--
And bless and reward the dear, dear, good gentleman, who has thus exalted
his unworthy servant, and given her a place, which the greatest ladies
would think themselves happy in!
My master saluted me most ardently, and said, God give you, my dear love,
as much joy on this occasion, as I have! And he presented me to Mr.
Peters, who saluted me; and said, You may excuse me, dear madam, for I
gave you away, and you are my daughter. And Mr. Williams modestly
withdrawing a little way; Mr. Williams, said my master, pray accept my
thanks, and wish your sister joy. So he saluted me too; and said, Most
heartily, madam, I do. And I will say, that to see so much innocence and
virtue so eminently rewarded, is one of the greatest pleasures I have
ever known. This my master took very kindly.
Mrs. Jewkes would have kissed my hand at the chapel-door; but I put my
arms about her neck, for I had got a new recruit of spirits just then;
and kissed her, and said, Thank you, Mrs. Jewkes, for accompanying me. I
have behaved sadly. No, madam, said she, pretty well, pretty well!
Mr. Peters walked out with me; and Mr. Williams and my master came out
after us, talking together.
Mr. Peters, when we came into the parlour, said, I once more, madam, must
wish you joy on this happy occasion. I wish every day may add to your
comforts; and may you very long rejoice in one another! for you are the
loveliest couple I ever saw joined. I told him, I was highly obliged to
his kind opinion, and good wishes; and hoped my future conduct would not
make me unworthy of them.
My good benefactor came in with Mr. Williams: So, my dear life, said he,
how do you do? A little more composed, I hope. Well, you see this is
not so dreadful an affair as you apprehended.
Sir, said Mr. Peters, very kindly, it is a very solemn circumstance; and
I love to see it so reverently and awfully entered upon. It is a most
excellent sign; for the most thoughtful beginnings make the most prudent
proceedings.
Mrs. Jewkes, of her own accord, came in with a large silver tumbler,
filled with sack, and a toast, and nutmeg, and sugar; and my master said,
That's well thought of, Mrs. Jewkes; for we have made but sorry
breakfasting. And he would make me, take some of the toast; as they all
did, and drank pretty heartily: and I drank a little, and it cheered my
heart, I thought, for an hour after.
My master took a fine diamond ring from his finger, and presented it to
Mr. Peters, who received it very kindly. And to Mr. Williams he said, My
old acquaintance, I have reserved for you, against a variety of
solicitations, the living I always designed for you; and I beg you'll
prepare to take possession of it; and as the doing it may be attended
with some expense, pray accept of this towards it; and so he gave him (as
he told me afterwards it was) a bank note of 50l.
So did this generous good gentleman bless us all, and me in particular;
for whose sake he was as bounteous as if he had married one of the
noblest fortunes.
So he took his leave of the gentlemen, recommending secrecy again, for a
few days, and they left him; and none of the servants suspected any
thing, as Mrs. Jewkes believes. And then I threw myself at his feet,
blessed God, and blessed him for his goodness; and he overwhelmed me with
kindness, calling me his sweet bride, and twenty lovely epithets, that
swell my grateful heart beyond the power of utterance.
He afterwards led me to the chariot; and we took a delightful tour round
the neighbouring villages; and he did all he could to dissipate those
still perverse anxieties that dwell upon my mind, and, do what I can,
spread too thoughtful an air, as he tells me, over my countenance.
We came home again by half an hour after one; and he was pleasing himself
with thinking, not to be an hour out of my company this blessed day, that
(as he was so good as to say) he might inspire me with a familiarity that
should improve my confidence in him, when he was told, that a footman of
Sir Charles Hargrave had been here, to let him know, that his master, and
two other gentlemen, were on the road to take a dinner with him, in their
way to Nottingham.
He was heartily vexed at this, and said to me, He should have been glad
of their companies at any other time; but that it was a barbarous
intrusion now; and he wished they had been told he would not be at home
at dinner: And besides, said he, they are horrid drinkers; and I shan't
be able to get them away to-night, perhaps; for they have nothing to do,
but to travel round the country, and beat up their friends' quarters all
the way; and it is all one to them, whether they stay a night or a month
at a place. But, added he, I'll find some way, if I can, to turn them
off, after dinner.--Confound them, said he, in a violent pet, that they
should come this day, of all the days in the year!
We had hardly alighted, and got in, before they came: Three mad rakes
they seemed to be, as I looked through the window, setting up a hunting
note, as soon as they came to the gate, that made the court-yard echo
again; and smacking their whips in concert.
So I went up to my chamber, and saw (what made my heart throb) Mrs.
Jewkes's officious pains to put the room in order for a guest, that,
however welcome, as now my duty teaches me to say, is yet dreadful to me
to think of. So I took refuge in my closet, and had recourse to pen and
ink, for my amusement, and to divert my anxiety of mind.--If one's heart
is so sad, and one's apprehension so great, where one so extremely loves,
and is so extremely obliged; what must be the case of those poor maidens,
who are forced, for sordid views, by their tyrannical parents or
guardians, to marry the man they almost hate, and, perhaps, to the loss
of the man they most love! O that is a sad thing, indeed!--And what have
not such cruel parents to answer for! And what do not such poor innocent
victims suffer!--But, blessed be God, this lot is far from being mine!
My good master (for I cannot yet have the presumption to call him by a
more tender name) came up to me, and said, Well, I just come to ask my
dear bride (O the charming, charming word!) how she does? I see you are
writing, my dear, said he. These confounded rakes are half mad, I think,
and will make me so! However, said he, I have ordered my chariot to be
got ready, as if I was under an engagement five miles off, and will set
them out of the house, if possible; and then ride round, and come back,
as soon as I can get rid of them. I find, said he, Lady Davers is full
of our affairs. She has taken great freedoms with me before Sir Charles;
and they have all been at me, without mercy; and I was forced to be very
serious with them, or else they would have come up to have seen you,
since I would not call you down.--He kissed me, and said, I shall quarrel
with them, if I can't get them away; for I have lost two or three
precious hours with my soul's delight: And so he went down.
Mrs. Jewkes asked me to walk down to dinner in the little parlour. I
went down, and she was so complaisant as to offer to wait upon me at
table; and would not be persuaded, without difficulty, to sit down with
me. But I insisted she should: For, said I, it would be very
extraordinary, if one should so soon go into such distance, Mrs. Jewkes.
--Whatever my new station may require of me, added I, I hope I shall
always conduct myself in such a manner, that pride and insolence shall
bear no part in my character.
You are very good, madam, said she; but I will always know my duty to my
master's lady.--Why then, replied I, if I must take state upon me so
early, Mrs. Jewkes, let me exact from you what you call your duty; and
sit down with me when I desire you.
This prevailed upon her; and I made shift to get down a bit of apple-pye,
and a little custard; but that was all.
My good master came in again, and said, Well, thank my stars! these rakes
are going now; but I must set out with them, and I choose my chariot; for
if I took horse, I should have difficulty to part with them; for they are
like a snowball, and intend to gather company as they go, to make a merry
tour of it for some days together.
We both got up, when he came in: Fie, Pamela! said he; why this ceremony
now?--Sit still, Mrs. Jewkes.--Nay, sir, said she, I was loath to sit
down; but my lady would have me.--She is very right, Mrs. Jewkes, said my
master, and tapped me on the cheek; for we are but yet half married; and
so she is not above half your lady yet!--Don't look so down, don't be so
silent, my dearest, said he; why, you hardly spoke twenty words to me all
the time we were out together. Something I will allow for your bashful
sweetness; but not too much.--Mrs. Jewkes, have you no pleasant tales to
tell my Pamela, to make her smile, till I return?--Yes, sir, said she, I
could tell twenty pleasant stories; but my lady is too nice to hear them;
and yet, I hope, I should not be shocking neither. Ah! poor woman!
thought I; thy chastest stories will make a modest person blush, if I
know thee! and I desire to hear none of them.
My master said, Tell her one of the shortest you have, in my hearing.
Why, sir, said she, I knew a bashful young lady, as madam may be, married
to--Dear Mrs. Jewkes, interrupted I, no more of your story, I beseech
you; I don't like the beginning of it. Go on, Mrs. Jewkes, said my
master. No, pray, sir, don't require it, said I, pray don't. Well, said
he, then we'll have it another time, Mrs. Jewkes.
Abraham coming in to tell him the gentlemen were going, and that his
chariot was ready; I am glad of that, said he; and went to them, and set
out with them.
I took a turn in the garden with Mrs. Jewkes, after they were gone: And
having walked a while, I said, I should be glad of her company down the
elm-walk, to meet the chariot: For, O! I know not how to look up at him,
when he is with me; nor how to bear his absence, when I have reason to
expect him: What a strange contradiction there is in this unaccountable
passion.
What a different aspect every thing in and about this house bears now, to
my thinking, to what it once had! The garden, the pond, the alcove, the
elm-walk. But, oh! my prison is become my palace; and no wonder every
thing wears another face!
We sat down upon the broad stile, leading towards the road; and Mrs.
Jewkes was quite another person to me, to what she was the last time I
sat there.
At last my best beloved returned, and alighted there. What, my Pamela!
(and Mrs. Jewkes then left me,) What (said he, and kissed me) brings you
this way? I hope to meet me.--Yes, sir, said I. That's kind, indeed,
said he; but why that averted eye?--that downcast countenance, as if you
was afraid of me? You must not think so, sir, said I. Revive my heart
then, said he, with a more cheerful aspect; and let that over-anxious
solicitude, which appears in the most charming face in the world, be
chased from it.--Have you, my dear girl any fears that I can dissipate;
any doubts that I can obviate; any hopes that I can encourage; any
request that I can gratify?--Speak, my dear Pamela; and if I have power,
but speak, and to purchase one smile, it shall be done!
I cannot, sir, said I, have any fears, any doubts, but that I shall never
be able to deserve all your goodness. I have no hopes, but that my
future conduct may be agreeable to you, and my determined duty well
accepted. Nor have I any request to make, but that you will forgive all
my imperfections and, among the rest, this foolish weakness, that makes
me seem to you, after all the generous things that have passed, to want
this further condescension, and these kind assurances. But indeed, sir,
I am oppressed by your bounty; my spirits sink under the weight of it;
and the oppression is still the greater, as I see not how, possibly, in
my whole future life, by all I can do, to merit the least of your
favours.
I know your grateful heart, said he; but remember, my dear, what the
lawyers tell us, That marriage is the highest consideration which the law
knows. And this, my sweet bride, has made you mine, and me yours; and
you have the best claim in the world to share my fortune with me. But,
set that consideration aside, what is the obligation you have to me?
Your mind is pure as that of an angel, and as much transcends mine. Your
wit, and your judgment, to make you no compliment, are more than equal to
mine: You have all the graces that education can give a woman, improved
by a genius which makes those graces natural to you. You have a
sweetness of temper, and a noble sincerity, beyond all comparison; and in
the beauty of your person, you excel all the ladies I ever saw. Where
then, my dearest, is the obligation, if not on my side to you?--But, to
avoid these comparisons, let us talk of nothing henceforth but equality;
although, if the riches of your mind, and your unblemished virtue, be set
against my fortune, (which is but an accidental good, as I may call it,
and all I have to boast of,) the condescension will be yours; and I shall
not think I can possibly deserve you, till, after your sweet example, my
future life shall become nearly as blameless as yours.
O, sir, said I, what comfort do you give me, that, instead of my being in
danger of being ensnared by the high condition to which your goodness has
exalted me, you make me hope, that I shall be confirmed and approved by
you; and that we may have a prospect of perpetuating each other's
happiness, till time shall be no more!--But, sir, I will not, as you once
cautioned me, be too serious. I will resolve, with these sweet
encouragements, to be, in every thing, what you would have me be: And I
hope I shall, more and more, shew you that I have no will but yours. He
kissed me very tenderly, and thanked me for this kind assurance, as he
called it.
And so we entered the house together.
Eight o'clock at night.
Now these sweet assurances, my dear father and mother, you will say, must
be very consolatory to me; and being voluntary on his side, were all that
could be wished for on mine; and I was resolved, if possible, to subdue
my idle fears and apprehensions.
Ten o'clock at night.
As we sat at supper, he was generously kind to me, as well in his
actions, as expressions. He took notice, in the most delicate manner, of
my endeavour to conquer my foibles; and said, I see, with pleasure, my
dear girl strives to comport herself in a manner suitable to my wishes: I
see, even through the sweet tender struggles of your over-nice modesty,
how much I owe to your intentions of obliging me. As I have once told
you, that I am the conquest more of your virtue than your beauty; so not
one alarming word or look shall my beloved Pamela hear or see, to give
her reason to suspect the truth of what I aver. You may the rather
believe me, continued he, as you may see the pain I have to behold any
thing that concerns you, even though your concern be causeless. And yet
I will indulge my dear girl's bashful weakness so far, as to own, that so
pure a mind may suffer from apprehension, on so important a change as
this; and I can therefore be only displeased with such part of your
conduct, as may make your sufferings greater than my own; when I am
resolved, through every stage of my future life, in all events, to study
to make them less.
After supper, of which, with all his sweet persuasions, I could hardly
taste, he made me drink two glasses of champaign, and, afterwards, a
glass of sack; which he kindly forced upon me, by naming your healths:
and as the time of retiring drew on, he took notice, but in a very
delicate manner, how my colour went and came, and how foolishly I
trembled. Nobody, surely, in such delightful circumstances, ever behaved
so silly!--And he said, My dearest girl, I fear you have had too much of
my company for so many hours together; and would better recollect
yourself, if you retired for half an hour to your closet.
I wished for this, but durst not say so much, lest he should be angry;
for, as the hours grew on, I found my apprehensions increase, and my
silly heart was the unquieter, every time I could lift up my eyes to his
dear face; so sweetly terrible did he appear to my apprehensions. I
said, You are all goodness, dear sir; and I boldly kissed his dear hand,
and pressed it to my lips with both mine. And saluting me very
fervently, he gave me his hand, seeing me hardly able to stand, and led
me to my chamber-door, and then most generously withdrew.
I went to my closet; and the first thing I did, on my knees, again
thanked God for the blessing of the day; and besought his divine goodness
to conduct my future life in such a manner, as should make me a happy
instrument of his glory. After this, being now left to my own
recollection, I grew a little more assured and lightsome; and the pen and
paper being before me, I amused myself with writing thus far.
Eleven o'clock Thursday night.
Mrs. Jewkes being come up with a message, desiring to know, whether her
master may attend upon me in my closet; and hinting to me, that, however,
she believed he did not expect to find me there; I have sent word, that I
beg he would indulge me one quarter of an hour.--So, committing myself to
the mercies of the Almighty, who has led me through so many strange
scenes of terror and affrightment, to this happy, yet awful moment, I
will wish you, my dear parents, a good night; and though you will not see
this in time, yet I know I have your hourly prayers, and therefore cannot
fail of them now. So, good night, good night! God bless you, and God
bless me! Amen, amen, if it be his blessed will, subscribes
Your ever-dutiful DAUGHTER!
Friday evening.
O how this dear excellent man indulges me in every thing! Every hour he
makes me happier, by his sweet condescension, than the former. He pities
my weakness of mind, allows for all my little foibles, endeavours to
dissipate my fears; his words are so pure, his ideas so chaste, and his
whole behaviour so sweetly decent, that never, surely, was so happy a
creature as your Pamela! I never could have hoped such a husband could
have fallen to my lot: and much less, that a gentleman, who had allowed
himself in attempts, that now I will endeavour to forget for ever, should
have behaved with so very delicate and unexceptionable a demeanour. No
light frothy jests drop from his lips; no alarming railleries; no
offensive expressions, nor insulting airs, reproach or wound the ears of
your happy, thrice happy daughter. In short, he says every thing that
may embolden me to look up, with pleasure, upon the generous author of my
happiness.
At breakfast, when I knew not how to see him, he emboldened me by talking
of you, my dear parents; a subject, he generously knew, I could talk of:
and gave me assurances, that he would make you both happy. He said, He
would have me send you a letter to acquaint you with my nuptials; and, as
he could make business that way, Thomas should carry it purposely, as to-
morrow. Nor will I, said he, my dear Pamela, desire to see your
writings, because I told you I would not; for now I will, in every thing,
religiously keep my word with my dear spouse: (O the dear delightful
word!) and you may send all your papers to them, from those they have,
down to this happy moment; only let me beg they will preserve them, and
let me have them when they have read them; as also those I have not seen;
which, however, I desire not to see till then; but then shall take it for
a favour, if you will grant it.
It will be my pleasure, as well as my duty, sir, said I, to obey you in
every thing: and I will write up to the conclusion of this day, that they
may see how happy you have made me.
I know you will both join with me to bless God for his wonderful mercies
and goodness to you, as well as to me: For he was pleased to ask me
particularly after your circumstances, and said, He had taken notice,
that I had hinted, in some of my first letters, that you owed money in
the world; and he gave me fifty guineas, and bid me send them to you in
my packet, to pay your debts, as far as they would go; and that you would
quit your present business, and put yourself, and my dear mother, into a
creditable appearance; and he would find a better place of abode for you
than that you had, when he returned to Bedfordshire. O how shall I bear
all these exceeding great and generous favours!--I send them wrapt up,
five guineas in a parcel, in double papers.
To me he gave no less than one hundred guineas more; and said, I would
have you, my dear, give Mrs. Jewkes, when you go away from hence, what
you think fit out of these, as from yourself.--Nay, good dear sir, said
I, let that be what you please. Give her, then, said he, twenty guineas,
as a compliment on your nuptials. Give Colbrand ten guineas give: the
two coachmen five guineas each; to the two maids at this house five
guineas each; give Abraham five guineas; give Thomas five guineas; and
give the gardeners, grooms, and helpers, twenty guineas among them. And
when, said he, I return with you to the other house, I will make you a
suitable present, to buy you such ornaments as are fit for my beloved
wife to appear in. For now, my Pamela, continued he, you are not to
mind, as you once proposed, what other ladies will say; but to appear as
my wife ought to do. Else it would look as if what you thought of, as a
means to avoid the envy of others of your sex, was a wilful slight in me,
which, I hope, I never shall be guilty of; and I will shew the world,
that I value you as I ought, and as if I had married the first fortune in
the kingdom: And why should it not be so, when I know none of the first
quality that matches you in excellence?
He saw I was at a loss for words, and said, I see, my dearest bride! my
spouse! my wife! my Pamela! your grateful confusion. And kissing me, as
I was going to speak, I will stop your dear mouth, said he: You shall not
so much as thank me; for when I have done ten times more than this, I
shall but poorly express my love for so much beauty of mind, and
loveliness of person; which thus, said he, and clasped me to his generous
bosom, I can proudly now call my own!--O how, my dear parents, can I
think of any thing, but redoubled love, joy, and gratitude!
And thus generously did he banish from my mind those painful reflections,
and bashful apprehensions, that made me dread to see him for the first
time this day, when I was called to attend him at breakfast; and made me
all ease, composure, and tranquillity.
He then, thinking I seemed somewhat thoughtful, proposed a little turn in
the chariot till dinner-time: And this was another sweet relief to me;
and he diverted me with twenty agreeable relations, of what observations
he had made in his travels; and gave me the characters of the ladies and
gentlemen in his other neighbourhood; telling me whose acquaintance he
would have me most cultivate. And when I mentioned Lady Davers with
apprehension, he said, To be sure I love my sister dearly,
notwithstanding her violent spirit; and I know she loves me; and I can
allow a little for her pride, because I know what my own so lately was;
and because she knows not my Pamela, and her excellencies, as I do. But
you must not, my dear, forget what belongs to your character, as my wife,
nor meanly stoop to her; though I know you will choose, by softness, to
try to move her to a proper behaviour. But it shall be my part to see,
that you do not yield too much.
However, continued he, as I would not publicly declare my marriage here,
I hope she won't come near us till we are in Bedfordshire; and then, when
she knows we are married, she will keep away, if she is not willing to be
reconciled; for she dares not, surely, come to quarrel with me, when she
knows it is done; for that would have a hateful and wicked appearance, as
if she would try to make differences between man and wife.--But we will
have no more of this subject, nor talk of any thing, added he, that shall
give concern to my dearest. And so he changed the talk to a more
pleasing subject, and said the kindest and most soothing things in the
world.
When we came home, which was about dinner-time, he was the same obliging,
kind gentleman; and, in short, is studious to shew, on every occasion,
his generous affection to me. And, after dinner, he told me, he had
already written to his draper, in town, to provide him new liveries; and
to his late mother's mercer, to send him down patterns of the most
fashionable silks, for my choice. I told him, I was unable to express my
gratitude for his favours and generosity: And as he knew best what
befitted his own rank and condition, I would wholly remit myself to his
good pleasure. But, by all his repeated bounties to me, of so
extraordinary a nature, I could not but look forward with awe upon the
condition to which he had exalted me; and now I feared I should hardly be
able to act up to it in such a manner as should justify the choice he had
condescended to make: But that, I hoped, I should have not only his
generous allowance for my imperfections, which I could only assure him
should not be wilful ones, but his kind instructions; and that as often
as he observed any part of my conduct such as he could not entirely
approve, he would let me know it; and I would think his reproofs of
beginning faults the kindest and most affectionate things in the world
because they would keep me from committing greater; and be a means to
continue to me the blessing of his good opinion.
He answered me in the kindest manner; and assured me, That nothing should
ever lie upon his mind which he would not reveal, and give me an
opportunity either of convincing him, or being convinced myself.
He then asked me, When I should be willing to go to the Bedfordshire
house? I said, whenever he pleased. We will come down hither again
before the winter, said he, if you please, in order to cultivate the
acquaintance you have begun with Lady Jones, and Sir Simon's family; and,
if it please God to spare us to one another, in the winter I will give
you, as I promised for two or three months, the diversions of London.
And I think, added he, if my dear pleases, we will set out next week,
about Tuesday, for t'other house. I can have no objection, sir, said I,
to any thing you propose; but how will you avoid Miss Darnford's
solicitation for an evening to dance? Why, said he, we can make Monday
evening do for that purpose, if they won't excuse us. But, if you
please, said he, I will invite Lady Jones, Mr. Peters and his family, and
Sir Simon and his family, to my little chapel, on Sunday morning, and to
stay dinner with me; and then I will declare my marriage to them, because
my dear life shall not leave this country with the least reason for a
possibility of any body's doubting that it is so. O! how good was this!
But, indeed, his conduct is all of a piece, noble, kind, and considerate!
What a happy creature am I!--And then, may be, said he, they will excuse
us till we return into this country again, as to the ball. Is there any
thing, added he, that my beloved Pamela has still to wish? If you have,
freely speak.
Hitherto, my dearest sir, replied I, you have not only prevented my
wishes, but my hopes, and even my thoughts. And yet I must own, since
your kind command of speaking my mind seems to shew, that you expect from
me I should say something; that I have only one or two things to wish
more, and then I shall be too happy. Say, said he, what they are. Sir,
proceeded I, I am, indeed, ashamed to ask any thing, lest it should not
be agreeable to you; and lest it should look as if I was taking advantage
of your kind condescensions to me, and knew not when to be satisfied!
I will only tell you, Pamela, said he, that you are not to imagine, that
these things, which I have done, in hopes of obliging you, are the sudden
impulses of a new passion for you. But, if I can answer for my own mind,
they proceed from a regular and uniform desire of obliging you: which, I
hope, will last as long as your merit lasts; and that, I make no doubt,
will be as long as I live. And I can the rather answer for this, because
I really find so much delight in myself in my present way of thinking and
acting, as infinitely overpays me; and which, for that reason, I am
likely to continue, for both our sakes. My beloved wife, therefore, said
he, for methinks I am grown fond of a name I once despised, may venture
to speak her mind; and I will promise, that, so far as it is agreeable to
me, and I cheerfully can, I will comply; and you will not insist upon it,
if that should not be the case.
To be sure, sir, said I, I ought not, neither will I. And now you
embolden me to become an humble petitioner, and that, as I ought, upon my
knees, for the reinstating such of your servants, as I have been the
unhappy occasion of their disobliging you. He raised me up, and said, My
beloved Pamela has too often been in this suppliant posture to me, to
permit it any more. Rise, my fairest, and let me know whom, in
particular, you would reinstate; and he kindly held me in his arms, and
pressed me to his beloved bosom. Mrs. Jervis, sir, said I, in the first
place; for she is a good woman; and the misfortunes she has had in the
world, must make your displeasure most heavy to her.
Well, said he, who next? Mr. Longman, sir, said I; and I am sure, kind
as they have been to me, yet would I not ask it, if I could not vouch for
their integrity, and if I did not think it was my dear master's interest
to have such good servants.
Have you any thing further? said he.--Sir, said I, your good old butler,
who has so long been in your family before the day of your happy birth, I
would, if I might, become an advocate for!
Well, said he, I have only to say, That had not Mr. Longman and Mrs.
Jervis, and Jonathan too, joined in a body, in a bold appeal to Lady
Davers, which has given her the insolent handle she has taken to
intermeddle in my affairs, I could easily have forgiven all the rest of
their conduct; though they have given their tongues no little license
about me: But I could have forgiven them, because I desire every body
should admire you; and it is with pride that I observe not only their
opinion and love, but that of every body else that knows you, justify my
own.--But yet, I will forgive even this, because my Pamela desires it;
and I will send a letter myself, to tell Longman what he owes to your
interposition, if the estate he has made in my family does not set him
above the acceptance of it. And, as to Mrs. Jervis, do you, my dear,
write a letter to her, and give her your commands, instantly, on, the
receipt of it, to go and take possession of her former charge; for now,
my dearest girl, she will be more immediately your servant; and I know
you love her so well, that you'll go thither with the more pleasure to
find her there.--But don't think, added he, that all this compliance is
to be for nothing. Ah, sir! said I, tell me but what I can do, poor as I
am in power, but rich in will; and I will not hesitate one moment. Why
then, said he, of your own accord, reward me for my cheerful compliance,
with one sweet kiss--I instantly said, Thus, then, dear sir, will I obey;
and, oh! you have the sweetest and most generous way in the world, to
make that a condition, which gives me double honour, and adds to my
obligations. And so I clasped my arms about his neck, and was not
ashamed to kiss him once and twice, and three times; once for every
forgiven person.
Now, my dearest Pamela, said he, what other things have you to ask? Mr.
Williams is already taken care of; and, I hope, will be happy.--Have you
nothing to say for John Arnold?
Why, dear sir, said I, you have seen the poor fellow's penitence in my
letters.--Yes, my dear, so I have; but that is his penitence for his
having served me against you; and, I think, when he would have betrayed
me afterwards, he deserves nothing to be said or done for him by either.
But, dear sir, said I, this is a day of jubilee; and the less he
deserves, poor fellow, the more will be your goodness. And let me add
one word; That as he was divided in his inclinations between his duty to
you and good wishes to me, and knew not how to distinguish between the
one and the other, when he finds us so happily united by your great
goodness to me, he will have no more puzzles in his duty; for he has not
failed in any other part of it; but, I hope, will serve you faithfully
for the future.
Well, then, suppose I put Mrs. Jewkes in a good way of business, in some
inn, and give her John for a husband? And then your gipsy story will be
made out, that she will have a husband younger than herself.
You are all goodness, sir, said I. I can freely forgive poor Mrs.
Jewkes, and wish her happy. But permit me, sir, to ask, Would not this
look like a very heavy punishment to poor John? and as if you could not
forgive him, when you are so generous to every body else?
He smiled and said, O my Pamela, this, for a forgiving spirit, is very
severe upon poor Jewkes: But I shall never, by the grace of God, have any
more such trying services, to put him or the rest upon; and if you can
forgive him, I think I may: and so John shall be at your disposal. And
now let me know what my Pamela has further to wish?
O, my dearest sir, said I, not a single wish more has your grateful
Pamela! My heart is overwhelmed with your goodness! Forgive these tears
of joy, added I: You have left me nothing to pray for, but that God will
bless you with life, and health, and honour, and continue to me the
blessing of your esteem; and I shall then be the happiest creature in the
world.
He clasped me in his arms, and said, You cannot, my dear life, be so
happy in me, as I am in you. O how heartily I despise all my former
pursuits, and headstrong appetites! What joys, what true joys, flow from
virtuous love! joys which the narrow soul of the libertine cannot take
in, nor his thoughts conceive! And which I myself, whilst a libertine,
had not the least notion of!
But, said he, I expected my dear spouse, my Pamela, had something to ask
for herself. But since all her own good is absorbed in the delight her
generous heart takes in promoting that of others, it shall be my study to
prevent her wishes, and to make her care for herself unnecessary, by my
anticipating kindness.
In this manner, my dear parents, is your happy daughter blessed in a
husband! O how my exulting heart leaps at the dear, dear word!--And I
have nothing to do, but to be humble, and to look up with gratitude to
the all-gracious dispenser of these blessings.
So, with a thousand thanks, I afterwards retired to my closet, to write
you thus far. And having completed what I purpose for this packet, and
put up the kind obliging present, I have nothing more to say, but that I
hope soon to see you both, and receive your blessings on this happy,
thrice happy occasion. And so, hoping for your prayers, that I may
preserve an humble and upright mind to my gracious God, a dutiful
gratitude to my dear master and husband--that I may long rejoice in the
continuance of these blessings and favours, and that I may preserve, at
the same time, an obliging deportment to every one else, I conclude
myself, Your ever-dutiful and most happy daughter,
PAMELA B----
O think it not my pride, my dear parents, that sets me on glorying in my
change of name! Yours will be always dear to me, and what I shall never
be ashamed of, I'm sure: But yet--for such a husband!--What shall I say,
since words are too faint to express my gratitude and my joy!
I have taken copies of my master's letter to Mr. Longman, and mine to
Mrs. Jervis, which I will send with the further occurrences, when I go
to the other dear house, or give you when I see you, as I now hope soon
to do.
Saturday morning, the third of my happy nuptials.
I must still write on, till I come to be settled in the duty of the
station to which I am so generously exalted, and to let you participate
with me the transporting pleasures that rise from my new condition, and
the favours that are hourly heaped upon me by the best of husbands. When
I had got my packet for you finished, I then set about writing, as he had
kindly directed me, to Mrs. Jervis; and had no difficulty till I came to
sign my name; and so I brought it down with me, when I was called to
supper, unsigned.
My good master (for I delight, and always shall, to call him by that
name) had been writing to Mr. Longman; and he said, pleasantly, See,
here, my dearest, what I have written to your Somebody. I read as
follows:
'Mr. LONGMAN,
'I have the pleasure to acquaint you, that last Thursday I was married to
my beloved Pamela. I have had reason to be disobliged with you, and Mrs.
Jervis and Jonathan, not for your kindness to, and regard for, my dear
spouse, that now is, but for the manner, in which you appealed to my
sister Davers; which has made a very wide breach between her and me. But
as it was one of her first requests, that I would overlook what had
passed, and reinstate you in all your former charges, I think myself
obliged, without the least hesitation, to comply with it. So, if you
please, you may enter again upon an office which you have always executed
with unquestionable integrity, and to the satisfaction of 'Yours etc.'
'Friday afternoon.'
'I shall set out next Tuesday or Wednesday for Bedfordshire; and desire
to find Jonathan, as well as you, in your former offices; in which, I
dare say, you'll have the more pleasure, as you have such an early
instance of the sentiments of my dear wife, from whose goodness you may
expect every agreeable thing. She writes herself to Mrs. Jervis.'
I thanked him most gratefully for his goodness; and afterwards took the
above copy of it; and shewed him my letter to Mrs. Jervis, as follows:
'My DEAR MRS. JERVIS,
'I have joyful tidings to communicate to you. For yesterday I was
happily married to the best of gentlemen, yours and my beloved master. I
have only now to tell you, that I am inexpressibly happy: that my
generous benefactor denies me nothing, and even anticipates my wishes.
You may be sure I could not forget my dear Mrs. Jervis; and I made it my
request, and had it granted, as soon as asked, that you might return to
the kind charge, which you executed with so much advantage to our
master's interest, and so much pleasure to all under your direction. All
the power that is put into my hands, by the most generous of men, shall
be exerted to make every thing easy and agreeable to you: And as I shall
soon have the honour of attending my beloved to Bedfordshire, it will be
a very considerable addition to my delight, and to my unspeakable
obligations to the best of men, to see my dear Mrs. Jervis, and to be
received by her with that pleasure, which I promise myself from her
affection. For I am, my dear good friend, and always will be,
'Yours, very affectionately, and gratefully,
PAMELA ----.'
He read this letter, and said, 'Tis yours, my dear, and must be good: But
don't you put your name to it? Sir, said I, your goodness has given me a
right to a very honourable one but as this is the first occasion of the
kind, except that to my dear father and mother, I think I ought to shew
it you unsigned, that I may not seem over-forward to take advantage of
the honour you have done me.
However sweetly humble and requisite, said he, this may appear to my dear
Pamela's niceness, it befits me to tell you, that I am every moment more
and more pleased with the right you have to my name: and, my dear life,
added he, I have only to wish I may be half as worthy as you are of the
happy knot so lately knit. He then took a pen himself, and wrote, after
Pamela, his most worthy sirname; and I under-wrote thus: 'O rejoice with
me, my dear Mrs. Jervis, that I am enabled, by God's graciousness, and my
dear master's goodness, thus to write myself!'
These letters, and the packet to you, were sent away by Mr. Thomas early
this morning.
My dearest master is just gone to take a ride out, and intends to call
upon Lady Jones, Mr. Peters, and Sir Simon Darnford, to invite them to
chapel and dinner to-morrow; and says, he chooses to do it himself,
because the time is so short, they will, perhaps, deny a servant.
I forgot to mention, that Mr. Williams was here yesterday, to ask leave
to go to see his new living, and to provide for taking possession of it;
and seemed so pleased with my master's kindness and fondness for me, as
well as his generous deportment to himself, that he left us in such a
disposition, as shewed he was quite happy. I am very glad of it; for it
would rejoice me to be an humble means of making all mankind so: And oh!
what returns ought I not to make to the divine goodness! and how ought I
to strive to diffuse the blessings I experience, to all in my knowledge!
--For else, what is it for such a worm as I to be exalted! What is my
single happiness, if I suffer it, niggard-like, to extend no farther than
to myself?--But then, indeed, do God Almighty's creatures act worthy of
the blessings they receive, when they make, or endeavour to make, the
whole creation, so far as is in the circle of their power, happy!
Great and good God! as thou hast enlarged my opportunities, enlarge also
my will, and make me delight in dispensing to others a portion of that
happiness, which I have myself so plentifully received at the hand of thy
gracious Providence! Then shall I not be useless in my generation!--Then
shall I not stand a single mark of thy goodness to a poor worthless
creature, that in herself is of so small account in the scale of beings,
a mere cipher on the wrong side of a figure; but shall be placed on the
right side; and, though nothing worth in myself, shall give signification
by my place, and multiply the blessings I owe to thy goodness, which has
distinguished me by so fair a lot!
This, as I conceive, is the indispensable duty of a high condition; and
how great must be the condemnation of poor creatures, at the great day of
account, when they shall be asked, What uses they have made of the
opportunities put into their hands? and are able only to say, We have
lived but to ourselves: We have circumscribed all the power thou hast
given us into one narrow, selfish, compass: We have heaped up treasures
for those who came after us, though we knew not whether they would not
make a still worse use of them than we ourselves did! And how can such
poor selfish pleaders expect any other sentence, than the dreadful,
Depart, ye cursed!
But sure, my dear father and mother, such persons can have no notion of
the exalted pleasures that flow from doing good, were there to be no
after-account at all!
There is something so satisfactory and pleasing to reflect on the being
able to administer comfort and relief to those who stand in need of it,
as infinitely, of itself, rewards the beneficent mind. And how often
have I experienced this in my good lady's time, though but the second-
hand dispenser of her benefits to the poor and sickly, when she made me
her almoner!--How have I been affected with the blessings which the
miserable have heaped upon her for her goodness, and upon me for being
but the humble conveyer of her bounty to them!--And how delighted have I
been, when the moving report I have made of a particular distress, has
augmented my good lady's first intentions in relief of it!
This I recall with pleasure, because it is now, by the divine goodness,
become my part to do those good things she was wont to do: And oh! let
me watch myself, that my prosperous state do not make me forget to look
up, with due thankfulness, to the Providence which has entrusted me with
the power, that so I may not incur a terrible woe by the abuse or neglect
of it!
Forgive me these reflections, my dear parents; and let me have your
prayers, that I may not find my present happiness a snare to me; but that
I may consider, that more and more will be expected from me, in
proportion to the power given me; and that I may not so unworthily act,
as if I believed I ought to set up my rest in my mean self, and think
nothing further to be done, with the opportunities put into my hand, by
the divine favour, and the best of men!
Saturday, seven o'clock in the evening.
My master returned home to dinner, in compliment to me, though much
pressed to dine with Lady Jones, as he was, also, by Sir Simon, to dine
with him. But Mr. Peters could not conveniently provide a preacher for
his own church tomorrow morning, at so short a notice; Mr. Williams being
gone, as I said, to his new living; but believed he could for the
afternoon; and so he promised to give us his company to dinner, and to
read afternoon service: and this made my master invite all the rest, as
well as him, to dinner, and not to church; and he made them promise to
come; and told Mr. Peters, he would send his coach for him and his
family.
Miss Darnford told him pleasantly, She would not come, unless he would
promise to let her be at his wedding; by which I find Mr. Peters has kept
the secret, as my master desired.
He was pleased to give me an airing after dinner in the chariot, and
renewed his kind assurances to me, and, if possible, is kinder than ever.
This is sweetly comfortable to me, because it shews me he does not repent
of his condescensions to me; and it encourages me to look up to him with
more satisfaction of mind, and less doubtfulness.
I begged leave to send a guinea to a poor body in the town, that I heard,
by Mrs. Jewkes, lay very ill, and was very destitute. He said, Send two,
my dear, if you please. Said I, Sir, I will never do any thing of this
kind without letting you know what I do. He most generously answered, I
shall then, perhaps, have you do less good than you would otherwise do,
from a doubt of me; though, I hope, your discretion, and my own temper,
which is not avaricious, will make such doubt causeless.
Now, my dear, continued he, I'll tell you how we will order this point,
to avoid even the shadow of uneasiness on one side, or doubt on the
other.
As to your father and mother, in the first place, they shall be quite out
of the question; for I have already determined in my mind about them; and
it is thus: They shall go down, if they and you think well of it, to my
little Kentish estate; which I once mentioned to you in such a manner, as
made you reject it with a nobleness of mind, that gave me pain then, but
pleasure since. There is a pretty little farm, and house, untenanted,
upon that estate, and tolerably well stocked, and I will further stock it
for them; for such industrious folks won't know how to live without some
employment; And it shall be theirs for both their lives, without paying
any rent; and I will allow them 50l. per annum besides, that they may
keep up the stock, and be kind to any other of their relations, without
being beholden to you or me for small matters; and for greater, where
needful, you shall always have it in your power to accommodate them; for
I shall never question your prudence. And we will, so long as God spares
our lives, go down, once a year, to see them; and they shall come up, as
often as they please, it cannot be too often, to see us: for I mean not
this, my dear, to send them from us.--Before I proceed, does my Pamela
like this?
O, sir, said I, the English tongue affords not words, or, at least, I
have them not, to express sufficiently my gratitude! Teach me, dear sir,
continued I, and pressed his dear hand to my lips, teach me some other
language, if there be any, that abounds with more grateful terms; that I
may not thus be choked with meanings, for which I can find no utterance.
My charmer! says he, your language is all wonderful, as your sentiments;
and you most abound, when you seem most to want!--All that I wish, is to
find my proposals agreeable to you; and if my first are not, my second
shall be, if I can but know what you wish.
Did I say too much, my dearest parents, when I said, He was, if possible,
kinder and kinder?--O the blessed man! how my heart is overwhelmed with
his goodness!
Well, said he, my dearest, let me desire you to mention this to them, to
see if they approve it. But, if it be your choice, and theirs, to have
them nearer to you, or even under the same roof with you, I will freely
consent to it.
O no, sir, said I, (and I fear almost sinned in my grateful flight,) I am
sure they would not choose that; they could not, perhaps, serve God so
well if they were to live with you: For, so constantly seeing the hand
that blesses them, they would, it may be, as must be my care to avoid, be
tempted to look no further in their gratitude, than to the dear dispenser
of such innumerable benefits.
Excellent creature! said he: My beloved wants no language, nor sentiments
neither; and her charming thoughts, so sweetly expressed, would grace any
language; and this is a blessing almost peculiar to my fairest.--Your so
kind acceptance, my Pamela, added he, repays the benefit with interest,
and leaves me under obligation to your goodness.
But now, my dearest, I will tell you what we will do, with regard to
points of your own private charity; for far be it from me, to put under
that name the subject we have been mentioning; because that, and more
than that, is duty to persons so worthy, and so nearly related to my
Pamela, and, as such, to myself.--O how the sweet man outdoes me, in
thoughts, words, power, and every thing!
And this, said he, lies in very small compass; for I will allow you two
hundred pounds a year, which Longman shall constantly pay you, at fifty
pounds a quarter, for your own use, and of which I expect no account; to
commence from the day you enter into my other house: I mean, said he,
that the first fifty pounds shall then be due; because you shall have
something to begin with. And, added the dear generous man, if this be
pleasing to you, let it, since you say you want words, be signified by
such a sweet kiss as you gave me yesterday. I hesitated not a moment to
comply with these obliging terms, and threw my arms about his dear neck,
though in the chariot, and blessed his goodness to me. But, indeed, sir,
said I, I cannot bear this generous treatment! He was pleased to say,
Don't be uneasy, my dear, about these trifles: God has blessed me with a
very good estate, and all of it in a prosperous condition, and generally
well tenanted. I lay up money every year, and have, besides, large sums
in government and other securities; so that you will find, what I have
hitherto promised, is very short of that proportion of my substance,
which, as my dearest wife, you have a right to.
In this sweet manner did we pass our time till evening, when the chariot
brought us home; and then our supper succeeded in the same agreeable
manner. And thus, in a rapturous circle, the time moves on; every hour
bringing with it something more delightful than the past!--Sure nobody
was ever so blest as I!
Sunday, the fourth day of my happiness.
Not going to chapel this morning, the reason of which I told you, I
bestowed the time, from the hour of my beloved's rising, to breakfast, in
prayer and thanksgiving, in my closet; and now I begin to be quite easy,
cheerful, and free in my spirits; and the rather, as I find myself
encouraged by the tranquillity, and pleasing vivacity, in the temper and
behaviour of my beloved, who thereby shews he does not repent of his
goodness to me.
I attended him to breakfast with great pleasure and freedom, and he
seemed quite pleased with me, and said, Now does my dearest begin to look
upon me with an air of serenity and satisfaction: it shall be always,
added he, my delight to give you occasion for this sweet becoming aspect
of confidence and pleasure in me.--My heart, dear sir, said I, is quite
easy, and has lost all its foolish tumults, which, combating with my
gratitude, might give an unacceptable appearance to my behaviour: but now
your goodness, sir, has enabled it to get the better of its uneasy
apprehensions, and my heart is all of one piece, and devoted to you, and
grateful tranquillity. And could I be so happy as to see you and my good
Lady Davers reconciled, I have nothing in this world to wish for more,
but the continuance of your favour. He said, I wish this reconciliation,
my dearest, as well as you: and I do assure you, more for your sake than
my own; and if she would behave tolerably, I would make the terms easier
to her, for that reason.
He said, I will lay down one rule for you, my Pamela, to observe in your
dress; and I will tell you every thing I like or dislike, as it occurs to
me: and I would have you do the same, on your part; that nothing may be
upon either of our minds that may occasion the least reservedness.
I have often observed, in married folks, that, in a little while, the
lady grows careless in her dress; which, to me, looks as if she would
take no pains to secure the affection she had gained; and shews a slight
to her husband, that she had not to her lover. Now, you must know, this
has always given me great offence; and I should not forgive it, even in
my Pamela: though she would have this excuse for herself, that thousands
could not make, That she looks lovely in every thing. So, my dear, I
shall expect of you always to be dressed by dinner-time, except something
extraordinary happens; and this, whether you are to go abroad, or stay at
home. For this, my love, will continue to you that sweet ease in your
dress and behaviour, which you are so happy a mistress of; and whomsoever
I bring home with me to my table, you'll be in readiness to receive them;
and will not want to make those foolish apologies to unexpected visitors,
that carry with them a reflection on the conduct of those who make them;
and, besides, will convince me, that you think yourself obliged to appear
as graceful to your husband, as you would to persons less familiar to
your sight.
This, dear sir, said I, is a most obliging injunction; and I most
heartily thank you for it, and will always take care to obey it.--Why, my
dear, said he, you may better do this than half your sex; because they
too generally act in such a manner, as if they seemed to think it the
privilege of birth and fortune, to turn day into night, and night into
day, and are seldom stirring till it is time to sit down to dinner; and
so all the good old family rules are reversed: For they breakfast, when
they should dine; dine, when they should sup; and sup, when they should
go to bed; and, by the help of dear quadrille, sometimes go to bed when
they should rise.--In all things but these, my dear, continued he, I
expect you to be a lady. And my good mother was one of this oldfashioned
cut, and, in all other respects, as worthy a lady as any in the kingdom.
And so you have not been used to the new way, and may the easier practise
the other.
Dear sir, said I, pray give me more of your sweet injunctions. Why then,
continued he, I shall, in the usual course, and generally, if not
hindered by company, like to go to bed with my dearest by eleven; and, if
I don't, shan't hinder you. I ordinarily now rise by six in summer. I
will allow you to be half an hour after me, or so.
Then you'll have some time you may call your own, till you give me your
company to breakfast; which may be always so, as that we may have done at
a little after nine.
Then will you have several hours again at your disposal, till two
o'clock, when I shall like to sit down at table.
You will then have several useful hours more to employ yourself in, as
you shall best like; and I would generally go to supper by eight; and
when we are resolved to stick to these oldfashioned rules, as near as we
can, we shall have our visitors conform to them too, and expect them from
us, and suit themselves accordingly: For I have always observed, that it
is in every one's power to prescribe rules to himself. It is only
standing a few ridiculous jests at first, and that too from such,
generally, as are not the most worthy to be minded; and, after a while,
they will say, It signifies nothing to ask him: he will have his own way.
There is no putting him out of his bias. He is a regular piece of clock-
work, they will joke, and all that: And why, my dear, should we not be
so? For man is as frail a piece of machinery as any clock-work whatever;
and, by irregularity, is as subject to be disordered.
Then, my dear, continued the charming man, when they see they are
received, at my own times, with an open countenance and cheerful heart;
when they see plenty and variety at my board, and meet a kind and hearty
welcome from us both; they will not offer to break in upon my conditions,
nor grudge me my regular hours: And as most of these people have nothing
to do, except to rise in a morning, they may as well come to breakfast
with us at half an hour after eight, in summer, as at ten or eleven; to
dinner at two, as at four, five, or six; and to supper at eight, as at
ten or eleven. And then our servants, too, will know, generally, the
times of their business, and the hours of their leisure or recess; and
we, as well as they, shall reap the benefits of this regularity. And who
knows, my dear, but we may revive the good oldfashion in our
neighbourhood, by this means?--At least it will be doing our parts
towards it; and answering the good lesson I learned at school, Every one
mend one. And the worst that will happen will be, that when some of my
brother rakes, such as those who broke in upon us, so unwelcomely, last
Thursday, are got out of the way, if that can ever be, and begin to
consider who they shall go to dine with in their rambles, they will only
say, We must not go to him, for his dinner-time is over; and so they'll
reserve me for another time, when they happen to suit it better; or,
perhaps, they will take a supper and a bed with me instead of it.
Now, my dearest, continued the kind man, you see here are more of my
injunctions, as you call them; and though I will not be so set, as to
quarrel, if they are not always exactly complied with; yet, as I know you
won't think them unreasonable, I shall be glad they may, as often as they
can; and you will give your orders accordingly to your Mrs. Jervis, who
is a good woman, and will take pleasure in obeying you.
O dearest, dear sir, said I, have you nothing more to honour me with?
You oblige and improve me at the same time.--What a happy lot is mine!
Why, let me see, my dearest, said he--But I think of no more at present:
For it would be needless to say how much I value you for your natural
sweetness of temper, and that open cheerfulness of countenance, which
adorns you, when nothing has given my fairest apprehensions for her
virtue: A sweetness, and a cheerfulness, that prepossesses in your
favour, at first sight, the mind of every one that beholds you.--I need
not, I hope, say, that I would have you diligently preserve this sweet
appearance: Let no thwarting accident, no cross fortune, (for we must not
expect to be exempt from such, happy as we now are in each other!)
deprive this sweet face of this its principal grace: And when any thing
unpleasing happens, in a quarter of an hour, at farthest, begin to
mistrust yourself, and apply to your glass; and if you see a gloom
arising, or arisen, banish it instantly; smooth your dear countenance;
resume your former composure; and then, my dearest, whose heart must
always be seen in her face, and cannot be a hypocrite, will find this a
means to smooth her passions also: And if the occasion be too strong for
so sudden a conquest, she will know how to do it more effectually, by
repairing to her closet, and begging that gracious assistance, which has
never yet failed her: And so shall I, my dear, who, as you once but too
justly observed, have been too much indulged by my good mother, have an
example from you, as well as a pleasure in you, which will never be
palled.
One thing, continued he, I have frequently observed at the house of many
a gentleman, That when we have unexpectedly visited, or broken in upon
the family order laid down by the lady; and especially if any of us have
lain under the suspicion of having occasionally seduced our married
companion into bad hours, or given indifferent examples, the poor
gentleman has been oddly affected at our coming; though the good breeding
of the lady has made her just keep up appearances. He has looked so
conscious; has been so afraid, as it were, to disoblige; has made so many
excuses for some of us, before we had been accused, as have always shewn
me how unwelcome we have been; and how much he is obliged to compound
with his lady for a tolerable reception of us; and, perhaps, she too, in
proportion to the honest man's concern to court her smiles, has been more
reserved, stiff, and formal; and has behaved with an indifference and
slight that has often made me wish myself out of her house; for too
plainly have I seen that it was not his.
This, my dear, you will judge, by my description, has afforded me subject
for animadversion upon the married life; for a man may not (though, in
the main, he is willing to flatter himself that he is master of his
house, and will assert his prerogative upon great occasions, when it is
strongly invaded) be always willing to contend; and such women as those I
have described, are always ready to take the field, and are worse enemies
than the old Parthians, who annoy most when they seem to retreat; and
never fail to return to the charge again, and carry on the offensive war,
till they have tired out resistance, and made the husband willing, like a
vanquished enemy, to compound for small matters, in order to preserve
something. At least the poor man does not care to let his friends see
his case; and so will not provoke a fire to break out, that he sees (and
so do his friends too) the meek lady has much ado to smother; and which,
very possibly, burns with a most comfortable ardour, after we are gone.
You smile, my Pamela, said he, at this whimsical picture; and, I am sure,
I never shall have reason to include you in these disagreeable outlines;
but yet I will say, that I expect from you, whoever comes to my house,
that you accustom yourself to one even, uniform complaisance: That no
frown take place on your brow: That however ill or well provided we may
be for their reception, you shew no flutter or discomposure: That whoever
you may have in your company at the time, you signify not, by the least
reserved look, that the stranger is come upon you unseasonably, or at a
time you wished he had not. But be facetious, kind, obliging to all;
and, if to one more than another, to such as have the least reason to
expect it from you, or who are most inferior at the table; for thus will
you, my Pamela, cheer the doubting mind, quiet the uneasy heart, and
diffuse ease, pleasure, and tranquillity, around my board.
And be sure, my dear, continued he, let no little accidents ruffle your
temper. I shall never forget once that I was at Lady Arthur's; and a
footman happened to stumble, and let fall a fine china dish, and broke it
all to pieces: It was grievous to see the uneasiness it gave the poor
lady: And she was so sincere in it, that she suffered it to spread all
over the company; and it was a pretty large one too; and not a person in
it but turned either her consoler, or fell into stories of the like
misfortunes; and so we all became, for the rest of the evening, nothing
but blundering footmen, and careless servants, or were turned into broken
jars, plates, glasses, tea-cups, and such like brittle substances. And
it affected me so much, that, when I came home, I went to bed, and
dreamt, that Robin, with the handle of his whip, broke the fore glass of
my chariot; and I was so solicitous, methought, to keep the good lady in
countenance for her anger, that I broke his head in revenge, and stabbed
one of my coach-horses. And all the comfort I had when it was done,
methought, was, that I had not exposed myself before company; and there
were no sufferers, but guilty Robin, and one innocent coach-horse.
I was exceedingly diverted with the facetious hints, and the pleasant
manner in which he gave them; and I promised to improve by the excellent
lessons contained in them.
I then went up and dressed myself, as like a bride as I could, in my best
clothes; and, on inquiry, hearing my dearest master was gone to walk in
the garden, I went to find him out. He was reading in the little alcove;
and I said, Sir, am I licensed to intrude upon you?--No, my dear, said
he, because you cannot intrude. I am so wholly yours, that, wherever I
am, you have not only a right to join me, but you do me a very acceptable
favour at the same time.
I have, sir, said I, obeyed your first kind injunction, as to dressing
myself before dinner; but may be you are busy, sir. He put up the papers
he was reading, and said, I can have no business or pleasure of equal
value to your company, my dear. What were you going to say?--Only, sir,
to know if you have any more kind injunctions to give me?--I could hear
you talk a whole day together.--You are very obliging, Pamela, said he;
but you are so perfectly what I wish, that I might have spared those I
gave you; but I was willing you should have a taste of my freedom with
you, to put you upon the like with me: For I am confident there can be no
friendship lasting, without freedom, and without communicating to one
another even the little caprices, if my Pamela can have any such, which
may occasion uneasiness to either.
Now, my dear, said he, be so kind as to find some fault with me, and tell
me what you would wish me to do, to appear more agreeable to you. O sir,
said I, and I could have kissed him, but for shame, (To be sure I shall
grow a sad fond hussy,) I have not one single thing to wish for; no, not
one!--He saluted me very kindly, and said, He should be sorry if I had,
and forbore to speak it. Do you think, my dear sir, said I, that your
Pamela has no conscience? Do you think, that because you so kindly
oblige her, and delight in obliging her, that she must rack her invention
for trials of your goodness, and knows not when she's happy?--O my
dearest sir, added I, less than one half of the favours you have so
generously conferred upon me, would have exceeded my utmost wishes!
My dear angel, said he, and kissed me again, I shall be troublesome to
you with my kisses, if you continue thus sweetly obliging in your actions
and expressions. O sir, said I, I have been thinking, as I was dressing
myself, what excellent lessons you teach me!
When you commanded me, at your table to cheer the doubting mind and
comfort the uneasy heart, and to behave most kindly to those who have
least reason to expect it, and are most inferior; how sweetly, in every
instance that could possibly occur, have you done this yourself by your
poor, unworthy Pamela, till you have diffused, in your own dear words,
ease, pleasure, and tranquillity, around my glad heart!
Then again, sir, when you bid me not be disturbed by little accidents, or
by strangers coming in upon me unexpectedly, how noble an instance did
you give me of this, when, on our happy wedding-day, the coming of Sir
Charles Hargrave, and the other two gentlemen, (for which you were quite
unprovided, and which hindered our happiness of dining together on that
chosen day,) did not so disturb you, but that you entertained the
gentlemen pleasantly, and parted with them civilly and kindly! What
charming instances are these, I have been recollecting with pleasure, of
your pursuing the doctrine you deliver.
My dear, said he, these observations are very kind in you, and much to my
advantage: But if I do not always (for I fear these were too much
accidents) so well pursue the doctrines I lay down, my Pamela must not
expect that my imperfections will be a plea for her nonobservance of my
lessons, as you call them; for, I doubt I shall never be half so perfect
as you; and so I cannot permit you to recede in your goodness, though I
may find myself unable to advance as I ought in my duty.
I hope, sir, said I, by God's grace, I never shall. I believe it, said
he; but I only mention this, knowing my own defects, lest my future
lessons should not be so well warranted by my practice, as in the
instances you have kindly recollected.
He was pleased to take notice of my dress; and spanning my waist with his
hands, said, What a sweet shape is here! It would make one regret to
lose it; and yet, my beloved Pamela, I shall think nothing but that loss
wanting, to complete my happiness.--I put my bold hand before his mouth,
and said, Hush, hush! O fie, sir!--The freest thing you have ever yet
said, since I have been yours!--He kissed my hand, and said, Such an
innocent wish, my dearest, may be permitted me, because it is the end of
the institution.--But say, Would such a case be unwelcome to my Pamela?--
I will say, sir, said I, and hid my blushing face on his bosom, that your
wishes, in every thing, shall be mine; but, pray, sir, say no more. He
kindly saluted me, and thanked me, and changed the subject.--I was not
too free, I hope.
Thus we talked, till we heard the coaches; and then he said, Stay here,
in the garden, my dear, and I'll bring the company to you. And when he
was gone, I passed by the back-door, kneeled down against it, and blessed
God for not permitting my then so much desired escape. I went to the
pond, and kneeled down on the mossy bank, and again blessed God there,
for his mercy in my escape from myself, my then worst enemy, though I
thought I had none but enemies, and no friend near me. And so I ought to
do in almost every step of this garden, and every room in this house!--
And I was bending my steps to the dear little chapel, to make my
acknowledgment there; but I saw the company coming towards me.
Miss Darnford said, So, Miss Andrews, how do you do now? O, you look so
easy, so sweetly, so pleased, that I know you'll let me dance at your
wedding, for I shall long to be there! Lady Jones was pleased to say I
looked like an angel: And Mrs. Peters said, I improved upon them every
time they saw me. Lady Darnford was also pleased to make me a fine
compliment, and said, I looked freer and easier every time she saw me.
Dear heart! I wish, thought I, you would spare these compliments; for I
shall have some joke, I doubt, passed on me by-and-by, that will make me
suffer for all these fine things.
Mr. Peters said, softly, God bless you, dear daughter!--But not so much
as my wife knows it.--Sir Simon came in last, and took me by the hand,
and said, Mr. B----, by your leave; and kissed my hand five or six times,
as if he was mad; and held it with both his, and made a very free jest,
by way of compliment, in his way. Well, I think a young rake is hardly
tolerable; but an old rake, and an old beau, are two very sad things!--
And all this before daughters, women-grown!--I whispered my dearest, a
little after, and said, I fear I shall suffer much from Sir Simon's rude
jokes, by-and-by, when you reveal the matter.--'Tis his way, my dear,
said he; you must now grow above these things.--Miss Nanny Darnford said
to me, with a sort of half grave, ironical air,--Well, Miss Andrews, if I
may judge by your easy deportment now, to what it was when I saw you
last, I hope you will let my sister, if you won't me, see the happy knot
tied! For she is quite wild about it.--I courtesied, and only said, You
are all very good to me, ladies.--Mr. Peters's niece said, Well, Miss
Andrews, I hope, before we part, we shall be told the happy day. My good
master heard her, and said, You shall, you shall, madam.--That's pure,
said Miss Darnford.
He took me aside, and said softly, Shall I lead them to the alcove, and
tell them there, or stay till we go in to dinner?--Neither, sir, I think,
said I, I fear I shan't stand it.--Nay, said he, they must know it; I
would not have invited them else.--Why then, sir, said I, let it alone
till they are going away.--Then, replied he, you must pull off your ring.
No, no, sir, said I, that I must not.--Well, said he, do you tell Miss
Darnford of it yourself.--Indeed, sir, answered I, I cannot.
Mrs. Jewkes came officiously to ask my master, just then, if she should
bring a glass of rhenish and sugar before dinner, for the gentlemen and
ladies: And he said, That's well thought of; bring it, Mrs. Jewkes.
And she came, with Nan attending her, with two bottles and glasses, and a
salver; and must needs, making a low courtesy, offered first to me;
saying, Will your ladyship begin? I coloured like scarlet, and said,
No;--my master, to be sure!
But they all took the hint; and Miss Darnford said, I'll be hanged if
they have not stolen a wedding! said Mrs. Peters, It must certainly be
so! Ah! Mr. Peters.
I'll assure you, said he, I have not married them. Where were you, said
she, and Mr. Williams, last Thursday morning? said Sir Simon, Let me
alone, let me alone; if any thing has been stolen, I'll find it out! I'm
a justice of the peace, you know. And so he took me by the hand, and
said, Come, madam, answer me, by the oath you have taken: Are you married
or not?
My master smiled, to see me look so like a fool; and I said, Pray, Sir
Simon!--Ay, ay, said he; I thought you did not look so smirking upon us
for nothing.--Well, then, Pamela, said my master, since your blushes
discover you, don't be ashamed, but confess the truth!
Now, said Miss Darnford, I am quite angry; and, said Lady Darnford, I am
quite pleased; let me give you joy, dear madam, if it be so. And so they
all said, and saluted me all round.--I was vexed it was before Mrs.
Jewkes; for she shook her fat sides, and seemed highly pleased to be a
means of discovering it.
Nobody, said my master, wishes me joy. No, said Lady Jones, very
obligingly, nobody need; for, with such a peerless spouse, you want no
good wishes:--And he saluted them; and when he came last to me, said,
before them all, Now, my sweet bride, my Pamela, let me conclude with
you; for here I began to love, and here I desire to end loving, but not
till my life ends.
This was sweetly said, and taken great notice of; and it was doing credit
to his own generous choice, and vastly more than I merited.
But I was forced to stand many more jokes afterwards: For Sir Simon said,
several times, Come, come, madam, now you are become one of us, I shall
be a little less scrupulous than I have been, I'll assure you.
When we came in to dinner, I made no difficulty of what all offered me,
the upper end of the table; and performed the honours of it with pretty
tolerable presence of mind, considering. And, with much ado, my good
benefactor promising to be down again before winter, we got off the ball;
but appointed Tuesday evening, at Lady Darnford's, to take leave of all
this good company, who promised to be there, my master designing to set
out on Wednesday morning for Bedfordshire.
We had prayers in the little chapel, in the afternoon; but they all
wished for the good clerk again, with great encomiums upon you, my dear
father; and the company staid supper also, and departed exceeding well
satisfied, and with abundance of wishes for the continuance of our mutual
happiness; and my master desired Mr. Peters to answer for him to the
ringers at the town, if they should hear of it; till our return into this
country; and that then he would be bountiful to them, because he would
not publicly declare it till he had first done so in Bedfordshire.
Monday, the fifth day.
I have had very little of my dear friend's company this day; for he only
staid breakfast with me, and rode out to see a sick gentleman about
eighteen miles off, who begged (by a man and horse on purpose) to speak
with him, believing he should not recover, and upon part of whose estate
my master has a mortgage. He said, My dearest, I shall be very uneasy,
if I am obliged to tarry all night from you; but, lest you should be
alarmed, if I don't come home by ten, don't expect me: For poor Mr.
Carlton and I have pretty large concerns together; and if he should be
very ill, and would be comforted by my presence, (as I know he loves me,
and his family will be more in my power, if he dies, than I wish for,)
charity will not let me refuse.
It is now ten o'clock at night, and I fear he will not return. I fear,
for the sake of his poor sick friend, who, I doubt, is worse. Though I
know not the gentleman, I am sorry for his own sake, for his family's
sake, and for my dear master's sake, who, by his kind expressions, I
find, loves him: And, methinks, I should be sorry any grief should touch
his generous heart; though yet there is no living in this world, without
too many occasions for concern, even in the most prosperous state. And
it is fit it should be so; or else, poor wretches, as we are! we should
look no farther, but be like sensual travellers on a journey homeward,
who, meeting with good entertainment at some inn on the way, put up their
rest there, and never think of pursuing their journey to their proper
home.--This, I remember, was often a reflection of my good lady's, to
whom I owe it.
Eleven o'clock.
Mrs. Jewkes has been with me, and asked if I will have her for a bed-
fellow, in want of a better? I thanked her; but I said, I would see how
it was to be by myself one night.
I might have mentioned, that I made Mrs. Jewkes dine and sup with me; and
she was much pleased with it, and my behaviour to her. And I could see,
by her manner, that she was a little struck inwardly at some of her
former conduct to me. But, poor wretch! it is much, I fear, because I am
what I am; for she has otherwise very little remorse, I doubt. Her talk
and actions are entirely different from what they used to be, quite
circumspect and decent; and I should have thought her virtuous, and even
pious, had I never known her in another light.
By this we may see, my dear father and mother, of what force example is,
and what is in the power of the heads of families to do: And this shews,
that evil examples, in superiors, are doubly pernicious, and doubly
culpable, because such persons are bad themselves, and not only do no
good, but much harm to others; and the condemnation of such must, to be
sure, be so much the greater!--And how much the greater still must my
condemnation be, who have had such a religious education under you, and
been so well nurtured by my good lady, if I should forget, with all these
mercies heaped upon me, what belongs to the station I am preferred to!--O
how I long to be doing some good! For all that is past yet, is my dear,
dear master's, God bless him! and return him safe to my wishes! for
methinks, already, 'tis a week since I saw him. If my love would not be
troublesome and impertinent, I should be nothing else; for I have a true
grateful spirit; and I had need to have such a one, for I am poor in
every thing but will.
Tuesday morning, eleven o'clock.
My dear, dear--master (I'm sure I should still say; but I will learn to
rise to a softer epithet, now-and-then) is not yet come. I hope he is
safe and well!--So Mrs. Jewkes and I went to breakfast. But I can do
nothing but talk and think of him, and all his kindness to me, and to
you, which is still me, more intimately!--I have just received a letter
from him, which he wrote overnight, as I find by it, and sent early this
morning. This is a copy of it.
TO MRS. ANDREWS
'MY DEAREST PAMELA, Monday night.
'I hope my not coming home this night will not frighten you. You may
believe I can't help it. My poor friend is so very ill, that I doubt he
can't recover. His desires to have me stay with him are so strong, that
I shall sit up all night with him, as it is now near one o'clock in the
morning; for he can't bear me out of his sight: And I have made him and
his distressed wife and children so easy, in the kindest assurances I
could give him of my consideration for him and them, that I am looked
upon (as the poor disconsolate widow, as she, I doubt, will soon be,
tells me,) as their good angel. I could have wished we had not engaged
to the good neighbourhood at Sir Simon's for to-morrow night; but I am so
desirous to set out on Wednesday for the other house, that, as well as in
return for the civilities of so many good friends, who will be there on
purpose, I would not put it off. What I beg of you, therefore, my dear,
is, that you would go in the chariot to Sir Simon's, the sooner in the
day the better, because you will be diverted with the company, who all so
much admire you; and I hope to join you there by your tea-time in the
afternoon, which will be better than going home, and returning with you,
as it will be six miles difference to me; and I know the good company
will excuse my dress, on the occasion. I count every hour of this little
absence for a day: for I am, with the utmost sincerity,
'My dearest love, for ever yours, etc.'
'If you could go to dine with them, it will be a freedom that would be
very pleasing to them; and the more, as they don't expect it.'
I begin to have a little concern, lest his fatigue should be too great,
and for the poor sick gentleman and family; but told Mrs. Jewkes, that
the least intimation of his choice should be a command to me, and so I
would go to dinner there; and ordered the chariot to be got ready to
carry me: when a messenger came up, just as I was dressed, to tell her
she must come down immediately. I see at the window, that visitors are
come; for there is a chariot and six horses, the company gone out of it,
and three footmen on horseback; and I think the chariot has coronets.
Who can it be, I wonder?--But here I will stop, for I suppose I shall
soon know.
Good sirs! how unlucky this is! What shall I do!--Here is Lady Davers
come, her own self! and my kind protector a great, great many miles off!
--Mrs. Jewkes, out of breath, comes and tells me this, and says, she is
inquiring for my master and me. She asked her, it seemed, naughty lady
as she is, if I was whored yet! There's a word for a lady's mouth! Mrs.
Jewkes says, she knew not what to answer. And my lady said, She is not
married, I hope? And said she, I said, No: because you have not owned it
yet publicly. My lady said, That was well enough. Said I, I will run
away, Mrs. Jewkes; and let the chariot go to the bottom of the elm-walk,
and I will steal out of the door unperceived: But she is inquiring for
you, madam, replied she, and I said you was within, but going out; and
she said, she would see you presently, as soon as she could have
patience. What did she call me? said I. The creature, madam; I will see
the creature, said she, as soon as I can have patience. Ay, but, said I,
the creature won't let her, if she can help it.
Pray, Mrs. Jewkes, favour my escape, for this once; for I am sadly
frighted.--Said she, I'll bid the chariot go down, as you order, and wait
till you come; and I'll step down and shut the hall door, that you may
pass unobserved; for she sits cooling herself in the parlour, over
against the staircase. That's a good Mrs. Jewkes! said I: But who has
she with her? Her woman, answered she, and her nephew; but he came on
horseback, and is going into the stables; and they have three footmen.--
And I wish, said I, they were all three hundred miles off!--What shall I
do?--So I wrote thus far, and wait impatiently to hear the coast is
clear.
Mrs. Jewkes tells me I must come down, or she will come up. What does
she call me now? said I. Wench, madam, Bid the wench come down to me.
And her nephew and her woman are with her.
Said I, I can't go, and that's enough!--You might contrive it that I
might get out, if you would.--Indeed, madam, said she, I cannot; for I
went to shut the door, and she bid me let it stand open; and there she
sits over against the staircase. Then, said I, I'll get out of the
window, I think!--(And fanned myself;) for I am sadly frightened. Laud,
madam, said she, I wonder you so much disturb yourself!--You're on the
right side the hedge, I'm sure; and I would not be so discomposed for any
body. Ay, said I, but who can help constitution? I dare say you would
no more be so discomposed, that I can help it.--Said she, Indeed, madam,
if it was to me, I would put on an air as mistress of the house, as you
are, and go and salute her ladyship, and bid her welcome. Ay, ay,
replied I, fine talking!--But how unlucky this is, your good master is
not at home!
What answer shall I give her, said she, to her desiring to see you?--Tell
her, said I, I am sick a-bed; I'm dying, and must not be disturbed; I'm
gone out--or any thing.
But her woman came up to me just as I had uttered this, and said, How do
you do, Mrs. Pamela? My lady desires to speak to you. So I must go.--
Sure she won't beat me!--Oh that my dear protector was at home!
Well, now I will tell you all that happened in this frightful interview.
--And very bad it was.
I went down, dressed as I was, and my gloves on, and my fan in my hand,
to be just ready to step into the chariot, when I could get away; and I
thought all my trembling fits had been over now; but I was mistaken; for
I trembled sadly. Yet resolved to put on as good an air as I could.
So I went to the parlour, and said, making a very low courtesy, Your
servant, my good lady! And your servant again, said she, my lady, for I
think you are dressed out like one.
A charming girl, though! said her rakish nephew, and swore a great oath:
Dear aunt, forgive me, but I must kiss her; and was coming to me. And I
said, Forbear, uncivil gentleman! I won't be used freely. Jackey, said
my lady, sit down, and don't touch the creature--She's proud enough
already. There's a great difference in her air, I'll assure you, since I
saw her last.
Well, child, said she, sneeringly, how dost find thyself? Thou'rt
mightily come on, of late!--I hear strange reports about thee!--Thou'rt
almost got into fool's paradise, I doubt!--And wilt find thyself terribly
mistaken in a little while, if thou thinkest my brother will disgrace his
family, to humour thy baby-face!
I see, said I, sadly vexed, (her woman and nephew smiling by,) your
ladyship has no very important commands for me; and I beg leave to
withdraw. Beck, said she to her woman, shut the door, my young lady and
I must not have done so soon.
Where's your well-mannered deceiver gone, child?--says she.--Said I, When
your ladyship is pleased to speak intelligibly, I shall know how to
answer.
Well, but my dear child, said she, in drollery, don't be too pert
neither, I beseech thee. Thou wilt not find thy master's sister half so
ready to take thy freedoms, as thy mannerly master is!--So, a little of
that modesty and humility that my mother's waiting-maid used to shew,
will become thee better than the airs thou givest thyself, since my
mother's son has taught thee to forget thyself.
I would beg, said I, one favour of your ladyship, That if you would have
me keep my distance, you will not forget your own degree.--Why, suppose,
Miss Pert, I should forget my degree, wouldst thou not keep thy distance
then?
If you, madam, said I, lessen the distance yourself, you will descend to
my level, and make an equality, which I don't presume to think of; for I
can't descend lower than I am--at least in your ladyship's esteem!
Did I not tell you, Jackey, said she, that I should have a wit to talk
to?--He, who swears like a fine gentleman at every word, rapped out an
oath, and said, drolling, I think, Mrs. Pamela, if I may be so bold as to
say so, you should know you are speaking to Lady Davers!--Sir, said I, I
hope there was no need of your information, and so I can't thank you for
it; and am sorry you seem to think it wants an oath to convince me of the
truth of it.
He looked more foolish than I, at this, if possible, not expecting such a
reprimand.--And said, at last, Why, Mrs. Pamela, you put me half out of
countenance with your witty reproof!--Sir, said I, you seem quite a fine
gentleman; and it will not be easily done, I dare say.
How now, pert one, said my lady, do you know whom you talk to?--I think I
do not, madam, replied I: and for fear I should forget myself more, I'll
withdraw. Your ladyship's servant, said I; and was going: but she rose,
and gave me a push, and pulled a chair, and, setting the back against the
door, sat down in it.
Well, said I, I can bear anything at your ladyship's hands; but I was
ready to cry though. And I went, and sat down, and fanned myself, at the
other end of the room.
Her woman, who stood all the time, said softly, Mrs. Pamela, you should
not sit in my lady's presence. And my lady, though she did not hear her,
said, You shall sit down, child, in the room where I am, when I give you
leave.
So I stood up, and said, When your ladyship will hardly permit me to
stand, one might be indulged to sit down. But I ask you, said she,
Whither your master is gone? To one Mr. Carlton, madam, about eighteen
miles off, who is very sick. And when does he come home?--This evening,
madam. And where are you going? To a gentleman's house in the town,
madam.--And how was you to go? In the chariot, madam.--Why, you must be
a lady in time, to be sure!--I believe you'd become a chariot mighty
well, child!--Was you ever out in it with your master?
Pray, your ladyship, said I, a little too pertly, perhaps, be pleased to
ask half a dozen such questions together; because one answer may do for
all!--Why, bold-face, said she, you'll forget your distance, and bring me
to your level before my time.
I could no longer refrain tears, but said, Pray your ladyship, let me ask
what I have done, to be thus severely treated? I never did your ladyship
any harm. And if you think I am deceived, as you was pleased to hint, I
should be more entitled to your pity, than your anger.
She rose, and took me by the hand, and led me to her chair; and then sat
down; and still holding my hand, said, Why Pamela, I did indeed pity you
while I thought you innocent; and when my brother seized you, and brought
you down hither, without your consent, I was concerned for you; and I was
still more concerned for you, and loved you, when I heard of your virtue
and resistance, and your laudable efforts to get away from him. But
when, as I fear, you have suffered yourself to be prevailed upon, and
have lost your innocence, and added another to the number of the fools he
has ruined, (This shocked me a little,) I cannot help shewing my
displeasure to you.
Madam, replied I, I must beg no hasty judgment; I have not lost my
innocence.--Take care, take care, Pamela! said she: don't lose your
veracity, as well as your honour!--Why are you here, when you are at full
liberty to go whither you please?--I will make one proposal to you, and
if you are innocent, I am sure you'll accept it. Will you go and live
with me?--I will instantly set out with you in my chariot, and not stay
half an hour longer in this house, if you'll go with me.--Now, if you are
innocent, and willing to keep so, deny me, if you can.
I am innocent, madam, replied I, and willing to keep so; and yet I cannot
consent to this. Then, said she, very mannerly, Thou liest, child,
that's all: and I give thee up!
And so she arose, and walked about the room in great wrath. Her nephew
and her woman said, Your ladyship's very good; 'tis a plain case; a very
plain case!
I would have removed the chair, to have gone out; but her nephew came and
sat in it. This provoked me; for I thought I should be unworthy of the
honour I was raised to, though I was afraid to own it, if I did not shew
some spirit; and I said, What, sir, is your pretence in this house, to
keep me a prisoner here? Because, said he--I like it.--Do you so, sir?
replied I: if that is the answer of a gentleman to such an one as I, it
would not, I dare say, be the answer of a gentleman to a gentleman.--My
lady! my lady! said he, a challenge, a challenge, by gad! No, sir, said
I, I am of a sex that gives no challenges; and you think so too, or you
would not give this occasion for the word.
Said my lady, Don't be surprised, nephew; the wench could not talk thus,
if she had not been her master's bed-fellow.--Pamela, Pamela, said she,
and tapped me upon the shoulder two or three times, in anger, thou hast
lost thy innocence, girl; and thou hast got some of thy bold master's
assurance, and art fit to go any where.--Then, and please your ladyship,
said I, I am unworthy of your presence, and desire I may quit it.
No, replied she, I will know first what reason you can give for not
accepting my proposal, if you are innocent? I can give, said I, a very
good one: but I beg to be excused. I will hear it, said she. Why, then,
answered I, I should perhaps have less reason to like this gentleman,
than where I am.
Well then, said she, I'll put you to another trial. I'll set out this
moment with you to your father and mother, and give you up safe to them.
What do you say to that?--Ay, Mrs. Pamela, said her nephew, now what does
your innocence say to that?--'Fore gad, madam, you have puzzled her now.
Be pleased, madam, said I, to call off this fine gentleman. Your
kindness in these proposals makes me think you would not have me baited.
I'll be d----d, said he, if she does not make me a bull-dog! Why she'll
toss us all by and by! Sir, said I, you indeed behave as if you were in
a bear-garden.
Jackey, be quiet, said my lady. You only give her a pretence to evade my
questions. Come, answer me, Pamela. I will, madam, said I, and it is
thus: I have no occasion to be beholden to your ladyship for this honour;
for I am to set out to-morrow morning on the way to my parents.--Now
again thou liest, wench!--I am not of quality, said I, to answer such
language.--Once again, said she, provoke me not, by these reflections,
and this pertness; if thou dost, I shall do something by thee unworthy of
myself. That, thought I, you have done already; but I ventured not to
say so. But who is to carry you, said she, to your father and mother?
Who my master pleases, madam, said I. Ay, said she, I doubt not thou
wilt do every thing he pleases, if thou hast not already. Why now tell
me, Pamela, from thy heart, hast thou not been in bed with thy master?
Ha, wench!--I was quite shocked at this, and said, I wonder how your
ladyship can use me thus!--I am sure you can expect no answer; and my
sex, and my tender years, might exempt me from such treatment, from a
person of your ladyship's birth and quality, and who, be the distance
ever so great, is of the same sex with me.
Thou art a confident wench, said she, I see!--Pray, madam, said I, let me
beg you to permit me to go. I am waited for in the town, to dinner. No,
replied she, I can't spare you; and whomsoever you are to go to, will
excuse you, when they are told 'tis I that command you not to go;--and
you may excuse it too, young Lady Would-be, if you consider, that it is
the unexpected coming of your late lady's daughter, and your master's
sister, that commands your stay.
But a pre-engagement, your ladyship will consider, is something.--Ay, so
it is; but I know not what reason waiting-maids have to assume these airs
of pre-engagements! Oh, Pamela, Pamela, I am sorry for thy thus aping
thy betters, and giving thyself such airs: I see thou'rt quite spoiled!
Of a modest, innocent girl, that thou wast, and humble too, thou art now
fit for nothing in the world, but what I fear thou art.
Why, please your ladyship, said her kinsman, what signifies all you say?
The matter's over with her, no doubt; and she likes it; and she is in a
fairy-dream, and 'tis pity to awaken her before her dream's out.--Bad as
you take me to be, madam, said I, I am not used to such language or
reflections as this gentleman bestows upon me; and I won't bear it.
Well, Jackey, said she, be silent; and, shaking her head, Poor girl!--
said she--what a sweet innocence is here destroyed!--A thousand pities!--
I could cry over her, if that would do her good! But she is quite lost,
quite undone; and then has assumed a carriage upon it, that all those
creatures are distinguished by!
I cried sadly for vexation; and said, Say what you please, madam; if I
can help it, I will not answer another word.
Mrs. Jewkes came in, and asked if her ladyship was ready for dinner? She
said, Yes. I would have gone out with her but my lady said, taking my
hand, she could not spare me. And, miss, said she, you may pull off your
gloves, and lay your fan by, for you shan't go; and, if you behave well,
you shall wait upon me at dinner, and then I shall have a little further
talk with you.
Mrs. Jewkes said to me, Madam, may I speak one word with you?--I can't
tell, Mrs. Jewkes, said I; for my lady holds my hand, and you see I am a
kind of prisoner.
What you have to say, Mrs. Jewkes, said she, you may speak before me.
But she went out, and seemed vexed for me; and she says, I looked like
the very scarlet.
The cloth was laid in another parlour, and for three persons, and she led
me in: Come, my little dear, said she, with a sneer, I'll hand you in;
and I would have you think it as well as if it was my brother.
What a sad case, thought I, should I be in, if I were as naughty as she
thinks me! It was bad enough as it was.
Jackey, said my lady, come, let us go to dinner. She said to her woman,
Do you, Beck, help Pamela to 'tend us; we will have no men-fellows.--
Come, my young lady, shall I help you off with your white gloves? I have
not, madam, said I, deserved this at your ladyship's hands.
Mrs. Jewkes, coming in with the first dish, she said, Do you expect any
body else, Mrs. Jewkes, that you lay the cloth for three? said she, I
hoped your ladyship and madam would have been so well reconciled, that
she would have sat down too.--What means the clownish woman? said my
lady, in great disdain: Could you think the creature should sit down with
me? She does, madam, and please your ladyship, with my master.--I doubt
it not, good woman, said she, and lies with him too, does she not?
Answer me, fat-face!--How these ladies are privileged.
If she does, madam, said she, there may be a reason for it, perhaps! and
went out.--So! said she, has the wench got thee over too? Come, my
little dear, pull off thy gloves, I say; and off she pulled my left glove
herself, and spied my ring. O my dear God! said she, if the wench has
not got a ring!--Well, this is a pretty piece of foolery, indeed! Dost
know, my friend, that thou art miserably tricked? And so, poor innocent,
thou hast made a fine exchange, hast thou not? Thy honesty for this
bauble? And, I'll warrant, my little dear has topped her part, and
paraded it like any real wife; and so mimics still the condition!--Why,
said she, and turned me round, thou art as mincing as any bride! No
wonder thou art thus tricked out, and talkest of thy pre-engagements!
Pr'ythee, child, walk before me to that glass; survey thyself, and cone
back to me, that I may see how finely thou can'st act the theatrical part
given thee!
I was then resolved to try to be silent, although most sadly vexed.--So I
went and sat me down in the window, and she took her place at the upper
end of the table; and her saucy Jackey, fleering at me most provokingly,
sat down by her. Said he, Shall not the bride sit down by us, madam?
Ay, well thought of! said my lady: Pray, Mrs. Bride, your pardon for
sitting down in your place!--I said nothing.
Said she, with a poor pun, Thou hast some modesty, however, child! for
thou can'st not stand it, so must sit down, though in my presence!--I
still kept my seat, and said nothing.--Thought I, this is a sad thing,
that I am hindered too from shewing my duty where it is most due, and
shall have anger there too, may be, if my dear master should be there
before me!--So she ate some soup, as did her kinsman; and then, as she
was cutting up a fowl, said, If thou longest, my little dear, I will help
thee to a pinion, or breast, or any thing. But may be, child, said he,
thou likest the rump; shall I bring it thee? And then laughed like an
idiot, for all he is a lord's son, and may be a lord himself.--For he is
the son of Lord ----; and his mother, who was Lord Davers's sister, being
dead, he has received what education he has, from Lord Davers's
direction. Poor wretch! for all his greatness! he'll ne'er die for a
plot--at least of his own hatching. If I could then have gone up, I
would have given you his picture. But, for one of 25 or 26 years of age,
much about the age of my dear master, he is a most odd mortal.
Pamela, said my lady, help me to a glass of wine. No, Beck, said she,
you shan't; for she was offering to do it. I will have my lady bride
confer that honour upon me; and then I shall see if she can stand up. I
was silent, and never stirred.
Dost hear, chastity? said she, help me to a glass of wine, when I bid
thee.--What! not stir? Then I'll come and help thee to one. Still I
stirred not, and, fanning myself, continued silent. Said she, When I
have asked thee, meek-one, half a dozen questions together, I suppose
thou wilt answer them all at once! Pretty creature, is not that it?
I was so vexed, I bit a piece of my fan out, not knowing what I did; but
still I said nothing, and did nothing but flutter it, and fan myself.
I believe, said she, my next question will make up half a dozen; and
then, modest one, I shall be entitled to an answer.
He rose and brought the bottle and glass; Come, said he, Mrs. Bride, be
pleased to help my lady, and I will be your deputy. Sir, replied I, it
is in a good hand; help my lady yourself.--Why, creature, said she, dost
thou think thyself above it?--And then flew into a passion:--Insolence!
continued she, this moment, when I bid you, know your duty, and give me a
glass of wine; or--
So I took a little spirit then--Thought I, I can but be beat.--If, said
I, to attend your ladyship at table, or even kneel at your feet, was
required of me, I would most gladly do it, were I only the person you
think me; but, if it be to triumph over one who has received honours,
that she thinks require her to act another part, not to be utterly
unworthy of them, I must say, I cannot do it.
She seemed quite surprised, and looked now upon her kinsman, and then
upon her woman--I'm astonished--quite astonished!--Well, then, I suppose
you would have me conclude you my brother's wife; could you not?
Your ladyship, said I, compels me to say this!--Well, returned she, but
dost thou thyself think thou art so?--Silence, said her kinsman, gives
consent. 'Tis plain enough she does. Shall I rise, madam, and pay my
duty to my new aunt?
Tell me, said my lady, what, in the name of impudence, possesses thee to
dare to look upon thyself as my sister?--Madam, replied I, that is a
question will better become your most worthy brother to answer, than me.
She was rising in great wrath: but her woman said, Good your ladyship,
you'll do yourself more harm than her; and if the poor girl has been
deluded so, as you have heard, with the sham marriage, she'll be more
deserving of your ladyship's pity than anger. True, Beck, very true,
said my lady; but there's no bearing the impudence of the creature in the
mean time.
I would have gone out at the door, but her kinsman ran and set his back
against it. I expected bad treatment from her pride, and violent temper;
but this was worse than I could have thought of. And I said to him, Sir,
when my master comes to know your rude behaviour, you will, may be, have
cause to repent it: and went and sat down in the window again.
Another challenge, by gad! said he; but I am glad she says her master!--
You see, madam, she herself does not believe she is married, and so has
not been so much deluded as you think for: And, coming to me with a most
barbarous air of insult, he said, kneeling on one knee before me, My new
aunt, your blessing or your curse, I care not which; but quickly give me
one or other, that I may not lose my dinner!
I gave him a most contemptuous look: Tinselled toy, said I, (for he was
laced all over), twenty or thirty years hence, when you are at age, I
shall know how to answer you better; mean time, sport with your footman,
and not with me! and so I removed to another window nearer the door, and
he looked like a sad fool, as he is.
Beck, Beck, said my lady, this is not to be borne! Was ever the like
heard! Is my kinsman and Lord Davers's to be thus used by such a slut?
And was coming to me: And indeed I began to be afraid; for I have but a
poor heart, after all. But Mrs. Jewkes hearing high words, came in
again, with the second course, and said, Pray your ladyship, don't so
discompose yourself. I am afraid this day's business will make matters
wider than ever between your good ladyship and your brother: For my
master doats upon madam.
Woman, said she, do thou be silent! Sure, I that was born in this house,
may have some privilege in it, without being talked to by the saucy
servants in it!
I beg pardon, madam, replied Mrs. Jewkes; and, turning to me, said,
Madam, my master will take it very ill if you make him wait for you thus.
So I rose to go out; but my lady said, If it was only for that reason she
shan't go.--And went to the door and shut it, and said to Mrs. Jewkes,
Woman, don't come again till I call you; and coming to me, took my hand,
and said, Find your legs, miss, if you please.
I stood up, and she tapped my cheek! Oh, says she, that scarlet glow
shews what a rancorous little heart thou hast, if thou durst shew it! but
come this way; and so led me to her chair: Stand there, said she, and
answer me a few questions while I dine, and I'll dismiss thee, till I
call thy impudent master to account; and then I'll have you face to face,
and all this mystery of iniquity shall be unravelled; for, between you, I
will come to the bottom of it.
When she had sat down, I moved to the window on the other side of the
parlour, looking into the private garden; and her woman said, Mrs.
Pamela, don't make my lady angry. Stand by her ladyship, as she bids
you. Said I, Pray, good now, let it suffice you to attend your lady's
commands, and don't lay yours upon me.--Your pardon, sweet Mrs. Pamela,
said she. Times are much altered with you, I'll assure you! said I, Her
ladyship has a very good plea to be free in the house that she was born
in; but you may as well confine your freedoms to the house in which you
had your breedings. Why, how now, Mrs. Pamela, said she; since you
provoke me to it, I'll tell you a piece of my mind. Hush, hush, good
woman, said I, alluding to my lady's language to Mrs. Jewkes, my lady
wants not your assistance:--Besides, I can't scold!
The woman was ready to flutter with vexation; and Lord Jackey laughed as
if he would burst his sides: G--d d--n me, Beck, said he, you'd better
let her alone to my lady here for she'll be too many for twenty such as
you and I!--And then he laughed again, and repeated--I can't scold,
quoth-a! but, by gad, miss, you can speak d----d spiteful words, I can
tell you that!--Poor Beck, poor Beck!--'Fore gad, she's quite
dumbfoundered!
Well, but Pamela, said my lady, come hither, and tell me truly, Dost thou
think thyself really married?--Said I, and approached her chair, My good
lady, I'll answer all your commands, if you'll have patience with me, and
not be so angry as you are: But I can't bear to be used thus by this
gentleman, and your ladyship's woman. Child, said she, thou art very
impertinent to my kinsman; thou can'st not be civil to me; and my
ladyship's woman is much thy betters. But that's not the thing!--Dost
thou think thou art really married?
I see, madam, said I, you are resolved not to be pleased with any answer
I shall return: If I should say, I am not, then your ladyship will call
me hard names, and, perhaps, I should tell a fib. If I should say, I am,
your ladyship will ask, how I have the impudence to be so?--and will call
it a sham-marriage. I will, said she, be answered more directly. Why,
what, madam, does it signify what I think? Your ladyship will believe as
you please.
But can'st thou have the vanity, the pride, the folly, said she, to think
thyself actually married to my brother? He is no fool, child; and
libertine enough of conscience; and thou art not the first in the list of
his credulous harlots.--Well, well, said I, (and was in a sad flutter,)
as I am easy, and pleased with my lot, pray, madam, let me continue so,
as long as I can. It will be time enough for me to know the worst, when
the worst comes. And if it should be so bad, your ladyship should pity
me, rather than thus torment me before my time.
Well, said she, but dost not think I am concerned, that a young wench,
whom my poor dear mother loved so well, should thus cast herself away,
and suffer herself to be deluded and undone, after such a noble stand as
thou madst for so long a time?
I think myself far from being deluded and undone, and am as innocent and
virtuous as ever I was in my life. Thou liest, child, said she.
So your ladyship told me twice before.
She gave me a slap on the hand for this; and I made a low courtesy, and
said, I humbly thank your ladyship! but I could not refrain tears: And
added, Your dear brother, madam, however, won't thank your ladyship for
this usage of me, though I do. Come a little nearer me, my dear, said
she, and thou shalt have a little more than that to tell him of, if thou
think'st thou hast not made mischief enough already between a sister and
brother. But, child, if he was here, I would serve thee worse, and him
too. I wish he was, said I.--Dost thou threaten me, mischief-maker, and
insolent as thou art?
Now, pray, madam, said I, (but got to a little distance,) be pleased to
reflect upon all that you have said to me, since I have had the honour,
or rather misfortune, to come into your presence; whether you have said
one thing befitting your ladyship's degree to me, even supposing I was
the wench and the creature you imagine me to be?--Come hither, my pert
dear, replied she, come but within my reach for one moment, and I'll
answer thee as thou deservest.
To be sure she meant to box my ears. But I should not be worthy my happy
lot if I could not shew some spirit.
When the cloth was taken away, I said, I suppose I may now depart your
presence, madam? I suppose not, said she. Why, I'll lay thee a wager,
child, thy stomach's too full to eat, and so thou may'st fast till thy
mannerly master comes home.
Pray your ladyship, said her woman, let the poor girl sit down at table
with Mrs. Jewkes and me.--Said I, You are very kind, Mrs. Worden; but
times, as you said, are much altered with me; and I have been of late so
much honoured with better company, that I can't stoop to yours.
Was ever such confidence! said my lady.--Poor Beck! poor Beck! said her
kinsman; why she beats you quite out of the pit!--Will your ladyship,
said I, be so good as to tell me how long I am to tarry? For you'll
please to see by that letter, that I am obliged to attend my master's
commands. And so I gave her the dear gentleman's letter from Mr.
Carlton's, which I thought would make her use me better, as she might
judge by it of the honour done me by him. Ay, said she, this is my
worthy brother's hand. It is directed to Mrs. Andrews. That's to you, I
suppose, child? And so she ran on, making remarks as she went along, in
this manner:
My dearest PAMELA,--'Mighty well!'--I hope my not coming home this night,
will not frighten you!--'Vastly tender, indeed!--And did it frighten you,
child?'--You may believe I can't help it. 'No, to be sure!--A person in
thy way of life, is more tenderly used than an honest wife. But mark the
end of it!'--I could have wished--'Pr'ythee, Jackey, mind this,'--we--
'mind the significant we,'--had not engaged to the good neighbourhood, at
Sir Simon's, for to-morrow night.--'Why, does the good neighbourhood, and
does Sir Simon, permit thy visits, child? They shall have none of mine,
then, I'll assure them!'--But I am so desirous to set out on Wednesday
for the other house--'So, Jackey, but we just nicked it, I find:'--that,
as well as in return for the civilities of so many good friends, who will
be there on purpose, I would not put it off.--'Now mind, Jackey.'--What I
beg of you--'Mind the wretch, that could use me and your uncle as he has
done; he is turned beggar to this creature!'--I beg of you, therefore, my
dear--'My dear! there's for you!--I wish I may not be quite sick before I
get through.'--What I beg of you, therefore, my dear, [and then she
looked me full in the face,] is, that you will go in the chariot to Sir
Simon's, the sooner in the day the better;--'Dear heart! and why so, when
WE were not expected till night? Why, pray observe the reason--Hem!'
[said she]--Because you will be diverted with the company;--'Mighty kind,
indeed!'--who all--'Jackey, Jackey, mind this,'--who all so much admire
you. 'Now he'd ha' been hanged before he would have said so complaisant
a thing, had he been married, I'm sure!'--Very true, aunt, said he: A
plain case that!--[Thought I, that's hard upon poor matrimony, though I
hope my lady don't find it so. But I durst not speak out.]--Who all so
much admire you, [said she,] 'I must repeat that--Pretty miss!--I wish
thou wast as admirable for thy virtue, as for that baby-face of thine!'--
And I hope to join you there by your tea-time in the afternoon!--'So,
you're in very good time, child, an hour or two hence, to answer all your
important pre-engagements!'--which will be better than going home, and
returning with you; as it will be six miles difference to me; and I know
the good company will excuse my dress on this occasion.--'Very true; any
dress is good enough, I'm sure, for such company as admire thee, child,
for a companion, in thy ruined state!--Jackey, Jackey, mind, mind, again!
more fine things still!'--I count every hour of this little absence for a
day!--'There's for you! Let me repeat it'--I count every hour of this
little absence for a day!--'Mind, too, the wit of the good man! One may
see love is a new thing to him. Here is a very tedious time gone since
he saw his deary; no less than, according to his amorous calculation, a
dozen days and nights, at least! and yet, TEDIOUS as it is, it is but a
LITTLE ABSENCE. Well said, my good, accurate, and consistent brother!--
But wise men in love are always the greatest simpletons!--But now cones
the reason why this LITTLE ABSENCE, which, at the same time, is SO GREAT
an ABSENCE, is so tedious:'--FOR I am--'Ay, now for it!'--with the UTMOST
sincerity, my dearest love--'Out upon DEAREST love! I shall never love
the word again! Pray bid your uncle never call me dearest love,
Jackey!'--For ever yours!--'But, brother, thou liest!--Thou knowest thou
dost.--And so, my good Lady Andrews, or what shall I call you? Your
dearest love will be for ever yours! And hast thou the vanity to believe
this?--But stay, here is a postscript. The poor man knew not when to
have done to his dearest love.--He's sadly in for't, truly! Why, his
dearest love, you are mighty happy in such a lover!'--If you could go to
dine with them--'Cry you mercy, my dearest love, now comes the pre-
engagement!'--it will be a freedom that will be very pleasing to them,
and the more, as they don't expect it.
Well, so much for this kind letter! But you see you cannot honour this
admiring company with this little expected, and, but in complaisance to
his folly, I dare say, little desired freedom. And I cannot forbear
admiring you so much myself, my dearest love, that I will not spare you
at all, this whole evening: For 'tis a little hard, if thy master's
sister may not be blest a little bit with thy charming company.
So I found I had shewn her my letter to very little purpose, and repented
it several times, as she read on.--Well, then, said I, I hope your
ladyship will give me leave to send my excuses to your good brother, and
say, that your ladyship is come, and is so fond of me, that you will not
let me leave you.--Pretty creature, said she; and wantest thou thy good
master to come, and quarrel with his sister on thy account?--But thou
shalt not stir from my presence; and I would now ask thee, What it is
thou meanest by shewing me this letter?--Why, madam, said I, to shew your
ladyship how I was engaged for this day and evening.--And for nothing
else? said she. Why, I can't tell, madam, said I: But if you can collect
from it any other circumstances, I might hope I should not be the worse
treated.
I saw her eyes began to sparkle with passion: and she took my hand, and
said, grasping it very hard, I know, confident creature, that thou
shewedst it me to insult me!--You shewed it me, to let me see, that he
could be civiller to a beggar born, than to me, or to my good Lord
Davers!--You shewed it me, as if you'd have me to be as credulous a fool
as yourself, to believe your marriage true, when I know the whole trick
of it, and have reason to believe you do too; and you shewed it me, to
upbraid me with his stooping to such painted dirt, to the disgrace of a
family, ancient and untainted beyond most in the kingdom. And now will I
give thee one hundred guineas for one bold word, that I may fell thee at
my foot!
Was not this very dreadful! To be sure, I had better have kept the
letter from her. I was quite frightened!--And this fearful menace, and
her fiery eyes, and rageful countenance, made me lose all my courage.--So
I said, weeping, Good your ladyship, pity me!--Indeed I am honest; indeed
I am virtuous; indeed I would not do a bad thing for the world!
Though I know, said she, the whole trick of thy pretended marriage, and
thy foolish ring here, and all the rest of the wicked nonsense, yet I
should not have patience with thee, if thou shouldst but offer to let me
know thy vanity prompts thee to believe thou art married to my brother!--
I could not bear the thought!--So take care, Pamela; take care, beggarly
brat; take care.
Good madam, said I, spare my dear parents. They are honest and
industrious: they were once in a very creditable way, and never were
beggars. Misfortunes may attend any body: And I can bear the cruellest
imputations on myself, because I know my innocence; but upon such honest,
industrious parents, who went through the greatest trials, without being
beholden to any thing but God's blessing, and their own hard labour; I
cannot bear reflection.
What! art thou setting up for a family, creature as thou art! God give
me patience with thee! I suppose my brother's folly, and his wickedness,
together, will, in a little while, occasion a search at the heralds'
office, to set out thy wretched obscurity! Provoke me, I desire thou
wilt! One hundred guineas will I give thee, to say but thou thinkest
thou art married to my brother.
Your ladyship, I hope, won't kill me: And since nothing I can say will
please you, but your ladyship is resolved to quarrel with me; since I
must not say what I think, on one hand nor another; whatever your
ladyship designs by me, be pleased to do, and let me depart your
presence!
She gave me a slap on the hand, and reached to box my ear; but Mrs.
Jewkes hearkening without, and her woman too, they both came in at that
instant; and Mrs. Jewkes said, pushing herself in between us; Your
ladyship knows not what you do! Indeed you don't! My master would never
forgive me, if I suffered, in his house, one he so dearly loves, to be so
used; and it must not be, though you are Lady Davers. Her woman too
interposed, and told her, I was not worth her ladyship's anger. But she
was like a person beside herself.
I offered to go out, and Mrs. Jewkes took my hand to lead me out: But her
kinsman set his back against the door, and put his hand to his sword, and
said, I should not go, till his aunt permitted it. He drew it half-way,
and I was so terrified, that I cried out, Oh, the sword! the sword! and,
not knowing what I did, I ran to my lady herself, and clasped my arms
about her, forgetting, just then, how much she was my enemy, and said,
sinking on my knees, Defend me, good your ladyship! the sword! the
sword!--Mrs. Jewkes said, Oh! my lady will fall into fits! But Lady
Davers was herself so startled at the matter being carried so far, that
she did not mind her words, and said, Jackey, don't draw your sword!--You
see, as great as her spirit is, she can't bear that.
Come, said she, be comforted; he shan't frighten you!--I'll try to
overcome my anger, and will pity you. So, wench, rise up, and don't be
foolish. Mrs. Jewkes held her salts to my nose, and I did not faint.
And my lady said, Mrs. Jewkes, if you would be forgiven, leave Pamela and
me by ourselves; and, Jackey, do you withdraw; only you, Beck, stay.
So I sat down in the window, all in a sad fluster; for, to be sure, I was
sadly frightened.--Said her woman, You should not sit in my lady's
presence, Mrs. Pamela. Yes, let her sit till she is a little recovered
of her fright, said my lady, and do you set my chair by her. And so she
sat over-against me, and said, To be sure, Pamela, you have been very
provoking with your tongue, to be sure you have, as well upon my nephew,
(who is a man of quality too,) as me. And palliating her cruel usage,
and beginning, I suppose, to think herself she had carried it further
than she could answer it to her brother, she wanted to lay the fault upon
me. Own, said she, you have been very saucy; and beg my pardon, and beg
Jackey's pardon, and I will try to pity you. For you are a sweet girl,
after all; if you had but held out, and been honest.
'Tis injurious to me, madam, said I, to imagine I am not honest!--Said
she, Have you not been a-bed with my brother? tell me that. Your
ladyship, replied I, asks your questions in a strange way, and in strange
words.
O! your delicacy is wounded, I suppose, by my plain questions!--This
niceness will soon leave you, wench: It will, indeed. But answer me
directly. Then your ladyship's next question, said I, will be, Am I
married? And you won't bear my answer to that--and will beat me again.
I han't beat you yet; have I, Beck? said she. So you want to make out a
story, do you?--But, indeed, I can't bear thou shouldst so much as think
thou art my sister. I know the whole trick of it; and so, 'tis my
opinion, dost thou. It is only thy little cunning, that it might look
like a cloak to thy yielding, and get better terms from him. Pr'ythee,
pr'ythee, wench, thou seest I know the world a little;--almost as much at
thirty-two, as thou dost at sixteen.--Remember that!
I rose from the window, and walking to the other end of the room, Beat me
again, if you please, said I, but I must tell your ladyship, I scorn your
words, and am as much married as your ladyship!
At that she ran to me; but her woman interposed again: Let the vain
wicked creature go from your presence, madam, said she. She is not
worthy to be in it. She will but vex your ladyship. Stand away, Beck,
said she. That's an assertion that I would not take from my brother, I
can't bear it. As much married as I!--Is that to be borne? But if the
creature believes she is, madam, said her woman, she is to be as much
pitied for her credulity, as despised for her vanity.
I was in hopes to have slipt out at the door; but she caught hold of my
gown, and pulled me back. Pray your ladyship, said I, don't kill me!--I
have done no harm.--But she locked the door, and put the key in her
pocket. So, seeing Mrs. Jewkes before the window, I lifted up the sash,
and said, Mrs. Jewkes, I believe it would be best for the chariot to go
to your master, and let him know, that Lady Davers is here; and I cannot
leave her ladyship.
She was resolved to be displeased, let me say what I would.
Said she, No, no; he'll then think, that I make the creature my
companion, and know not how to part with her. I thought your ladyship,
replied I, could not have taken exceptions at this message. Thou knowest
nothing, wench, said she, of what belongs to people of condition: How
shouldst thou? Nor, thought I, do I desire it, at this rate.
What shall I say, madam? said I. Nothing at all, replied she; let him
expect his dearest love, and be disappointed; it is but adding a few more
hours, and he will make every one a day, in his amorous account.--Mrs.
Jewkes coming nearer me, and my lady walking about the room, being then
at the end, I whispered, Let Robert stay at the elms; I'll have a
struggle for't by and by.
As much married as I! repeated she.--The insolence of the creature!--And
so she walked about the room, talking to herself, to her woman, and now
and then to me; but seeing I could not please her, I thought I had better
be silent. And then it was, Am I not worthy an answer? If I speak, said
I, your ladyship is angry at me, though ever so respectfully; if I do
not, I cannot please: Would your ladyship tell me but how I shall oblige
you, and I would do it with all my heart.
Confess the truth, said she, that thou art an undone creature; hast been
in bed with thy master; and art sorry for it, and for the mischief thou
hast occasioned between him and me; and then I'll pity thee, and persuade
him to pack thee off, with a hundred or two of guineas; and some honest
farmer may take pity of thee, and patch up thy shame, for the sake of the
money; and if nobody will have thee, thou must vow penitence, and be as
humble as I once thought thee.
I was quite sick at heart, at all this passionate extravagance, and to be
hindered from being where was the desire of my soul, and afraid too of
incurring my dear master's displeasure; and, as I sat, I saw it was no
hard matter to get out of the window into the front yard, the parlour
being even with the yard, and so have a fair run for it; and after I had
seen my lady at the other end of the room again, in her walks, having not
pulled down the sash, when I spoke to Mrs. Jewkes, I got upon the seat,
and whipped out in a minute, and ran away as hard as I could drive, my
lady calling after me to return, and her woman at the other window: But
two of her servants appearing at her crying out, and she bidding them to
stop me, I said, Touch me at your peril, fellows! But their lady's
commands would have prevailed on them, had not Mr. Colbrand, who, it
seems, had been kindly ordered, by Mrs. Jewkes, to be within call, when
she saw how I was treated, come up, and put on one of his deadly fierce
looks, the only time, I thought, it ever became him, and said, He would
chine the man, that was his word, who offered to touch his lady; and so
he ran alongside of me; and I heard my lady say, The creature flies like
a bird! And, indeed, Mr. Colbrand, with his huge strides, could hardly
keep pace with me; and I never stopped, till I got to the chariot; and
Robert had got down, seeing me running at a distance, and held the door
in his hand, with the step ready down; and in I jumped, without touching
the step, saying, Drive me, drive me, as fast as you can, out of my
lady's reach! And he mounted; and Colbrand said, Don't be frightened,
madam; nobody shall hurt you.--And shut the door, and away Robert drove;
but I was quite out of breath, and did not recover it, and my fright, all
the way.
Mr. Colbrand was so kind, but I did not know it till the chariot stopped
at Sir Simon's, to step up behind the carriage, lest, as he said, my lady
should send after me; and he told Mrs. Jewkes, when he got home, that he
never saw such a runner as me in his life.
When the chariot stopped, which was not till six o'clock, so long did
this cruel lady keep me, Miss Darnford ran out to me: O madam, said she,
ten times welcome! but you'll be beat, I can tell you! for here has been
Mr. B---- come these two hours, and is very angry with you.
That's hard indeed, said I;--Indeed I can't afford it;--for I hardly knew
what I said, having not recovered my fright. Let me sit down, miss, any
where, said I; for I have been sadly off. So I sat down, and was quite
sick with the hurry of my spirits, and leaned upon her arm.
Said she, Your lord and master came in very moody; and when he had staid
an hour, and you not come, he began to fret, and said, He did not expect
so little complaisance from you. And he is now sat down, with great
persuasion, to a game at loo.--Come, you must make your appearance, lady
fair; for he is too sullen to attend you, I doubt.
You have no strangers, have you miss? said I.--Only two women relations
from Stamford, replied she, and an humble servant of one of them.--Only
all the world, miss! said I.--What shall I do, if he be angry? I can't
bear that.
Just as I had said so, came in Lady Darnford and Lady Jones to chide me,
as they said, for not coming sooner. And before I could speak, came in
my dear master. I ran to him. How dy'e Pamela? said he; and saluting
me, with a little more formality than I could well bear.--I expected half
a word from me, when I was so complaisant to your choice, would have
determined you, and that you'd have been here to dinner;--and the rather,
as I made my request a reasonable one, and what I thought would be
agreeable to you. O dear sir, said I, pray, pray, hear me, and you'll
pity me, and not be displeased! Mrs. Jewkes will tell you, that as soon
as I had your kind commands, I said, I would obey you, and come to dinner
with these good ladies; and so prepared myself instantly, with all the
pleasure in the world. Lady Darnford and miss said I was their dear!--
Look you, said miss, did I not tell you, stately one, that something must
have happened? But, O these tyrants! these men!
Why, what hindered it, my dear? said he: give yourself time; you seem out
of breath!--O sir, said I, out of breath! well I may!--For, just as I was
ready to come away, who should drive into the court-yard, but Lady
Davers!--Lady Davers! Nay, then, my sweet dear, said he, and saluted me
more tenderly, hast thou had a worse trial than I wish thee, from one of
the haughtiest women in England, though my sister!--For, she too, my
Pamela, was spoiled by my good mother!--But have you seen her?
Yes, sir, said I, and more than seen her!--Why sure, said he, she has not
had the insolence to strike my girl!--Sir, said I, but tell me you
forgive me; for indeed I could not come sooner; and these good ladies but
excuse me; and I'll tell you all another time; for to take up the good
company's attention now, will spoil their pleasantry, and be to them,
though more important to me, like the broken china you cautioned me
about.
That's a dear girl! said he; I see my hints are not thrown away upon you;
and I beg pardon for being angry with you; and, for the future, will stay
till I hear your defence, before I judge you. Said Miss Darnford, This
is a little better! To own a fault is some reparation; and what every
lordly husband will not do. He said, But tell me, my dear, did Lady
Davers offer you any incivility? O sir, replied I, she is your sister,
and I must not tell you all; but she has used me very severely! Did you
tell her, said he, you were married? Yes, sir, I did at last; but she
will have it 'tis a sham-marriage, and that I am a vile creature: and she
was ready to beat me, when I said so: for she could not have patience,
that I should be deemed her sister, as she said.
How unlucky it was, replied he, I was not at home?--Why did you not send
to me here? Send, sir! I was kept prisoner by force. They would not let
me stir, or do you think I would have been hindered from obeying you?
Nay, I told them, that I had a pre-engagement; but she ridiculed me, and
said, Waiting-maids talk of pre-engagements! And then I shewed her your
kind letter; and she made a thousand remarks upon it, and made me wish I
had not. In short, whatever I could do or say, there was no pleasing
her; and I was a creature and wench, and all that was naught. But you
must not be angry with her on my account.
Well, but, said he, I suppose she hardly asked you to dine with her; for
she came before dinner, I presume, if it was soon after you had received
my letter! No, sir, dine with my lady! no, indeed! Why, she would make
me wait at table upon her, with her woman, because she would not expose
herself and me before the men-servants; which you know, sir, was very
good of her ladyship.
Well, said he, but did you wait upon her? Would you have had me, sir?
said I.--Only, Pamela, replied he, if you did, and knew not what belonged
to your character, as my wife, I shall be very angry with you. Sir, said
I, I did not, but refused it, out of consideration to the dignity you
have raised me to; else, sir, I could have waited on my knees upon your
sister.
Now, said he, you confirm my opinion of your prudence and judgment. She
is an insolent woman, and shall dearly repent it. But, sir, she is to be
excused, because she won't believe I am indeed married; so don't be too
angry at her ladyship.
He said, Ladies, pray don't let us keep you from the company; I'll only
ask a question or two more, and attend you. Said Lady Jones, I so much
long to hear this story of poor madam's persecution, that, if it was not
improper, I should be glad to stay. Miss Darnford would stay for the
same reason; my master saying, He had no secrets to ask; and that it was
kind of them to interest themselves in my grievances.
But Lady Darnford went into the company, and told them the cause of my
detention; for, it seems, my dear master loved me too well, to keep to
himself the disappointment my not being here to receive him, was to him;
and they had all given the two Misses Boroughs and Mr. Perry, the
Stamford guests, such a character of me, that they said they were
impatient to see me.
Said my master, But, Pamela, you said they and them: Who had my sister
with her besides her woman? Her nephew, sir, and three footmen on
horseback; and she and her woman were in her chariot and six.
That's a sad coxcomb, said he: How did he behave to you?--Not
extraordinarily, sir; but I should not complain; for I was even with him;
because I thought I ought not to bear with him as with my lady.
By Heaven! said he, if I knew he behaved unhandsomely to my jewel, I'd
send him home to his uncle without his ears. Indeed, sir, returned I, I
was as hard upon him as he was upon me. Said he, 'Tis kind to say so;
but I believe I shall make them dearly repent their visit, if I find
their behaviour to call for my resentment.
But, sure, my dear, you might have got away when you went to your own
dinner? Indeed, sir, said I, her ladyship locked me in, and would not
let me stir.--So you ha'nt ate any dinner? No, indeed, sir, nor had a
stomach for any. My poor dear, said he. But then, how got you away at
last? O sir, replied I, I jumped out of the parlour window, and ran away
to the chariot, which had waited for me several hours, by the elm-walk,
from the time of my lady's coming (for I was just going, as I said); and
Mr. Colbrand conducted me through her servants, whom she called to, to
stop me; and was so kind to step behind the chariot, unknown to me, and
saw me safe here.
I'm sure, said he, these insolent creatures must have treated you vilely.
But tell me, what part did Mrs. Jewkes act in this affair? A very kind
part, sir, said I, in my behalf; and I shall thank her for it. Sweet
creature! said he, thou lovest to speak well of every body; but I hope
she deserves it; for she knew you were married.--But come, we'll now join
the company, and try to forget all you have suffered, for two or three
hours, that we may not tire the company with our concerns and resume the
subject as we go home: and you shall find I will do you justice, as I
ought. But you forgive me, sir, said I, and are not angry? Forgive you,
my dear! returned he--I hope you forgive me! I shall never make you
satisfaction for what you have suffered from me, and for me! And with
those words he led me into the company.
He very kindly presented me to the two stranger ladies, and the
gentleman, and them to me: and Sir Simon, who was at cards, rose from
table, and saluted me: Adad! madam, said he, I'm glad to see you here.
What, it seems you have been a prisoner! 'Twas well you was, or your
spouse and I should have sat in judgment upon you, and condemned you to a
fearful punishment for your first crime of laesae majestatis: (I had this
explained to me afterwards, as a sort of treason against my liege lord
and husband:) for we husbands hereabouts, said he, are resolved to turn
over a new leaf with our wives, and your lord and master shall shew us
the way, I can tell you that. But I see by your eyes, my sweet culprit,
added he, and your complexion, you have had sour sauce to your sweet
meat.
Miss Darnford said, I think we are obliged to our sweet guest, at last;
for she was forced to jump out at a window to come to us. Indeed! said
Mrs. Peters;--and my master's back being turned, says she, Lady Davers,
when a maiden, was always vastly passionate; but a very good lady when
her passion was over. And she'd make nothing of slapping her maids
about, and begging their pardons afterwards, if they took it patiently;
otherwise she used to say the creatures were even with her.
Ay, said I, I have been a many creatures and wenches, and I know not
what; for these were the names she gave me. And I thought I ought to act
up to the part her dear brother has given me; and so I have but just
escaped a good cuffing.
Miss Boroughs said to her sister, as I overheard, but she did not design
I should, What a sweet creature is this! and then she takes so little
upon her, is so free, so easy, and owns the honour done her, so
obligingly! said Mr. Perry, softly, The loveliest person I ever saw! Who
could have the heart to be angry with her one moment?
Says Miss Darnford, Here, my dearest neighbour, these gentry are admiring
you strangely; and Mr. Perry says, you are the loveliest lady he ever
saw; and he says it to his own mistress's face too, I'll assure you!--Or
else, says Miss Boroughs, I should think he much flattered me.
O, madam, you are exceedingly obliging! but your kind opinion ought to
teach me humility, and to reverence so generous a worth as can give a
preference against yourself, where it is so little due. Indeed, madam,
said Miss Nanny Boroughs, I love my sister well; but it would be a high
compliment to any lady, to be deemed worthy a second or third place after
you.
There is no answering such politeness, said I: I am sure Lady Davers was
very cruel to keep me from such company. 'Twas our loss, madam, says
Miss Darnford. I'll allow it, said I, in degree; for you have all been
deprived, several hours, of an humble admirer.
Mr. Perry said, I never before saw so young a lady shine forth with such
graces of mind and person. Alas! sir, said I, my master coming up, mine
is but a borrowed shine, like that of the moon. Here is the sun, to
whose fervent glow of generosity I owe all the faint lustre, that your
goodness is pleased to look upon with so much kind distinction.
Mr. Perry was pleased to hold up his hands; and the ladies looked upon
one another. And my master said, hearing part of the last sentence,
What's the pretty subject, that my Pamela is displaying so sweetly her
talents upon?
Oh! sir, said Mr. Perry, I will pronounce you the happiest man in
England: and so said they all.
My master said, most generously, Thank ye, thank ye, thank ye, all round,
my dear friends. I know not your subject; but if you believe me so, for
a single instance of this dear girl's goodness, what must I think myself,
when blessed with a thousand instances, and experiencing it in every
single act and word! I do assure you my Pamela's person, all lovely as
you see it, is far short of her mind: That, indeed, first attracted my
admiration, and made me her lover: but they were the beauties of her
mind, that made me her husband; and proud, my sweet dear, said he,
pressing my hand, am I of that title.
Well, said Mr. Perry, very kindly and politely, excellent as your lady
is, I know not the gentleman that could deserve her, but that one who
could say such just and such fine things.
I was all abashed; and took Miss Darnford's hand, and said, Save me, dear
miss, by your sweet example, from my rising pride. But could I deserve
half these kind things, what a happy creature should I be! said Miss
Darnford, You deserve them all, indeed you do.
The greatest part of the company having sat down to loo, my master being
pressed, said he would take one game at whist; but had rather be excused
too, having been up all night: and I asked how his friend did? We'll
talk of that, said he, another time; which, and his seriousness, made me
fear the poor gentleman was dead, as it proved.
We cast in, and Miss Boroughs and my master were together, and Mr. Perry
and I; and I had all four honours the first time, and we were up at one
deal. Said my master, An honourable hand, Pamela, should go with an
honourable heart; but you'd not have been up, if a knave had not been
one. Whist, sir, said Mr. Perry, you know, was a court game originally;
and the knave, I suppose, signified always the prime minister.
'Tis well, said my master, if now there is but one knave in a court, out
of four persons, take the court through.
The king and queen, sir, said Mr. Perry, can do no wrong, you know. So
there are two that must be good out of four; and the ace seems too plain
a card to mean much hurt.
We compliment the king, said my master, in that manner; and 'tis well to
do so, because there is something sacred in the character. But yet, if
force of example be considered, it is going a great way; for certainly a
good master makes a good servant, generally speaking.
One thing, added he, I will say, in regard to the ace: I have always
looked upon that plain and honest looking card in the light you do: and
have considered whist as an English game in its original; which has made
me fonder of it than of any other. For by the ace I have always thought
the laws of the land denoted; and as the ace is above the king or queen,
and wins them, I think the law should be thought so too; though, may be,
I shall be deemed a Whig for my opinion.
I shall never play whist, said Mr. Perry, without thinking of this, and
shall love the game the better for the thought; though I am no party-man.
Nor I, said my master; for I think the distinctions of whig and tory
odious; and love the one or the other only as they are honest and worthy
men; and have never (nor never shall, hope) given a vote, but according
to what I thought was for the public good, let either whig or tory
propose it.
I wish, sir, replied Mr. Perry, all gentlemen in your station would act
so. If there was no undue influence, said my master, I am willing to
think so well of all mankind, that I believe they generally would.
But you see, said he, by my Pamela's hand, when all the court-cards get
together, and are acted by one mind, the game is usually turned
accordingly: Though now and then, too, it may be so circumstanced, that
honours will do them no good, and they are forced to depend altogether
upon tricks.
I thought this way of talking prettier than the game itself. But I said,
Though I have won the game, I hope I am no trickster. No, said my
master, God forbid but court-cards should sometimes win with honour! But
you see, for all that, your game is as much owing to the knave as the
king; and you, my fair-one, lost no advantage, when it was put into your
power.
Else, sir, said I, I should not have done justice to my partner. You are
certainly right, Pamela, replied he; though you thereby beat your
husband. Sir, said I, you may be my partner next, and I must do justice,
you know. Well, said he, always choose so worthy a friend, as chance has
given you for a partner, and I shall never find fault with you, do what
you will.
Mr. Perry said, You are very good to me, sir; and Miss Boroughs, I
observed, seemed pleased with the compliment to her humble servant; by
which I saw she esteemed him, as he appears to deserve. Dear sir! said
I, how much better is this, than to be locked in by Lady Davers!
The supper was brought in sooner on my account, because I had had no
dinner; and there passed very agreeable compliments on the occasion.
Lady Darnford would help me first, because I had so long fasted, as she
said. Sir Simon would have placed himself next me: And my master said,
He thought it was best, where there was an equal number of ladies and
gentlemen, that they should sit, intermingled, that the gentlemen might
be employed in helping and serving the ladies. Lady Darnford said, She
hoped Sir Simon would not sit above any ladies at his own table
especially. Well, said he, I shall sit over-against her, however, and
that's as well.
My dearest sir could not keep his eyes off me, and seemed generously
delighted with all I did, and all I said; and every one was pleased to
see his kind and affectionate behaviour to me.
Lady Jones brought up the discourse about Lady Davers again; and my
master said, I fear, Pamela, you have been hardly used, more than you'll
say. I know my sister's passionate temper too well, to believe she could
be over-civil to you, especially as it happened so unluckily that I was
out. If, added he, she had no pique to you, my dear, yet what has passed
between her and me, has so exasperated her, that I know she would have
quarrelled with my horse, if she had thought I valued it, and nobody else
was in her way. Dear sir, said I, don't say so of good Lady Davers.
Why, my dear, said he, I know she came on purpose to quarrel; and had she
not found herself under a very violent uneasiness, after what had passed
between us, and my treatment of her lord's letter, she would not have
offered to come near me. What sort of language had she for me, Pamela?
O sir, very good, only her well-mannered brother, and such as that!
Only, said he, 'tis taking up the attention of the company disagreeably,
or I could tell you almost every word she said. Lady Jones wished to
hear a further account of my lady's conduct, and most of the company
joined with her, particularly Mrs. Peters; who said, that as they knew
the story, and Lady Davers's temper, though she was very good in the
main, they could wish to be so agreeably entertained, if he and I
pleased; because they imagined I should have no difficulties after this.
Tell me, then, Pamela, said he, did she lift up her hand at you? Did she
strike you? But I hope not! A little slap of the hand, said I, or so.--
Insolent woman! She did not, I hope, offer to strike your face? Why,
said I, I was a little saucy once or twice; and she would have given me a
cuff on the ear, if her woman and Mrs. Jewkes had not interposed. Why
did you not come out at the door? Because, said I, her ladyship sat in
the chair against it, one while, and another while locked it; else I
offered several times to get away.
She knew I expected you here: You say, you shewed her my letter to you?
Yes, sir, said I; but I had better not; for she as then more exasperated,
and made strange comments upon it. I doubt it not, said he; but, did she
not see, by the kind epithets in it, that there was no room to doubt of
our being married? O, sir, replied I, and made the company smile, she
said, For that very reason she was sure I was not married.
That's like my sister! said he; exactly like her; and yet she lives very
happily herself: for her poor lord never contradicts her. Indeed he
dares not.
You were a great many wenches, were you not, my dear? for that's a great
word with her.--Yes, sir, said I, wenches and creatures out of number;
and worse than all that. What? tell me, my dear. Sir, said I, I must
not have you angry with Lady Davers; while you are so good to me, 'tis
all nothing; only the trouble I have that I cannot be suffered to shew
how much I honoured her ladyship, as your sister.
Well, said he, you need not be afraid to tell me: I must love her after
all; though I shall not be pleased with her on this occasion. I know it
is her love for me, though thus oddly expressed, that makes her so
uneasy: and, after all, she comes, I'm sure, to be reconciled to me;
though it must be through a good hearty quarrel first: for she can shew a
good deal of sunshine; but it must be always after a storm; and I'll love
her dearly, if she has not been, and will not be, too hard upon my
dearest.
Mr. Peters said, Sir, you are very good, and very kind; I love to see
this complaisance to your sister, though she be in fault, so long as you
can shew it with so much justice to the sweetest innocence and merit in
the world. By all that's good, Mr. Peters, said he, I'd present my
sister with a thousand pounds, if she would kindly take my dear Pamela by
the hand, and wish her joy, and call her sister!--And yet I should be
unworthy of the dear creature that smiles upon me there, if it was not
principally for her sake, and the pleasure it would give her, that I say
this: for I will never be thoroughly reconciled to my sister till she
does; for I most sincerely think, as to myself, that my dear wife, there
she sits, does me more honour in her new relation, than she receives
from me.
Sir, said I, I am overwhelmed with your goodness!--And my eyes were
filled with tears of joy and gratitude: and all the company with one
voice blessed him. And Lady Jones was pleased to say, The behaviour of
you two happy ones, to each other, is the most edifying I ever knew. I
am always improved when I see you. How happy would every good lady be
with such a gentleman, and every good gentleman with such a lady!--In
short, you seem made for one another.
O madam, said I, you are so kind, so good to me, that I know not how to
thank you enough!--Said she, You deserve more than I can express; for, to
all that know your story, you are a matchless person. You are an
ornament to our sex and your virtue, though Mr. B---- is so generous as
he is, has met with no more than its due reward. God long bless you
together!
You are, said my dearest sir, very good to me, madam, I am sure. I have
taken liberties in my former life, that deserved not so much excellence.
I have offended extremely, by trials glorious to my Pamela, but
disgraceful to me, against a virtue that I now consider as almost sacred;
and I shall not think I deserve her, till I can bring my manners, my
sentiments, and my actions, to a conformity with her own. In short, my
Pamela, continued he, I want you to be nothing but what you are, and have
been. You cannot be better; and if you could, it would be but filling me
with despair to attain the awful heights of virtue at which you have
arrived. Perhaps, added the dear gentleman, the scene I have beheld
within these twelve hours, has made me more serious than otherwise I
should have been: but I'll assure you, before all this good company, I
speak the sentiments of my heart, and those not of this day only.
What a happy daughter is yours, O my dear father and mother! I owe it
all to God's grace, and to yours and my good lady's instructions: And to
these let me always look back with grateful acknowledgments, that I may
not impute to myself, and be proud, my inexpressible happiness.
The company were so kindly pleased with our concern, and my dear master's
goodness, that he, observing their indulgence, and being himself curious
to know the further particulars of what had passed between my lady and
me, repeated his question, What she had called me besides wench and
creature? And I said, My lady, supposing I was wicked, lamented over me,
very kindly, my depravity and fall, and said, What a thousand pities it
was, so much virtue, as she was pleased to say, was so destroyed; and
that I had yielded, after so noble a stand! as she said.
Excuse me, gentlemen and ladies, said I! you know my story, it seems; and
I am commanded, by one who has a title to all my obedience, to proceed.
They gave all of them bows of approbation, that they might not interrupt
me; and I continued my story--the men-servants withdrawing, at a motion
of Mr. B----, on my looking towards them: and then, at Lady Darnford's
coming in, I proceeded.
I told her ladyship, that I was still innocent, and would be so, and it
was injurious to suppose me otherwise. Why, tell me, wench, said she--
But I think I must not tell you what she said. Yes, do, said my master,
to clear my sister; we shall think it very bad else.
I held my hand before my face--Why, she said, Tell me, wench, hast thou
not been--hesitating--a very free creature with thy master? That she
said, or to that effect--And when I said, She asked strange questions,
and in strange words, she ridiculed my delicacy, as she called it; and
said, My niceness would not last long. She said, I must know I was not
really married, that my ring was only a sham, and all was my cunning to
cloak my yielding, and get better terms. She said, She knew the world as
much at thirty-two, as I did at sixteen; and bid me remember that.
I took the liberty to say, (but I got a good way off,) that I scorned her
ladyship's words, and was as much married as her ladyship. And then I
had certainly been cuffed, if her woman had not interposed, and told her
I was not worthy her anger; and that I was as much to be pitied for my
credulity, as despised for my vanity.
My poor Pamela, said my master, this was too, too hard upon you! O sir,
said I, how much easier it was to me than if it had been so!--That would
have broken my heart quite!--For then I should have deserved it all, and
worse; and these reproaches, added to my own guilt, would have made me
truly wretched!
Lady Darnford, at whose right-hand I sat, kissed me with a kind of
rapture, and called me a sweet exemplar for all my sex. Mr. Peters said
very handsome things; so did Mr. Perry and Sir Simon, with tears in his
eyes, said to my master, Why, neighbour, neighbour, this is excellent, by
my troth. I believe there is something in virtue, that we had not well
considered. On my soul, there has been but one angel come down for these
thousand years, and you have got her.
Well, my dearest, said my master, pray proceed with your story until, we
have done supper, since the ladies seem pleased with it. Why, sir, said
I, her ladyship went on in the same manner; but said, one time, (and held
me by the hand,) she would give me an hundred guineas for one provoking
word; or, if I would but say I believed myself married, that she might
fell me at her foot: But, sir, you must not be angry with her ladyship.
She called me painted dirt, baby-face, waiting-maid, beggar's brat, and
beggar-born; but I said, As long as I knew my innocence, I was easy in
every thing, but to have my dear parents abused. They were never
beggars, nor beholden to any body; nor to any thing but God's grace and
their own labour; that they once lived in credit; that misfortunes might
befall any body; and that I could not bear they should be treated so
undeservedly.
Then her ladyship said, Ay, she supposed my master's folly would make us
set up for a family, and that the heralds' office would shortly be
searched to make it out.
Exactly my sister again! said he. So you could not please her any way?
No, indeed, sir. When she commanded me to fill her a glass of wine, and
would not let her woman do it, she asked, If I was above it? I then
said, If to attend your ladyship at table, or even kneel at your feet,
was required of me, I would most gladly do it, were I only the person you
think me. But if it be to triumph over one, who has received honours
which she thinks require from her another part, that she may not be
utterly unworthy of them, I must say, I cannot do it. This quite
astonished her ladyship; and a little before, her kinsman brought me the
bottle and glass, and required me to fill it for my lady, at her command,
and called himself my deputy: And I said, 'Tis in a good hand; help my
lady yourself. So, sir, added I, you see I could be a little saucy upon
occasion.
You please me well, my Pamela, said he. This was quite right. But
proceed.
Her ladyship said, She was astonished! adding, She supposed I would have
her look upon me as her brother's wife: And asked me, What, in the name
of impudence, possessed me, to dare to look upon myself as her sister?
And I said, That was a question better became her most worthy brother to
answer, than me. And then I thought I should have had her ladyship upon
me; but her woman interposed.
I afterwards told Mrs. Jewkes, at the window, that since I was hindered
from going to you, I believed it was best to let Robert go with the
chariot, and say, Lady Davers was come, and I could not leave her
ladyship. But this did not please; and I thought it would too; for she
said, No, no, he'll think I make the creature my companion, and know not
how to part with her.
Exactly, said he, my sister again.
And she said, I knew nothing what belonged to people of condition; how
should I?--What shall I say, madam? said I. Nothing at all, answered
she; let him expect his dearest love, alluding to your kind epithet in
your letter, and be disappointed; it is but adding a few more hours to
this heavy absence, and every one will become a day in his amorous
account.
So, to be short, I saw nothing was to be done; and I feared, sir, you
would wonder at my stay, and be angry; and I watched my opportunity, till
my lady, who was walking about the room, was at the further end; and the
parlour being a ground-floor, in a manner, I jumped out at the window,
and ran for it.
Her ladyship called after me; so did her woman; and I heard her say, I
flew like a bird; and she called two of her servants in sight to stop me;
but I said, Touch me at your peril, fellows! And Mr. Colbrand, having
been planted at hand by Mrs. Jewkes, (who was very good in the whole
affair, and incurred her ladyship's displeasure, once or twice, by taking
my part,) seeing how I was used, put on a fierce look, cocked his hat
with one hand, and put t'other on his sword, and said, he would chine the
man who offered to touch his lady. And so he ran alongside of me, and
could hardly keep pace with me:--And here, my dear sir, concluded I, I
am, at yours and the good company's service.
They seemed highly pleased with my relation; and my master said, he was
glad Mrs. Jewkes behaved so well, as also Mr. Colbrand. Yes, sir, said
I: when Mrs. Jewkes interposed once, her ladyship said, It was hard, she,
who was born in that house, could not have some privilege in it, without
being talked to by the saucy servants. And she called her another time
fat-face, and womaned her most violently.
Well, said my master, I am glad, my dear, you have had such an escape.
My sister was always passionate, as Mrs. Peters knows: And my poor mother
had enough to do with us both. For we neither of us wanted spirit: and
when I was a boy, I never came home from school or college for a few
days, but though we longed to see one another before, yet ere the first
day was over, we had a quarrel; for she, being seven years older than I,
was always for domineering over me, and I could not bear it. And I used,
on her frequently quarrelling with the maids, and being always at a word
and a blow, to call her Captain Bab; for her name is Barbara. And when
my Lord Davers courted her, my poor mother has made up quarrels between
them three times in a day; and I used to tell her, she would certainly
beat her husband, marry whom she would, if he did not beat her first, and
break her spirit.
Yet has she, continued he, very good qualities. She was a dutiful
daughter, is a good wife; she is bountiful to her servants, firm in her
friendships, charitable to the poor, and, I believe, never any sister
better loved a brother, than she me: and yet she always loved to vex and
tease me; and as I would bear a resentment longer than she, she'd be one
moment the most provoking creature in the world, and the next would do
any thing to be forgiven; and I have made her, when she was the
aggressor, follow me all over the house and garden to be upon good terms
with me.
But this case piques her more, because she had found out a match for me
in the family of a person of quality, and had set her heart upon bringing
it to effect, and had even proceeded far in it, without my knowledge, and
brought me into the lady's company, unknowing of her design. But I was
then averse to matrimony upon any terms; and was angry at her proceeding
in it so far without my privity or encouragement: And she cannot, for
this reason, bear the thoughts of my being now married, and to her
mother's waiting-maid too, as she reminds my dear Pamela, when I had
declined her proposal with the daughter of a noble earl.
This is the whole case, said he; and, allowing for the pride and violence
of her spirit, and that she knows not, as I do, the transcendent
excellencies of my dear Pamela, and that all her view, in her own
conception, is mine and the family honour, she is a little to be allowed
for: Though, never fear, my Pamela, but that I, who never had a struggle
with her, wherein I did not get the better, will do you justice, and
myself too.
This account of Lady Davers pleased every body, and was far from being to
her ladyship's disadvantage in the main; and I would do any thing in the
world to have the honour to be in her good graces: Yet I fear it will not
be easily, if at all, effected. But I will proceed.
After supper, nothing would serve Miss Darnford and Miss Boroughs, but we
must have a dance; and Mr. Peters, who plays a good fiddle, urged it
forward. My dear master, though in a riding-dress, took out Miss
Boroughs.
Sir Simon, for a man of his years, danced well, and took me out; but put
on one of his free jokes, that I was fitter to dance with a younger man;
and he would have it, (though I had not danced since my dear lady's death
to signify, except once or twice to please Mrs. Jervis, and, indeed,
believed all my dancing days over,) that as my master and I were the best
dancers, we should dance once together, before folks, as the odd
gentleman said; and my dear sir was pleased to oblige him: And afterwards
danced with Miss Darnford, who has much more skill and judgment than I;
though they compliment me with an easier shape and air.
We left the company with great difficulty at about eleven, my dear master
having been up all night before, and we being at the greatest distance
from home; though they seemed inclinable not to break up so soon, as they
were neighbours; and the ladies said, They longed to hear what would be
the end of Lady Davers's interview with her brother.
My master said, He feared we must not now think of going next day to
Bedfordshire, as we had intended; and perhaps might see them again. And
so we took leave, and set out for home; where we arrived not till twelve
o'clock; and found Lady Davers had gone to bed about eleven, wanting
sadly that we should come home first; but so did not I.
Mrs. Jewkes told us, That my lady was sadly fretted that I had got away
so; and seemed a little apprehensive of what I would say of the usage I
had received from her. She asked Mrs. Jewkes, if she thought I was
really married? And Mrs. Jewkes telling her yes, she fell into a
passion, and said, Begone, bold woman, I cannot bear thee! See not my
face till I send for thee! Thou hast been very impudent to me once or
twice to-day already, and art now worse than ever. She said, She would
not have told her ladyship, if she had not asked her; and was sorry she
had offended.
She sent for her at supper time: Said she, I have another question to ask
thee, woman, and tell me yes, if thou darest. Was ever any thing so
odd?--Why then, said Mrs. Jewkes, I will say No, before your ladyship
speaks.--My master laughed: Poor woman! said he.--She called her
insolent, and assurance; and said, Begone, bold woman as thou art!--but
come hither. Dost thou know if that young harlot is to be with my
brother to-night?
She said she knew not what to answer, because she had threatened her if
she said yes. But at last my lady said, I will know the bottom of this
iniquity. I suppose they won't have so much impudence to be together
while I'm in the house; but I dare say they have been bed-fellows.
Said she, I will lie to-night in the room I was born in; so get that bed
ready. That room being our bedchamber, Mrs. Jewkes, after some
hesitation, replied, Madam, my master lies there, and has the key. I
believe, woman, said she, thou tellest me a story. Indeed, madam, said
she, he does; and has some papers there he will let nobody see; for Mrs.
Jewkes said, she feared she would beat her if she went up, and found by
my clothes, and some of my master's, how it was.
So she said, I will then lie in the best room, as it is called; and
Jackey shall lie in the little green room adjoining to it. Has thy
master got the keys of those?--No, madam, said Mrs. Jewkes: I will order
them to be made ready for your ladyship.
And where dost thou lay they pursy sides? said she. Up two pair of
stairs, madam, next the garden. And where lies the young harlotry?
continued she. Sometimes with me, madam, said she. And sometimes with
thy virtuous master, I suppose? said my lady.--Ha, woman! what sayest
thou? I must not speak, said Mrs. Jewkes. Well, thou mayest go, said
she; but thou hast the air of a secret keeper of that sort I dare say
thoul't set the good work forward most cordially. Poor Mrs. Jewkes, said
my master, and laughed most heartily.
This talk we had whilst we were undressing. So she and her woman lay
together in the room my master lay in before I was happy.
I said, Dear sir, pray, in the morning let me lock myself up in the
closet, as soon as you rise; and not be called down for ever so much; for
I am afraid to see her ladyship: And I will employ myself about my
journal, while these things are in my head. Don't be afraid, my dear,
said he: Am not I with you?
Mrs. Jewkes pitied me for what I had undergone in the day; and I said, We
won't make the worst of it to my dear master, because we won't exasperate
where we would reconcile: but, added I, I am much obliged to you, Mrs.
Jewkes, and I thank you. Said my master, I hope she did not beat your
lady, Mrs. Jewkes? Not much, sir, said she; but I believe I saved my
lady once: Yet, added she, I was most vexed at the young lord. Ay, Mrs.
Jewkes, said my master, let me know his behaviour. I can chastise him,
though I cannot my sister, who is a woman; let me therefore know the part
he acted.
Nothing, my dear sir, said I, but impertinence, if I may so say, and
foolishness, that was very provoking; but I spared him not; and so there
is no room, sir, for your anger. No, sir, said Mrs. Jewkes, nothing else
indeed.
How was her woman? said my master. Pretty impertinent, replied Mrs.
Jewkes, as ladies' women will be. But, said I, you know she saved me
once or twice. Very true, madam, returned Mrs. Jewkes. And she said to
me at table, that you were a sweet creature; she never saw your equal;
but that you had a spirit; and she was sorry you answered her lady so,
who never bore so much contradiction before. I told her, added Mrs.
Jewkes, that if I was in your ladyship's place, I should have taken much
more upon me, and that you were all sweetness. And she said, I was got
over, she saw.
Tuesday morning, the sixth of my happiness.
My master had said to Mrs. Jewkes, that he should not rise till eight or
nine, as he had sat up all the night before: but it seems, my lady,
knowing he usually rose about six, got up soon after that hour; raised
her woman and her nephew; having a whimsical scheme in her head, to try
to find whether we were in bed together: And, about half an hour after
six, she rapped at our chamber door.
My master was waked at the noise, and asked, Who was there? Open the
door, said she; open it this minute! I said, clinging about his neck,
Dear, dear sir, pray, pray don't!--O save me, save me! Don't fear,
Pamela, said he. The woman's mad, I believe.
But he called out; Who are you? What do you want?--You know my voice
well enough, said she:--I will come in.--Pray, sir, said I, don't let her
ladyship in.--Don't be frightened, my dear, said he; she thinks we are
not married, and are afraid to be found a-bed together. I'll let her in;
but she shan't come near my dearest.
So he slipt out of bed, and putting on some of his clothes, and gown and
slippers, he said, What bold body dare disturb my repose thus? and opened
the door. In rushed she: I'll see your wickedness, said she, I will! In
vain shall you think to hide it from me.--What should I hide? said he.
How dare you set a foot into my house, after the usage I have received
from you?--I had covered myself over head and ears, and trembled every
joint. He looked, and 'spied her woman and kinsman in the room, she
crying out, Bear witness, Jackey; bear witness, Beck; the creature is now
in his bed! And not seeing the young gentleman before, who was at the
feet of the bed, he said, How now, sir? What's your business in this
apartment? Begone this moment!--And he went away directly.
Beck, said my lady, you see the creature is in his bed. I do, madam,
answered she. My master came to me, and said, Ay, look, Beck, and bear
witness: Here is my Pamela!--My dear angel, my lovely creature, don't be
afraid; look up, and see how frantickly this woman of quality behaves.
At that, I just peeped, and saw my lady, who could not bear this, coming
to me; and she said, Wicked abandoned wretch! Vile brother, to brave me
thus! I'll tear the creature out of bed before your face, and expose you
both as you deserve.
At that he took her in his arms, as if she had been nothing; and carrying
her out of the room, she cried out, Beck! Beck! help me, Beck! the wretch
is going to fling me down stairs! Her woman ran to him, and said, Good
sir, for Heaven's sake do no violence to my lady! Her ladyship has been
ill all night.
He sat her down in the chamber she lay in, and she could not speak for
passion. Take care of your lady, said he; and when she has rendered
herself more worthy of my attention, I'll see her; till then, at her
peril, and yours too, come not near my apartment. And so he came to me,
and, with all the sweet soothing words in the world, pacified my fears,
and gave me leave to go to write in my closet, as soon as my fright was
over, and to stay there till things were more calm. And so he dressed
himself, and went out of the chamber, permitting me, at my desire, to
fasten the door after him.
At breakfast-time my master tapped at the door, and I said, Who's there?
I, my dearest, said he. Oh! then, replied I, I will open it with
pleasure. I had written on a good deal; but I put it by, when I ran to
the door. I would have locked it again, when he was in; but he said, Am
not I here? Don't be afraid. Said he, Will you come down to breakfast,
my love? O no, dear sir, said I; be pleased to excuse me! said he, I
cannot bear the look of it, that the mistress of my house should
breakfast in her closet, as if she durst not come down, and I at home!--
O, dearest sir, replied I, pray pass that over, for my sake; and don't
let my presence aggravate your sister, for a kind punctilio! Then, my
dear, said he, I will breakfast with you here. No, pray, dear sir,
answered I, breakfast with your sister. That, my dear, replied he, will
too much gratify her pride, and look like a slight to you.--Dear sir,
said I, your goodness is too great, for me to want punctilious proofs of
it. Pray oblige her ladyship. She is your guest surely, sir, you may be
freest with your dutiful wife!
She is a strange woman, said he: How I pity her!--She has thrown herself
into a violent fit of the colic, through passion: And is but now, her
woman says, a little easier. I hope, sir, said I, when you carried her
ladyship out, you did not hurt her. No, replied he, I love her too well.
I set her down in the apartment she had chosen: and she but now desires
to see me, and that I will breakfast with her, or refuses to touch any
thing. But, if my dearest please, I will insist it shall be with you at
the same time.
O, no, no, dear sir! said I; I should not forgive myself, if I did. I
would on my knees beg her ladyship's goodness to me, now I am in your
presence; though I thought I ought to carry it a little stiff when you
were absent, for the sake of the honour you have done me. And, dear sir,
if my deepest humility will please, permit me to shew it.
You shall do nothing, returned he, unworthy of my wife, to please the
proud woman!--But I will, however, permit you to breakfast by yourself
this once, as I have not seen her since I have used her in so barbarous a
manner, as I understand she exclaims I have; and as she will not eat any
thing, unless I give her my company.--So he saluted me, and withdrew; and
I locked the door after him again for fear.
Mrs. Jewkes soon after rapped at the door. Who's there? said I. Only I,
madam. So I opened the door. 'Tis a sad thing, madam, said she, you
should be so much afraid in your own house. She brought me some
chocolate and toast; and I asked her about my lady's behaviour. She
said, she would not suffer any body to attend but her woman, because she
would not be heard what she had to say; but she believed, she said, her
master was very angry with the young lord, as she called her kinsman;
for, as she passed by the door, she heard him say, in a high tone, I
hope, sir, you did not forget what belongs to the character you assume;
or to that effect.
About one o'clock my master came up again, and he said, Will you come
down to dinner, Pamela, when I send for you? Whatever you command, sir,
I must do. But my lady won't desire to see me. No matter whether she
will or no. But I will not suffer, that she shall prescribe her insolent
will to my wife, and in your own house too.--I will, by my tenderness to
you, mortify her pride; and it cannot be done so well as to her face.
Dearest sir, said I, pray indulge me, and let me dine here by myself. It
will make my lady but more inveterate.--Said he, I have told her we are
married. She is out of all patience about it, and yet pretends not to
believe it. Upon that I tell her, Then she shall have it her own way,
and that I am not. And what has she to do with it either way? She has
scolded and begged, commanded and prayed, blessed me, and cursed me, by
turns, twenty times in these few hours. And I have sometimes soothed
her, sometimes raged; and at last left her, and took a turn in the garden
for an hour to compose myself, because you should not see how the foolish
woman has ruffled me; and just now I came out, seeing her coming in.
Just as he had said so, I cried, Oh! my lady, my lady! for I heard her
voice in the chamber, saying, Brother, brother, one word with you--
stopping in sight of the closet where I was. He stepped out, and she
went up to the window that looks towards the garden, and said, Mean fool
that I am, to follow you up and down the house in this manner, though I
am shunned and avoided by you! You a brother!--You a barbarian! Is it
possible we could be born of one mother?
Why, said he, do you charge me with a conduct to you, that you bring upon
yourself?--Is it not surprising that you should take the liberty with me,
that the dear mother you have named never gave you an example for to any
of her relations?--Was it not sufficient, that I was insolently taken to
task by you in your letters, but my retirements must be invaded? My
house insulted? And, if I have one person dearer to me than another,
that that person must be singled out for an object of your violence?
Ay, said she, that one person is the thing!--But though I came with a
resolution to be temperate, and to expostulate with you on your avoiding
me so unkindly, yet cannot I have patience to look upon that bed in which
I was born, and to be made the guilty scene of your wickedness with such
a----
Hush! said he, I charge you! call not the dear girl by any name unworthy
of her. You know not, as I told you, her excellence; and I desire you'll
not repeat the freedoms you have taken below.
She stamped with her foot, and said, God give me patience! So much
contempt to a sister that loves you so well; and so much tenderness to a
vile----
He put his hand before her mouth: Be silent, said he, once more, I charge
you! You know not the innocence you abuse so freely. I ought not,
neither will I bear it.
She sat down and fanned herself, and burst into tears, and such sobs of
grief, or rather passion, that grieved me to hear; and I sat and trembled
sadly.
He walked about the room in great anger; and at last said, Let me ask
you, Lady Davers, why I am thus insolently to be called to account by
you? Am I not independent? Am I not of age? Am I not at liberty to
please myself?--Would to God, that, instead of a woman, and my sister,
any man breathing had dared, whatever were his relation under that of a
father, to give himself half the airs you have done!--Why did you not
send on this accursed errand your lord, who could write me such a letter
as no gentleman should write, nor any gentleman tamely receive? He
should have seen the difference.
We all know, said she, that, since your Italian duel, you have commenced
a bravo; and all your airs breathe as strongly of the manslayer as of the
libertine. This, said he, I will bear; for I have no reason to be
ashamed of that duel, nor the cause of it; since it was to save a friend,
and because it is levelled at myself only: but suffer not your tongue to
take too great a liberty with my Pamela.
She interrupted him in a violent burst of passion. If I bear this, said
she, I can bear any thing!--O the little strumpet!--He interrupted her
then, and said wrathfully, Begone, rageful woman! begone this moment from
my presence! Leave my house this instant!--I renounce you, and all
relation to you! and never more let me see your face, or call me brother!
And took her by the hand to lead her out. She laid hold of the curtains
of the window, and said, I will not go! You shall not force me from you
thus ignominiously in the wretch's hearing, and suffer her to triumph
over me in your barbarous treatment of me.
Not considering any thing, I ran out of the closet, and threw myself at
my dear master's feet, as he held her hand, in order to lead her out; and
I said, Dearest sir, let me beg, that no act of unkindness, for my sake,
pass between so worthy and so near relations. Dear, dear madam, said I,
and clasped her knees, pardon and excuse the unhappy cause of all this
evil; on my knees I beg your ladyship to receive me to your grace and
favour, and you shall find me incapable of any triumph but in your
ladyship's goodness to me.
Creature, said she, art thou to beg an excuse for me?--Art thou to
implore my forgiveness? Is it to thee I am to owe the favour, that I am
not cast headlong from my brother's presence? Begone to thy corner,
wench! begone, I say, lest thy paramour kill me for trampling thee under
my foot!
Rise, my dear Pamela, said my master; rise, dear life of my life; and
expose not so much worthiness to the ungrateful scorn of so violent a
spirit. And so he led me to my closet again, and there I sat and wept.
Her woman came up, just as he had led me to my closet, and was returning
to her lady; and she very humbly said, Excuse my intrusion, good sir!--I
hope I may come to my lady. Yes, Mrs. Worden, said he, you may come in;
and pray take your lady down stairs with you, for fear I should too much
forget what belongs either to my sister or myself!
I began to think (seeing her ladyship so outrageous with her brother)
what a happy escape I had had the day before, though hardly enough used
in conscience too, as I thought.
Her woman begged her ladyship to walk down; and she said, Beck, seest
thou that bed? That was the bed that I was born in; and yet that was the
bed thou sawest, as well as I, the wicked Pamela in, this morning, and
this brother of mine just risen from her!
True, said he; you both saw it, and it is my pride that you could see it.
'Tis my bridal bed; and 'tis abominable that the happiness I knew before
you came hither, should be so barbarously interrupted.
Swear to me but, thou bold wretch! said she, swear to me, that Pamela
Andrews is really and truly thy lawful wife, without sham, without
deceit, without double-meaning; and I know what I have to say!
I'll humour you for once, said he; and then swore a solemn oath that I
was. And, said he, did I not tell you so at first?
I cannot yet believe you, said she; because, in this particular, I had
rather have called you knave than fool.--Provoke me not too much, said
he; for, if I should as much forget myself as you have done, you'd have
no more of a brother in me, than I have a sister in you.
Who married you? said she: tell me that! Was it not a broken attorney in
a parson's habit? Tell me truly, in the wench's hearing. When she's
undeceived, she'll know how to behave herself better! Thank God, thought
I, it is not so.
No, said he; and I'll tell you, that I bless God, I abhorred that
project, before it was brought to bear: and Mr. Williams married us.--Nay
then, said she--but answer me another question or two, I beseech you: Who
gave her away? Parson Peters, said he. Where was the ceremony
performed? In my little chapel, which you may see, as it was put in
order on purpose.
Now, said she, I begin to fear there is something in it! But who was
present? said she. Methinks, replied he, I look like a fine puppy, to
suffer myself to be thus interrogated by an insolent sister: but, if you
must know, Mrs. Jewkes was present. O the procuress! said she: But
nobody else? Yes, said he, all my heart and soul!
Wretch! said she; and what would thy father and mother have said, had
they lived to this day? Their consents, replied he, I should have
thought it my duty to ask; but not yours, madam.
Suppose, said she, I had married my father's groom! what would you have
said to that?--I could not have behaved worse, replied he, than you have
done. And would you not have thought, said she, I had deserved it.
Said he, Does your pride let you see no difference in the case you put?
None at all, said she. Where can the difference be between a beggar's
son married by a lady, or a beggar's daughter made a gentleman's wife?
Then I'll tell you, replied he; the difference is, a man ennobles the
woman he takes, be she who she will; and adopts her into his own rank, be
it what it will: but a woman, though ever so nobly born, debases herself
by a mean marriage, and descends from her own rank to his she stoops to.
When the royal family of Stuart allied itself into the low family of
Hyde, (comparatively low, I mean,) did any body scruple to call the lady,
Royal Highness, and Duchess of York? And did any body think her
daughters, the late Queen Mary and Queen Anne, less royal for that?
When the broken-fortuned peer goes into the city to marry a rich
tradesman's daughter, be he duke or earl, does not his consort
immediately become ennobled by his choice? and who scruples to call her
lady, duchess, or countess?
But when a duchess or countess dowager descends to mingle with a person
of obscure birth, does she not then degrade herself? and is she not
effectually degraded? And will any duchess or countess rank with her?
Now, Lady Davers, do you not see a difference between my marrying my dear
mother's beloved and deserving waiting-maid, with a million of
excellencies about her, and such graces of mind and person as would adorn
any distinction; and your marrying a sordid groom, whose constant train
of education, conversation, and opportunities, could possibly give him no
other merit, than that which must proceed from the vilest, lowest taste,
in his sordid dignifier?
O the wretch! said she, how he finds excuses to palliate his meanness!
Again, said he, let me observe to you, Lady Davers, When a duke marries a
private person, is he not still her head, by virtue of being her husband?
But, when a lady descends to marry a groom, is not the groom her head,
being her husband? And does not the difference strike you? For what
lady of quality ought to respect another, who has made so sordid a
choice, and set a groom above her? For, would not that be to put that
groom upon a par with themselves?--Call this palliation, or what you
will; but if you see not the difference, you are blind; and a very unfit
judge for yourself, much more unfit to be a censurer of me.
I'd have you, said she, publish your fine reasons to the world, and they
will be sweet encouragements to all the young gentlemen who read them to
cast themselves away on the servant-wenches in their families.
Not at all, Lady Davers, replied he: For, if any young gentleman stays
till he finds such a person as my Pamela, so enriched with the beauties
of person and mind, so well accomplished, and so fitted to adorn the
degree she is raised to, he will stand as easily acquitted, as I shall be
to all the world that sees her, except there be many more Lady Davers
than I apprehend can possibly be met with.
And so, returned she, you say you are actually and really married,
honestly, or rather foolishly married, to this slut?
I am, indeed, says he, if you presume to call her so! And why should I
not, if I please? Who is there ought to contradict me? Whom have I hurt
by it?--Have I not an estate, free and independent?--Am I likely to be
beholden to you, or any of my relations? And why, when I have a
sufficiency in my own single hands, should I scruple to make a woman
equally happy, who has all I want? For beauty, virtue, prudence, and
generosity too, I will tell you, she has more than any lady I ever saw.
Yes, Lady Davers, she has all these naturally; they are born with her;
and a few years' education, with her genius, has done more for her, than
a whole life has done for others.
No more, no more, I beseech you, said she; thou surfeitest me, honest
man! with thy weak folly. Thou art worse than an idolater; thou hast
made a graven image, and thou fallest down and worshippest the works of
thy own hands; and, Jeroboam-like, wouldst have every body else bow down
before thy calf!
Well said, Lady Davers! Whenever your passion suffers you to descend to
witticism; 'tis almost over with you. But let me tell you, though I
myself worship this sweet creature, that you call such names, I want
nobody else to do it; and should be glad you had not intruded upon me, to
interrupt me in the course of our mutual happiness.
Well said, well said, my kind, my well-mannered brother! said she. I
shall, after this, very little interrupt your mutual happiness, I'll
assure you. I thought you a gentleman once, and prided myself in my
brother: But I'll say now with the burial service, Ashes to ashes, and
dirt to dirt!
Ay, said he, Lady Davers, and there we must all end at last; you with all
your pride, and I with my plentiful fortune, must come to it; and then
where will be your distinction? Let me tell you, except you and I both
mend our manners, though you have been no duellist, no libertine, as you
call me, this amiable girl, whom your vanity and folly so much despise,
will out-soar us both, infinitely out-soar us; and he who judges best,
will give the preference where due, without regard to birth or fortune.
Egregious preacher! said she: What, my brother already turned Puritan!--
See what marriage and repentance may bring a man to! I heartily
congratulate this change!--Well, said she, (and came towards me, and I
trembled to see her coming; but her brother followed to observe her, and
I stood up at her approach, and she said,) give me thy hand, Mrs. Pamela,
Mrs. Andrews, Mrs. what shall I call thee?--Thou hast done wonders in a
little time; thou hast not only made a rake a husband but thou hast made
a rake a preacher! But take care, added she, after all, in ironical
anger, and tapped me on the neck, take care that thy vanity begins not
where his ends; and that thou callest not thyself my sister.
She shall, I hope, Lady Davers, said he, when she can make as great a
convert of you from pride, as she has of me, from libertinism.
Mrs. Jewkes just then came up, and said dinner was ready. Come, my
Pamela, said my dear master; you desired to be excused from breakfasting
with us; but I hope you'll give Lady Davers and me your company to
dinner.
How dare you insult me thus? said my lady.--How dare you, said he, insult
me by your conduct in my own house, after I have told you I am married?
How dare you think of staying here one moment, and refuse my wife the
honours that belong to her as such?
Merciful God! said she, give me patience! and held her hand to her
forehead.
Pray, sir, dear sir, said I, excuse me, don't vex my lady:--Be silent, my
dear love, said he; you see already what you have got by your sweet
condescension. You have thrown yourself at her feet, and, insolent as
she is, she has threatened to trample upon you. She'll ask you,
presently, if she is to owe her excuse to your interposition? and yet
nothing else can make her forgiven.
Poor lady, she could not bear this; and, as if she was discomposed, she
ran to her poor grieved woman, and took hold of her hand, and said, Lead
me down, lead me down, Beck! Let us instantly quit this house, this
cursed house, that once I took pleasure in! Order the fellows to get
ready, and I will never see it, nor its owner, more. And away she went
down stairs, in a great hurry. And the servants were ordered to make
ready for their departure.
I saw my master was troubled, and I went to him, and said, Pray, dear
sir, follow my lady down, and pacify her. 'Tis her love to you.--Poor
woman! said he, I am concerned for her! But I insist upon your coming
down, since things are gone so far. Her pride will get new strength
else, and we shall be all to begin again.
Dearest, dear sir, said I, excuse my going down this once! Indeed, my
dear, I won't, replied he. What! shall it be said, that my sister shall
scare my wife from my table, and I present?--No, I have borne too much
already; and so have you: And I charge you come down when I send for you.
He departed, saying these words, and I durst not dispute; for I saw he
was determined. And there is as much majesty as goodness in him, as I
have often had reason to observe; though never more than on the present
occasion with his sister. Her ladyship instantly put on her hood and
gloves, and her woman tied up a handkerchief full of things; for her
principal matters were not unpacked; and her coachman got her chariot
ready, and her footmen their horses; and she appeared resolved to go.
But her kinsman and Mr. Colbrand had taken a turn together, somewhere;
and she would not come in, but sat fretting on a seat in the fore-yard,
with her woman by her; and, at last, said to one of the footmen, Do you,
James, stay to attend my nephew; and we'll take the road we came.
Mrs. Jewkes went to her ladyship, and said, Your ladyship will be pleased
to stay dinner; 'tis just coming upon table? No, said she, I have enough
of this house; I have indeed. But give my service to your master, and I
wish him happier than he has made me.
He had sent for me down, and I came, though unwillingly, and the cloth
was laid in the parlour I had jumped out of; and there was my master
walking about it. Mrs. Jewkes came in, and asked, if he pleased to have
dinner brought in? for my lady would not come in, but desired her
service, and wished him happier than he had made her. He, seeing her at
the window, when he went to that side of the room, all ready to go, stept
out to her, and said, Lady Davers, if I thought you would not be
hardened, rather than softened, by my civility, I would ask you to walk
in; and, at least, let your kinsman and servants dine before they go.
She wept, and turned her face from him, to hide it. He took her hand,
and said, Come, sister, let me prevail upon you: Walk in. No, said she,
don't ask me.--I wish I could hate you, as much as you hate me!--You do,
said he, and a great deal more, I'll assure you; or else you'd not vex me
as you do.--Come, pray walk in. Don't ask me, said she. Her kinsman
just then returned: Why, madam, said he, your ladyship won't go till you
have dined, I hope. No, Jackey, said she, I can't stay; I'm an intruder
here, it seems!--Think, said my master, of the occasion you gave for that
word. Your violent passions are the only intruders! Lay them aside, and
never sister was dearer to a brother. Don't say such another word, said
she, I beseech you; for I am too easy to forgive you any thing for one
kind word!--You shall have one hundred, said he, nay, ten thousand, if
they will do, my dear sister. And, kissing her, he added, Pray give me
your hand. John, said he, put up the horses; you are all as welcome to
me, for all your lady's angry with me, as at any inn you can put up at.
Come, Mr. H----, said he, lead your aunt in; for she won't permit that
honour to me.
This quite overcame her; and she said, giving her brother her hand, Yes,
I will, and you shall lead me any where! and kissed him. But don't
think, said she, I can forgive you neither. And so he led her into the
parlour where I was. But, said she, why do you lead me to this wench?
'Tis my wife, my dear sister; and if you will not love her, yet don't
forget common civilities to her, for your own sake.
Pray, madam, said her kinsman, since your brother is pleased to own his
marriage, we must not forget common civilities, as Mr. B---- says. And,
sir, added he, permit me to wish you joy. Thank you, sir, said he. And
may I? said he, looking at me. Yes, sir, replied my master. So he
saluted me, very complaisantly; and said, I vow to Gad, madam, I did not
know this yesterday; and if I was guilty of a fault, I beg your pardon.
My lady said, Thou'rt a good-natured foolish fellow; thou might'st have
saved this nonsensical parade, till I had given thee leave. Why, aunt,
said he, if they are actually married, there's no help for it; and we
must not make mischief between man and wife.
But brother, said she, do you think I'll sit at table with the creature?
No contemptuous names, I beseech you, Lady Davers! I tell you she is
really my wife; and I must be a villain to suffer her to be ill used.
She has no protector but me; and, if you will permit her, she will always
love and honour you.--Indeed, indeed I will, madam, said I.
I cannot, I won't sit down at table with her, said she: Pamela, I hope
thou dost not think I will?--Indeed, madam, said I, if your good brother
will permit it, I will attend your chair all the time you dine, to shew
my veneration for your ladyship, as the sister of my kind protector.
See, said he, her condition has not altered her; but I cannot permit in
her a conduct unworthy of my wife; and I hope my sister will not expect
it neither.
Let her leave the room, replied she, if I must stay. Indeed you are out
of the way, aunt, said her kinsman; that is not right, as things stand.
Said my master, No, madam, that must not be; but, if it must be so, we'll
have two tables; you and your nephew shall sit at one, and my wife and I
at the other: and then see what a figure your unreasonable punctilio will
make you cut.--She seemed irresolute, and he placed her at the table; the
first course, which was fish, being brought in. Where, said she to me,
would'st thou presume to sit? Would'st have me give place to thee too,
wench?--Come, come, said my master, I'll put that out of dispute; and so
set himself down by her ladyship, at the upper end of the table, and
placed me at his left hand. Excuse me, my dear, said he; this once
excuse me!--Oh! your cursed complaisance, said she, to such a----. Hush,
sister! hush! said he: I will not bear to hear her spoken slightly of!
'Tis enough, that, to oblige your violent and indecent caprice, you make
me compromise with you thus.
Come, sir, added he, pray take your place next your gentle aunt!--Beck,
said she, do you sit down by Pamela there, since it must be so; we'll be
hail fellow all! With all my heart, replied my master; I have so much
honour for all the sex, that I would not have the meanest person of it
stand, while I sit, had I been to have made the custom. Mrs. Worden,
pray sit down. Sir, said she, I hope I shall know my place better.
My lady sat considering; and then, lifting up her hands, said, Lord! what
will this world come to?--To nothing but what's very good, replied my
master, if such spirits as Lady Davers's do but take the rule of it.
Shall I help you, sister, to some of the carp? Help your beloved! said
she. That's kind! said he.--Now, that's my good Lady Davers! Here, my
love, let me help you, since my sister desires it.--Mighty well, returned
she, mighty well!--But sat on one side, turning from me, as it were.
Dear aunt, said her kinsman, let's see you buss and be friends: since
'tis so, what signifies it? Hold thy fool's tongue! said she: Is thy
tone so soon turned since yesterday? said my master, I hope nothing
affronting was offered yesterday to my wife, in her own house. She hit
him a good smart slap on the shoulder: Take that, impudent brother said
she. I'll wife you, and in her own house! She seemed half afraid: but
he, in very good humour, kissed her, and said, I thank you, sister, I
thank you. But I have not had a blow from you before for some time!
'Fore gad, said her kinsman, 'tis very kind of you to take it so well.
Her ladyship is as good a woman as ever lived; but I've had many a cuff
from her myself.
I won't put it up neither, said my master, except you'll assure me you
have seen her serve her lord so.
I pressed my foot to his, and said, softly, Don't, dear sir!--What! said
she, is the creature begging me off from insult? If his manners won't
keep him from outraging me, I won't owe his forebearance to thee, wench.
Said my master, and put some fish on my lady's plate, Well does Lady
Davers use the word insult!--But, come, let me see you eat one mouthful,
and I'll forgive you; and he put the knife in one of her hands, and the
fork in the other. As I hope to live, said he, I cannot bear this silly
childishness, for nothing at all! I am quite ashamed of it.
She put a little bit to her mouth, but laid it down in her plate again: I
cannot eat, said she; I cannot swallow, I'm sure. It will certainly
choak me. He had forbid his menservants to come in, that they might not
behold the scene he expected; and rose from table himself, and filled a
glass of wine, her woman offering, and her kinsman rising, to do it.
Mean-time, his seat between us being vacant, she turned to me: How now,
confidence, said she, darest thou sit next me? Why dost thou not rise,
and take the glass from thy property?
Sit still, my dear, said he; I'll help you both. But I arose; for I was
afraid of a good cuff; and said, Pray, sir, let me help my lady. So you
shall, replied he, when she's in a humour to receive it as she ought.
Sister, said he, with a glass in his hand, pray drink; you'll perhaps eat
a little bit of something then. Is this to insult me? said she.--No,
really, returned he: but to incite you to eat; for you'll be sick for
want of it.
She took the glass, and said, God forgive you, wicked wretch, for your
usage of me this day!--This is a little as it used to be!--I once had
your love;--and now it is changed; and for whom? that vexes me! And wept
so, she was forced to set down the glass.
You don't do well, said he. You neither treat me like your brother nor a
gentleman; and if you would suffer me, I would love you as well as ever.
--But for a woman of sense and understanding, and a fine-bred woman, as I
once thought my sister, you act quite a childish part. Come, added he,
and held the glass to her lips, let your brother, that you once loved,
prevail on you to drink this glass of wine.--She then drank it. He
kissed her, and said, Oh! how passion deforms the noblest minds! You
have lost a good deal of that loveliness that used to adorn my sister.
And let me persuade you to compose yourself, and be my sister again!--For
Lady Davers is, indeed, a fine woman; and has a presence as majestic for
a lady, as her dear brother has for a gentleman.
He then sat down between us again, and said, when the second course came
in, Let Abraham come in and wait. I touched his toe again; but he minded
it not; and I saw he was right; for her ladyship began to recollect
herself, and did not behave half so ill before the servants, as she had
done; and helped herself with some little freedom; but she could not
forbear a strong sigh and a sob now and then. She called for a glass of
the same wine she had drank before. Said he, Shall I help you again,
Lady Davers?--and rose, at the same time, and went to the sideboard, and
filled her a glass. Indeed, said she, I love to be soothed by my
brother!--Your health, sir!
Said my master to me, with great sweetness, My dear, now I'm up, I'll
fill for you!--I must serve both sisters alike! She looked at the
servant, as if he were a little check upon her, and said to my master,
How now, sir!--Not that you know of. He whispered her, Don't shew any
contempt before my servants to one I have so deservedly made their
mistress. Consider, 'tis done.--Ay, said she, that's the thing that
kills me.
He gave me a glass: My good lady's health, sir, said I.--That won't do,
said she, leaning towards me, softly: and was going to say wench, or
creature, or some such word. And my master, seeing Abraham look towards
her, her eyes being red and swelled, said, Indeed, sister, I would not
vex myself about it, if I was you. About what? said she. Why, replied
he, about your lord's not coming down, as he had promised. He sat down,
and she tapped him on the shoulder: Ah! wicked one, said she, nor will
that do neither!--Why, to be sure, added he, it would vex a lady of your
sense and merit to be slighted, if it was so; but I am sure my lord loves
you, as well as you love him; and you know not what may have happened.
She shook her head, and said, That's like your art!--This makes one
amazed you should be so caught!--Who, my lord caught! said he: No, no!
he'll have more wit than so! But I never heard you were jealous before.
Nor, said he, have you any reason to think so now!--Honest friend, you
need not wait, said she; my woman will help us to what we want. Yes, let
him, replied he. Abraham, fill me a glass. Come, said my master, Lord
Davers to you, madam: I hope he'll take care he is not found out!--You're
very provoking, brother, said she. I wish you were as good as Lord
Davers.--But don't carry your jest too far. Well, said he, 'tis a tender
point, I own. I've done.
By these kind managements the dinner passed over better than I expected.
And when the servants were withdrawn, my master said, still keeping his
place between us, I have a question to ask you, Lady Davers, and that is,
If you'll bear me company to Bedfordshire? I was intending to set out
thither to-morrow, but I'll tarry your pleasure, if you'll go with me.
Is thy wife, as thou callest her, to go along with thee, friend? said
she. Yes, to be sure, answered he, my dear Quaker sister; and took her
hand, and smiled. And would'st have me parade it with her on the road?--
Hey?--And make one to grace her retinue?--Hey? Tell me how thoud'st
chalk it out, if I would do as thou would'st have me, honest friend?
He clasped his arms about her, and kissed her: You are a dear saucy
sister, said he; but I must love you!--Why, I'll tell you how I'd have
it. Here shall you, and my Pamela--Leave out my, I desire you, if you'd
have me sit patiently. No, replied he, I can't do that. Here shall you,
and my Pamela, go together in your chariot, if you please; and she will
then appear as one of your retinue; and your nephew and I will sometimes
ride, and sometimes go into my chariot, to your woman.
Should'st thou like this, creature? said she to me.--If your ladyship
think it not too great an honour for me, madam, said I. Yes, replied
she, but my ladyship does think it would be too great an honour.
Now I think of it, said he, this must not be neither; for, without you'd
give her the hand in your own chariot, my wife would be thought your
woman, and that must not be. Why, that would, may be, said she, be the
only inducement for me to bear her near me, in my chariot.--But, how
then?--Why then, when we came home, we'd get Lord Davers to come to us,
and stay a month or two.
And what if he was to come?--Why I would have you, as I know you have a
good fancy, give Pamela your judgment on some patterns I expect from
London, for clothes.--Provoking wretch! said she; now I wish I may keep
my hands to myself. I don't say it to provoke you, said he, nor ought it
to do so. But when I tell you I am married, is it not a consequence that
we must have new clothes?
Hast thou any more of these obliging things to say to me, friend? said
she. I will make you a present, returned he, worth your acceptance, if
you will grace us with your company at church, when we make our
appearance.--Take that, said she, if I die for it, wretch that thou art!
and was going to hit him a great slap; but he held her hand. Her kinsman
said, Dear aunt, I wonder at you! Why, all these are things of course.
I begged leave to withdraw; and, as I went out, my good master said,
There's a person! There's a shape! There's a sweetness! O, Lady
Davers! were you a man, you would doat on her, as I do. Yes, said the
naughty lady, so I should, for my harlot, but not for my wife. I turned,
on this, and said, Indeed your ladyship is cruel; and well may gentlemen
take liberties, when ladies of honour say such things! And I wept, and
added, Your ladyship's inference, if your good brother was not the most
generous of men, would make me very unhappy.
No fear, wench; no fear, said she; thou'lt hold him as long as any body
can, I see that!--Poor Sally Godfrey never had half the interest in him,
I'll assure you.
Stay, my Pamela, said he, in a passion; stay, when I bid you. You have
now heard two vile charges upon me!--I love you with such a true
affection, that I ought to say something before this malicious accuser,
that you may not think your consummate virtue linked to so black a
villain.
Her nephew seemed uneasy, and blamed her much; and I came back, but
trembled as I stood; and he set me down, and said, taking my hand, I have
been accused, my dear, as a dueller, and now as a profligate, in another
sense; and there was a time I should not have received these imputations
with so much concern as I now do, when I would wish, by degrees, by a
conformity of my manners to your virtue, to shew every one the force your
example has upon me. But this briefly is the case of the first.
I had a friend, who had been basely attempted to be assassinated by
bravoes, hired by a man of title in Italy, who, like many other persons
of title, had no honour; and, at Padua, I had the fortune to disarm one
of these bravoes in my friend's defence, and made him confess his
employer; and him, I own, I challenged. At Sienna we met, and he died in
a month after, of a fever; but, I hope, not occasioned by the slight
wounds he had received from me; though I was obliged to leave Italy upon
it, sooner than I intended, because of his numerous relations, who looked
upon me as the cause of his death; though I pacified them by a letter I
wrote them from Inspruck, acquainting them with the baseness of the
deceased: and they followed me not to Munich, as they intended.
This is one of the good-natured hints that might shock your sweetness, on
reflecting that you are yoked with a murderer. The other--Nay, brother,
said she, say no more. 'Tis your own fault if you go further. She shall
know it all, said he; and I defy the utmost stretch of your malice.
When I was at college, I was well received by a widow lady, who had
several daughters, and but small fortunes to give them; and the old lady
set one of them (a deserving good girl she was,) to draw me into marriage
with her, for the sake of the fortune I was heir to; and contrived many
opportunities to bring us and leave us together. I was not then of age;
and the young lady, not half so artful as her mother, yielded to my
addresses before the mother's plot could be ripened, and so utterly
disappointed it. This, my Pamela, is the Sally Godfrey, this malicious
woman, with the worst intentions, has informed you of. And whatever
other liberties I may have taken, (for perhaps some more I have, which,
had she known, you had heard of, as well as this,) I desire Heaven will
only forgive me, till I revive its vengeance by the like offences, in
injury to my Pamela.
And now, my dear, you may withdraw; for this worthy sister of mine has
said all the bad she knows of me; and what, at a proper opportunity, when
I could have convinced you, that they were not my boast, but my concern,
I should have acquainted you with myself; for I am not fond of being
thought better than I am: though I hope, from the hour I devoted myself
to so much virtue, to that of my death, my conduct shall be
irreproachable.
She was greatly moved at this, and the noble manner in which the dear
gentleman owned and repented of his faults; and gushed out into tears,
and said, No, don't yet go, Pamela, I beseech you. My passion has
carried me too far, a great deal; and, coming to me, she shook my hand,
and said, You must stay to hear me beg his pardon; and so took his hand.
--But, to my concern, (for I was grieved for her ladyship's grief,) he
burst from her; and went out of the parlour into the garden in a violent
rage, that made me tremble. Her ladyship sat down, and leaned her head
against my bosom, and made my neck wet with her tears, holding me by the
hands; and I wept for company.--Her kinsman walked up and down the
parlour in a sad fret; and going out afterwards, he came in, and said,
Mr. B---- has ordered his chariot to be got ready, and won't be spoken to
by any body. Where is he? said she.--Walking in the garden till it is
ready, replied he.
Well, said she, I have indeed gone too far. I was bewitched! And now,
said she, malicious as he calls me, will he not forgive me for a
twelvemonth: for I tell you, Pamela, if ever you offend, he will not
easily forgive. I was all delighted, though sad, to see her ladyship so
good to me. Will you venture, said she, to accompany me to him?--Dare
you follow a lion in his retreats?--I'll attend your ladyship, said I,
wherever you command. Well, wench, said she; Pamela, I mean; thou art
very good in the main!--I should have loved thee as well as my mother
did--if--but 'tis all over now! Indeed you should not have married my
brother! But come, I must love him! Let's find him out! And yet will
he use me worse than a dog!--I should not, added she, have so much
exasperated him: for, whenever I have, I have always had the worst of it.
He knows I love him!
In this manner her ladyship talked to me, leaning on my arm, and walking
into the garden. I saw he was still in a tumult, as it were; and he took
another walk to avoid us. She called after him, and said, Brother,
brother, let me speak to you!--One word with you! And as we made haste
towards him, and came near to him; I desire, said he, that you'll not
oppress me more with your follies, and your violence. I have borne too
much with you, and I will vow for a twelvemonth, from this day--Hush,
said she, don't vow, I beg you for too well will you keep it, I know by
experience, if you do. You see, said she, I stoop to ask Pamela to be my
advocate. Sure that will pacify you!
Indeed, said he, I desire to see neither of you, on such an occasion; and
let me only be left to myself, for I will not be intruded upon thus; and
was going away.--But, said she, One word first, I desire.--If you'll
forgive me, I'll forgive you.--What, said the dear man, haughtily, will
you forgive me?--Why, said she, for she saw him too angry to mention his
marriage, as a subject that required her pardon--I will forgive you all
your bad usage of me this day.
I will be serious with you, sister, said he: I wish you most sincerely
well; but let us, from this time, study so much one another's quiet, as
never to come near one another more. Never? said she.--And can you
desire this? barbarous brother! can you?--I can, I do, said he; and I
have nothing to do, but to hide from you, not a brother, but a murderer,
and a profligate, unworthy of your relation; and let me be consigned to
penitence for my past evils: A penitence, however, that shall not be
broken in upon by so violent an accuser.
Pamela, said he, and made me tremble, How dare you approach me, without
leave, when you see me thus disturbed?--Never, for the future, come near
me, when I am in these tumults, unless I send for you.
Dear sir! said I--Leave me, interrupted he. I will set out for
Bedfordshire this moment! What! sir, said I, without me?--What have I
done? You have too meanly, said he, for my wife, stooped to this furious
sister of mine; and, till I can recollect, I am not pleased with you: But
Colbrand shall attend you, and two other of my servants; and Mrs. Jewkes
shall wait upon you part of the way: And I hope you'll find me in a
better disposition to receive you there, than I am at parting with you
here.
Had I not hoped, that this was partly put on to intimidate my lady, I
believe I could not have borne it: But it was grievous to me; for I saw
he was most sincerely in a passion.
I was afraid, said she, he would be angry at you, as well as me; for well
do I know his unreasonable violence, when he is moved. But one word,
sir, said she; Pardon Pamela, if you won't me; for she has committed no
offence, but that of good-nature to me, and at my request. I will be
gone myself, directly as I was about to do, had you not prevented me.
I prevented you, said he, through love; but you have strung me for it,
through hatred. But as for my Pamela, I know, besides the present
moment, I cannot be angry with her; and therefore I desire her never to
see me, on such occasions, till I can see her in the temper I ought to be
in, when so much sweetness approaches me. 'Tis therefore I say, my
dearest, leave me now.
But, sir, said I, must I leave you, and let you go to Bedfordshire
without me? Oh, dear sir, how can I?--Said my lady, You may go to-
morrow, both of you, as you had designed; and I will go away this
afternoon: And, since I cannot be forgiven, will try to forget I have a
brother.
May I, sir, said I, beg all your anger on myself, and to be reconciled to
your good sister? Presuming Pamela! replied he, and made me start; Art
thou then so hardy, so well able to sustain a displeasure, which of all
things, I expected from thy affection, and thy tenderness, thou would'st
have wished to avoid?--Now, said he, and took my hand, and, as it were,
tossed it from him, begone from my presence, and reflect upon what you
have said to me!
I was so frightened, (for then I saw he took amiss what I said,) that I
took hold of his knees, as he was turning from me; and I said, Forgive
me, good sir! you see I am not so hardy! I cannot bear your displeasure!
And was ready to sink.
His sister said, Only forgive Pamela; 'tis all I ask--You'll break her
spirit quite!--You'll carry your passion as much too far as I have done!
--I need not say, said he, how well I love her; but she must not intrude
upon me at such times as these!--I had intended, as soon as I could have
quelled, by my reason, the tumults you had caused by your violence, to
have come in, and taken such a leave of you both, as might become a
husband, and a brother: But she has, unbidden, broke in upon me, and must
take the consequence of a passion, which, when raised, is as
uncontrollable as your own.
Said she, Did I not love you so well, as sister never loved a brother, I
should not have given you all this trouble. And did I not, said he, love
you better than you are resolved to deserve, I should be indifferent to
all you say. But this last instance, after the duelling story (which you
would not have mentioned, had you not known it is always matter of
concern for me to think upon), of poor Sally Godfrey, is a piece of spite
and meanness, that I can renounce you my blood for.
Well, said she, I am convinced it was wrong. I am ashamed of it myself.
'Twas poor, 'twas mean, 'twas unworthy of your sister: And 'tis for this
reason I stoop to follow you, to beg your pardon, and even to procure one
for my advocate, who I thought had some interest in you, if I might have
believed your own professions to her; which now I shall begin to think
made purposely to insult me.
I care not what you think!--After the meanness you have been guilty of, I
can only look upon you with pity: For, indeed, you have fallen very low
with me.
'Tis plain I have, said she. But I'll begone.--And so, brother, let me
call you for this once! God bless you! And Pamela, said her ladyship,
God bless you! and kissed me, and wept.
I durst say no more: And my lady turning from him, he said, Your sex is
the d---l! how strangely can you discompose, calm, and turn, as you
please, us poor weathercocks of men! Your last kind blessing to my
Pamela I cannot stand! Kiss but each other again. And then he took both
our hands, and joined them; and my lady saluting me again, with tears on
both sides, he put his kind arms about each of our waists, and saluted us
with great affection, saying, Now, God bless you both, the two dearest
creatures I have in the world!
Well, said she, you will quite forget my fault about Miss--He stopt her
before she could speak the name, and said, For ever forget it!--And,
Pamela, I'll forgive you too, if you don't again make my displeasure so
light a thing to you, as you did just now.
Said my lady, She did not make your displeasure a light thing to her; but
the heavier it was, the higher compliment she made me, that she would
bear it all, rather than not see you and me reconciled. No matter for
that, said he: It was either an absence of thought, or a slight by
implication, at least, that my niceness could not bear from her
tenderness: For looked it not presuming, that she could stand my
displeasure, or was sure of making her terms when she pleased? Which,
fond as I am of her, I assure her, will not be always, in wilful faults,
in her power.
Nay, said my lady, I can tell you, Pamela, you have a gentleman here in
my brother; and you may expect such treatment from him, as that
character, and his known good sense and breeding, will always oblige him
to shew: But if you offend, the Lord have mercy upon you!--You see how it
is by poor me!--And yet I never knew him to forgive so soon.
I am sure, said I, I will take care as much as I can; for I have been
frightened out of my wits, and had offended, before I knew where I was.
So happily did this storm blow over; and my lady was quite subdued and
pacified.
When we came out of the garden, his chariot was ready; and he said, Well,
sister, I had most assuredly gone away towards my other house, if things
had not taken this happy turn; and, if you please, instead of it, you and
I will take an airing: And pray, my dear, said he to me, bid Mrs. Jewkes
order supper by eight o'clock, and we shall then join you.
Sir, added he, to her nephew, will you take your horse and escort us? I
will, said he: and am glad, at my soul, to see you all so good friends.
So my dear lord and master handed my lady into his chariot, and her
kinsman and his servants rode after them and I went up to my closet to
ruminate on these things. And, foolish thing that I am, this poor Miss
Sally Godfrey runs into my head!--How soon the name and quality of a wife
gives one privileges, in one's own account!--Yet, methinks, I want to
know more about her; for, is it not strange, that I, who lived years in
the family, should have heard nothing of this? But I was so constantly
with my lady, that I might the less hear of it; for she, I dare say,
never knew it, or she would have told me.
But I dare not ask him about the poor lady.--Yet I wonder what became of
her! Whether she be living? And whether any thing came of it?--May be I
shall hear full soon enough!--But I hope not to any bad purpose.
As to the other unhappy case, I know it was talked of, that in his
travels, before I was taken into the family long, he had one or two
broils; and, from a youth, he was always remarkable for courage, and is
reckoned a great master of his sword. God grant he may never be put to
use it! and that he may be always preserved in honour and safety!
About seven o'clock my master sent word, that he would have me not expect
him to supper; for that he, and my lady his sister, and nephew, were
prevailed upon to stay with Lady Jones; and that Lady Darnford, and Mr.
Peters's family, had promised to meet them there. I was glad they did
not send for me; and the rather, as I hoped those good families being my
friends, would confirm my lady a little in my favour; and so I followed
my writing closely.
About eleven o'clock they returned. I had but just come down, having
tired myself with my pen, and was sitting talking with Mrs. Jewkes and
Mrs. Worden, whom I would, though unwillingly on their sides, make sit
down, which they did over against me. Mrs. Worden asked my pardon, in a
good deal of confusion, for the part she had acted against me; saying,
That things had been very differently represented to her; and that she
little thought I was married, and that she was behaving so rudely to the
lady of the house.
I said, I took nothing amiss; and very freely forgave her; and hoped my
new condition would not make me forget how to behave properly to every
one; but that I must endeavour to act not unworthy of it, for the honour
of the gentleman who had so generously raised me to it.
Mrs. Jewkes said, that my situation gave me great opportunities of
shewing the excellence of my nature, that I could forgive offences
against me so readily, as she, for her own part, must always, she said,
acknowledge, with confusion of face.
People, said I, Mrs. Jewkes, don't know how they shall act, when their
wills are in the power of their superiors; and I always thought one
should distinguish between acts of malice, and of implicit obedience;
though, at the same time, a person should know how to judge between
lawful and unlawful. And even the great, though at present angry they
are not obeyed, will afterwards have no ill opinion of a person for
withstanding them in their unlawful commands.
Mrs. Jewkes seemed a little concerned at this; and I said, I spoke
chiefly from my own experience: For that I might say, as they both knew
my story, that I had not wanted both for menaces and temptations; and had
I complied with the one, or been intimidated by the other, I should not
have been what I was.
Ah, madam! replied Mrs. Jewkes, I never knew any body like you; and I
think your temper sweeter, since the happy day, than before; and that, if
possible, you take less upon you.
Why, a good reason, said I, may be assigned for that: I thought myself in
danger: I looked upon every one as my enemy; and it was impossible that I
should not be fretful, uneasy, jealous. But when my dearest friend had
taken from me the ground of my uneasiness, and made me quite happy, I
should have been very blamable, if I had not shewn a satisfied and easy
mind, and a temper that should engage every one's respect and love at the
same time, if possible: And so much the more, as it was but justifying,
in some sort, the honour I had received: For the fewer enemies I made
myself, the more I engaged every one to think, that my good benefactor
had been less to blame in descending as he has done.
This way of talking pleased them both very much; and they made me many
compliments upon it, and wished me always to be happy, as, they said, I
so well deserved.
We were thus engaged, when my master, and his sister and her nephew, came
in: and they made me quite alive, in the happy humour in which they all
returned. The two women would have withdrawn: but my master said, Don't
go, Mrs. Worden: Mrs. Jewkes, pray stay; I shall speak to you presently.
So he came to me, and, saluting me, said, Well, my dear love, I hope I
have not trespassed upon your patience, by an absence longer than we
designed. But it has not been to your disadvantage; for though we had
not your company, we have talked of nobody else but you.
My lady came up to me, and said, Ay, child, you have been all our
subject. I don't know how it is: but you have made two or three good
families, in this neighbourhood, as much your admirers, as your friend
here.
My sister, said he, has been hearing your praises, Pamela, from half a
score mouths, with more pleasure than her heart will easily let her
express.
My good Lady Davers's favour, said I, and the continuance of yours, sir,
would give me more pride than that of all the rest of the world put
together.
Well, child, said she, proud hearts don't come down all at once; though
my brother, here, has this day set mine a good many pegs lower than I
ever knew it: But I will say, I wish you joy with my brother; and so
kissed me.
My dear lady, said I, you for ever oblige me!--I shall now believe myself
quite happy. This was all I wanted to make me so!--And I hope I shall
always, through my life, shew your ladyship, that I have the most
grateful and respectful sense of your goodness.
But, child, said she, I shall not give you my company when you make your
appearance. Let your own merit make all your Bedfordshire neighbours
your friends, as it has done here, by your Lincolnshire ones; and you'll
have no need of my countenance, nor any body's else.
Now, said her nephew, 'tis my turn: I wish you joy with all my soul,
madam; and, by what I have seen, and by what I have heard, 'fore Gad, I
think you have met with no more than you deserve; and so all the company
says, where we have been: And pray forgive all my nonsense to you.
Sir, said I, I shall always, I hope, respect as I ought, so near a
relation of my good Lord and Lady Davers; and I thank you for your kind
compliment.
Gad, Beck, said he, I believe you've some forgiveness too to ask; for we
were all to blame, to make madam, here, fly the pit, as she did. Little
did we think we made her quit her own house.
Thou always, said my lady, sayest too much, or too little.
Mrs. Worden said, I have been treated with so much goodness and
condescension since you went, that I have been beforehand, sir, in asking
pardon myself.
So my lady sat down with me half an hour, and told me, that her brother
had carried her a fine airing, and had quite charmed her with his kind
treatment of her; and had much confirmed her in the good opinion she had
begun to entertain of my discreet and obliging behaviour: But, continued
she, when he would make me visit, without intending to stay, my old
neighbours, (for, said she, Lady Jones being nearest, we visited her
first; and she scraped all the rest of the company together,) they were
all so full of your praises, that I was quite borne down; and, truly, it
was Saul among the prophets!
You may believe how much I was delighted with this; and I spared not my
due acknowledgments.
When her ladyship took leave, to go to bed, she said, Goodnight to you,
heartily, and to your good man. I kissed you when I came in, out of
form; but I now kiss you out of more than form, I'll assure you.
Join with me, my dear parents, in my joy for this happy turn; the
contrary of which I so much dreaded, and was the only difficulty I had to
labour with. This poor Miss Sally Godfrey, I wonder what's become of
her, poor soul! I wish he would, of his own head, mention her again.--
Not that I am very uneasy, neither.--You'll say, I must be a little
saucy, if I was.
My dear master gave me an account, when we went up, of the pains he had
taken with his beloved sister, as he himself styled her; and of all the
kind things the good families had said in my behalf; and that he observed
she was not so much displeased with hearing them, as she was at first;
when she would not permit any body to speak of me as his wife: And that
my health, as his spouse, being put; when it came to her, she drank it;
but said, Come, brother, here's your Pamela to you: But I shall not know
how to stand this affair, when the Countess----, and the young ladies,
come to visit me. One of these young ladies was the person she was so
fond of promoting a match for, with her brother.--Lady Betty, I know, she
said, will rally me smartly upon it; and you know, brother, she wants
neither wit nor satire. He said, I hope, Lady Betty, whenever she
marries, will meet with a better husband than I should have made her;
for, in my conscience, I think I should hardly have made a tolerable one
to any but Pamela.
He told me that they rallied him on the stateliness of his temper; and
said, They saw he would make an exceeding good husband where he was; but
it must be owing to my meekness, more than to his complaisance; for, said
Miss Darnford, I could see well enough, when your ladyship detained her,
though he had but hinted his desire of finding her at our house, he was
so out of humour at her supposed noncompliance, that mine and my sister's
pity for her was much more engaged, than our envy.
Ay, said my lady, he is too lordly a creature, by much; and can't bear
disappointment, nor ever could.
Said he, Well, Lady Davers, you should not, of all persons, find fault
with me; for I bore a great deal from you, before I was at all angry.
Yes, replied she: but when I had gone a little too far, as I own I did,
you made me pay for it severely enough! You know you did, sauce-box.
And the poor thing too, added she, that I took with me for my advocate,
so low had he brought me! he treated her in such a manner as made my
heart ache for her: But part was art, I know, to make me think the better
of her.
Indeed, sister, said he, there was very little of that; for, at that
time, I cared not what you thought, nor had complaisance enough to have
given a shilling for your good or bad opinion of her or me. And, I own,
I was displeased to be broken in upon, after your provocations, by either
of you and she must learn that lesson, never to come near me, when I am
in those humours; which shall be as little as possible: For, after a
while, if let alone, I always come to myself, and am sorry for the
violence of a temper, so like my dear sister's here: And, for this reason
think it is no matter how few witnesses I have of its intemperance, while
it lasts; especially since every witness, whether they merit it or not,
as you see in my Pamela's case, must be a sufferer by it, if, unsent for,
they come in my way.
He repeated the same lesson to me again, and enforced it and owned, that
he was angry with me in earnest, just then; though more with himself,
afterwards, for being so: But when, Pamela, said he, you wanted to
transfer all my displeasure upon yourself, it was so much braving me with
your merit, as if I must soon end my anger, if placed there; or it was
making it so light to you, that I was truly displeased: for, continued
he, I cannot bear that you should wish, on any occasion whatever, to have
me angry with you, or not to value my displeasure as the heaviest
misfortune that could befall you.
But, sir, said I, you know, that what I did was to try to reconcile my
lady; and, as she herself observed, it was paying her a high regard. It
was so, replied he; but never think of making a compliment to her, or any
body living, at my expense. Besides, she had behaved herself so
intolerably, that I began to think you had stooped too much, and more
than I ought to permit my wife to do; and acts of meanness are what I
can't endure in any body, but especially where I love: and as she had
been guilty of a very signal one, I had much rather have renounced her at
that time, than have been reconciled to her.
Sir, said I, I hope I shall always comport myself so, as not wilfully to
disoblige you for the future; and the rather do I hope this, as I am sure
I shall want only to know your pleasure to obey it. But this instance
shews me, that I may much offend, without designing it in the least.
Now, Pamela, replied he, don't be too serious: I hope I shan't be a very
tyrannical husband to you: Yet do I not pretend to be perfect, or to be
always governed by reason in my first transports; and I expect, from your
affection, that you will bear with me when you find me wrong. I have no
ungrateful spirit, and can, when cool, enter as impartially into myself
as most men; and then I am always kind and acknowledging, in proportion
as I have been out of the way.
But to convince you, my dear, continued he, of your fault, (I mean, with
regard to the impetuosity of my temper; for there was no fault in your
intention, that I acknowledge,) I'll observe only, that you met, when you
came to me, while I was so out of humour, a reception you did not expect,
and a harsh word or two that you did not deserve. Now, had you not
broken in upon me while my anger lasted, but staid till I had come to
you, or sent to desire your company, you'd have seen none of this; but
that affectionate behaviour, which I doubt not you'll always merit, and I
shall always take pleasure in expressing: and in this temper shall you
always find a proper influence over me: But you must not suppose,
whenever I am out of humour, that, in opposing yourself to my passion,
you oppose a proper butt to it; but when you are so good, like the
slender reed, to bend to the hurricane, rather than, like the sturdy oak,
to resist it, you will always stand firm in my kind opinion, while a
contrary conduct would uproot you, with all your excellencies, from my
soul.
Sir, said I, I will endeavour to conform myself, in all things, to your
will. I make no doubt but you will: and I'll endeavour to make my will
as conformable to reason as I can. And let me tell you, that this belief
of you is one of the inducements I have had to marry at all: for nobody
was more averse to this state than myself; and, now we are upon this
subject, I'll tell you why I was so averse.
We people of fortune, or such as are born to large expectations, of both
sexes, are generally educated wrong. You have occasionally touched upon
this, Pamela, several times in your journal, so justly, that I need say
the less to you. We are usually so headstrong, so violent in our wills,
that we very little bear control.
Humoured by our nurses, through the faults of our parents, we practise
first upon them; and shew the gratitude of our dispositions, in an
insolence that ought rather to be checked and restrained, than
encouraged.
Next, we are to be indulged in every thing at school; and our masters and
mistresses are rewarded with further grateful instances of our boisterous
behaviour.
But, in our wise parents' eyes, all looks well, all is forgiven and
excused; and for no other reason, but because we are theirs.
Our next progression is, we exercise our spirits, when brought home, to
the torment and regret of our parents themselves, and torture their
hearts by our undutiful and perverse behaviour to them, which, however
ungrateful in us, is but the natural consequence of their culpable
indulgence to us, from infancy upwards.
And then, next, after we have, perhaps, half broken their hearts, a wife
is looked out for: convenience, or birth, or fortune, are the first
motives, affection the last (if it is at all consulted): and two people
thus educated, thus trained up, in a course of unnatural ingratitude, and
who have been headstrong torments to every one who has had a share in
their education, as well as to those to whom they owe their being, are
brought together; and what can be expected, but that they should pursue,
and carry on, the same comfortable conduct in matrimony, and join most
heartily to plague one another? And, in some measure, indeed, this is
right; because hereby they revenge the cause of all those who have been
aggrieved and insulted by them, upon one another.
The gentleman has never been controlled: the lady has never been
contradicted.
He cannot bear it from one whose new relation, he thinks, should oblige
her to shew a quite contrary conduct.
She thinks it very barbarous, now, for the first time, to be opposed in
her will, and that by a man from whom she expected nothing but
tenderness.
So great is the difference between what they both expect from one
another, and what they both find in each other, that no wonder
misunderstandings happen; that these ripen to quarrels; that acts of
unkindness pass, which, even had the first motive to their union been
affection, as usually it is not, would have effaced all manner of tender
impressions on both sides.
Appeals to parents or guardians often ensue. If, by mediation of
friends, a reconciliation takes place, it hardly ever holds: for why?
The fault is in the minds of both, and neither of them will think so; so
that the wound (not permitted to be probed) is but skinned over, and
rankles still at the bottom, and at last breaks out with more pain and
anguish than before. Separate beds are often the consequence; perhaps
elopements: if not, an unconquerable indifference, possibly aversion.
And whenever, for appearance-sake, they are obliged to be together, every
one sees, that the yawning husband, and the vapourish wife, are truly
insupportable to one another; but separate, have freer spirits, and can
be tolerable company.
Now, my dear, I would have you think, and I hope you will have no other
reason, that had I married the first lady in the land, I would not have
treated her better than I will my Pamela. For my wife is my wife; and I
was the longer in resolving on the state, because I knew its requisites,
and doubted my conduct in it.
I believe I am more nice than many gentlemen; but it is because I have
been a close observer of the behaviour of wedded folks, and hardly ever
have seen it to be such as I could like in my own case. I shall,
possibly, give you instances of a more particular nature of this, as we
are longer, and, perhaps, I might say, better acquainted.
Had I married with the views of many gentlemen, and with such as my good
sister (supplying the place of my father and mother,) would have
recommended, I had wedded a fine lady, brought up pretty much in my own
manner, and used to have her will in every thing.
Some gentlemen can come into a compromise; and, after a few struggles,
sit down tolerably contented. But, had I married a princess, I could not
have done so. I must have loved her exceedingly well, before I had
consented to knit the knot with her, and preferred her to all her sex;
for without this, Pamela, indifferences, if not disgusts, will arise in
every wedded life, that could not have made me happy at home; and there
are fewer instances, I believe, of men's loving better, after matrimony,
than of women's; the reason of which 'tis not my present purpose to
account for.
Then I must have been morally sure, that she preferred me to all men;
and, to convince me of this, she must have lessened, not aggravated, my
failings: She must have borne with my imperfections; she must have
watched and studied my temper; and if ever she had any points to carry,
any desire of overcoming, it must have been by sweetness and
complaisance; and yet not such a slavish one, as should make her
condescension seem to be rather the effect of her insensibility, than
judgment or affection.
She should not have given cause for any part of my conduct to her to wear
the least aspect of compulsion or force. The word command, on my side,
or obedience on hers, I would have blotted from my vocabulary. For this
reason I should have thought it my duty to have desired nothing of her,
that was not significant, reasonable, or just; and that then she should,
on hers, have shewn no reluctance, uneasiness, or doubt, to oblige me,
even at half a word.
I would not have excused her to let me twice enjoin the same thing, while
I took so much care to make her compliance with me reasonable, and such
as should not destroy her own free agency, in points that ought to be
allowed her: And if I was not always right, that yet she would bear with
me, if she saw me set upon it; and expostulate with me on the right side
of compliance; for that would shew me, (supposing small points in
dispute, from which the greatest quarrels, among friends, generally
arise,) that she differed from me, not for contradiction-sake, but
desired to convince me for my own; and that I should, another time, take
better resolutions.
This would be so obliging a conduct, that I should, in justice, have
doubled my esteem for one, who, to humour me, could give up her own
judgment; and I should see she could have no other view in her
expostulations, after her compliance had passed, than to rectify my
motions for the future; and it would have been impossible then, but I
must have paid the greater deference to her opinion and advice in more
momentous matters.
In all companies she must have shewn, that she had, whether I deserved it
altogether or not, a high regard and opinion of me; and this the rather,
as such a conduct in her would be a reputation and security to herself:
For if we rakes attempt a married lady, our first encouragement,
exclusive of our own vanity, arises from the indifferent opinion, slight,
or contempt, she expresses of her husband.
I should expect, therefore, that she should draw a kind veil over my
faults; that such as she could not hide, she would extenuate; that she
would place my better actions in an advantageous light, and shew that I
had her good opinion, at least, whatever liberties the world took with my
character.
She must have valued my friends for my sake; been cheerful and easy,
whomsoever I had brought home with me; and, whatever faults she had
observed in me, have never blamed me before company; at least, with such
an air of superiority, as should have shewn she had a better opinion of
her own judgment, than of mine.
Now, my Pamela, this is but a faint sketch of the conduct I must have
expected from my wife, let her quality have been what it would; or have
lived with her on bad terms. Judge then, if to me a lady of the modish
taste could have been tolerable.
The perverseness and contradiction I have too often seen, in some of my
visits, even among people of sense, as well as condition, had prejudiced
me to the married state; and, as I knew I could not bear it, surely I was
in the right to decline it: And you see, my dear, that I have not gone
among this class of people for a wife; nor know I, indeed, where, in any
class, I could have sought one, or had one suitable to my mind, if not
you: For here is my misfortune; I could not have been contented to have
been but moderately happy in a wife.
Judge you, from all this, if I could very well bear that you should think
yourself so well secured of my affection, that you could take the faults
of others upon yourself; and, by a supposed supererogatory merit, think
your interposition sufficient to atone for the faults of others.
Yet am I not perfect myself: No, I am greatly imperfect. Yet will I not
allow, that my imperfections shall excuse those of my wife, or make her
think I ought to bear faults in her, that she can rectify, because she
bears greater from me.
Upon the whole, I may expect, that you will bear with me, and study my
temper, till, and only till, you see I am capable of returning insult for
obligation; and till you think, that I shall be of a gentler deportment,
if I am roughly used, than otherwise. One thing more I will add, That I
should scorn myself, if there was one privilege of your sex, that a
princess might expect, as my wife, to be indulged in, that I would not
allow to my Pamela; for you are the wife of my affections: I never wished
for one before you, nor ever do I hope to have another.
I hope, sir, said I, my future conduct--Pardon me, said he, my dear, for
interrupting you; but it is to assure you, that I am so well convinced of
your affectionate regard for me, that I know I might have spared the
greatest part of what I have said: And, indeed, it must be very bad for
both of us, if I should have reason to think it necessary to say so much.
But one thing has brought on another; and I have rather spoken what my
niceness has made me observe in other families, than what I fear in my
own. And, therefore, let me assure you, I am thoroughly satisfied with
your conduct hitherto. You shall have no occasion to repent it: And you
shall find, though greatly imperfect, and passionate, on particular
provocations, (which yet I will try to overcome,) that you have not a
brutal or ungenerous husband, who is capable of offering insult for
condescension, or returning evil for good.
I thanked him for these kind rules, and generous assurances: and assured
him, that they had made so much impression on my mind, that these, and
his most agreeable injunctions before given me, and such as he should
hereafter be pleased to give me, should be so many rules for my future
behaviour.
And I am glad of the method I have taken of making a Journal of all that
passes in these first stages of my happiness, because it will sink the
impression still deeper; and I shall have recourse to them for my better
regulation, as often as I shall mistrust my memory.
Let me see: What are the rules I am to observe from this awful lecture?
Why these:
1. That I must not, when he is in great wrath with any body, break in
upon him without his leave. Well, I'll remember it, I warrant. But yet
I think this rule is almost peculiar to himself.
2. That I must think his displeasure the heaviest thing that can befall
me. To be sure I shall.
3. And so that I must not wish to incur it, to save any body else. I'll
be further if I do.
4. That I must never make a compliment to any body at his expense.
5. That I must not be guilty of any acts of wilful meanness. There is a
great deal meant in this; and I'll endeavour to observe it all. To be
sure, the occasion on which he mentions this, explains it; that I must
say nothing, though in anger, that is spiteful or malicious; that is
disrespectful or undutiful, and such-like.
6. That I must bear with him, even when I find him in the wrong. This
is a little hard, as the case may be!
I wonder whether poor Miss Sally Godfrey be living or dead!
7. That I must be as flexible as the reed in the fable, lest, by
resisting the tempest, like the oak, I be torn up by the roots. Well,
I'll do the best I can!--There is no great likelihood, I hope, that I
should be too perverse; yet sure, the tempest will not lay me quite level
with the ground, neither.
8. That the education of young people of condition is generally wrong.
Memorandum; That if any part of children's education fall to my lot, I
never indulge and humour them in things that they ought to be restrained
in.
9. That I accustom them to bear disappointments and control.
10. That I suffer them not to be too much indulged in their infancy.
11. Nor at school.
12. Nor spoil them when they come home.
13. For that children generally extend their perverseness from the nurse
to the schoolmaster: from the schoolmaster to the parents:
14. And, in their next step, as a proper punishment for all, make their
ownselves unhappy.
15. That undutiful and perverse children make bad husbands and wives:
And, collaterally, bad masters and mistresses.
16. That, not being subject to be controlled early, they cannot, when
married, bear one another.
17. That the fault lying deep, and in the minds of each other, neither
will mend it.
18. Whence follow misunderstandings, quarrels, appeals, ineffectual
reconciliations, separations, elopements; or, at best, indifference;
perhaps, aversion.--Memorandum; A good image of unhappy wedlock, in the
words YAWNING HUSBAND, and VAPOURISH WIFE, when together: But separate,
both quite alive.
19. Few married persons behave as he likes. Let me ponder this with awe
and improvement.
20. Some gentlemen can compromise with their wives, for quietness sake;
but he can't. Indeed I believe that's true; I don't desire he should.
21. That love before marriage is absolutely necessary.
22. That there are fewer instances of men's than women's loving better
after marriage. But why so? I wish he had given his reasons for this!
I fancy they would not have been to the advantage of his own sex.
23. That a woman give her husband reason to think she prefers him before
all men. Well, to be sure this should be so.
24. That if she would overcome, it must be by sweetness and
complaisance; that is, by yielding, he means, no doubt.
25. Yet not such a slavish one neither, as should rather seem the effect
of her insensibility, than judgment or affection.
26. That the words COMMAND and OBEY shall be blotted out of the
Vocabulary. Very good!
27. That a man should desire nothing of his wife, but what is
significant, reasonable, just. To be sure, that is right.
28. But then, that she must not shew reluctance, uneasiness, or doubt,
to oblige him; and that too at half a word; and must not be bid twice to
do one thing. But may not there be some occasions, where this may be a
little dispensed with? But he says afterwards, indeed,
29. That this must be only while he took care to make her compliance
reasonable, and consistent with her free agency, in points that ought to
be allowed her. Come, this is pretty well, considering.
30. That if the husband be set upon a wrong thing, she must not dispute
with him, but do it and, expostulate afterwards. Good sirs! I don't know
what to say to this! It looks a little hard, methinks! This would bear
a smart debate, I fancy, in a parliament of women. But then he says,
31. Supposing they are only small points that are in dispute. Well,
this mends it a little. For small points, I think, should not be stood
upon.
32. That the greatest quarrels among friends (and wives and husbands
are, or should be, friends) arise from small matters. I believe this is
very true; for I had like to have had anger here, when I intended very
well.
33. That a wife should not desire to convince her husband for
CONTRADICTION sake, but for HIS OWN. As both will find their account in
this, if one does, I believe 'tis very just.
34. That in all companies a wife must shew respect and love to her
husband.
35. And this for the sake of her own reputation and security; for,
36. That rakes cannot have a greater encouragement to attempt a married
lady's virtue, than her slight opinion of her husband. To be sure this
stands to reason, and is a fine lesson.
37. That a wife should therefore draw a kind veil over her husband's
faults.
38. That such as she could not conceal, she should extenuate.
39. That his virtues she should place in an advantageous light
40. And shew the world, that he had HER good opinion at least.
41. That she must value his friends for his sake.
42. That she must be cheerful and easy in her behaviour, to whomsoever
he brings home with him.
43. That whatever faults she sees in him, she never blame him before
company.
44. At least, with such an air of superiority, as if she had a less
opinion of his judgment than her own.
45. That a man of nice observation cannot be contented to be only
moderately happy in a wife.
46. That a wife take care how she ascribe supererogatory merit to
herself; so as to take the faults of others upon her.
Indeed, I think it is well if we can bear our own! This is of the same
nature with the third; and touches upon me, on the present occasion, for
this wholesome lecture.
47. That his imperfections must not be a plea for hers. To be sure,
'tis no matter how good the women are; but 'tis to be hoped men will
allow a little. But, indeed, he says,
48. That a husband, who expects all this, is to be incapable of
returning insult for obligation, or evil for good; and ought not to
abridge her of any privilege of her sex.
Well, my dear parents, I think this last rule crowns the rest, and makes
them all very tolerable; and a generous man, and a man of sense, cannot
be too much obliged. And, as I have this happiness, I shall be very
unworthy, if I do not always so think, and so act.
Yet, after all, you'll see I have not the easiest task in the world. But
I know my own intentions, that I shall not wilfully err; and so fear the
less.
Not one hint did he give, that I durst lay hold of, about poor Miss Sally
Godfrey. I wish my lady had not spoken of it: for it has given me a
curiosity that is not quite so pretty in me; especially so early in my
nuptials, and in a case so long ago past. Yet he intimated too, to his
sister, that he had had other faults, (of this sort, I suppose,) that had
not come to her knowledge!--But I make no doubt he has seen his error,
and will be very good for the future. I wish it, and pray it may be so,
for his own dear sake!
Wednesday, the seventh.
When I arose in the morning, I went to wait on Lady Davers, seeing her
door open; and she was in bed, but awake, and talking to her woman. I
said, I hope I don't disturb your ladyship. Not at all, said she; I am
glad to see you. How do you do? Well, added she, when do you set out
for Bedfordshire?--I said, I can't tell, madam; it was designed as to-
day, but I have heard no more of it.
Sit down, said she, on the bed-side.--I find, by the talk we had
yesterday and last night, you have had but a poor time of it, Pamela, (I
must call you so yet, said she,) since you were brought to this house,
till within these few days. And Mrs. Jewkes too has given Beck such an
account, as makes me pity you.
Indeed, madam, said I, if your ladyship knew all, you would pity me; for
never poor creature was so hard put to it. But I ought to forget it all
now, and be thankful.
Why, said she, as far as I can find, 'tis a mercy you are here now. I
was sadly moved with some part of your story and you have really made a
noble defence, and deserve the praises of all our sex.
It was God enabled me, madam, replied I. Why, said she, 'tis the more
extraordinary, because I believe, if the truth was known, you loved the
wretch not a little. While my trials lasted, madam, said I, I had not a
thought of any thing, but to preserve my innocence, much less of love.
But, tell me truly, said she, did you not love him all the time? I had
always, madam, answered I, a great reverence for my master, and thought
all his good actions doubly good and for his naughty ones, though I
abhorred his attempts upon me, yet I could not hate him; and always
wished him well; but I did not know that it was love. Indeed I had not
the presumption.
Sweet girl! said she; that's prettily said: But when he found he could
not gain his ends, and began to be sorry for your sufferings, and to
admire your virtue, and to profess honourable love to you, what did you
think?
Think! Indeed, madam, I did not know what to think! could neither hope
nor believe so great an honour would fall to my lot, and feared more from
his kindness, for some time, than I had done from his unkindness: And,
having had a private intimation, from a kind friend, of a sham marriage,
intended by means of a man who was to personate a minister, it kept my
mind in too much suspense, to be greatly overjoyed at his kind
declaration.
Said she, I think he did make two or three attempts upon you in
Bedfordshire? Yes, madam, said I; he was very naughty, to be sure.
And here he proposed articles to you, I understand? Yes, madam, replied
I; but I abhorred so much the thoughts of being a kept creature, that I
rejected them with great boldness; and was resolved to die before I would
consent to them.
He afterwards attempted you, I think: Did he not? O yes, madam, said I,
a most sad attempt he made! and I had like to have been lost; for Mrs.
Jewkes was not so good as she should have been. And so I told her
ladyship that sad affair, and how I fell into fits; and that they
believing me dying, forbore.--Any attempts after this base one? she said.
He was not so good as he should have been, returned I, once in the
garden, afterwards; but I was so watchful, and so ready to take the
alarm!
But, said she, did he not threaten you, at times, and put on his stern
airs, every now and then?--Threaten, madam, replied I; yes, I had enough
of that! I thought I should have died for fear several times.--How could
you bear that? said she: for he is a most daring and majestic mortal! He
has none of your puny hearts, but is as courageous as a lion; and, boy
and man, never feared any thing. I myself, said she, have a pretty good
spirit; but, when I have made him truly angry, I have always been forced
to make it up with him, as well as I could: for, child, he is not one
that is easily reconciled, I assure you.
But, after he had professed honourable love to you, did he never attempt
you again?--No, indeed, madam, he did not. But he was a good while
struggling with himself, and with his pride, as he was pleased to call
it, before he could stoop so low; and considered, and considered again:
and once, upon my saying but two or three words, that displeased him,
when he was very kind to me, he turned me out of doors, in a manner, at
an hour's warning; for he sent me above a day's journey towards my
father's; and then sent a man and horse, post-haste, to fetch me back
again; and has been exceedingly kind and gracious to me ever since, and
made me happy.
That sending you away, said she, one hour, and sending after you the
next, is exactly like my brother; and 'tis well if he don't turn you off
twice or thrice before a year comes about, if you vex him: and he would
have done the same by the first lady in the land, if he had been married
to her. Yet has he his virtues, as well as his faults; for he is
generous; nay, he is noble in his spirit; hates little dirty actions: he
delights in doing good; but does not pass over a wilful fault easily. He
is wise, prudent, sober, and magnanimous, and will not tell a lie, nor
disguise his faults; but you must not expect to have him all to yourself,
I doubt.
But I'll no more harp upon this string: You see how he was exasperated at
me; and he seemed to be angry at you too; though something of it was art,
I believe.
Indeed, madam, said I, he has been pleased to give me a most noble
lecture; and I find he was angry with me in earnest, and that it will not
be an easy task to behave unexceptionably to him: for he is very nice and
delicate in his notions, I perceive; but yet, as your ladyship says,
exceeding generous.
Well, said she, I'm glad thou hadst a little bit of his anger; else I
should have thought it art; and I don't love to be treated with low art,
any more than he; and I should have been vexed if he had done it by me.
But I understand, child, said she, that you keep a journal of all matters
that pass, and he has several times found means to get at it: Should you
care I should see it? It could not be to your disadvantage; for I find
it had no small weight with him in your favour; and I should take great
pleasure to read all his stratagems, attempts, contrivances, menaces, and
offers to you, on one hand, and all your pretty counter-plottings, which
he much praises; your resolute resistance, and the noble stand you have
made to preserve your virtue; and the steps by which his pride was
subdued, and his mind induced to honourable love, till you were made what
you now are: for it must be a rare and uncommon story; and will not only
give me great pleasure in reading, but will entirely reconcile me to the
step he has taken: and that, let me tell you, is what I never thought to
be; for I had gone a great way in bringing about a match with him and
Lady Betty--; and had said so much of it, that the earl, her father,
approved of it: and so did the Duke of ----, her uncle; and Lady Betty
herself was not averse: and now I shall be hunted to death about it; and
this has made me so outrageous as you have seen me upon the matter. But
when I can find, by your writings, that your virtue is but suitably
rewarded, it will be not only a good excuse for me, but for him, and make
me love you. There is nothing that I would not do, said I, to oblige
your ladyship; but my poor father and mother (who would rather have seen
me buried quick in the earth, than to be seduced by the greatest of
princes) have them in their hands at present; and your dear brother has
bespoken them, when they have done reading them: but, if he gives me
leave, I will shew them to your ladyship, with all my heart; not doubting
your generous allowances, as I have had his; though I have treated him
very freely all the way, while he had naughty views; and that your
ladyship would consider them as the naked sentiments of my heart, from
time to time delivered to those, whose indulgence I was sure of; and for
whose sight only they were written.
Give me a kiss now, said her ladyship, for your cheerful compliance: for
I make no doubt my brother will consent I shall see them, because they
must needs make for your honour; and I see he loves you better than any
one in the world.
I have heard, continued her ladyship, a mighty good character of your
parents, as industrious, honest, sensible, good folks, who know the
world; and, as I doubt not my brother's generosity, I am glad they will
make no ill figure in the world's eye.
Madam, said I, they are the honestest, the lovingest, and the most
conscientious couple breathing. They once lived creditably; and brought
up a great family, of which I am the youngest; but had misfortunes,
through their doing beyond their power for two unhappy brothers, who are
both dead, and whose debts they stood bound for; and so became reduced,
and, by harsh creditors, (where most of the debts were, not of their own
contracting,) turned out of all; and having, without success, tried to
set up a little country-school; (for my father understood a little of
accounts, and wrote a pretty good hand;) forced to take to hard labour;
but honest all the time; contented; never repining; and loving to one
another; and, in the midst of their poverty and disappointments, above
all temptation; and all their fear was, that I should be wicked, and
yield to temptation for the sake of worldly riches and to God's grace,
and their good lessons, and those I imbibed from my dear good lady, your
ladyship's mother, it is that I owe the preservation of my innocence,--
and the happy station I am exalted to.
She was pleased to kiss me again, and said, There is such a noble
simplicity in thy story, such an honest artlessness in thy mind, and such
a sweet humility in thy deportment, notwithstanding thy present station,
that I believe I shall be forced to love thee, whether I will or not: and
the sight of your papers, I dare say, will crown the work; will disarm my
pride, banish my resentment on Lady Betty's account, and justify my
brother's conduct; and, at the same time, redound to your own everlasting
honour, as well as to the credit of our sex: and so I make no doubt but
my brother will let me see them.
Worden, said my lady, I can say any thing before you; and you will take
no notice of our conversation; but I see you are much touched with it:
Did you ever hear any thing prettier, more unaffected, sincere, free,
easy?--No, never, madam, answered she, in my life; and it is a great
pleasure to see so happy a reconciliation taking place, where there is so
much merit.
I said, I have discovered so much prudence in Mrs. Worden, that, as well
for that, as for the confidence your ladyship places in her, I have made
no scruple of speaking my mind freely before her; and of blaming my dear
master while he was blameworthy, as well as acknowledging his
transcendent goodness to me since; which, I am sure, exceeds all I can
ever deserve. May be not, said my lady; I hope you'll be very happy in
one another; and I'll now rise, and tell him my thoughts, and ask him to
let me have the reading of your papers; for I promise myself much
pleasure in them; and shall not grudge a journey and a visit to you, to
the other house, to fetch them.
Your ladyship's favour, said I, was all I had to wish for; and if I have
that, and the continuance of your dear brother's goodness to me, I shall
be easy under whatever else may happen.
And so I took my leave, and withdrew; and she let me hear her say to Mrs.
Worden, 'Tis a charming creature, Worden!--I know not which excels; her
person, or her mind!--And so young a creature too!--Well may my brother
love her!
I am afraid, my dear father and mother, I shall now be too proud indeed.
I had once a good mind to have asked her ladyship about Miss Sally
Godfrey; but I thought it was better let alone, since she did not mention
It herself. May be I shall hear it too soon. But I hope not. I wonder,
though, whether she be living or dead.
We breakfasted together with great good temper; and my lady was very
kind, and, asking my good master, he gave leave very readily, she should
see all my papers, when you returned them to me; and he said, He was
sure, when she came to read them, she would say, that I had well deserved
the fortune I had met with: and would be of opinion, that all the
kindness of his future life would hardly be a sufficient reward for my
virtue, and make me amends for my sufferings.
My lady resolving to set out the next morning to return to her lord, my
master ordered every thing to be made ready for his doing the like to
Bedfordshire; and this evening our good neighbours will sup with us, to
take leave of my lady and us.
Wednesday night.
Nothing particular having passed at dinner or supper, but the most
condescending goodness, on my lady's side, to me; and the highest
civilities from Mr. Peters's family, from Lady Jones, from Sir Simon's
family, etc. and reciprocal good wishes all around; and a promise
obtained from my benefactor, that he would endeavour to pass a fortnight
or three weeks in these parts, before the winter set in; I shall conclude
this day with observing, that I disposed of the money my master was so
good to put into my hands, in the manner he was pleased to direct; and I
gave Mrs. Jewkes hers in such a manner as highly pleased her; and she
wished me, with tears, all kinds of happiness; and prayed me to forgive
her all her wickedness to me, as she herself called it. I begged leave
of my master to present Mrs. Worden with five guineas for a pair of
gloves; which he said was well thought of.
I should have mentioned, that Miss Darnford and I agreed upon a
correspondence, which will be no small pleasure to me; for she is an
admirable young lady, whom I prefer to every one I have seen; and I
shall, I make no doubt, improve by her letters; for she is said to have a
happy talent in writing, and is well read, for so young a lady.
Saturday.
On Thursday morning my lady set out for her own seat; and my best friend
and I, attended by Mr. Colbrand, Abraham, and Thomas, for this dear
house. Her ladyship parted with her brother and me with great
tenderness, and made me promise to send her my papers; which I find she
intends to entertain Lady Betty with, and another lady or two, her
intimates, as also her lord; and hopes to find, as I believe, in the
reading of them, some excuse for her brother's choice.
My dearest master has been all love and tenderness on the road, as he is
in every place, and on every occasion. And oh, what a delightful change
was this journey, to that which, so contrary to all my wishes, and so
much to my apprehensions, carried me hence to the Lincolnshire house!
And how did I bless God at every turn, and at every stage!
We did not arrive here till yesterday noon. Abraham rode before, to let
them know we were coming: and I had the satisfaction to find every body
there I wished to see.
When the chariot entered the court-yard, I was so strongly impressed with
the favour and mercies of God Almighty, on remembering how I was sent
away the last time I saw this house; the leave I took; the dangers I had
encountered; a poor cast-off servant girl; and now returning a joyful
wife, and the mistress, through his favour, of the noble house I was
turned out of; that I was hardly able to support the joy I felt in my
mind on the occasion. He saw how much I was moved, and tenderly asked
me, Why I seemed so affected? I told him, and lifted his dear hand to my
lips, and said, O sir! God's mercies, and your goodness to me on entering
this dear, dear place, are above my expression; I can hardly bear the
thoughts of them!--He said, Welcome, thrice welcome, joy of my life! to
your own house; and kissed my hand in return. All the common servants
stood at the windows, as unseen as they could, to observe us. He took my
hand, with the most condescending goodness in the world; and, with great
complaisance, led me into the parlour, and kissed me with the greatest
ardour. Welcome again, my dearest life! said he, a thousand times
welcome to the possession of a house that is not more mine than yours!
I threw myself at his feet: Permit me, dear sir, thus to bless God, and
thank you, for all his mercies and your goodness. O may I so behave, as
not to be utterly unworthy; and then how happy shall I be! God give me,
my dearest, said he, life and health to reward all your sweetness! and no
man can be so blest as I.
Where (said he to Abraham, who passed by the door), where is Mrs.
Jervis?--She bolted in: Here, good sir! said she; here, good madam! am I,
waiting impatiently, till called for, to congratulate you both.--I ran to
her, and clasped my arms about her neck, and kissed her; O my dear Mrs.
Jervis! said I, my other dear mother! receive your happy, happy Pamela;
and join with me to bless God, and bless our master, for all these great
things!--I was ready to sink in her arms through excess of joy, to see
the dear good woman, who had been so often a mournful witness of my
distress, as now of my triumph.--Dearest madam, said she, you do me too
much honour. Let my whole life shew the joy I take in your deserved good
fortune, and in my duty to you, for the early instance I received of your
goodness in your kind letter. O Mrs. Jervis! replied I, there all thanks
are due, both from you and me: for our dear master granted me this
blessing, as I may justly call it, the very first moment I begged it of
him. Your goodness, sir, said she, I will for ever acknowledge; and I
beg pardon for the wrong step I made in applying to my Lady Davers.--He
was so good as to salute her, and said, All is over now, Mrs. Jervis; and
I shall not remember you ever disobliged me. I always respected you, and
shall now more and more value you, for the sake of that dear good
creature, whom, with joy unfeigned, I can call my wife. God bless your
honour for ever! said she; and many many happy years may ye live
together, the envy and wonder of all who know you!
But where, said my dear master, is honest Longman? and where is
Jonathan?--Come, Mrs. Jervis, said I, you shall shew me them, and all the
good folks, presently; and let me go up with you to behold the dear
apartments, which I have seen before with such different emotions to what
I shall now do.
We went up; and in every room, the chamber I took refuge in, when my
master pursued me, my lady's chamber, her dressing-room, Mrs. Jervis's
room, not forgetting her closet, my own little bed-chamber, the green-
room, and in each of the others, I blessed God for my past escapes, and
present happiness; and the good woman was quite affected with the zeal
and pleasure with which I made my thankful acknowledgments to the divine
goodness. O my excellent lady! said she, you are still the same good,
pious, humble soul I knew you; and your marriage has added to your
graces, as I hope it will to your blessings.
Dear Mrs. Jervis, said I, you know not what I have gone through! You
know not what God has done for me! You know not what a happy creature I
am now! I have a thousand thousand things to tell you; and a whole week
will be too little, every moment of it spent in relating to you what has
befallen me, to make you acquainted with it all. We shall be sweetly
happy together, I make no doubt. But I charge you, my dear Mrs. Jervis,
whatever you call me before strangers, that when we are by ourselves you
call me nothing but your Pamela. For what an ungrateful creature should
I be, who have received so many mercies, if I attributed them not to the
divine goodness, but assumed to myself insolent airs upon them! No, I
hope I shall be, more and more thankful, as I am more and more blest! and
more humble, as God, the author of all my happiness, shall more
distinguish me.
We went down again to the parlour, to my dear master. Said he, Call
Longman in again; he longs to see you, my dear. He came in: God bless
you, my sweet lady, said he; as now, Heaven be praised, I may call you!
Did I not tell you, madam, that Providence would find you out? O, Mr.
Longman, said I, God be praised for all his mercies! I am rejoiced to
see you; and I laid my hand on his, and said, Good Mr. Longman, how do
you do?--I must always value you; and you don't know how much of my
present happiness I owe to the sheets of paper, and pens and ink, you
furnished me with. I hope my dear sir and you are quite reconciled.--O,
madam, said he, how good you are! Why, I cannot contain myself for joy!
and then he wiped his eyes; good man!
Said my master, Yes, I have been telling Longman that I am obliged to him
for his ready return to me; and that I will entirely forget his appeal to
Lady Davers; and I hope he'll find himself quite as easy and happy as he
wishes. My dear partner here, Mr. Longman, I dare promise you, will do
all she can to make you so.--Heaven bless you both together! said he.
'Tis the pride of my heart to see this! I returned with double delight,
when I heard the blessed news; and I am sure, sir, said he, (mark old
Longman's words,) God will bless you for this every year more and more!
You don't know how many hearts you have made happy by this generous
deed!--I am glad of it, said my dear master; I am sure I have made my own
happy: and, Longman, though I must think you SOMEBODY, yet, as you are
not a young man, and so won't make me jealous, I can allow you to wish my
dear wife joy in the tenderest manner. Adad! sir, said he, I am sure you
rejoice me with your favour: 'Tis what I longed for, but durst not
presume. My dear, said my master, receive the compliment of one of the
honestest hearts in England, that always revered your virtues!--and the
good man saluted me with great respect, and said, God in Heaven bless you
both! and kneeled on one knee. I must quit your presence! Indeed I
must!--And away he went.
Your goodness, sir, said I, knows no bounds: O may my gratitude never
find any!--I saw, said my master, when the good man approached you, that
he did it with so much awe and love mingled together, that I fancied he
longed to salute my angel; and I could not but indulge his honest heart.
How blessed am I! said I, and kissed his hand.--And indeed I make nothing
now of kissing his dear hand, as if it was my own!
When honest old Mr. Jonathan come in to attend at dinner, so clean, so
sleek, and so neat, as he always is, with his silver hair, I said, Well,
Mr. Jonathan, how do you do? I am glad to see you.--You look as well as
ever, thank God! O, dear madam! said he, better than ever, to have such
a blessed sight! God bless you and my good master!--and I hope, sir,
said he, you'll excuse all my past failings. Ay, that I will, Jonathan,
said he; because you never had any, but what your regard for my dear wife
here was the occasion of. And now I can tell you, you can never err,
because you cannot respect her too much. O sir, said he, your honour is
exceeding good! I'm sure I shall always pray for you both.
After dinner, Mr. Longman coming in, and talking of some affairs under
his care, he said afterwards, All your honour's servants are now happy;
for Robert, who left you, had a pretty little fortune fallen to him, or
he never would have quitted your service. He was here but yesterday, to
inquire when you and my lady returned hither; and hoped he might have
leave to pay his duty to you both. Ay, said my master, I shall be glad
to see honest Robert; for that's another of your favourites, Pamela. It
was high time, I think, I should marry you, were it but to engage the
respects of all my family to myself.--There are, sir, said I, ten
thousand reasons why I should rejoice in your goodness.
But I was going to say, said Mr. Longman, That all your honour's old
servants are now happy, but one. You mean John Arnold? said my master.
I do, indeed, said he, if you'll excuse me, sir. O, said I, I have had
my prayer for poor John answered, as favourably as I could wish.--Why,
said Mr. Longman, to be sure poor John has acted no very good part, take
it altogether; but he so much honoured you, sir, and so much respected
you, madam, that he would have been glad to have been obedient to both;
and so was faithful to neither. But, indeed, the poor fellow's heart is
almost broke, and he won't look out for any other place; and says, he
must live in your honour's service, or he must die wretched very shortly.
Mrs. Jervis was there when this was said: Indeed, said she, the poor man
has been here every day since he heard the tidings, that have rejoiced us
all; and he says, he hopes he shall yet be forgiven. Is he in the house
now? said my master. He is, sir; and was here when your honour came in,
and played at hide and seek to have one look at you both when you
alighted; and was ready to go out of his wits for joy, when we saw your
honour hand my lady in. Pamela, said my dear master, you're to do with
John as you please. You have full power. Then pray, sir, said I, let
poor John come in.
The poor fellow came in, with so much confusion, that I have never seen a
countenance that expressed so lively a consciousness of his faults, and
mingled joy and shame. How do you do, John? said I; I hope you are very
well!--The poor fellow could hardly speak, and looked with awe upon my
master, and pleasure upon me. Said my master, Well, John, there is no
room to say any thing to a man that has so much concern already: I am
told you will serve me whether I will or not; but I turn you over
altogether to my spouse here: and she is to do by you as she pleases.
You see, John, said I, your good master's indulgence. Well may I
forgive, that have so generous an example. I was always persuaded of
your honest intentions, if you had known how to distinguish between your
duty to your master, and your good-will to me: You will now have no more
puzzles on that account, from the goodness of your dear master. I shall
be but too happy I said the poor man. God bless your honour! God bless
you, madam!--I now have the joy of my soul, in serving you both; and I
will make the best of servants, to my power. Well, then, John, said I,
your wages will go on, as if you had not left your master: May I not say
so, sir? said I. Yes, surely, my dear, replied he; and augment them too,
if you find his duty to you deserves it. A thousand millions of thanks,
said the poor man: I am very well satisfied, and desire no augmentation.
And so he withdrew, overjoyed; and Mrs. Jervis and Mr. Longman were
highly pleased; for though they were incensed against him for his fault
to me, when matters looked badly for me, yet they, and all his fellow-
servants, always loved John.
When Mr. Longman and Mrs. Jervis had dined, they came in again, to know
if he had any commands; and my dear master, filling a glass of wine,
said, Longman, I am going to toast the happiest and honestest couple
in England, my dear Pamela's father and mother.--Thank you, dear sir,
said I.
I think, continued he, that little Kentish purchase wants a manager; and
as it is a little out of your way, Longman, I have been purposing, if I
thought Mr. Andrews would accept it, that he should enter upon Hodge's
farm that was, and so manage for me that whole little affair; and we will
well stock the farm for him, and make it comfortable; and I think, if he
will take that trouble upon him, it will be an ease to you, and a favour
to me.
Your honour, said he, cannot do a better thing; and I have had some
inkling given me, that you may, if you please, augment that estate, by a
purchase, of equal amount, contiguous to it; and as you have so much
money to spare, I can't see your honour can do better. Well, said he,
let me have the particulars another time, and we will consider about it.
But, my dear, added he, you'll mention this to your father, if you
please.
I have too much money, Longman, continued he, lies useless; though, upon
this occasion, I shall not grudge laying out as much in liveries and
other things, as if I had married a lady of a fortune equal, if possible,
to my Pamela's merit; and I reckon you have a good deal in hand. Yes,
sir, said he, more than I wish I had. But I have a mortgage in view, if
you don't buy that Kentish thing, that I believe will answer very well;
and when matters are riper, will mention it to your honour.
I took with me, to Lincolnshire, said my master, upwards of six hundred
guineas, and thought to have laid most of them out there: (Thank God,
thought I, you did not! for he offered me five hundred of them, you
know:) but I have not laid out above two hundred and fifty of them; so
two hundred I left there in my escritoire; because I shall go again for a
fortnight or so, before winter; and two hundred I have brought with me:
and I have money, I know not what, in three places here, the account of
which is in my pocket-book, in my library.
You have made some little presents, Pamela, to my servants there, on our
nuptials; and these two hundred that I have brought up, I will put into
your disposal, that, with some of them, you shall do here as you did
there.
I am ashamed, good sir, said I, to be so costly, and so worthless! Pray,
my dear, replied he, say not a word of that. Said Mr. Longman, Why,
madam, with money in stocks, and one thing or another, his honour could
buy half the gentlemen around him. He wants not money, and lays up every
year. And it would have been pity but his honour should have wedded just
as he has. Very true, Longman, said my master; and, pulling out his
purse, said, Tell out, my dear, two hundred guineas, and give me the
rest.--I did so. Now, said he, take them yourself, for the purposes I
mentioned. But, Mr. Longman, do you, before sunset, bring my dear girl
fifty pounds, which is due to her this day, by my promise; and every
three months, from this day, pay her fifty pounds; which will be two
hundred pounds per annum; and this is for her to lay out at her own
discretion, and without account, in such a way as shall derive a blessing
upon us all: for she was my mother's almoner, and shall be mine, and her
own too.--I'll go for it this instant, said Mr. Longman.
When he was done, I looked upon my dear generous master, and on Mrs.
Jervis, and he gave me a nod of assent; and I took twenty guineas, and
said, Dear Mrs. Jervis, accept of this, which is no more than my generous
master ordered me to present to Mrs. Jewkes, for a pair of gloves, on my
happy nuptials; and so you, who are much better entitled to them by the
love I bear you, must not refuse them.
Said she, Mrs. Jewkes was on the spot, madam, at the happy time. Yes,
said my master; but Pamela would have rejoiced to have had you there
instead of her. That I should, sir, replied I, or instead of any body,
except my own mother. She gratefully accepted them, and thanked us both:
But I don't know what she should thank me for; for I was not worth a
fourth of them myself.
I'd have you, my dear, said he, in some handsome manner, as you know how,
oblige Longman to accept of the like present.
Mr. Longman returned from his office, and brought me the fifty pounds,
saying, I have entered this new article with great pleasure: 'To my Lady
fifty pounds: to be paid the same sum quarterly.' O sir! said I, what
will become of me, to be so poor in myself, and so rich in your bounty!--
It is a shame to take all that your profuse goodness would heap upon me
thus: But indeed it shall not be without account.--Make no words, my
dear, said he: Are you not my wife? And have I not endowed you with my
goods; and, hitherto, this is a very small part.
Mr. Longman, said I, and Mrs. Jervis, you both see how I am even
oppressed with unreturnable obligations. God bless the donor, and the
receiver too! said Mr. Longman: I am sure they will bring back good
interest; for, madam, you had ever a bountiful heart; and I have seen the
pleasure you used to take to dispense my late lady's alms and donations.
I'll warrant, Mr. Longman, said I, notwithstanding you are so willing to
have me take large sums for nothing at all, I should affront you, if I
asked you to accept from me a pair of gloves only, on account of my happy
nuptials. He seemed not readily to know how to answer; and my master
said, If Longman refuse you, my dear, he may be said to refuse your first
favour. On that I put twenty guineas in his hand; but he insisted upon
it, that he would take but five. I said, I must desire you to oblige me,
Mr. Longman, or I shall think I have affronted you. Well, if I must,
said he, I know what I know. What is that, Mr. Longman? said I.--Why,
madam, said he, I will not lay it out till my young master's birth-day,
which I hope will be within this twelvemonth.
Not expecting anything like this from the old gentleman, I looked at my
master, and then blushed so, I could not hold up my head. Charmingly
said, Longman! said my master, and clasped me in his arms: O, my dear
life! God send it may be so!--You have quite delighted me, Longman!
Though I durst not have said such a thing for the world.--Madam, said the
old gentleman, I beg your pardon; I hope no offence: but I'd speak it ten
times in a breath to have it so, take it how you please, as long as my
good master takes it so well. Mrs. Jervis, said my master, this is an
over-nice dear creature; you don't know what a life I have had with her,
even on this side matrimony.--Said Mrs. Jervis, I think Mr. Longman says
very well; I am sure I shall hope for it too.
Mr. Longman, who had struck me of a heap, withdrawing soon after, my
master said, Why, my dear, you can't look up! The old man said nothing
shocking. I did not expect it, though, from him, said I. I was not
aware but of some innocent pleasantry. Why, so it was, said he, both
innocent and pleasant: and I won't forgive you, if you don't say as he
says. Come, speak before Mrs. Jervis. May every thing happen, sir, said
I, that will give you delight!--That's my dearest love, said he, and
kissed me with great tenderness.
When the servants had dined, I desired to see the maidens; and all four
came up together. You are welcome home, madam, said Rachel; we rejoice
all to see you here, and more to see you our lady. O my good old
acquaintances, said I, I joy to see you! How do you do, Rachel? How do
you all do? And I took each of them by the hand, and could have kissed
them. For, said I to myself, I kissed you all, last time I saw you, in
sorrow; why should I not kiss you all with joy? But I forbore, in honour
of their master's presence.
They seemed quite transported with me: and my good master was pleased
with the scene. See here, my lasses, said he, your mistress! I need not
bid you respect her; for you always loved her; and she'll have it as much
in her power as inclination to be kind to the deserving. Indeed, said I,
I shall always be a kind friend to you; and your dear master has ordered
me to give each of you this, that you may rejoice with me on my
happiness. And so I gave them five guineas a-piece, and said, God bless
you every one! I am overjoyed to see you! And they withdrew with the
greatest gratitude and pleasure, praying for us both.
I turned to my dear master: 'Tis to you, dear sir, said I, next to God,
who put it into your generous heart, that all my happiness is owing!
That my mind thus overflows with joy and gratitude! And I would have
kissed his hand; but he clasped me in his arms, and said, You deserve it,
my dear: You deserve it all. Mrs. Jervis came in. Said she, I have seen
a very affecting sight; you have made your maidens quite happy, madam,
with your kindness and condescension! I saw them all four, as I came by
the hall-door, just got up from their knees, praising and praying for you
both! Dear good bodies! said I; and did Jane pray too? May their
prayers be returned upon themselves, I say!
My master sent for Jonathan, and I held up all the fingers of my two
hands; and my master giving a nod of approbation as he came in, I said,
Well, Mr. Jonathan, I could not be satisfied without seeing you in form,
as it were, and thanking you for all your past good-will to me. You'll
accept of that, for a pair of gloves, on this happy occasion; and I gave
him ten guineas, and took his honest hand between both mine: God bless
you, said I, with your silver hairs, so like my dear father!--I shall
always value such a good old servant of the best of masters!--He said, O
such goodness! Such kind words! It is balm to my heart! Blessed be God
I have lived to this day!--And his eyes swam in tears, and he withdrew.--
My dear, said my master, you make every one happy!--O, sir, said I, 'tis
you, 'tis you! And let my grateful heart always spring to my lips, to
acknowledge the blessings you heap upon me.
Then in came Harry, and Isaac, and Benjamin, and the two grooms of this
house, and Arthur the gardener; for my dear master had ordered them, by
Mrs. Jervis, thus to be marshalled out: and he said, Where's John? Poor
John was ashamed, and did not come in till he heard himself called for.
I said to them, How do you do, my old friends and fellow-servants? I am
glad to see you all.
My master said, I have given you a mistress, my lads, that is the joy of
my heart: You see her goodness and condescension! Let your respects to
her be but answerable, and she'll be proportionately as great a blessing
to you all, as she is to me. Harry said, In the names of all your
servants, sir, I bless your honour, and your good lady: and it shall be
all our studies to deserve her ladyship's favours, as well as your
honour's. And so I gave every one five guineas, to rejoice, as I said,
in my happiness.
When I came to John, I said, I saw you before, John; but I again tell
you, I am glad to see you. He said, he was quite ashamed and confounded.
O, said I, forget every thing that's past, John!--Your dear good master
will, and so will I. For God has wonderfully brought about all these
things, by the very means I once thought most grievous. Let us,
therefore, look forward, and be only ashamed to commit faults for the
time to come: for they may not always be attended with like happy
consequences.
Arthur, said my master, I have brought you a mistress that is a great
gardener. She'll shew you a new way to plant beans: And never any body
had such a hand at improving a sun-flower as she!--O sir, sir, said I,
(but yet a little dashed,) all my improvements in every kind of thing are
owing to you, I am sure!--And so I think I was even with the dear man,
and yet appeared grateful before his servants. They withdrew, blessing
us both, as the rest had done. And then came in the postilion, and two
helpers, (for my master has both here, and at Lincolnshire, fine hunting
horses; and it is the chief sport he takes delight in,) as also the
scullion-boy: And I said, How do all of you? And how dost do, Tommy? I
hope you're very good. Here your dear master has ordered you something
a-piece, in honour of me. And my master holding three fingers to me, I
gave the postilion and helpers three guineas each, and the little boy
two; and bid him let his poor mother lay it out for him, for he must not
spend it idly. Mr. Colbrand, Abraham, and Thomas, I had before presented
at t'other house.
And when they were all gone but Mrs. Jervis, I said, And now, dearest
sir, permit me, on my knees, thus to bless you, and pray for you. And
oh, may God crown you with length of days, and increase of honour; and
may your happy, happy Pamela, by her grateful heart, appear always worthy
in your dear eyes, though she cannot be so in her own, nor in those of
any others!
Mrs. Jervis, said my master, you see the excellency of this sweet
creature! And when I tell you that the charms of her person, all lovely
as she is, bind me not so strongly to her, as the graces of her mind;
congratulate me, that my happiness is built on so stable a basis. Indeed
I do, most sincerely, sir, said she: This is a happy day to me!
I stept into the library, while he was thus pouring out his kindness for
me to Mrs. Jervis; and blessed God there on my knees, for the difference
I now found to what I had once known in it.--And when I have done the
same in the first scene of my fears, the once frightful summer-house, I
shall have gone through most of my distressful scenes with gratitude; but
shall never forbear thanking God in my mind, for his goodness to me in
every one. Mrs. Jervis, I find, had whispered him what I had done above,
and he saw me upon my knees, with my back towards him, unknown to me; but
softly put to the door again, as he had opened it a little way. And I
said, not knowing he had seen me, You have some charming pictures here,
sir.--Yes, said he, my dear life, so I have; but none equal to that which
your piety affords me; And may the God you delight to serve, bless more
and more my dear angel!--Sir, said I, you are all goodness!--I hope,
replied he, after your sweet example, I shall be better and better.
Do you think, my dear father and mother, there ever was so happy a
creature as I? To be sure it would be very ungrateful to think with
uneasiness, or any thing but compassion, of poor Miss Sally Godfrey.
He ordered Jonathan to let the evening be passed merrily, but wisely, as
he said, with what every one liked, whether wine or October.
He was pleased afterwards to lead me up stairs, and gave me possession of
my lady's dressing-room and cabinet, and her fine repeating-watch and
equipage; and, in short, of a complete set of diamonds, that were his
good mother's; as also of the two pair of diamond ear-rings, the two
diamond rings, and diamond necklace, he mentioned in his naughty
articles, which her ladyship had intended for presents to Miss Tomlins, a
rich heiress, that was proposed for his wife, when he was just come from
his travels; but which went off, after all was agreed upon on both the
friends' sides, because he approved not her conversation; and she had, as
he told his mother, too masculine an air; and he never could be brought
to see her but once, though the lady liked him very well. He presented
me also with her ladyship's books, pictures, linen, laces, etc. that were
in her apartments; and bid me call those apartments mine. O give me, my
good God! humility and gratitude.
Sunday night.
This day, as matters could not be ready for our appearance at a better
place, we staid at home; and my dear master employed himself a good deal
in his library: And I have been taken up pretty much, I hope, as I ought
to be, in thankfulness, prayer and meditation, in my newly-presented
closet And I hope God will be pleased to give a blessing to me; for I
have the pleasure to think I am not puffed up with this great alteration;
and yet am I not wanting to look upon all these favours and blessings in
the light wherein I ought to receive them, both at the hands of Heaven,
and my dear benefactor.
We dined together with great pleasure; and I had, in every word and
action, all the instances of kindness and affection that the most
indulged heart could wish. He said he would return to his closet again;
and at five o'clock would come and take a walk with me in the garden: And
so retired as soon as he had dined, and I went up to mine.
About six, he was pleased to come up to me, and said, Now, my dear, I
will attend you for a little walk in the garden; and I gave him my hand
with great pleasure.
This garden is much better cultivated than the Lincolnshire one; but that
is larger, and has nobler walks in it; and yet there is a pretty canal in
this, and a fountain and cascade. We had a deal of sweet conversation as
we walked; and, after we had taken a turn round, I bent towards the
little garden; and when I came near the summer-house, took the
opportunity to slip from him, and just whipt up the steps of this once
frightful place, and kneeled down, and said, I bless thee, O God! for my
escapes, and for thy mercies! O let me always possess a grateful, humble
heart! and I whipt down again and joined him; and he hardly missed me.
Several of the neighbouring gentry sent their compliments to him on his
return, but not a word about his marriage; particularly Mr. Arthur, Mr.
Towers, Mr. Brooks, and Mr. Martin of the Grove.
Monday.
I had a good deal of employment in choosing patterns for my new clothes.
He thought nothing too good; but I thought every thing I saw was; and he
was so kind to pick out six of the richest for me to choose three suits
out of, saying, We would furnish ourselves with more in town, when we
went thither. One was white, flowered with silver most richly; and he
was pleased to say, that, as I was a bride, I should make my appearance
in that the following Sunday. And so we shall have in two or three days,
from several places, nothing but mantua-makers and tailors at work.
Bless me! what a chargeable and what a worthless hussy I am to the dear
gentleman!--But his fortune and station require a great deal of it; and
his value for me will not let him do less, than if he had married a
fortune equal to his own: and then, as he says, it would be a reflection
upon him, if he did.--And so I doubt it will be, as it is: For either way
the world will have something to say. He made me also choose some very
fine laces, and linen; and has sent a message on purpose, with his
orders, to hasten all down, what can be done in town, as the millinery
matters, etc. to be completed there, and sent by particular messengers,
as done. All to be here, and finished by Saturday afternoon, without
fail.
I sent away John this morning, with some more of my papers to you, and
with the few he will give you separate. My desire is, that you will send
me all the papers you have done with, that I may keep my word with Lady
Davers; to beg the continuance of your prayers and blessings; to hope you
will give me your answer about my dear benefactor's proposal of the
Kentish farm; to beg you to buy, two suits of clothes each; of the finest
cloth for you, my dear father; and of a creditable silk for my dear
mother; and good linen, and every thing answerable; and that you will, as
my best friend bid me say, let us see you here as soon as possible; and
he will have his chariot come for you, when you tell John the day. Oh!
how I long to see you both, my dear good parents, and to share with you
my felicities!
You will have, I'm sure, the goodness to go to all your creditors, which
are chiefly those of my poor unhappy brothers, and get an account of all
you are bound for; and every one shall be paid to the utmost farthing,
and interest besides, though some of them have been very cruel and
unrelenting.--But they are entitled to their own, and shall be thankfully
paid.
Now I think of it, John shall take my papers down to this place; that you
may have something to amuse you, of your dear child's, instead of those
you part with; and I will continue writing till I am settled, and you are
determined; and then I shall apply myself to the duties of the family, in
order to become as useful to my dear benefactor, as my small abilities
will let me.
If you think a couple of guineas will be of use to Mrs. Mumford, who, I
doubt, has not much aforehand, pray give them to her, from me, (and I
will return them to you,) as for a pair of gloves on my nuptials: And
look through your poor acquaintances and neighbours, and let me have a
list of such honest industrious poor, as may be true objects of charity,
and have no other assistance; particularly such as are blind, lame, or
sickly, with their several cases; and also such poor families and
housekeepers as are reduced by misfortunes, as ours was, and where a
great number of children may keep them from rising to a state of
tolerable comfort: And I will choose as well as I can; for I long to be
making a beginning, with the kind quarterly benevolence my dear good
benefactor has bestowed upon me for such good purposes.
I am resolved to keep account of all these matters, and Mr. Longman has
already furnished me with a vellum book of white paper; some sides of
which I hope soon to fill with the names of proper objects: And though my
dear master has given me all this without account, yet shall he see (but
nobody else) how I lay it out, from quarter to quarter; and I will, if
any be left, carry it on, like an accomptant, to the next quarter, and
strike a balance four times a year, and a general balance at every year's
end.--And I have written in it, Humble RETURNS for DIVINE MERCIES; and
locked it up safe in my newly-presented cabinet.
I intend to let Lady Davers see no farther of my papers, than to her own
angry letter to her brother; for I would not have her see my reflections
upon it; and she'll know, down to that place, all that's necessary for
her curiosity, as to my sufferings, and the stratagems used against me,
and the honest part I have been enabled to act: And I hope, when she has
read them all, she will be quite reconciled: for she will see it is all
God Almighty's doings; and that a gentleman of his parts and knowledge
was not to be drawn in by such a poor young body as me.
I will detain John no longer. He will tell you to read this last part
first, and while he stays. And so, with my humble duty to you both, and
my dear Mr. B----'s kind remembrance, I rest
Your ever-dutiful and gratefully happy DAUGHTER.
Wednesday evening.
HONOURED FATHER AND MOTHER!
I will now proceed with my journal.
On Tuesday morning, my dear sir rode out, and brought with him to dinner,
Mr. Martin of the Grove, and Mr. Arthur, and Mr. Brooks, and one Mr.
Chambers; and he stept up to me, and said he had rode out too far to
return to breakfast; but he had brought with him some of his old
acquaintance, to dine with me. Are you sorry for it, Pamela? said he. I
remembered his lessons, and said No, sure, sir; I cannot be angry at any
thing you are pleased to do. Said he, You know Mr. Martin's character,
and have severely censured him in one of your letters, as one of my
brother rakes, and for his three lyings-in.
He then gave me the following account, how he came to bring them. Said
he, 'I met them all at Mr. Arthur's; and his lady asked me, if I was
really married? I said, Yes, really. And to whom? said Mr. Martin.
Why, replied I, bluntly, to my mother's waiting-maid. They could not
tell what to say to me hereupon, and looked one upon another. And I saw
I had spoiled a jest, from each. Mrs. Arthur said, You have, indeed,
sir, a charming creature, as ever I saw; and she has mighty good luck.
Ay, said I, and so have I. But I shall say the less, because a man never
did any thing of this nature, that he did not think he ought, if it were
but in policy, to make the best of it. Nay, said Mr. Arthur, if you have
sinned, it is with your eyes open: for you know the world as well as any
gentleman of your years in it.'
'Why, really, gentlemen, said I, I should be glad to please all my
friends; but I can't expect, till they know my motives and inducements,
that it will be so immediately. But I do assure you, I am exceedingly
pleased myself; and that, you know, is most to the purpose.'
'Said Mr. Brooks, I have heard my wife praise your spouse that is, so
much for person and beauty, that I wanted to see her of all things. Why,
replied I, if you'll all go and take a dinner with me, you shall see her
with all my heart. And, Mrs. Arthur, will you bear us company? No,
indeed, sir, said she. What, I'll warrant, my wife will not be able to
reconcile you to my mother's waiting-maid; is not that it? Tell truth,
Mrs. Arthur. Nay, said she, I shan't be backward to pay your spouse a
visit, in company of the neighbouring ladies; but for one single woman to
go, on such a sudden motion too, with so many gentlemen, is not right.
But that need not hinder you, gentlemen. So, said he, the rest sent,
that they should not dine at home; and they and Mr. Chambers, a gentleman
lately settled in these parts, one and all came with me: And so, my dear,
concluded he, when you make your appearance next Sunday, you're sure of a
party in your favour; for all that see you must esteem you.'
He went to them; and when I came down to dinner, he was pleased to take
me by the hand, at my entrance into the parlour, and said, My dear, I
have brought some of my good neighbours to dine with you. I said, You
are very good, sir.--My dear, this gentleman is Mr. Chambers; and so he
presented every one to me; and they saluted me, and wished us both joy.
I, for my part, said Mr. Brooks, wish you joy most heartily. My wife
told me a good deal of the beauties of your person; but I did not think
we had such a flower in our country. Sir, said I, your lady is very
partial to me; and you are so polite a gentleman, that you will not
contradict your good lady.
I'll assure you, madam, returned he, you have not hit the matter at all;
for we contradict one another twice or thrice a day. But the devil's
in't if we are not agreed in so clear a case!
Said Mr. Martin, Mr. Brooks says very true, madam, in both respects;
(meaning his wife's and his own contradiction to one another, as well as
in my favour;) for, added he, they have been married some years.
As I had not the best opinion of this gentleman, nor his jest, I said, I
am almost sorry, sir, for the gentleman's jest upon himself and his lady;
but I think it should have relieved him from a greater jest, your
pleasant confirmation of it.--But still the reason you give that it may
be so, I hope, is the reason that may be given that it is not so; to wit,
that they have been married some years.
Said Mr. Arthur, Mr. Martin, I think the lady has very handsomely
reproved you. I think so too, said Mr. Chambers; and it was but a very
indifferent compliment to a bride. Said Mr. Martin, Compliment or not,
gentlemen, I have never seen a matrimony of any time standing, that it
was not so, little or much: But I dare say it will never be so here.
To be sure, sir, said I, if it was, I must be the ungratefullest person
in the world, because I am the most obliged person in it. That notion,
said Mr. Arthur, is so excellent, that it gives a moral certainty it
never can.
Sir, said Mr. Brooks to my dear master, softly, You have a most
accomplished lady, I do assure you, as well in her behaviour and wit, as
in her person, call her what you please. Why, my dear friend, said my
master, I must tell you, as I have said before now, that her person made
me her lover, but her mind made her my wife.
The first course coming in, my dear sir led me himself to my place; and
set Mr. Chambers, as the greatest stranger, at my right hand, and Mr.
Brooks at my left; and Mr. Arthur was pleased to observe, much to my
advantage, on the ease and freedom with which I behaved myself, and
helped them; and said, he would bring his lady to be a witness, and a
learner both, of my manners. I said, I should be proud of any honour
Mrs. Arthur would vouchsafe to do me; and if once I could promise myself
the opportunity of his good lady's example, and those of the other
gentlemen present, I should have the greater opinion of my worthiness to
sit in the place I filled at present with much insufficiency.
Mr. Arthur drank to my health and happiness, and said, My wife told your
spouse, madam, you had very good luck in such a husband; but I now see
who has the best of it. Said Mr. Brooks, Come, come, let's make no
compliments; for the plain truth of the matter is, our good neighbour's
generosity and judgment have met with so equal a match in his lady's
beauty and merit, that I know not which has the best luck. But may you
be both long happy together, say I! And so he drank a glass of wine.
My best friend, who always takes delight to have me praised, seemed much
pleased with our conversation; and he said the kindest, tenderest, and
most respectful things in the world to me. Insomuch, that the rough Mr.
Martin said, Did you ever think our good friend here, who used to
ridicule matrimony so much, would have made so complaisant a husband?
How long do you intend, sir, that this shall hold? As long as my good
girl deserves it, said he; and that, I hope, will be for ever. But,
continued the kind gentleman, you need not wonder I have changed my mind
as to wedlock; for I never expected to meet with one whose behaviour and
sweetness of temper were so well adapted to make me happy.
After dinner, and having drank good healths to each of their ladies, I
withdrew; and they sat and drank two bottles of claret a-piece, and were
very merry; and went away, full of my praises, and vowing to bring their
ladies to see me.
John having brought me your kind letter, my dear father, I told my good
master, after his friends were gone, how gratefully you received his
generous intentions as to the Kentish farm, and promised your best
endeavours to serve him in that estate; and that you hoped your industry
and care would be so well employed in it, that you should be very little
troublesome to him,--as to the liberal manner in which he had intended to
add to a provision, that of itself exceeded all you wished. He was very
well pleased with your cheerful acceptance of it.
I am glad your engagements in the world lie in so small a compass. As
soon as you have gotten an account of them exactly, you will be pleased
to send it me, with the list of the poor folks you are so kind to promise
to procure me.
I think, as my dear master is so generous, you should account nothing
that is plain, too good. Pray don't be afraid of laying out upon
yourselves. My dear sir intends that you shall not, when you come to us,
return to your old abode; but stay with us, till you set out for Kent;
and so you must dispose of yourselves accordingly. And I hope, my dear
father, you have quite left off all slavish business. As farmer Jones
has been kind to you, as I have heard you say, pray, when you take leave
of them, present them with three guineas worth of good books; such as a
family bible, a common prayer, a whole duty of man, or any other you
think will be acceptable; for they live a great way from church; and in
winter the ways from their farm thither are impassable.
He has brought me my papers safe: and I will send them to Lady Davers the
first opportunity, down to the place I mentioned in my last.
My dear Mr. B---- just now tells me, that he will carry me, in the
morning, a little airing, about ten miles off, in his chariot and four,
to breakfast at a farm-house, noted for a fine dairy, and where, now and
then, the neighbouring gentry, of both sexes, resort for that purpose.
Thursday.
We set out at about half an hour after six, accordingly; and driving
pretty smartly, got at this truly neat house at half an hour after eight;
and I was much pleased with the neatness of the good woman, and her
daughter and maid; and he was so good as to say he would now and then
take a turn with me to the same place, and on the same occasion, as I
seemed to like it; for that it would be a pretty exercise, and procure us
appetites to our breakfasts, as well as our return would to our dinners.
But I find this was not, though a very good reason, the only one for
which he gave me this agreeable airing; as I shall acquaint you.
We were prettily received and entertained here, and an elegancy ran
through every thing, persons as well as furniture, yet all plain. And my
master said to the good housewife, Do your young boarding-school ladies
still at times continue their visits to you, Mrs. Dobson? Yes, sir, said
she, I expect three or four of them every minute.
There is, my dear, said he, within three miles of this farm, a very good
boarding-school for ladies. The governess of it keeps a chaise and pair,
which is to be made a double chaise at pleasure; and in summer time, when
the misses perform their tasks to satisfaction, she favours them with an
airing to this place, three or four at a time; and after they have
breakfasted, they are carried back. And this serves both for a reward,
and for exercise; and the misses who have this favour are not a little
proud of it; and it brings them forward in their respective tasks.
A very good method, sir, said I. And just as we were talking, the chaise
came in with four misses, all pretty much of a size, and a maid-servant
to attend them. They were shewn another little neat apartment, that went
through ours; and made their honours very prettily, as they passed by us.
I went into the room to them, and asked them questions about their work,
and their lessons; and what they had done to deserve such a fine airing
and breakfasting; and they all answered me very prettily. And pray,
little ladies, said I, what may I call your names? One was called Miss
Burdoff, one Miss Nugent, one Miss Booth, and the fourth Miss Goodwin. I
don't know which, said I, is the prettiest; but you are all best, my
little dears; and you have a very good governess, to indulge you with
such a fine airing, and such delicate cream, and bread and butter. I
hope you think so too.
My master came in, and I had no mistrust in the world; and he kissed each
of them; but looked more wishfully on Miss Goodwin, than on any of the
others; but I thought nothing just then: Had she been called Miss
Godfrey, I had hit upon it in a trice.
When we went from them, he said, Which do you think the prettiest of
those misses? Really, sir, replied I, it is hard to say: Miss Booth is a
pretty brown girl, and has a fine eye; Miss Burdoff has a great deal of
sweetness in her countenance, but is not so regularly featured. Miss
Nugent is very fair: and Miss Goodwin has a fine black eye, and is,
besides, I think, the genteelest shaped child; but they are all pretty.
The maid led them into the garden, to shew them the beehives; and Miss
Goodwin made a particular fine courtesy to my master; and I said, I
believe miss knows you, sir; and, taking her by the hand, I said, Do you
know this gentleman, my pretty dear?--Yes, madam, said she; it is my own
dear uncle. I clasped her in my arms: O why did you not tell me, sir,
said I, that you had a niece among these little ladies? And I kissed
her, and away she tript after the others.
But pray, sir, said I, how can this be?--You have no sister nor brother,
but Lady Davers.--How can this be?
He smiled: and then I said, O my dearest sir, tell me now the truth, Does
not this pretty miss stand in a nearer relation to you, than as a niece?
--I know she does! I know she does! And I embraced him as he stood.
'Tis even so, my dear, replied he; and you remember my sister's good-
natured hint of Miss Sally Godfrey? I do well, sir, answered I. But
this is Miss Goodwin. Her mother chose that name for her, said he,
because she should not be called by her own.
Well, said I, excuse me, sir; I must go and have a little prattle with
her. I'll send for her in again, replied he; and in she came in a
moment. I took her in my arms, and said, O my charming dear! will you
love me?--Will you let me be your aunt? Yes, madam, answered she, with
all my heart! and I will love you dearly: But I mustn't love my uncle.
Why so? said he. Because, replied she, you would not speak to me at
first! And because you would not let me call you uncle (for it seems she
was bid not, that I might not guess at her presently): and yet, said the
pretty dear, I had not seen you a great while, so I hadn't.
Well, Pamela, said he, now can you allow me to love this little innocent?
Allow you, sir, replied I; you would be very barbarous, if you did not;
and I should be more so, if I did not further it all I could, and love
the little lamb myself, for your sake and for her own sake; and in
compassion to her poor mother, though unknown to me: And tears stood in
my eyes.
Said he, Why, my love, are your words so kind, and your countenance so
sad?--I drew to the window from the child; and said, Sad it is not, sir;
but I have a strange grief and pleasure mingled at once in my breast, on
this occasion. It is indeed a twofold grief, and a twofold pleasure.--As
how, my dear? said he. Why, sir, replied I, I cannot help being grieved
for the poor mother of this sweet babe, to think, if she be living, that
she must call her chiefest delight her shame: If she be no more, that she
must have had such remorse on her poor mind, when she came to leave the
world, and her little babe: And, in the second place, I grieve, that it
must be thought a kindness to the dear little soul, not to let her know
how near the dearest relation she has in the world is to her.--Forgive
me, dear sir, I say not this to reproach you, in the least. Indeed I
don't. And I have a twofold cause of joy; first, That I have had the
grace to escape the like unhappiness with this poor gentlewoman: and
next, That this discovery has given me an opportunity to shew the
sincerity of my grateful affection for you, sir, in the love I will
always express to this dear child.
And then I stept to her again, and kissed her; and said, Join with me, my
pretty love, to beg your dear uncle to let you come and live with your
new aunt: Indeed, my little precious, I'll love you dearly.
Will you, sir? said the little charmer; will you let me go and live with
my aunt?
You are very good, my Pamela, said he. And I have not once been deceived
in the hopes my fond heart has entertained of your prudence.--But will
you, sir? said I; will you grant me this favour? I shall most sincerely
love the little charmer; and all I am capable of doing for her, both by
example and affection, shall most cordially be done. My dearest sir,
added I, oblige me in this thing! I think already my heart is set upon
it! What a sweet employment and companionship shall I have!
We'll talk of this some other time, replied he; but I must, in prudence,
put some bounds to your amiable generosity. I had always intended to
surprise you into this discovery; but my sister led the way to it, out of
a poorness in her spite, that I could not brook: And though you have
pleased me beyond expression, in your behaviour on this occasion; yet I
can't say, that you have gone much beyond my expectations; for I have
such a high opinion of you, that I think nothing could have shaken it,
but a contrary conduct to this you have expressed on so tender a
circumstance.
Well, sir, said the dear little miss, then you will not let me go home
with my aunt, will you? I am sure she will love me. When you break up
next, my dear, said he, if you are a good girl, you shall pay your new
aunt a visit. She made a low courtesy. Thank you, sir, answered she.
Yes, my dear, said I, and I will get you some fine things against the
time. I would have brought you some now, had I known I should have seen
my pretty love. Thank you, madam, returned she.
How old, sir, said I, is miss? Between six and seven, answered he. Was
she ever, sir, said I, at your house? My sister, replied he, carried her
thither once, as a near relation of her lord's. I remember, sir, said I,
a little miss; and Mrs. Jervis and I took her to be a relation of Lord
Davers.
My sister, returned he, knew the whole secret from the beginning; and it
made her a great merit with me, that she kept it from the knowledge of my
father, who was then living, and of my mother, to her dying-day; though
she descended so low in her rage, to hint the matter to you.
The little misses took their leaves soon after: and I know not how, but I
am strangely affected with this dear child. I wish he would be so good
as to let me have her home. It would be a great pleasure to have such a
fine opportunity, obliged as I am, to shew my love for himself, in my
fondness for his dear miss.
As we came home together in the chariot, he gave me the following
particulars of this affair, additional to what he had before mentioned:
That this lady was of a good family, and the flower of it but that her
mother was a person of great art and address, and not altogether so nice
in the particular between himself and miss, as she ought to have been:
That, particularly, when she had reason to find him unsettled and wild,
and her daughter in more danger from him, than he was from her, yet she
encouraged their privacies; and even, at last, when she had reason to
apprehend, from their being surprised together, in a way not so
creditable to the lady, that she was far from forbidding their private
meetings; on the contrary, that, on a certain time, she had set one that
had formerly been her footman, and a half-pay officer, her relation, to
watch an opportunity, and to frighten him into a marriage with the lady:
That, accordingly, when they had surprised him in her chamber, just as he
had been let in, they drew their swords upon him, and threatened
instantly to kill him, if he did not promise marriage on the spot; and
that they had a parson ready below stairs, as he found afterwards: That
then he suspected, from some strong circumstances, that miss was in the
plot; which so enraged him, with their menaces together, that he drew,
and stood upon his defence; and was so much in earnest, that the man he
pushed into the arm, and disabled; and pressing pretty forward upon the
other, as he retreated, he rushed in upon him near the top of the stairs,
and pushed him down one pair, and he was much hurt by the fall: Not but
that, he said, he might have paid for his rashness; but that the business
of his antagonists was rather to frighten than to kill him: That, upon
this, in the sight of the old lady, the parson she had provided, and her
other daughters, he went out of their house, with bitter execrations
against them all.
That after this, designing to break off all correspondence with the whole
family, and miss too, she found means to engage him to give her a meeting
at Woodstock, in order to clear herself: That, poor lady! she was there
obliged, naughty creature as he was! to make herself quite guilty of a
worse fault, in order to clear herself of a lighter: That they afterwards
met at Godstow often, at Woodstock, and every neighbouring place to
Oxford, where he was then studying, as it proved, guilty lessons, instead
of improving ones; till, at last, the effect of their frequent interviews
grew too obvious to be concealed: That the young lady then, when she was
not fit to be seen, for the credit of the family, was confined, and all
manner of means were used, to induce him to marry her: That, finding
nothing would do, they at last resolved to complain to his father and
mother; but that he made his sister acquainted with the matter, who then
happened to be at home; and, by her management and spirit, their
intentions of that sort were frustrated; and, seeing no hopes, they
agreed to Lady Davers's proposals, and sent poor miss down to
Marlborough, where, at her expense, which he answered to her again, she
was provided for, and privately lay-in: That Lady Davers took upon
herself the care of the little one, till it came to be fit to be put to
the boarding-school, where it now is: And that he had settled upon the
dear little miss such a sum of money, as the interest of it would
handsomely provide for her: and the principal would be a tolerable
fortune, fit for a gentlewoman, when she came to be marriageable. And
this, my dear, said he, is the story in brief. And I do assure you,
Pamela, added he, I am far from making a boast of, or taking a pride in,
this affair: But since it has happened, I can't say but I wish the poor
child to live, and be happy; and I must endeavour to make her so.
Sir, said I, to be sure you should; and I shall take a very great pride
to contribute to the dear little soul's felicity, if you will permit me
to have her home.--But, added I, does miss know any thing who are her
father and mother? I wanted him to say if the poor lady was living or
dead.--No, answered he. Her governess has been told, by my sister, that
she is the daughter of a gentleman and his lady, who are related, at a
distance, to Lord Davers, and now live in Jamaica; and she calls me
uncle, only because I am the brother to Lady Davers, whom she calls aunt,
and who is very fond of her: as is also my lord, who knows the whole
matter; and they have her, at all her little school recesses, at their
house, and are very kind to her.
I believe, added he, the truth of the matter is very little known or
suspected; for, as her mother is of no mean family, her friends endeavour
to keep it secret, as much as I: and Lady Davers, till her wrath boiled
over, t'other day, has managed the matter very dexterously and kindly.
The words, mother is of no mean family, gave me not to doubt the poor
lady was living. And I said, But how, sir, can the dear miss's poor
mother be content to deny herself the enjoyment of so sweet a child? Ah,
Pamela, replied he, now you come in; I see you want to know what's become
of the poor mother. 'Tis natural enough you should; but I was willing to
see how the little suspense would operate upon you.--Dear sir, said I.--
Nay, replied he, 'tis very natural, my dear! I think you have had a
great deal of patience, and are come at this question so fairly that you
deserve to be answered.
You must know then, there is some foundation for saying, that her mother,
at least, lives in Jamaica; for there she does live, and very happily
too. For I must observe, that she suffered so much in child-bed, that
nobody expected her life; and this, when she was up, made such an
impression upon her, that she dreaded nothing so much as the thoughts of
returning to her former fault; and, to say the truth, I had intended to
make her a visit as soon as her month was well up. And so, unknown to
me, she engaged herself to go to Jamaica, with two young ladies, who were
born there; and were returning to their friends, after they had been four
years in England for their education: and, recommending to me, by a very
moving letter, her little baby, and that I would not suffer it to be
called by her name, but Goodwin, that her shame might be the less known,
for hers and her family's sake; she got her friends to assign her five
hundred pounds, in full of all her demands upon her family, and went up
to London, and embarked, with her companions, at Gravesend, and so sailed
to Jamaica; where she is since well and happily married, passing to her
husband for a young widow, with one daughter, which her husband's friends
take care of, and provide for. And so you see, Pamela, that in the whole
story on both sides, the truth is as much preserved as possible.
Poor lady! said I; how her story moves me! I am glad she is so happy at
last!--And, my dear, said he, are you not glad she is so far off too?--As
to that, sir, said I, I cannot be sorry, to be sure, as she is so happy;
which she could not have been here. For, sir, I doubt you would have
proceeded with your temptations, if she had not gone; and it shewed she
was much in earnest to be good, that she could leave her native country,
leave all her relations, leave you, whom she so well loved, leave her
dear baby, and try a new fortune, in a new world, among quite strangers,
and hazard the seas; and all to preserve herself from further guiltiness!
Indeed, indeed, sir, said I, I bleed for what her distresses must be, in
this case I am grieved for her poor mind's remorse, through her childbed
terrors, which could have so great and so worthy an effect upon her
afterwards; and I honour her resolution; and would rank such a returning
dear lady in the class of those who are most virtuous; and doubt not God
Almighty's mercy to her; and that her present happiness is the result of
his gracious providence, blessing her penitence and reformation.--But,
sir, said I, did you not once see the poor lady after her lying-in?
I did not believe her so much in earnest, answered he; and I went down to
Marlborough, and heard she was gone from thence to Calne. I went to
Calne, and heard she was gone to Reading, to a relation's there. Thither
I went, and heard she was gone to Oxford. I followed; and there she was;
but I could not see her.
She at last received a letter from me, begging a meeting with her; for I
found her departure with the ladies was resolved on, and that she was
with her friends, only to take leave of them, and receive her agreed on
portion: And she appointed the Saturday following, and that was
Wednesday, to give me a meeting at the old place, at Woodstock.
Then, added he, I thought I was sure of her, and doubted not I should
spoil her intended voyage. I set out on Thursday to Gloucester, on a
party of pleasure; and on Saturday I went to the place appointed, at
Woodstock: But when I came thither, I found a letter instead of my lady;
and when I opened it, it was to beg my pardon for deceiving me;
expressing her concern for her past fault; her affection for me; and the
apprehension she had, that she should be unable to keep her good
resolves, if she met me: that she had set out on the Thursday for her
embarkation; for that she feared nothing else could save her; and had
appointed this meeting on Saturday, at the place of her former guilt,
that I might be suitably impressed upon the occasion, and pity and allow
for her; and that she might get three or four days start of me, and be
quite out of my reach. She recommended again, as upon the spot where the
poor little one owed its being, my tenderness to it, for her sake; and
that was all she had to request of me, she said; but would not forget to
pray for me in all her own dangers, and in every difficulty she was going
to encounter.
I wept at this moving tale. And did not this make a deep impression upon
you, sir? said I. Surely such an affecting lesson as this, on the very
guilty spot too, (I admire the dear lady's pious contrivance!) must have
had a great effect upon you. One would have thought, sir, it was enough
to reclaim you for ever! All your naughty purposes, I make no doubt,
were quite changed?
Why, my dear, said he, I was much moved, you may be sure, when I came to
reflect: But, at first, I was so assured of being a successful tempter,
and spoiling her voyage, that I was vexed, and much out of humour; but
when I came to reflect, as I said, I was quite overcome with this
instance of her prudence, her penitence, and her resolution; and more
admired her than I ever had done. Yet I could not bear she should so
escape me neither; so much overcome me, as it were, in an heroical
bravery; and I hastened away, and got a bill of credit of Lord Davers,
upon his banker in London, for five hundred pounds; and set out for that
place, having called at Oxford, and got what light I could, as to where I
might hear of her there.
When I arrived in town, which was not till Monday morning, I went to a
place called Crosby-square, where the friends of the two ladies lived.
She had set out in the flying-coach on Tuesday; got to the two ladies
that very night; and, on Saturday, had set out with them for Gravesend,
much about the time I was expecting her at Woodstock.
You may suppose that I was much affected, my dear, with this. However, I
got my bill of credit converted into money; and I set out with my servant
on Monday afternoon, and reached Gravesend that night; and there I
understood that she and the two ladies had gone on board from the very
inn I put up at, in the morning; and the ship waited only for the wind,
which then was turning about in its favour.
I got a boat directly, and went on board the ship, and asked for Mrs.
Godfrey. But judge you, my dear Pamela, her surprise and confusion, when
she saw me! She had like to have fainted away. I offered any money to
put off the sailing till next day, but it would not be complied with; and
fain would I have got her on shore, and promised to attend her, if she
would go over land, to any part of England the ship would touch at. But
she was immovable.
Every one concluded me her humble servant, and were touched at the moving
interview; the young ladies, and their female attendants, especially.
With great difficulty, upon my solemn assurances of honour, she trusted
herself with me in one of the cabins; and there I tried, what I could, to
prevail upon her to quit her purpose; but all in vain: She said, I had
made her quite unhappy by this interview! She had difficulties enough
upon her mind before; but now I had embittered all her voyage, and given
her the deepest distress.
I could prevail upon her but for one favour, and that with the greatest
reluctance; which was, to accept of the five hundred pounds, as a present
from me; and she promised, at my earnest desire, to draw upon me for a
greater sum, as a person that had her effects in my hands, when she
arrived, if she should find it convenient for her. In short, this was
all the favour I could procure; for she would not promise so much as to
correspond with me, and was determined on going: and, I believe, if I
would have married her, which yet I had not in my head, she would not
have deviated from her purpose.
But how, sir, said I, did you part? I would have sailed with her,
answered he, and been landed at the first port in England or Ireland, I
cared not which, they should put in at; but she was too full of
apprehensions to admit it; And the rough fellow of a master, captain they
called him, (but, in my mind, I could have thrown him overboard,) would
not stay a moment, the wind and tide being quite fair; and was very
urgent with me to go a-shore, or to go the voyage; and being impetuous in
my temper, (spoiled, you know, my dear, by my mother,) and not used to
control, I thought it very strange that wind or tide, or any thing else,
should be preferred to me and my money: But so it was; I was forced to
go; and so took leave of the ladies, and the other passengers; wished
them a good voyage; gave five guineas among the ship's crew, to be good
to the ladies, and took such a leave as you may better imagine than I
express. She recommended once more to me, the dear guest, as she called
her, the ladies being present; and thanked me for all these instances of
my regard, which, she said, would leave a strong impression on her mind;
and, at parting, she threw her arms about my neck, and we took such a
leave, as affected every one present, men, as well as ladies.
So, with a truly heavy heart, I went down the ship's side to my boat; and
stood up in it, looking at her, as long as I could see her, and she at
me, with her handkerchief at her eyes; and then I gazed at the ship,
till, and after I had landed, as long as I could discern the least
appearance of it; for she was under sail, in a manner, when I left her;
and so I returned highly disturbed to my inn.
I went to bed, but rested not; returned to London the next morning; and
set out that afternoon again for the country. And so much, my dear, for
poor Sally Godfrey.--She sends, I understand, by all opportunities, with
the knowledge of her husband, to learn how her child, by her first
husband, does; and has the satisfaction to know she is happily provided
for. And, about half a year ago, her spouse sent a little negro boy, of
about ten years old, as a present, to wait upon her. But he was taken
ill of the small-pox, and died in a month after he was landed.
Sure, sir, said I, your generous mind must have been long affected with
this melancholy case, and all its circumstances.
It hung upon me, indeed, some time, said he; but I was full of spirit and
inconsideration. I went soon after to travel; a hundred new objects
danced before my eyes, and kept reflection from me. And, you see, I had
five or six years afterwards, and even before that, so thoroughly lost
all the impressions you talk of, that I doubted not to make my Pamela
change her name, without either act of parliament, or wedlock, and be
Sally Godfrey the second.
O you dear naughty man! said I, this seems but too true! but I bless God
that it is not so!--I bless God for your reformation, and that for your
own dear sake, as well as mine!
Well, my dear, said he, and I bless God for it too!--I do most
sincerely!--And 'tis my greater pleasure, because I have, as I hoped,
seen my error so early; and that with such a stock of youth and health on
my side, in all appearance, I can truly abhor my past liberties, and pity
poor Sally Godfrey, from the same motives that I admire my Pamela's
virtues; and resolve to make myself as worthy of them as possible: And I
will hope, my dear, your prayers for my pardon, and my perseverance, will
be of no small efficacy on this occasion.
These agreeable reflections, on this melancholy but instructive story,
brought us in view of his own house; and we alighted, and took a walk in
the garden till dinner was ready. And now we are so busy about making
ready for our appearance, that I shall hardly have time to write till
that be over.
Monday morning.
Yesterday we set out, attended by John, Abraham, Benjamin, and Isaac, in
fine new liveries, in the best chariot, which had been new cleaned, and
lined, and new harnessed; so that it looked like a quite new one. But I
had no arms to quarter with my dear lord and master's; though he
jocularly, upon my taking notice of my obscurity, said, that he had a
good mind to have the olive-branch, which would allude to his hopes,
quartered for mine. I was dressed in the suit I mentioned, of white
flowered with silver, and a rich head-dress, and the diamond necklace,
ear-rings, etc. I also mentioned before: And my dear sir, in a fine laced
silk waistcoat, of blue paduasoy, and his coat a pearl-coloured fine
cloth, with gold buttons and button-holes, and lined with white silk; and
he looked charmingly indeed. I said, I was too fine, and would have laid
aside some of the jewels; but he said, It would be thought a slight to me
from him, as his wife; and though as I apprehended, it might be, that
people would talk as it was, yet he had rather they should say any thing,
than that I was not put upon an equal footing, as his wife, with any lady
he might have married.
It seems the neighbouring gentry had expected us; and there was a great
congregation; for (against my wish) we were a little of the latest; so
that, as we walked up the church to his seat, we had abundance of gazers
and whisperers: But my dear master behaved with so intrepid an air, and
was so cheerful and complaisant to me, that he did credit to his kind
choice, instead of shewing as if he was ashamed of it: And as I was
resolved to busy my mind entirely with the duties of the day, my
intentness on that occasion, and my thankfulness to God, for his
unspeakable mercies to me, so took up my thoughts, that I was much less
concerned, than I should otherwise have been, at the gazings and
whisperings of the ladies and gentlemen, as well as of the rest of the
congregation, whose eyes were all turned to our seat.
When the sermon was ended, we staid the longer, because the church should
be pretty empty; but we found great numbers at the church-doors, and in
the church-porch; and I had the pleasure of hearing many commendations,
as well of my person, as my dress and behaviour, and not one reflection,
or mark of disrespect. Mr. Martin, who is single, Mr. Chambers, Mr.
Arthur, and Mr. Brooks, with their families, were all there: And the four
gentlemen came up to us, before we went into the chariot, and, in a very
kind and respectful manner, complimented us both: and Mrs. Arthur and
Mrs. Brooks were so kind as to wish me joy; and Mrs. Brooks said, You
sent Mr. Brooks, madam, home t'other day, quite charmed with a manner,
which, you have convinced a thousand persons this day, is natural to you.
You do me great honour, madam, replied I. Such a good lady's approbation
must make me too sensible of my happiness. My dear master handed me into
the chariot, and stood talking with Sir Thomas Atkyns, at the door of it,
(who was making him abundance of compliments, and is a very ceremonious
gentleman, a little too extreme in that way,) and, I believe, to
familiarize me to the gazers, which concerned me a little; for I was
dashed to hear the praises of the countrypeople, and to see how they
crowded about the chariot. Several poor people begged my charity, and I
beckoned John with my fan, and said, Divide in the further church-porch,
that money to the poor, and let them come to-morrow morning to me, and I
will give them something more, if they don't importune me now. So I gave
him all the silver I had, which happened to be between twenty and thirty
shillings; and this drew away from me their clamorous prayers for
charity.
Mr. Martin came up to me on the other side of the chariot, and leaned on
the very door, while my master was talking to Sir Thomas, from whom he
could not get away; and said, By all that's good, you have charmed the
whole congregation! Not a soul but is full of your praises! My
neighbour knew, better than any body could tell him, how to choose for
himself. Why, said he, the dean himself looked more upon you than his
book.
O sir, said I, you are very encouraging to a weak mind! I vow, said he,
I say no more than is truth: I'd marry to-morrow, if I was sure of
meeting with a person of but one-half the merit you have. You are,
continued he, and 'tis not my way to praise too much, an ornament to your
sex, an honour to your spouse, and a credit to religion.--Every body is
saying so, added he; for you have, by your piety, edified the whole
church.
As he had done speaking, the dean himself complimented me, that the
behaviour of so worthy a lady, would be very edifying to his
congregation, and encouraging to himself. Sir, said I, you are very
kind: I hope I shall not behave unworthy of the good instructions I shall
have the pleasure to receive from so worthy a divine. He bowed, and went
on.
Sir Thomas then applied to me, my master stepping into the chariot, and
said, I beg pardon, madam, for detaining your good spouse from you: but I
have been saying, he is the happiest man in the world. I bowed to him,
but I could have wished him further, to make me sit so in the notice of
every one; which, for all I could do, dashed me not a little. Mr. Martin
said to my master, If you'll come to church every Sunday with your
charming lady, I will never absent myself, and she'll give a good example
to all the neighbourhood. O, my dear sir! said I to my master, you know
not how much I am obliged to good Mr. Martin! He has, by his kind
expressions, made me dare to look up with pleasure and gratitude.
Said my master, My dear love, I am very much obliged, as well as you, to
my good friend Mr. Martin. And he said to him, We will constantly go to
church, and to every other place, where we can have the pleasure of
seeing Mr. Martin.
Mr. Martin said, Gad, sir, you are a happy man; and I think your lady's
example has made you more polite and handsome too, than I ever knew you
before, though we never thought you unpolite, neither. And so he bowed,
and went to his own chariot; and, as we drove away, the people kindly
blessed us, and called us a charming pair.
As I have no other pride, I hope, in repeating these things, than in the
countenance the general approbation gives to my dear master, for his
stooping so low, you will excuse me for it, I know.
In the afternoon we went again to church, and a little early, at my
request; but the church was quite full, and soon after even crowded; so
much does novelty (the more's the pity!) attract the eyes of mankind.
Mr. Martin came in after us, and made up to our seat; and said, If you
please, my dear friend, I will take my seat with you this afternoon.
With all my heart, said my master. I was sorry for it; but was resolved
my duty should not be made second to bashfulness, or any other
consideration; and when divine service began, I withdrew to the farther
end of the pew, and left the gentlemen in the front, and they behaved
quite suitably, both of them, to the occasion. I mention this the
rather, because Mr. Martin was not very noted for coming to church, or
attention when there, before.
The dean preached again, which he was not used to do, out of compliment
to us; and an excellent sermon he made on the relative duties of
Christianity: And it took my particular attention; for he made many fine
observations on the subject. Mr. Martin addressed himself twice or
thrice to me, during the sermon; but he saw me so wholly engrossed with
hearkening to the good preacher, that he forbore interrupting me; yet I
took care, according to the lessons formerly given me, to observe to him
a cheerful and obliging behaviour, as one of Mr. B----'s friends and
intimates. My master asked him to give him his company to supper; and he
said, I am so taken with your lady, that you must not give me too much
encouragement; for I shall be always with you, if you do. He was pleased
to say, You cannot favour us with too much of your company; and as I have
left you in the lurch in your single state, I think you will do well to
oblige us as much as you can; and who knows but my happiness may reform
another rake? Who knows? said Mr. Martin: Why, I know; for I am more
than half reformed already.
At the chariot door, Mrs. Arthur, Mrs. Brooks, and Mrs. Chambers, were
brought to me, by their respective spouses; and presently the witty Lady
Towers, who bantered me before, (as I once told you,) joined them; and
Mrs. Arthur said, she wished me joy; and that all the good ladies, my
neighbours, would collect themselves together, and make me a visit.
This, said I, will be an honour, madam, that I can never enough
acknowledge. It will be very kind so to countenance a person who will
always study to deserve your favour, by the most respectful behaviour.
Lady Towers said, My dear neighbour, you want no countenance; your own
merit is sufficient. I had a slight cold, that kept me at home in the
morning; but I heard you so much talked of, and praised, that I resolved
not to stay away in the afternoon; and I join in the joy every one gives
you. She turned to my master, and said, You are a sly thief, as I always
thought you. Where have you stolen this lady? And now, how barbarous is
it, thus unawares, in a manner, to bring her here upon us, to mortify and
eclipse us all?--You are very kind, madam, said he, that you and all my
worthy neighbours see with my eyes. But had I not known she had so much
excellency of mind and behaviour, as would strike every body in her
favour at first sight, I should not have dared to class her with such of
my worthy neighbours, as now so kindly congratulate us both.
I own, said she, softly, I was one of your censurers; but I never liked
you so well in my life, as for this action, now I see how capable your
bride is of giving distinction to any condition.--And, coming to me, My
dear neighbour, said she, excuse me for having but in my thought, the
remembrance that I have seen you formerly, when, by your sweet air and
easy deportment, you so much surpass us all, and give credit to your
present happy condition.
Dear good madam, said I, how shall I suitably return my acknowledgments!
But it will never be a pain to me to look back upon my former days, now I
have the kind allowance and example of so many worthy ladies to support
me in the honours to which the most generous of men has raised me.
Sweetly said! she was pleased to say. If I was in another place, I would
kiss you for that answer. Oh! happy, happy Mr. B----! said she to my
master; what reputation have you not brought upon your judgment! I won't
be long before I see you, added she, I'll assure you, if I come by
myself. That shall be your own fault, madam, said Mrs. Brooks.
And so they took leave; and I gave my hand to my dear master, and said,
How happy have you made me, generous sir!--And the dean, who had just
come up, heard me, and said, And how happy you have made your spouse,
I'll venture to pronounce, is hard to say, from what I observe of you
both. I courtesied, and blushed, not thinking any body heard me. And my
master telling him he should be glad of the honour of a visit from him;
he said, He would pay his respects to us the first opportunity, and bring
his wife and daughter to attend me. I said, That was doubly kind; and I
should be very proud of cultivating so worthy an acquaintance. I thanked
him for his kind discourse; and he thanked me for my attention, which he
called exemplary: and so my dear master handed me into the chariot; and
we were carried home, both happy, and both pleased, thank God.
Mr. Martin came in the evening, with another gentleman, his friend, one
Mr. Dormer; and he entertained us with the favourable opinion, he said,
every one had of me, and of the choice my good benefactor had made.
This morning the poor came, according to my invitation; and I sent them
away with glad hearts to the number of twenty-five. There were not above
twelve or fourteen on Sunday, that John divided the silver among, which I
gave him for that purpose; but others got hold of the matter, and made up
to the above number.
Tuesday.
My generous master has given me, this morning, a most considerate, but
yet, from the nature of it, melancholy instance of his great regard for
my unworthiness, which I never could have wished, hoped for, or even
thought of.
He took a walk with me, after breakfast, into the garden; and a little
shower falling, he led me, for shelter, into the little summer-house, in
the private garden, where he formerly gave me apprehensions; and, sitting
down by me, he said, I have now finished all that lies on my mind, my
dear, and am very easy: For have you not wondered, that I have so much
employed myself in my library? Been so much at home, and yet not in your
company?--No, sir, said I; I have never been so impertinent as to wonder
at any thing you please to employ yourself about; nor would give way to a
curiosity that should be troublesome to you: And, besides, I know your
large possessions; and the method you take of looking yourself into your
affairs, must needs take up so much of your time, that I ought to be very
careful how I intrude upon you.
Well, said he, but I'll tell you what has been my last work I have taken
it into my consideration, that, at present, my line is almost extinct;
and that the chief part of my maternal estate, in case I die without
issue, will go to another line, and great part of my personal will fall
into such hands, as I shall not care my Pamela should he at the mercy of.
I have, therefore, as human life is uncertain, made such a disposition of
my affairs, as will make you absolutely independent and happy; as will
secure to you the power of doing a great deal of good, and living as a
person ought to do, who is my relict; and shall put it out of any body's
power to molest your father and mother, in the provision I design them,
for the remainder of their days: And I have finished all this very
morning, except to naming trustees for you; and if you have any body you
would confide in more than another, I would have you speak.
I was so touched with this mournful instance of his excessive goodness to
me, and the thoughts necessarily flowing from the solemn occasion, that I
was unable to speak; and at last relieved my mind by a violent fit of
weeping; and could only say, clasping my arms around the dear generous
man, How shall I support this! So very cruel, yet so very kind!
Don't, my dear, said he, be concerned at what gives me pleasure. I am
not the nearer my end, for having made this disposition; but I think the
putting off these material points, when so many accidents every day
happen, and life is so precarious, is one of the most inexcusable things
in the world. And there are many important points to be thought of, when
life is drawing to its utmost verge; and the mind may be so agitated and
unfit, that it is a most sad thing to put off, to that time, any of those
concerns, which more especially require a considerate and composed frame
of temper, and perfect health and vigour, to give directions about. My
poor friend, Mr. Carlton, who died in my arms so lately; and had a mind
disturbed by worldly considerations on one side; a weakness of body,
through the violence of his distemper, on another; and the concerns of
still as much more moment, as the soul is to the body, on a third; made
so great an impression upon me then, that I was the more impatient to
come to this house, where were most of my writings, in order to make the
disposition I have now perfected: And since it is grievous to my dear
girl, I will myself think of such trustees as shall be most for her
benefit. I have only, therefore, to assure you, my dear, that in this
instance, as I will do in any other I can think of, I have studied to
make you quite easy, free, and independent. And because I shall avoid
all occasions, for the future, which may discompose you, I have but one
request to make; which is, that if it please God, for my sins, to
separate me from my dearest Pamela, you will only resolve not to marry
one person; for I would not be such a Herod, as to restrain you from a
change of condition with any other, however reluctantly I may think of
any other person's succeeding me in your esteem.
I could not answer, and thought my heart would have burst: And he
continued, To conclude at once a subject that is so grievous to you, I
will tell you, my Pamela, that this person is Mr. Williams. And now I
will acquaint you with my motive for this request; which is wholly owing
to my niceness, and to no dislike I have for him, or apprehension of any
likelihood that it will be so: but, methinks it would reflect a little
upon my Pamela, if she was to give way to such a conduct, as if she had
married a man for his estate, when she had rather have had another, had
it not been for that; and that now, the world will say, she is at liberty
to pursue her inclination, the parson is the man!--And I cannot bear even
the most distant apprehension, that I had not the preference with you, of
any man living, let me have been what I would, as I have shewn my dear
life, that I have preferred her to all her sex, of whatever degree.
I could not speak, might I have had the world; and he took me in his
arms, and said, I have now spoken all my mind, and expect no answer; and
I see you too much moved to give me one. Only forgive me the mention,
since I have told you my motive; which as much affects your reputation,
as my niceness; and offer not at an answer;--only say, you forgive me:
And I hope I have not one discomposing thing to say to my dearest, for
the rest of my life; which I pray God, for both our sakes, to lengthen
for many happy years.
Grief still choaked up the passage of my words; and he said, The shower
is over, my dear: let us walk out again.--He led me out, and I would have
spoken; but he said, I will not hear my dear creature say any thing! To
hearken to your assurance of complying with my request, would look as if
I doubted you, and wanted it. I am confident I needed only to speak my
mind, to be observed by you; and I shall never more think on the subject,
if you don't remind me of it. He then most sweetly changed the
discourse.
Don't you with pleasure, my dear, said he, take in the delightful
fragrance that this sweet shower has given to these banks of flowers?
Your presence is so enlivening to me, that I could almost fancy, that
what we owe to the shower, is owing to that: And all nature, methinks,
blooms around me when I have my Pamela by my side. You are a poetess, my
dear; and I will give you a few lines, that I made myself on such an
occasion as this I am speaking of, the presence of a sweet companion, and
the fresh verdure, that, after a shower, succeeding a long drought,
shewed itself throughout all vegetable nature. And then, in a sweet and
easy accent, (with his dear arms about me as we walked,) he sung me the
following verses; of which he afterwards favoured me with a copy:
I.
All nature blooms when you appear;
The fields their richest liv'ries wear;
Oaks, elms, and pines, blest with your view,
Shoot out fresh greens, and bud anew.
The varying seasons you supply;
And, when you're gone, they fade and die.
II.
Sweet Philomel, in mournful strains,
To you appeals, to you complains.
The tow'ring lark, on rising wing,
Warbles to you, your praise does sing;
He cuts the yielding air, and flies
To heav'n, to type your future joys.
III.
The purple violet, damask rose,
Each, to delight your senses, blows.
The lilies ope', as you appear;
And all the beauties of the year
Diffuse their odours at your feet,
Who give to ev'ry flow'r its sweet.
IV.
For flow'rs and women are allied;
Both, nature's glory, and her pride!
Of ev'ry fragrant sweet possest,
They bloom but for the fair one's breast,
And to the swelling bosom borne,
Each other mutually adorn.
Thus sweetly did he palliate the woes, which the generosity of his
actions, mixed with the solemness of the occasion, and the strange
request he had vouchsafed to make me, had occasioned. And all he would
permit me to say, was, that I was not displeased with him!--Displeased
with you, dearest sir! said I: Let me thus testify my obligations, and
the force all your commands shall have upon me. And I took the liberty
to clasp my arms about his neck, and kissed him.
But yet my mind was pained at times, and has been to this hour.--God
grant that I may never see the dreadful moment, that shall shut up the
precious life of this excellent, generous benefactor of mine! And--but I
cannot bear to suppose--I cannot say more on such a deep subject.
Oh! what a poor thing is human life in its best enjoyments! subjected to
imaginary evils, when it has no real ones to disturb it; and that can be
made as effectually unhappy by its apprehensions of remote contingencies,
as if it was struggling with the pangs of a present distress! This, duly
reflected upon, methinks, should convince every one, that this world is
not a place for the immortal mind to be confined to; and that there must
be an hereafter, where the whole soul shall be satisfied.
But I shall get out of my depth; my shallow mind cannot comprehend, as it
ought, these weighty subjects: Let me only therefore pray, that, after
having made a grateful use of God's mercies here, I may, with my dear
benefactor, rejoice in that happy state, where is no mixture, no
unsatisfiedness; and where all is joy, and peace, and love, for evermore!
I said, when we sat at supper, The charming taste you gave me, sir, of
your poetical fancy, makes me sure you have more favours of this kind to
delight me with, if you please; and may I beg to be indulged on this
agreeable head? Hitherto, said he, my life has been too much a life of
gayety and action, to be busied so innocently. Some little essays I have
now and then attempted; but very few have I completed. Indeed I had not
patience nor attention enough to hold me long to any one thing. Now and
then, perhaps, I may occasionally shew you what I have essayed. But I
never could please myself in this way.
Friday.
We were yesterday favoured with the company of almost all the
neighbouring gentlemen and their ladies, who, by appointment with one
another, met to congratulate our happiness. Nothing could be more
obliging, more free and affectionate, than the ladies; nothing more
polite than the gentlemen. All was performed (for they came to supper)
with decency and order, and much to every one's satisfaction; which was
principally owing to good Mrs. Jervis's care and skill; who is an
excellent manager.
For my part, I was dressed out only to be admired, as it seems: and
truly, if I had not known, that I did not make myself, as you, my dear
father, once hinted to me, and if I had had the vanity to think as well
of myself, as the good company was pleased to do, I might possibly have
been proud. But I know, as my Lady Davers said, though in anger, yet in
truth, that I am but a poor bit of painted dirt. All that I value myself
upon, is, that God has raised me to a condition to be useful, in my
generation, to better persons than myself. This is my pride: And I hope
this will be all my pride. For what was I of myself!--All the good I can
do, is but a poor third-hand good; for my dearest master himself is but
the second-hand. God, the all-gracious, the all-good, the all-bountiful,
the all-mighty, the all-merciful God, is the first: To him, therefore, be
all the glory!
As I expect the happiness, the unspeakable happiness, my ever-dear and
ever-honoured father and mother, of enjoying you both here, under this
roof, so soon, (and pray let it be as soon as you can,) I will not enter
into the particulars of the last agreeable evening: For I shall have a
thousand things, as well as that, to talk to you upon. I fear you will
be tired with my prattle when I see you!
I am to return these visits singly; and there were eight ladies here of
different families. Dear heart! I shall find enough to do!--I doubt my
time will not be so well filled up, as I once promised my dear master!--
But he is pleased, cheerful, kind, affectionate! O what a happy creature
am I!--May I be always thankful to God, and grateful to him!
When all these tumultuous visitings are over, I shall have my mind, I
hope, subside into a family calm, that I may make myself a little useful
to the household of my dear master; or else I shall be an unprofitable
servant indeed!
Lady Davers sent this morning her compliments to us both, very
affectionately; and her lord's good wishes and congratulations: and she
desired my writings per bearer; and says, she will herself bring them to
me again, with thanks, as soon as she has read them; and she and her lord
will come and be my guests (that was her particularly kind word) for a
fortnight.
I have now but one thing to wish for; and then, methinks, I shall be all
ecstasy: and that is, your presence, both of you, and your blessings;
which I hope you will bestow upon me every morning and night, till you
are settled in the happy manner my dear Mr. B---- has intended.
Methinks I want sadly your list of the honest and worthy poor; for the
money lies by me, and brings me no interest. You see I am become a mere
usurer; and want to make use upon use: and yet, when I have done all, I
cannot do so much as I ought. God forgive my imperfections!
I tell my dear spouse, I want another dairy-house visit. To be sure, if
he won't, at present, permit it, I shall, if it please God to spare us,
tease him like any over-indulged wife, if, as the dear charmer grows
older, he won't let me have the pleasure of forming her tender mind, as
well as I am able; lest, poor little soul, she fall into such snares, as
her unhappy dear mother fell into. I am providing a power of pretty
things for her, against I see her next, that I may make her love me, if
I can.
Just now I have the blessed news, that you will set out for this happy
house on Tuesday morning. The chariot shall be with you without fail.
God give us a happy meeting! O how I long for it! Forgive your
impatient daughter, who sends this to amuse you on your journey; and
desires to be Ever most dutifully yours.
Here end, at present, the letters of Pamela to her father and mother.
They arrived at their daughter's house on Tuesday evening in the
following week, and were received by her with the utmost joy and duty;
and with great goodness and complaisance by Mr. B----. And having
resided there till every thing was put in order for them at the Kentish
estate, they were carried down thither by himself, and their daughter,
and put into possession of the pretty farm he had designed for them.
The reader will here indulge us in a few brief observations, which
naturally result from the story and characters; and which will serve as
so many applications of its most material incidents to the minds of YOUTH
of BOTH SEXES.
First, then, in the character of the GENTLEMAN, may be seen that of a
fashionable libertine, who allowed himself in the free indulgence of his
passions, especially to the fair sex; and found himself supported in his
daring attempts, by an affluent fortune in possession, a personal
bravery, as it is called, readier to give than take offence, and an
imperious will: yet as he betimes sees his errors, and reforms in the
bloom of youth, an edifying lesson may be drawn from it, for the use of
such as are born to large fortunes; and who may be taught, by his
example, the inexpressible difference between the hazards and remorse
which attend a profligate course of life, and the pleasures which flow
from virtuous love, and benevolent actions.
In the character of Lady DAVERS, let the proud, and the high-born, see
the deformity of unreasonable passion, and how weak and ridiculous such
persons must appear, who suffer themselves, as is usually the case, to be
hurried from the height of violence, to the most abject submission; and
subject themselves to be outdone by the humble virtue they so much
despise.
Let good CLERGYMEN, in Mr. WILLIAMS, see, that whatever displeasure the
doing of their duty may give, for a time, to their proud patrons,
Providence will, at last, reward their piety, and turn their distresses
to triumph; and make them even more valued for a conduct that gave
offence while the violence of passion lasted, than if they had meanly
stooped to flatter or soothe the vices of the great.
In the examples of good old ANDREWS and his WIFE, let those, who are
reduced to a low estate, see, that Providence never fails to reward their
honesty and integrity: and that God will, in his own good time, extricate
them, by means unforeseen, out of their present difficulties, and reward
them with benefits unhoped for.
The UPPER SERVANTS of great families may, from the odious character of
Mrs. JEWKES, and the amiable ones of Mrs. JERVIS, Mr. LONGMAN, etc. learn
what to avoid, and what to choose, to make themselves valued and esteemed
by all who know them.
And, from the double conduct of poor JOHN, the LOWER SERVANTS may learn
fidelity, and how to distinguish between the lawful and unlawful commands
of a superior.
The poor deluded female, who, like the once unhappy Miss GODFREY, has
given up her honour, and yielded to the allurements of her designing
lover, may learn from her story, to stop at the first fault; and, by
resolving to repent and amend, see the pardon and blessing which await
her penitence, and a kind Providence ready to extend the arms of its
mercy to receive and reward her returning duty: While the prostitute,
pursuing the wicked courses, into which, perhaps, she was at first
inadvertently drawn, hurries herself into filthy diseases, and an
untimely death; and, too probably, into everlasting perdition.
Let the desponding heart be comforted by the happy issue which the
troubles and trials of PAMELA met with, when they see, in her case, that
no danger nor distress, however inevitable, or deep to their
apprehensions, can be out of the power of Providence to obviate or
relieve; and which, as in various instances in her story, can turn the
most seemingly grievous things to its own glory, and the reward of
suffering innocence; and that too, at a time when all human prospects
seem to fail.
Let the rich, and those who are exalted from a low to a high estate,
learn from her, that they are not promoted only for a single good; but
that Providence has raised them, that they should dispense to all within
their reach, the blessings it has heaped upon them; and that the greater
the power is to which God hath raised them, the greater is the good that
will be expected from them.
From the low opinion she every where shews of herself, and her
attributing all her excellencies to pious education, and her lady's
virtuous instructions and bounty; let persons, even of genius and piety,
learn not to arrogate to themselves those gifts and graces, which they
owe least of all to themselves: Since the beauties of person are frail;
and it is not in our power to give them to ourselves, or to be either
prudent, wise, or good, without the assistance of divine grace.
From the same good example, let children see what a blessing awaits their
duty to their parents, though ever so low in the world; and that the only
disgrace, is to be dishonest; but none at all to be poor.
From the economy she purposes to observe in her elevation, let even
ladies of condition learn, that there are family employments, in which
they may and ought to make themselves useful, and give good examples to
their inferiors, as well as equals: and that their duty to God, charity
to the poor and sick, and the different branches of household management,
ought to take up the most considerable portions of their time.
From her signal veracity, which she never forfeited, in all the hardships
she was tried with, though her answers, as she had reason to apprehend,
would often make against her; and the innocence she preserved throughout
all her stratagems and contrivances to save herself from violation:
Persons, even sorely tempted, may learn to preserve a sacred regard to
truth; which always begets a reverence for them, even in the corruptest
minds.
In short,
Her obliging behaviour to her equals, before her exaltation; her
kindness to them afterwards; her forgiving spirit, and her
generosity;
Her meekness, in every circumstance where her virtue was not
concerned;
Her charitable allowances for others, as in the case of Miss
Godfrey, for faults she would not have forgiven in herself;
Her kindness and prudence to the offspring of that melancholy
adventure;
Her maiden and bridal purity, which extended as well to her
thoughts as to her words and actions;
Her signal affiance in God;
Her thankful spirit;
Her grateful heart;
Her diffusive charity to the poor, which made her blessed
by them whenever she appeared abroad;
The cheerful ease and freedom of her deportment;
Her parental, conjugal, and maternal duty;
Her social virtues;
Are all so many signal instances of the excellency of her mind, which may
make her character worthy of the imitation of her sex. And the Editor of
these sheets will have his end, if it inspires a laudable emulation in
the minds of any worthy persons, who may thereby entitle themselves to
the rewards, the praises, and the blessings, by which PAMELA was so
deservedly distinguished.
THE END
Volume II
By Samuel Richardson
AUTHOR'S ORIGINAL PREFACE TO VOLUME II
The First part of PAMELA met with a success greatly exceeding the most
sanguine expectations: and the Editor hopes, that the Letters which
compose this Part will be found equally written to NATURE, avoiding
all romantic nights, improbable surprises, and irrational machinery;
and the passions are touched, where requisite; and rules, equally
_new_ and _practicable_, inculcated throughout the whole, for the
_general conduct of life_; and, therefore, he flatters himself, that
they may expect the good fortune, which _few continuations_ have met
with, to be judged not unworthy the _First_ Part; nor disproportioned
to the more exalted condition in which PAMELA was destined to shine
as an affectionate _wife_, a faithful _friend_, a polite and kind
_neighbour_, an indulgent _mother_, and a beneficent _mistress_;
after having in the former Part supported the character of a dutiful
_child_, a spotless _virgin_, and a modest and amiable _bride_.
The reader will easily see, that in so great a choice of materials, as
must arise from a multitude of important subjects, in a married life,
to such geniuses and friendships as those of Mr. and Mrs. B. the
Editor's greatest difficulty was how to bring them within the compass
which he was determined not to exceed. And it having been left to
his own choice, in what manner to digest and publish the letters, and
where to close the work, he had intended, at first, in regard to his
other avocations, to have carried the piece no farther than the First
Part.
It may be expected, therefore, that he should enter into an
explanation of the reasons whereby he was provoked into a necessity of
altering his intention. But he is willing to decline saying any thing
upon so well-known a subject.
The Editor has been much pressed with importunities and conjectures,
in relation to the person and family of the gentleman, who are the
principal persons in the work; all he thinks himself at liberty to
say, or is necessary to be said, is only to repeat what has already
been hinted, that the story has its foundation in truth; and that
there was a necessity, for obvious reasons, to vary and disguise some
facts and circumstances, as also the names of persons, places, &c.
LETTER I
My dear father and mother,
We arrived here last night, highly pleased with our journey, and the
occasion of it. May God bless you both with long life and health,
to enjoy your sweet farm, and pretty dwelling, which is just what I
wished it to be. And don't make your grateful hearts too uneasy in the
possession of it, by your modest diffidence of your own unworthiness:
for, at the same time, that it is what will do honour to the best of
men, it is not so _very_ extraordinary, considering his condition,
as to cause any one to censure it as the effect of a too partial and
injudicious kindness for the parents of one whom he _delighteth to
honour_.
My dear master (why should I not still call him so, bound to reverence
him as I am, in every light he can shine in to the most obliging and
sensible heart?) still proposes to fit up the large parlour, and
three apartments in the commodious dwelling he calls yours, for his
entertainment and mine, when I pay my duty to you both, for a few
happy days; and he has actually given orders to that effect; and that
the three apartments be _so_ fitted up, as to be rather suitable
to _your_ condition, than his own; for, he says, the plain simple
elegance, which he will have observed in the rooms, as well as the
furniture, will be a variety in his retirement to this place, that
will make him return to his own with the greater pleasure; and, at the
same time, when we are not there, will be of use for the reception of
any of your friends; and so he shall not, as he kindly says, rob the
good couple of any of their accommodations.
The old bow-windows he will have preserved, but will not have them
sashed, nor the woodbines, jessamines, and vines, that run up against
them, destroyed: only he will have larger panes of glass, and more
convenient casements to let in the sweet air and light, and make
amends for that obstructed by the shades of those fragrant climbers.
For he has mentioned, three or four times, how gratefully they
dispensed their intermingled odours to us, when, the last evening
we stood at the window, to hear the responsive songs of two warbling
nightingales, one at a distance, the other near, which delighted us
for above two hours, and the more, as we thought their season had been
over. And when they had done, he made _me_ sing him one, for which
he rewarded me with a kiss, saying, "How greatly do the innocent
pleasures I now hourly taste, exceed the guilty tumults that used
formerly to agitate my unequal mind!--Never talk, my Pamela, as you
frequently do, of obligation to me: one such hour as I now enjoy is an
ample reward for all the benefits I can confer on you and yours in my
whole life!"
The parlour will indeed be more elegant; though that is to be rather
plain than rich, as well in its wainscot as furniture, and to be
new-floored. The dear gentleman has already given orders, and you will
soon have workmen to put them in execution. The parlour-doors are to
have brass-hinges and locks, and to shut as close, he tells them, as
a watch-case: "For who knows," said he, "my dear, but we shall have
still added blessings, in two or three charming boys and girls,
to place there in their infancy, before they can be of age to be
benefited by your lessons and example? And besides, I shall no doubt
entertain there some of my chosen friends, in their excursions for a
day or two."
How am I, every hour of my life, overwhelmed with instances of God
Almighty's goodness and his! O spare, blessed Father of Mercies, the
precious life of this excellent man; increase my thankfulness, and
my worthiness;--and then--But what shall I say?--Only that I may
_continue_ to be what I am; for more blessed and happy, in my own
mind, I cannot be.
The beds he will have of cloth, as he thinks the situation a little
cold, especially when the wind is easterly, and purposes to be down
in the early spring season, now and then, as well as in the latter
autumn; and the window curtains of the same, in one room red, in
the other green; but plain, lest you should be afraid to use them
occasionally. The carpets for them will be sent with the other
furniture; for he will not alter the old oaken floors of the
bed-chamber, nor the little room he intends for my use, when I choose
not to join in such company as may happen to fall in: "Which, my
dear," says he, "shall be as little as is possible, only particular
friends, who may be disposed, once in a year or two, to see when I am
there, how I live with my Pamela and her parents, and how I pass my
time in my retirement, as I shall call this: or, perhaps, they will be
apt to think me ashamed of company I shall always be pleased with.
Nor are you, my dear, to take this as a compliment to yourself, but
a piece of requisite policy in me: for who will offer to reproach me
with marrying, as the world thinks, below me, when they shall see that
I not only pride myself in my Pamela, but take pleasure in owning her
relations as mine, and visiting them, and receiving visits from them:
and yet offer not to set them up in such a glaring light, as if I
would have the world forget (who in that case would always take
the more pleasure in remembering) what they were! And how will it
anticipate low reflection, when they shall see, I can bend my mind to
partake with them the pleasure of their humble but decent life?--Ay,"
continued he, "and be rewarded for it too, with better health, better
spirits, and a better mind; so that, my dear," added he, "I shall reap
more benefit by what I propose to do, than I shall confer."
In this generous manner does this best of men endeavour to disclaim
(though I must be very ungrateful, if, with me, it did not enhance)
the proper merit of a beneficence natural to him; and which, indeed,
as I tell him, may be in one respect deprecated, inasmuch as (so
excellent is his nature) he cannot help it if he would. O that it was
in my power to recompense him for it! But I am poor, as I have often
said, in every thing but will--and that is wholly his: and what a
happiness is it to me, a happiness I could not so early have hoped
for, that I can say so without reserve; since the dear object of it
requires nothing of me but what is consistent with my duty to
the Supreme Benefactor, the first mover and cause of all his own
happiness, of my happiness, and that of my dear, my ever dear parents.
_Your dutiful and happy daughter._
LETTER II
MY DEAREST DAUGHTER,
I need not repeat to you the sense your good mother and I have of our
happiness, and of our obligations to your honoured spouse; you both
were pleased witnesses of it every hour of the happy fortnight you
passed with us. Yet, my dear, we hardly know how to address ourselves
even to _you_, much less to the _'squire_, with the freedom he so
often invited us to take: for I don't know how it is, but though
you are our daughter, and so far from being lifted up by your high
condition, that we see no difference in your behaviour to us, your
poor parents, yet, viewing you as the lady of so fine a gentleman,
we cannot forbear having a kind of respect, and--I don't know what to
call it--that lays a little restraint upon us. And yet, we should not,
methinks, let our minds be run away with the admiration of worldly
grandeur, so as to set too much by it. But your merit and prudence are
so much above all we could ever have any notion of: and to have gentry
come only to behold and admire you, not so much for your gentleness,
and amiableness, or for your behaviour, and affability to poor as well
as rich, and to hear every one calling you an angel, and saying, you
deserve to be what you are, make us hardly know how to look upon you,
but as an angel indeed! I am sure you have been a good angel to us;
since, for your sake, God Almighty has put it into your honoured
husband's heart to make us the happiest couple in the world. But
little less we should have been, had we only in some far distant land
heard of our dear child's happiness and never partaken of the benefits
of it ourselves. But thus to be provided for! thus kindly to be owned,
and called Father and Mother by such a brave gentleman! and so placed
as to have nothing to do but to bless God, him, and you, and hourly
pray for you _both_, is a providence too mighty to be borne by us,
with equalness of temper: we kneel together every morning, noon, and
night, and weep and rejoice, and rejoice and weep, to think how our
unworthiness is distinguished, and how God has provided for us in our
latter days; when all our fear was, that, as we grew older and more
infirm, and worn out by hard labour, we should be troublesome where,
not our pride, but our industrious wills, would have made us wish not
to be so;--but to be entitled to a happier lot: for this would have
grieved us the more, for the sake of you, my dear child, and your
unhappy brother's children: for it is well known, that, though we
pretend not to boast of our family, and indeed have no reason, yet
none of us were ever sunk so low as I was: to be sure, partly by my
own fault; for, had it been for your poor aged mother's sake only, I
ought not to have done what I did for John and William; for so unhappy
were they, poor lads! that what I could do, was but as a drop of water
to a bucket.
You command me--Let me, as writing to Mr. B.'s lady, say _command_,
though, as to my dear _daughter_, I will only say _desire_: and,
indeed, I will not, as you wish me not to do, let the one condition,
which was accidental, put the other, which was natural, out of my
thought: you spoke it in better words, but this was the sense. But you
have the gift of utterance; and education is a fine thing, where it
meets with such talents to improve upon, as God has given you. Yet
let me not forget what I was going to say--You _command_--or, if you
please--you _desire_ me to write long letters, and often--And how can
I help it, if I would? For when here, in this happy dwelling, and this
well-stocked farm, in these rich meadows, and well-cropt acres, we
look around us, and which way soever we turn our head, see blessings
upon blessings, and plenty upon plenty, see barns well stored, poultry
increasing, the kine lowing and crowding about us: and are bid to
call them our own. Then think, that all is the reward of our child's
virtue!--O my dear daughter, who can bear these things!--Excuse me!
I must break off a little! For my eyes are as full as my heart: and I
will retire to bless God, and your honoured husband.
So, my dear child, I now again take up my pen: but reading what I had
written, in order to carry on the thread, I can hardly forbear again
being in one sort affected. But do you think I will call all these
things my own?--Do you think I would live rent-free? Can the honoured
'squire believe, that having such a generous example before me, if I
had no gratitude in my temper before, I could help being touched by
such an one as he sets me? If this goodness makes him know no mean in
giving, shall I be so greedy as to know none in receiving? Come, come,
my dear child, your poor father is not so sordid a wretch, neither. He
will shew the world that all these benefits are not thrown away upon
one, who will disgrace you as much by his temper, as by his condition.
What though I cannot be as worthy of all these favours as I wish, I
will be as worthy as I can. And let me tell you, my dear child, if the
king and his royal family (God bless 'em!) be not ashamed to receive
taxes and duties from his subjects; if dukes and earls, and all the
top gentry, cannot support their bravery, without having their rents
paid; I hope I shall not affront the 'squire, to pay to his steward,
what any other person would pay for his noble stock, and improving
farm: and I will do it, if it please God to bless me with life and
health. I should not be worthy to crawl upon the earth, if I did not.
And what did I say to Mr. Longman, the faithful Mr. Longman! Sure no
gentleman had ever a more worthy steward than he: it was as we were
walking over the grounds together, and observing in what good order
every thing was, he was praising some little contrivances of my own,
for the improvement of the farm, and saying, how comfortably he hoped
we might live upon it. "Ay, Mr. Longman," said I, "comfortably indeed:
but do you think I could be properly said to _live_, if I was not to
pay as much rent for it as another?"
--"I can tell you," said he, "the 'squire will not receive any thing
from you, Goodman Andrews. Why, man, he has no occasion for it: he's
worth a power of money, besides a noble and clear estate in land.
Ad's-heartlikens, you must not affront him, I can tell you that: he's
as generous as a prince, where he takes; but he is hasty, and will
have his own way."--"Why, for that reason, Mr. Longman," said I, "I
was thinking to make _you_ my friend!"--"Make _me_ your friend! You
have not a better in the world, to my power, I can tell you that,
nor your dame neither; for I love such honest hearts: I wish my own
brother would let me love him as well; but let that pass. What I can
do for you, I will, and here's my hand upon it."
"Well, then," said I, "it is this: let me account to you at the rent
Farmer Dickens offered, and let me know what the stock cost, and
what the crops are valued at; and pay the one as I can, and the other
quarterly; and not let the 'squire know it till you can't choose; and
I shall be as happy as a prince; for I doubt not, by God's blessing,
to make a comfortable livelihood of it besides."--"Why, dost believe,
Goodman Andrews," said he, "that I would do such a thing? Would not
his honour think if I hid one thing from him, I might hide another? Go
to, honest heart, I love thee dearly; but can Mr. B. do too much for
his lady, think'st thou? Come, come" (and he jeered me so, I knew not
what to say), "I wish at bottom there is not some pride in this. What,
I warrant, you would not be too much beholden to his honour, would
you?"--"No," said I, "it is not that, I'm sure. If I have any pride,
it is only in my dear child--to whom, under God, all this is owing.
But some how or other it shall be so."
And so, my dear daughter, I resolve it shall; and it will be, over
and above, one of the greatest pleasures to me, to do the good 'squire
service, as well as to be so much benefited and obliged by him.
Our eldest grandson Thomas desires to come and live with us: the boy
is honest, and, I hear, industrious. And cousin Borroughs wants me
to employ his son Roger, who understands the business of a farm very
well. It is no wonder, that all one's relations should wish to partake
of our happy lot; and if they _can_ and _will_ do their business as
well as others, I see not why relationship should be an objection:
but, yet, I think, one should not _beleaguer_, as one may say, your
honoured husband with one's relations. You, my best child, will give
me always your advice, as to my carriage in this my new lot; for I
would not for the world be thought an encroacher. And you have so
followed than yours.
Our blessing (I am sure you have blessed us!) attend you, my dearest
child; and may you be as happy as you have made us (I cannot wish you
to be happier, because I have no notion how it can be in this life).
Conclude us, _your ever-loving father and mother_,
JOHN _and_ ELIZ. ANDREWS.
May we hope to be favoured now and then with a letter from you, my
dear child, like some of your former, to let us know how you go on? It
would be a great joy to us; indeed it would. But we know you'll have
enough to do without obliging us in this way. So must acquiesce.
LETTER III
MY DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
I have shewed your letter to my beloved. Don't be uneasy that I have;
for you need not be ashamed of it, since it is my pride to have such
honest and grateful parents: and I'll tell you what he said to it, as
the best argument I can use, why you should not be uneasy, but enjoy
without pain or anxiety all the benefits of your happy lot.
"Dear good souls!" said he, "now every thing they say and write
manifests the worthiness of their hearts! No wonder, Pamela, you love
and revere such honest minds; for that you would do, were they not
your parents: and tell them, that I am so far from having them believe
what I have done for them were only from my affection for their
daughter, that let 'em find out another couple as worthy as they are,
and I will do as much for them. I would not place them," he continued,
"in the _same_ county, because I would wish _two_ counties to be
blessed for their sakes. Tell them, my dear, that they have a right
to what they enjoy on the foot of their own _proper_ merit; and _bid_
them enjoy it as their patrimony; and if any thing arise that is more
than they themselves can wish for, in their way of life, let them look
among their own relations, where it may be acceptable, and communicate
to them the like solid reasons for rejoicing in the situation they are
pleased with: and do you, my dear, still farther enable them, as you
shall judge proper, to gratify their enlarged hearts, for fear they
should deny any comfort to themselves, in order to do good to others."
I could only fly to his generous bosom (for this is a subject which
most affects me), and, with my eyes swimming in tears of grateful joy,
and which overflowed as soon as my bold lips touched his dear face,
bless God, and bless him, with my whole heart; for speak I could
not! But, almost chok'd with my joy, sobb'd to him my grateful
acknowledgments. He clasped me in his arms, and said, "How, my
dearest, do you overpay me for the little I have done for your
parents! If it be thus to be bless'd for conferring benefits so
insignificant to a man of my fortune, what joys is it not in the power
of rich men to give themselves, whenever they please!--Foretastes,
indeed, of those we are bid to hope for: which can surely only exceed
these, as _then_ we shall be all intellect, and better fitted to
receive them."--"'Tis too much!--too much," said I, in broken accents:
"how am I oppressed with the pleasure you give me!--O, Sir, bless
me more gradually, and more cautiously--for I cannot bear it!" And,
indeed, my heart went flutter, flutter, flutter, at his dear breast,
as if it wanted to break its too narrow prison, to mingle still more
intimately with his own.
Surely, my beloved parents, nobody's happiness is so great as
mine!--If it proceeds thus from degree to degree, and is to be
augmented by the charming hope, that the dear second author of our
blessings, be the uniformly good as well as the partially kind man to
us, what a felicity will this be! and if our prayers shall be heard,
and we shall have the pleasure to think, that his advances in piety
are owing not a little to them, and to the example God shall give us
grace to set; then, indeed, may we take the pride to think, we have
repaid his goodness to us, and that we have satisfied the debt, which
nothing less can discharge.
Forgive me, my worthy parents, if my style on this subject be raised
above the natural simplicity, more suited to my humble talents. But
how can I help it! For when the mind is elevated, ought not the sense
we have of our happiness to make our expressions soar equally? Can the
affections be so highly raised as mine are on these occasions, and the
thoughts creep grovelling like one's ordinary self? No, indeed!--Call
not this, therefore, the gift of utterance, if it should appear to
you in a better light than it deserves. It is the gift of gratitude; a
gift which makes you and me to _speak_ and _write_, as I hope it
will make us _act_, above ourselves. Thus will our gratitude be the
inspirer of joy to our common benefactor; and his joy will heighten
our gratitude; and so we shall proceed, as cause and effect to each
other's happiness, to bless the dear man who blesses us. And will it
be right then to say, you are uneasy under such (at least as to your
wills) returned and discharged obligations? God Almighty requires only
a thankful heart for all the mercies he heaps upon the children of
men; my dear Mr. B., who in these particulars imitates Divinity,
desires no more. You _have_ this thankful heart; and that to such a
high degree of gratitude, that nobody can exceed you.
But yet, when your worthy minds would be too much affected with your
gratitude, so as to lay under the restraints you mention, to the dear
gentleman, and for his sake, to your dependent daughter; let me humbly
advise you, with more particular, more abstracted aspirations, than
at other times, to raise your thoughts upwards, and consider who it
is that gives _him_ the opportunity; and pray for him and for me; for
_him_, that all his future actions may be of a piece with this
noble disposition of mind; for _me_, that I may continue humble, and
consider myself blest for your sakes, and in order that I may be, in
some sort, a rewarder, in the hands of Providence, of this its dear
excellent agent; and then we shall look forward, all of us, with
pleasure, _indeed_, to that state, where there is no distinction of
degree, and where the humble cottager shall be upon a par with the
proudest monarch.
O my dear parents, how can you, as in your _postscript_, say, "May
we not be _favoured_ now-and-then with a letter?" Call _me_ your
daughter, your Pamela--I am no lady to you. I have more pleasure to be
called your comfort, and thought to act worthy of the sentiments with
which your example and instructions have inspired me, than in any
other thing in this life; my determined duty to our common benefactor,
the best of gentlemen and husbands, excepted. God has blessed me for
your sakes, and has thus answered for me all your prayers; nay, _more_
than answered all you or I could have wished or hoped for. We only
prayed, only hoped, that God would preserve _you_ honest, and _me_
virtuous: and, O see, my excellent parents, how we are crowned with
blessings upon blessings, till we are the talk of all that know us.
Hence, my dear parents (I mean, from the delight I have in writing to
you, which transports me far above my own sphere), you'll see, that I
_must_ write, and cannot help it, if I would. And _will_ it be a great
joy to you?--And is there any thing that can add to your joy, think
you, in the power of your Pamela, that she would not _do_? O that the
lives and healths of my dearest Mr. B. and you, my parents, may be
continued to me! And who can then be so blest as your Pamela?
I _will_ write, _depend_ upon it, on every occasion--and you augment
my joys to think it is in my power to add to your comforts. Nor can
you conceive my pleasure in hoping that this your new happy lot may,
by relieving you from corroding care, and the too wearying effects
of hard labour, add, in these your advanced years, to both your days.
For, so happy am I, I can have no grief, no pain, in looking forward,
but from reflecting, that one day we must be separated.
But it is fit that we so comport ourselves as not to embitter our
present happiness with prospects too gloomy--but bring our minds to be
cheerfully thankful for the present, wisely to enjoy that _present_
as we go along--and at last, when all is to be wound up--lie down, and
say, "_Not mine_, but _Thy will be done_."
I have written much; yet have still more to say relating to other
parts of your kind acceptable letter; and so will soon write again:
for I must think every opportunity happy, whereby I can assure you,
how much I am, and will ever be, without any addition to my name, if
it will make you easier, _your dutiful_
PAMELA.
LETTER IV
MY DEAREST FATHER AND MOTHER,
I now write again, as I told you I should in my last; but I am half
afraid to look at the copy of it; for your worthy hearts, so visible
in your letter and my beloved's kind deportment upon shewing it to
him, raised me into a frame of mind, bordering on ecstasy: yet I wrote
my heart. But you must not, my dear father, write to your Pamela so
affectingly. Your _steadier_ mind could hardly bear your own moving
strain, and you were forced to lay down your pen, and retire: how then
could I, who love you so dearly, if you had not _increased_ that love
by fresh and stronger instances of your worthiness, forbear being
affected, and raised above myself! But I will not again touch upon
this subject.
You must know then, that my dearest spouse commands me, with his kind
respects, to tell you, he has thought of a method to make your _worthy
hearts_ easy; those were his words: "And this is," said he, "by
putting that whole estate, with the new purchase, under your father's
care, as I at first intended: he shall receive and pay, and order
every thing as he pleases: and Longman, who grows in years, shall be
eased of that burden. Your father writes a very legible hand,
and shall take what assistants he pleases; and do you, Pamela,
see that this new task be made as easy and pleasant to him as
possible. He shall make up his accounts only to you, my dear.
And there will be several pleasures arise to me upon it: first,
that it will be a relief to honest Longman, who has business
enough on his hands. Next, it will make the good couple easy, to have
an opportunity of enjoying that as their due, which now their too
grateful hearts give them so many causeless scruples about. Thirdly,
it will employ your father's time, more suitably to _your_ liking and
mine, because with more ease to himself; for you see his industrious
will cannot be satisfied without doing something. In the fourth place,
the management of this estate will gain him more respect and reverence
among the tenants and his neighbours: and yet be all in his own way.
For," added he, "you'll see, that it is always one point in view with
me, to endeavour to convince every one, that I esteem and value them
for their own intrinsic merit, and want not any body to distinguish
them in any other light than that in which they have been accustomed
to appear."
So, my dear father, the instrument will be drawn, and brought you by
honest Mr. Longman, who will be with you in a few days to put the
last hand to the new purchase, and to give you possession of your new
commission, if you accept it, as I hope you will; and the rather, for
my dear Mr. B.'s third reason; and knowing that this trust will be
discharged as worthily and as sufficiently, after you are used to
it, as if Mr. Longman himself was in it--and better it cannot be. Mr.
Longman is very fond of this relief, and longs to be down to settle
every thing with you, as to the proper powers, the method, &c. And
he says, in his usual phrase, that he'll make it as easy to you as a
glove.
If you do accept it, my dear Mr. B. will leave every thing to you,
as to rent, where not already fixed, and, likewise, as to acts of
kindness and favour to be done where you think proper; and he says,
that, with his bad qualities, he was ever deemed a kind landlord; and
that I can confirm in fifty instances to his honour: "So that the old
gentleman," said he, "need not be afraid of being put upon severe or
harsh methods of proceeding, where things will do without; and he can
always befriend an honest man; by which means the province will
be entirely such a one as suits with his inclination. If any thing
difficult or perplexing arises," continued he, "or where a little
knowledge in law-matters is necessary, Longman shall do all that: and
your father will see that he will not have in those points a coadjutor
too hard-hearted for his wish; for it was a rule my father set me,
and I have strictly followed, that although I have a lawyer for
my steward, it was rather to know how to do _right_ things, than
oppressive ones; and Longman has so well answered this intention, that
he was always more noted for composing differences, than promoting
lawsuits."
I dare say, my dear father, this will be acceptable to you, on the
several accounts my dearest Mr. B. was pleased to mention: and what a
charming contrivance is here! God for ever bless his considerate heart
for it! To make you useful to him, and easy to yourself: as well as
respected by, and even a benefactor to all around you! What can one
say to all things? But what signifies exulting on one's gratitude for
_one_ benefit;--every hour the dear man heaps new ones upon us, and we
can hardly thank him for one, but a second, and a third, and so on
to countless degrees, confound one, and throw back our words upon our
hearts before they are well formed, and oblige us to sit down under
all with profound silence and admiration.
As to the desire of cousin Thomas, and Roger, to live with you, I
endeavoured to sound what our dear benefactor's opinion was. He was
pleased to say, "I have no choice in this case, my dear. Your father
is his own master: he may employ whom he pleases; and, if they shew
respect to him and your mother, I think, as he rightly observes,
relationship should rather have the preference; and as he can remedy
inconveniences, if he finds any, by all means to let every branch of
your family have reason to rejoice with him."
But I have thought of this matter a good deal, since I had the favour
of your letter; and I hope, since you condescend to ask my advice, you
will excuse me, if I give it freely; yet entirely submitting all to
your liking.
First, then, I think it better to have _any body_ than relations; and
for these reasons:
One is apt to expect more regard from them, and they more indulgence
than strangers can hope for.
That where there is such a difference in the expectations of both,
uneasiness cannot but arise.
That this will subject you to bear it, or to resent it, and to part
with them. If you bear it, you will know no end of impositions: if you
dismiss them, it will occasion ill-will. They will call you unkind;
and you them ungrateful: and as your prosperous lot may raise you
enviers, such will be apt to believe _them_ rather than _you_.
Then the world will be inclined to think that we are crowding upon a
generous gentleman a numerous family of indigent people; and it will
be said, "The girl is filling every place with her relations,
and _beleaguering_," as you significantly express it, "a worthy
gentleman;" should one's kindred behave ever so worthily. So, in the
next place, one would not, for _their_ sakes, that this should be
done; who may live with _less_ reproach, and _equal_ benefit, any
where else; for I would not wish any one of them to be lifted out
of his station, and made independent, at Mr. B.'s expense, if their
industry will not do it; although I would never scruple to do any
thing reasonable to promote or assist that industry, in the way of
their callings.
Then, my dear father, I apprehend, that our honoured benefactor would
be under some difficulty, from his natural politeness, and regard for
you and me. You see how kindly, on all occasions, he treats you both,
not only as the parents of his Pamela, but as if you were his own; and
if you had any body as your servants there, who called you cousin, or
grandfather, or uncle, he would not care, when he came down, to
treat them on the foot of common servants, though they might think
themselves honoured (as they would be, and as I shall always think
_myself_) with his commands. And would it not, if they are modest
and worthy, be as great a difficulty upon _them_, to be thus
distinguished, as it would be to _him_ and to _me_, for _his_ sake?
For otherwise (believe me, I hope you will, my dear father and
mother), I could sit down and rejoice with the meanest and remotest
relation I have. But in the world's eye, to every body but my best of
parents, I must, if ever so reluctant to it, appear in a light that
may not give discredit to his choice.
Then again, as I hinted, you will be able, without the least injury
to our common benefactor, to do kinder things by any of our relations,
when _not_ with you, than you can do, if they _live_ with you.
You may lend them a little money to put them in a way, if any thing
offers that you think will be to their advantage. You can fit out
my she-cousins to good reputable places. The younger you can put to
school, or, when fit, to trades, according to their talents; and
so they will be of course in a way to get an honest and creditable
livelihood.
But, above all things, one would discourage such a proud and ambitious
spirit in any of them, as should want to raise itself by favour
instead of merit; and this the rather, for, undoubtedly, there are
many more happy persons in low than in high life, take number for
number all the world over. I am sure, although four or five years of
different life had passed with me, I had so much pride and pleasure
in the thought of working for my living with you, if I could but get
honest to you, that it made my confinement the more grievous, and, if
possible, aggravated the apprehensions attending it.
But I beg of you, not to think these my reasons proceed from the bad
motives of a heart tainted with pride on its high condition.
Indeed there can be no reason for it, to one who thinks after this
manner--the greatest families on earth have some among them who are
unhappy and low in life; and shall such a one reproach me with having
twenty low relations, because they have, peradventure, not above five?
Let us then, my dear parents, endeavour to judge of one another,
as God, at the last day, will judge of us all: and then the honest
peasant will stand fairer in our esteem than the guilty peer.
In short, this shall be my own rule--Every one who acts justly and
honestly, I will look upon as my relation, whether so or not; and the
more he wants my assistance, the more entitled to it he shall be, as
well as to my esteem; while those who deserve it not, must expect only
compassion from me, and my prayers were they my brothers or sisters.
'Tis true had I not been poor and lowly, I might not have thought
thus; but if it be a right way of thinking, it is a blessing that I
was so; and that shall never be matter of reproach to me, which one
day will be matter of justification.
Upon the whole, I should think it advisable, my dear father and
mother, to make such kind excuses to the offered service of my
cousins, as your better reason shall suggest to you; and to do any
thing else for them of _more_ value, as their circumstances may
require, or occasions offer to serve them.
But if the employing and having them about you, will add comfort to
your lives, I give up entirely my own opinion, and doubt not every
thing will be thought well of, that you shall think fit to do.
And so I conclude with assuring you, that I am, my ever-dear parents,
_your dutiful and happy daughter_.
The copy of this letter I will keep to myself, till I have your
answer, that you may be under no difficulty how to act in either of
the cases mentioned in it.
LETTER V
MY DEAREST DAUGHTER,
How shall I do to answer, as they deserve, your two last letters? Sure
no happy couple ever had such a child as we have! But it is in vain
to aim at words like yours: and equally in vain for us to offer to set
forth the thankfulness of our hearts, on the kind office your honoured
husband has given us; for no reason but to favour us still more, and
to quiet our minds in the notion of being useful to him. God grant
I may be able to be so!--Happy shall I be, if I can! But I see the
generous drift of his proposal; it is only to make me more easy from
the nature of my employment, and, in my mind too, over-loaded as I may
say, with benefits; and at the same time to make me more respected in
my new neighbourhood.
I can only say, I most gratefully accept of the kind offer; and since
it will ease the worthy Mr. Longman, shall with still greater pleasure
do all I can in it. But I doubt I shall want ability; but I will be
just and honest, however. That, by God's grace, will be within my own
capacity; and that, I hope, I may answer for.
It is kind, indeed, to put it in my power to do good to those who
shall deserve it; and I will take _double_ pains to find out the
true merit of such as I shall recommend to favour, and that their
circumstances be really such as I shall represent them.
But one thing let me desire, that I make up my accounts to Mr.
Longman, or to his honour himself, when he shall be here with us.
I don't know how-but it will make me uneasy, if I am to make up my
accounts to you: for so well known is your love to us, that though
you would no more do an unjust thing, than, by God's grace, we should
desire you; yet this same ill-willing world might think it was like
making up accounts to one's self.
Do, my dearest child, get me off this difficulty, and I can have no
other; for already I am in hopes I have hit upon a contrivance to
improve the estate, and to better the condition of the tenants, at
least not to worst them, and which, I hope, will please every body;
but I will acquaint Mr. Longman with this, and take his advice; for I
will not be too troublesome either to you, my dear child, or to your
spouse.--If I could act so for his interest, as not to be a burden,
what happy creatures should we both be in our own minds!--We find
ourselves more and more respected by every one; and so far as shall be
consistent with our new trust, we will endeavour to deserve it, that
we may interest as many as know us in our own good wishes and prayers
for the happiness of you both.
But let me say, how much convinced I am by your reasons for not taking
to us any of our relations. Every one of those reasons has its force
with us. How happy are we to have so prudent a daughter to advise
with! And I think myself obliged to promise this, that whatever I do
for any of them above the amount of--forty shillings at one time, I
will take your direction in it, that your wise hints, of making every
one continue their industry, and not to rely upon favour instead
of merit, may be followed. I am sure this is the way to make them
_happier_ as well as _better_ men and women; for, as I have often
thought, if one were to have a hundred pounds a year, it would not do
without industry; and with it, one may do with a quarter of it, and
less.
In short, my dear child, your reasons are so good, that I wonder they
came not into my head before, and then I needed not to have troubled
you about the matter: but yet it ran in my own thought, that I could
not like to be an encroacher:--for I hate a dirty thing; and, in the
midst of my distresses, never could be guilty of one. Thank God for
it.
You rejoice our hearts beyond expression at the hope you give us of
receiving letters from you now-and-then: it will be the chief comfort
of our lives, next to seeing you, as we expect we sometimes shall.
But yet, my dear child, don't let us inconvenience you neither. Pray
don't; you'll have enough upon your hands without--to be sure you
will.
The workmen have made a good progress, and wish for Mr. Longman to
come down; as we also do.
You need not be afraid we should think you proud, or lifted up with
your condition. You have weathered the first dangers, and but for your
fine clothes and jewels, we should not see any difference between our
dear Pamela and the much respected Mrs. B. But God has given you
too much sense to be proud or lifted up. I remember, in your former
writings, a saying of your 'squire's, speaking of you, that it was for
persons not used to praise, and who did not deserve it, to be proud of
it.
Every day brings us instances of the good name his honour and you, my
dear child, have left behind you in this country. Here comes one, and
then another, and a third, and a fourth;
"Goodman Andrews," cries one, and, "Goody Andrews," cries
another--(and some call us Mr. and Mrs., but we like the other full as
well) "when heard you from his honour? How does his lady do?--What a
charming couple are they!--How lovingly do they live!--What an example
do they give to all about them!" Then one cries, "God bless them
both," and another cries, "Amen;" and so says a third and a fourth;
and all say, "But when do you expect them down again?--Such-a-one
longs to see 'em--and will ride a day's journey, to have but a sight
of 'em at church." And then they say, "How this gentleman praises
them, and that lady admires them."--O what a happiness is this! How
do your poor mother and I stand fixed to the earth to hear both your
praises, our tears trickling down our cheeks, and our hearts heaving
as if they would burst with joy, till we are forced to take leave in
half words, and hand-in-hand go in together to bless God, and bless
you both. O my daughter, what a happy couple have God and you made us!
Your poor mother is very anxious about her dear child. I will not
touch upon a matter so very irksome to you to hear of. But, though the
time may be some months off, she every hour prays for your safety and
happiness, and all the increase of felicity that his honour's generous
heart can wish for.--That is all we will say at present; only, that
we are, with continued prayers and blessings, my dearest child, _your
loving father and mother_,
J. _and_ E. ANDREWS.
LETTER VI
_From Lady Davers to Mrs. B._
MY DEAR PAMELA,
I intended to have been with you before this: but my lord has been a
little indisposed with the gout, and Jackey has had an intermitting
fever: but they are pretty well recovered, and it shall not be long
before I see you, now I understand you are returned from your Kentish
expedition.
We have been exceedingly diverted with your papers. You have given us,
by their means, many a delightful hour, that otherwise would have hung
heavy upon us; and we are all charmed with you. Lady Betty, and
her noble mamma, has been of our party, whenever we have read your
accounts. She is a dear generous lady, and has shed with us many a
tear over them; and my lord has not been unmoved, nor Jackey neither,
at some of your distresses and reflections. Indeed, Pamela, you are a
charming creature, and an ornament to your sex. We wanted to have had
you among us a hundred times, as we read, that we might have loved,
and kissed, and thanked you.
But after all, my brother, generous and noble as he seemed, when your
trials were over, was a strange wicked young fellow; and happy it was
for you both, that he was so cleverly caught in the trap he had laid
for your virtue.
I can assure you, my lord longs to see you, and will accompany me;
for, he says, he has but a faint idea of your person. I tell him,
and them all, that you are the finest girl, and the most improved
in person and mind, I ever beheld; and I am not afraid although they
should imagine all they can in your favour, from my account, that
they will be disappointed when they see and converse with you. But one
thing more you must do, and then we will love you still more; and that
is, send us the rest of your papers, down to your marriage at least;
and farther, it you have written farther; for we all long to see the
rest, as you relate it, though we know in general what has passed.
You leave off with an account of an angry letter I wrote to my
brother, to persuade him to give you your liberty, and a sum of money;
not doubting but his designs would end in your ruin, and, I own, not
wishing he would marry you; for little did I know of your merit and
excellence, nor could I, but for your letters so lately sent me, have
had any notion of either. I don't question, but if you have recited
my passionate behaviour to you, when at the hall, I shall make a
ridiculous figure enough; but I will forgive all that, for the sake of
the pleasure you _have_ given me, and will still farther give me, if
you comply with my request.
Lady Betty says, it is the best story she has heard, and the most
instructive; and she longs to have the conclusion of it in your own
words. She says now and then, "What a hopeful brother you have, Lady
Davers! O these intriguing gentlemen!--What rogueries do they not
commit! I should have had a fine husband of him, had I received your
proposal! The _dear_ Pamela would have run in his head, and had I been
the first lady in the kingdom, I should have stood but a poor chance
in his esteem; for, you see, his designs upon her began early."
She says, you had a good heart to go back again to him, when the
violent wretch had driven you from him on such a slight occasion: but
yet, she thinks the reasons you give in your relation, and your love
for him (which then you began to discover was your case), as well as
the event, shewed you did right.
But we'll tell you all our judgments, when we have read the rest of
your accounts. So pray send them as soon as you can, to (I won't write
myself _sister_ till then) _your affectionate_, &c.
B. DAVERS.
LETTER VII
My good dear Lady,
You have done me great honour in the letter your ladyship has been
pleased to send me; and it is a high pleasure to me, now all is so
happily over, that my poor papers in the least diverted you, and such
honourable and worthy persons as your ladyship mentions. I could wish
I might be favoured with such remarks on my conduct, so nakedly set
forth (without any imagination that they would ever appear in such an
assembly), as may be of use to me in my future life, and thus make me
more worthy than it is otherwise possible I can be, of the honour to
which I am raised. Do, dearest lady, favour me so far. I am prepared
to receive blame, and to benefit by it, and cannot expect praise so
much from my _actions_ as from my _intentions_; for indeed, these
were always just and honourable: but why, even for these do I talk of
praise, since, being prompted by impulses I could not resist, it can
be no merit in me to have been governed by them?
As to the papers following those in your hands, when I say, that they
must needs appear impertinent to such judges, after what you know,
I dare say, your ladyship will not insist upon them: yet I will not
scruple briefly to mention what they contain.
All my dangers and trials were happily at an end: so that they only
contain the conversations that passed between your ladyship's generous
brother and me; his kind assurances of honourable love to me; my
acknowledgments of unworthiness to him; Mrs. Jewkes's respectful
change of behaviour towards me; Mr. B.'s reconciliation to
Mr. Williams; his introducing me to the good families in the
neighbourhood, and avowing before them his honourable intentions. A
visit from my honest father, who (not knowing what to conclude from my
letter to him before I returned to your honoured brother, desiring
my papers from him) came in great anxiety of heart to know the worst,
doubting I had at last been caught by a stratagem, ending in my ruin.
His joyful surprise to find how happy I was likely to be. All
the hopes given me, answered by the private celebration of our
nuptials--an honour so much above all that my utmost ambition could
make me aspire to, and which I never can deserve! Your ladyship's
arrival, and anger, not knowing I was actually married, but supposing
me a vile wicked creature; in which case I should have deserved the
worst of usage. Mr. B.'s angry lessons to me, for daring to interfere;
though I thought in the tenderest and most dutiful manner, between
your ladyship and himself. The most acceptable goodness and favour of
your ladyship afterwards to me, of which, as becomes me, I shall ever
retain the most grateful sense. My return to this sweet mansion in a
manner so different from my quitting it, where I had been so happy
for four years, in paying my duty to the best of mistresses, your
ladyship's excellent mother, to whose goodness, in taking me from my
poor honest parents, and giving me what education I have, I owe, under
God, my happiness. The joy of good Mrs. Jervis, Mr. Longman, and all
the servants, on this occasion. Mr. B.'s acquainting me with Miss
Godfrey's affair, and presenting to me the pretty Miss Goodwin, at the
dairy-house. Our appearance at church; the favour of the gentry in the
neighbourhood, who, knowing your ladyship had not disdained to look
upon me, and to be favourable to me, came the more readily into a
neighbourly intimacy with me, and still so much the more readily, as
the continued kindness of my dear benefactor, and his condescending
deportment to me before them (as if I had been worthy of the honour
done me), did credit to his own generous act.
These, my lady, down to my good parents setting out to this place,
in order to be settled, by my honoured benefactor's bounty, in the
Kentish farm, are the most material contents of my remaining papers:
and though they might be the most agreeable to those for whom only
they were written, yet, _as_ they were principally matters of course,
after what your ladyship has with you; _as_ the joy of my fond heart
can be better judged of by your ladyship than described by me; and as
you are acquainted with all the particulars that can be worthy of any
other person's notice but my dear parents: I am sure your ladyship
will dispense with your commands; and I make it my humble request that
you will.
For, Madam, you must needs think, that _when_ my doubts were
dispelled; _when_ confident all my trials were over; _when_ I had a
prospect of being so abundantly rewarded for what I suffered: _when
every_ hour rose upon me with new delight, and fraught with fresh
instances of generous kindness from such a dear gentleman, my master,
my benefactor, the son of my honoured lady: your ladyship must needs
think, I say, that I must be _too_ much affected, my heart _too_ much
opened; and especially as it then (relieved from its past anxieties
and fears, which had kept down and damped the latent flame)
first discovered impressions of which before I hardly thought it
susceptible.--So that it is scarce possible, that my _joy_ and my
_prudence_, if I were to be tried by such judges of delicacy and
decorum as Lord and Lady Davers, the honoured countess, and Lady
Betty, could be so _intimately_, so _laudably_ coupled, as were to
be wished: although the continued sense of my unworthiness, and the
disgrace the dear gentleman would bring upon himself by his generous
goodness to me, always went hand in hand with my _joy_ and my
_prudence_; and what these considerations took from the _former_,
being added to the _latter_, kept me steadier and more equal to
myself, than otherwise it was possible such a young creature as I
could have been.
Wherefore my good lady, I hope I stand excused, and shall not bring
upon myself the censure of being disobedient to your commands.
Besides, Madam, since you inform me that my good Lord Davers will
attend you hither, I should never dare to look his lordship in the
face, if all the emotions of my heart, on such affecting occasions,
stood confessed to his lordship; and if I am ashamed they should to
your ladyship, to the countess, and Lady Betty, whose goodness must
induce you all three to think favourably, in such circumstances, of
one who is of your own sex, how would it concern me, for the same
to appear before such gentlemen as my lord and his nephew?--Indeed I
could not look up to either of them in the sense of this.--And give me
leave to hope, that some of the scenes, in the letters your ladyship
had, were not read to gentlemen; your ladyship must needs know which
I mean, and will think of my two grand trials of all. For though I was
the innocent subject of wicked attempts, and so cannot, I hope, suffer
in any one's opinion for what I could not help; yet, for your dear
brother's sake, as well as for the decency of the matter, one would
not, when having the honour to appear before my lord and his nephew,
he looked upon, methinks, with that levity of eye and thought, which,
perhaps, hard-hearted gentlemen may pass upon one, by reason of
those very scenes, which would move pity and concern in a good lady's
breast, for a poor creature so attempted.
So, my dear lady, be pleased to tell me, if the gentlemen _have_ heard
all--I hope not--and also to point out to me such parts of my conduct
as deserve blame: indeed, I will try to make a good use of your
censure, and am sure I shall be thankful for it; for it will make me
hope to be more and more worthy of the honour I have, of being exalted
into such a distinguished family, and the right the best of gentlemen
has given me to style myself _your ladyship's most humble, and most
obliged servant_,
P.B.
LETTER VIII
_From Lady Davers, in reply._
MY DEAR PAMELA,
You have given us all a great disappointment in declining to oblige me
with the sequel of your papers. I was a little out of humour with you
at first;--I must own I was:--for I cannot bear denial, when my heart
is set upon any thing. But Lady Betty became your advocate, and said,
she thought you very excusable: since, no doubt, there might be many
tender things, circumstanced as you were, well enough for your parents
to see, but for nobody else; and relations of our side, the least of
all, whose future intimacy, and frequent visits, might give occasions
for raillery and remarks, not otherwise agreeable. I regard her
apology for you the more, because I knew it was a great baulk to her,
that you did not comply with my request. But now, child, when you know
me more, you'll find, that if I am obliged to give up one point, I
always insist on another, as near it as I can, in order to see if it
be only _one_ thing I am to be refused, or _every_ thing; in which
last case, I know how to take my measures, and resent.
Now this is what I insist upon; that you correspond with me the same
as you did with your parents, and acquaint me with every passage that
is of concern to you; beginning with your account how both of you
spent your time when in Kent; for you must know we are all taken with
your duty to your parents, and the discretion of the good couple, and
think you have given a very edifying example of filial piety to all
who shall hear your story; for if so much duty is owing to parents,
where nothing can be done for one, how much more is it to be expected,
where there is power to add to the natural obligation, all the
comforts and conveniences of life? We people in upper life love to
hear how gratitude and unexpected benefits operate upon honest minds,
who have little more than plain artless nature for their guide; and
we flatter ourselves with the hopes of many a delightful hour, by your
means, in this our solitary situation, if obliged to pass the next
winter in it, as my lord and the earl threaten me, and the countess,
and Lady Betty, that we shall. Then let us hear of every thing that
gives you joy or trouble: and if my brother carries you to town, for
the winter, while he attends parliament, the advices you can give
us of what passes in London, and of the public entertainments and
diversions he will take you to, related in your own artless and
natural observations, will be as diverting to us, as if at them
ourselves. For a young creature of your good understanding, to whom
all these things will be quite new, will give us, perhaps, a better
taste of them, their beauties and defects, than we might have before;
for we people of quality go to those places, dressed out and adorned
in such a manner, outvying one another, as if we considered ourselves
as so many parts of the public entertainment, and are too much pleased
with ourselves to be able so to attend to what we see, as to form a
right judgment of it; but some of us behave with so much indifference
to the entertainment, as if we thought ourselves above being diverted
by what we come to see, and as if our view was rather to trifle away
our time, than improve ourselves by attending to the story of the
action.
See, Pamela, I shall not make an unworthy correspondent altogether,
for I can get into thy grave way, and moralize a little now and then:
and if you'll promise to oblige me by your constant correspondence in
this way, and divest yourself of all restraint, as if you were writing
to your parents (and I can tell you, you'll write to one who will be
as candid and as favourable to you as they can be), then I am sure we
shall have truth and nature from you; and these are things which we
are generally so much lifted above, by our conditions, that we hardly
know what they are.
But I have written enough for one letter; and yet, having more to say,
I will, after this, send another, without waiting for your answer,
which you may give to both together; and am, _yours_, &c. B. DAVERS.
LETTER IX
DEAR PAMELA,
I am very glad thy honest man has let thee into the affair of Sally
Godfrey. But pr'ythee, Pamela, tell us how he did it, and thy thoughts
upon it, for that is a critical case, and as he has represented it,
so shall I know what to say of it before you and him: for I would not
make mischief between you for the world.
This, let me tell you, will be a trying part of your conduct. For he
loves the child, and will judge of you by your conduct towards it.
He dearly loved her mother; and notwithstanding her fault, she well
deserved it: for she was a sensible, ay, and a modest lady, and of an
ancient and genteel family. But he was heir to a noble estate, was
of a bold and enterprising spirit, fond of intrigue--Don't let this
concern you--You'll have the greater happiness, and merit too, if you
can hold him; and, 'tis my opinion, if any body can, you will. Then
he did not like the young lady's mother, who sought artfully to entrap
him. So that the poor girl, divided between her inclination for him,
and her duty to her designing mother, gave into the plot upon him: and
he thought himself--vile wretch as he was for all that!--at liberty
to set up plot against plot, and the poor lady's honour was the
sacrifice.
I hope you spoke well of her to him--I hope you received the child
kindly--I hope you had presence of mind to do this--For it is a nice
part to act; and all his observations were up, I dare say, on the
occasion--Do let me hear how it was. And write without restraint; for
although I am not your mother, yet am I _his_ eldest sister, you know,
and as such--Come, I will say so, in hopes you'll oblige me--_your_
sister, and so entitled to expect a compliance with my request: for is
there not a duty, in degree, to elder sisters from younger?
As to our remarks upon your behaviour, they have been much to your
credit: but nevertheless, I will, to encourage you to enter into this
requested correspondence with me, consult Lady Betty, and will go over
your papers again, and try to find fault with your conduct, and if we
see any thing censurable, will freely let you know our minds.
But, before-hand, I can tell you, we shall be agreed in one opinion;
and that is, that we know not who would have acted as you have done,
upon the whole. So, Pamela, you see I put myself upon the same foot
of correspondence with you. Not that I will promise to answer every
latter: no, you must not expect that. Your part will be a kind of
narrative, purposely designed to entertain us here; and I hope to
receive six, seven, eight, or ten letters, as it may happen, before I
return one: but such a part I will bear in it, as shall let you know
our opinion of your proceedings, and relations of things. And as you
wish to be found fault with, you shall freely have it (though not in
a splenetic or ill-natured way), as often as you give occasion.
Now, Pamela, I have two views in this. One is to see how a man of my
brother's spirit, who has not denied himself any genteel liberties
(for it must be owned he never was a common town rake, and had always
a dignity in his roguery), will behave himself to you, and in wedlock,
which used to be freely sneered at by him; the next, that I may
love you more and more as by your letters, I shall be more and more
acquainted with you, as well as by conversation; so that you can't be
off, if you would.
'I know, however, you will have one objection to this; and that is,
that your family affairs will require your attention, and not give the
time you used to have for this employment. But consider, child, the
station you are raised to does not require you to be quite a domestic
animal. You are lifted up to the rank of a lady, and you must act up
to it, and not think of setting such an example, as will draw upon
you the ill-will and censure of other ladies. For will any of our sex
visit one who is continually employing herself in such works as either
must be a reproach to herself, or to them?--You'll have nothing to do
but to give orders. You will consider yourself as the task-mistress,
and the common herd of female servants as so many negroes directing
themselves by your nod; or yourself as the master-wheel, in some
beautiful pieces of mechanism, whose dignified grave motions is to
set a-going all the under-wheels, with a velocity suitable to their
respective parts. Let your servants, under your direction, do all that
relates to household management; they cannot write to entertain and
instruct as you can: so what will you have to do?--I'll answer my own
question: In the first place, endeavour to please your sovereign lord
and master; and let me tell you, any other woman in England, be her
quality ever so high, would have found enough to do to succeed in
that. Secondly, to receive and pay visits, in order, for his credit
as well as your own, to make your fashionable neighbours fond of you.
Then, thirdly, you will have time upon your hands (as your monarch
himself rises early, and is tolerably regular for such a brazen face
as he has been) to write to me in the manner I have mentioned, and
expect; and I see plainly, by your style, nothing can be easier for
you than to do this.
Thus, and with reading, may your time be filled up with reputations to
yourself, and delight to others, till a fourth employment puts itself
upon you: and that is (shall I tell you boys, [Transcriber's note:
text missing in original] to perpetuate a family, for many hundred
years esteemed worthy and eminent, which, being now reduced,
in the direct line, to him and me, _expects_ it from you; or
else let me tell you (nor will I baulk it), my brother, by descending
to the wholesome cot--excuse me, Pamela--will want one apology for his
conduct, be as excellent as you may.
I say this, child, not to reflect upon you, since the thing is done;
for I love you dearly, and will love you more and more--but to let
you know what is expected from you, and encourage you in the prospect
already opening to you both, and to me, who have the welfare of the
family I sprung from so much at heart, although I know this will be
attended with some anxieties to a mind so thoughtful and apprehensive
as yours seems to be.
O but this puts me in mind of your solicitude, lest the gentlemen
should have seen every thing contained in your letters-But this I will
particularly speak to in a third letter, having filled my paper on all
sides: and am, till then,_ yours_, &c.
B. DAVERS.
You see, and I hope will take it as a favour, that I break the ice,
and begin first in the indispensably expected correspondence between
us.
LETTER X
_From the same._
And so, Pamela, you are solicitous to know, if the gentlemen have seen
every part of your papers? I can't say but they have: nor, except in
regard to the reputation of your saucy man, do I see why the part you
hint at might not be read by those to whom the rest might be shewn.
I can tell you, Lady Betty, who is a very nice and delicate lady, had
no objection to any part, though read before men: only now and then
crying out, "O the vile man!--See, Lord Davers, what wretches you men
are!" And, commiserating you, "Ah! the poor Pamela!" And expressing
her impatience to hear how you escaped at this time, and at that, and
rejoicing in your escape. And now-and-then, "O, Lady Davers, what a
vile brother you have!--I hate him perfectly. The poor girl cannot be
made amends for all this, though he has married her. Who, that
knows these things of him, would wish him to be hers, with all his
advantages of person, mind, and fortune?" and his wicked attempts.
But I can tell you this, that except one had heard every tittle of
your danger, how near you were to ruin, and how little he stood
upon taking any measures to effect his vile purposes, even daring to
attempt you in the presence of a _good_ woman, which was a wickedness
that every _wicked_ man could not be guilty of; I say, except one had
known these things, one could not have judged of the merit of your
resistance, and how shocking those attempts were to your virtue, for
that life itself was endangered by them: nor, let me tell you, could
I, in particular, have so well justified him for marrying you (I mean
with respect to his own proud and haughty temper of mind), if there
had been room to think he could have had you upon easier terms.
It was necessary, child, on twenty accounts, that we, your and his
well-wishers and his relations, should know that he had tried every
stratagem to subdue you to his purpose, before he married you: and how
would it have answered to his intrepid character, and pride of heart,
had we not been particularly led into the nature of those attempts,
which you so nobly resisted, as to convince us all, that you have
deserved the good fortune you have met with, as well as all the kind
and respectful treatment he can possibly shew you?
Nor ought you to be concerned who sees any the most tender parts of
your story, except, as I said, for his sake; for it must be a very
unvirtuous mind that can form any other ideas from what you relate
than those of terror and pity for you. Your expressions are too
delicate to give the nicest ear offence, except at him. You paint no
scenes but such as make his wickedness odious: and that gentleman,
much more lady, must have a very corrupt heart, who could from such
circumstances of distress, make any reflections, but what should be to
your honour, and in abhorrence of such actions. I am so convinced of
this, that by this rule I would judge of any man's heart in the world,
better than by a thousand declarations and protestations. I do assure
you, rakish as Jackey is, and freely as I doubt not that Lord Davers
has formerly lived (for he has been a man of pleasure), they gave me,
by their behaviour on these tender occasions, reason to think they had
more virtue than not to be very apprehensive for your safety; and my
lord often exclaimed, that he could not have thought his brother such
a libertine, neither.
Besides, child, were not these things written in confidence had not
recited all you could recite, would there not have been room for any
one, who saw what you wrote, to imagine they had been still worse? And
how could the terror be supposed to have had such effects upon you, as
to endanger your life, without imagining you had undergone the worst a
vile man _could_ offer, unless you had told us what that was which he
_did_ offer, and so put a bound, as it were, to one's fears of what
you suffered, which otherwise must have been injurious to your purity,
though you could not help it?
Moreover, Pamela, it was but doing justice to the libertine himself
to tell your mother the whole truth, that she might know he was not so
very abandoned, but he could stop short of the execution of his wicked
purposes, which he apprehended, if pursued, would destroy the life,
that, of all lives, he would choose to preserve; and you owed also
thus much to your parents' peace of mind, that, after all their
distracting fears for you, they might see they had reason to rejoice
in an uncontaminated daughter. And one cannot but reflect, now he has
made you his wife, that it must be satisfaction to the wicked man, as
well as to yourself, that he was not more guilty than he _was_, nor
took more liberties than he _did_.
For my own part, I must say, that I could not have accounted for your
fits, by any descriptions short of those you give; and had you been
less particular in the circumstances, I should have judged he had been
still _worse_, and your person, though not your mind, less pure, than
his pride would expect from the woman he should marry; for this is
the case of all rakes, that though they indulge in all manner of
libertinism themselves, there is no class of men who exact greater
delicacy from the persons they marry, though they care not how bad
they make the wives, the sisters, and daughters of others.
I will only add (and send all my three letters together), that we all
blame you in some degree for bearing the wicked Jewkes in your sight,
after her most impudent assistance in his lewd attempt; much less, we
think, ought you to have left her in her place, and rewarded her; for
her vileness could hardly be equalled by the worst actions of the most
abandoned procuress.
I know the difficulties you labour under, in his arbitrary will, and
intercession for her: but Lady Betty rightly observes, that he knew
what a vile woman she was, when he put you into her power, and no
doubt employed her, being sure she would answer all his purposes:
and that therefore she should have had very little opinion of the sincerity
of his reformation, while he was so solicitous in keeping her, and having
her put upon a foot, in the present on your nuptials, with honest Jervis.
She would, she says, had she been in your case, have had _one_
struggle for her dismission, let it have been taken as it would; and
he that was so well pleased with your virtues, must have thought this
a natural consequence of it, if he was in earnest to reclaim.
I know not whether you shew him all I write: but I have written this
last part in the cover, as well for want of room, as that you may keep
it from him, if you please. Though if you think it will serve any
good end, I am not against shewing to him all I write. For I must ever
speak my mind, though I were to smart for it; and that nobody can or
has the heart to make me do, but my bold brother. So, Pamela, for this
time, _Adieu_.
LETTER XI
MY GOOD LADY,
I am honoured with your ladyship's three letters, the contents of
which are highly obliging to me: and I should be inexcusable if I did
not comply with your injunctions, and be very proud and thankful for
your ladyship's condescension in accepting of my poor scribble, and
promising such a rich and valuable return; of which you have already
given such ample and delightful instances. I will not plead my
defects, to excuse my obedience. I only fear that the awe which will
be always upon me, when I write to your ladyship, will lay me under so
great a restraint, that I shall fall short even of the merit my
papers have already made for me, through your kind indulgence.--Yet,
sheltering myself under your goodness, I will cheerfully comply with
every thing your ladyship expects from me, that it is in my power to
do.
You will give me leave, Madam, to put into some little method, the
particulars of what you desire of me, that I may speak to them all:
for, since you are so good as to excuse me from sending the rest of
my papers (which indeed would not bear in many places), I will omit
nothing that shall tend to convince you of my readiness to obey you in
every thing else.
First, then, your ladyship would have the particulars of the happy
fortnight we passed in Kent, on one of the most agreeable occasions
that could befall me.
Secondly, an account of the manner in which your dear brother
acquainted me with the affecting story of Miss Godfrey, and my
behaviour upon it.
And, thirdly, I presume your ladyship, and Lady Betty, expect me to
say something upon your welcome remarks on my conduct towards Mrs.
Jewkes.
The other particulars your ladyship mentions, will naturally fall
under one or other of these three heads--But expect not, my lady,
though I begin in method thus, that I shall keep up to it. If you will
not allow for me, and keep in view the poor Pamela Andrews in all I
write, but have Mrs. B. in your eye, what will become of me?--But I
promise myself so much improvement from this correspondence, that
I enter upon it with a greater delight than I can express,
notwithstanding the mingled awe and diffidence that will accompany me,
in every part of the agreeable task. To begin with the first article:
Your dear brother and my honest parents (I know your ladyship will
expect from me, that on all occasions I should speak of them with the
duty that becomes a good child) with myself, set out on the Monday
morning for Kent, passing through St. Albans to London, at both which
places we stopped a night; for our dear benefactor would make us take
easy journeys: and on Wednesday evening we arrived at the sweet place
allotted for the good couple. We were attended only by Abraham and
John, on horseback: for Mr. Colbrand, having sprained his foot, was in
the travelling-coach, with the cook, the housemaid, and Polly Barlow,
a genteel new servant, whom Mrs. Brooks recommended to wait on me.
Mr. Longman had been there a fortnight, employed in settling the terms
of an additional purchase of this pretty well-wooded and well-watered
estate: and his account of his proceedings was very satisfactory to
his honoured principal. He told us, he had much ado to dissuade the
tenants from pursuing a formed resolution of meeting their landlord
on horseback, at some miles distance; for he had informed them when he
expected us; but knowing how desirous Mr. B. was of being retired, he
had ventured to assure them, that when every thing was settled, and
the new purchase actually entered upon, they would have his presence
among them often; and that he would introduce them all at different
times to their worthy landlord, before we left the country.
The house is large, and very commodious; and we found every thing
about it, and in it, exceeding neat and convenient; owing to the
worthy Mr. Longman's care and direction. The ground is well-stocked,
the barns and outhouses in excellent repair; and my poor parents have
only to wish, that they and I may be deserving of half the goodness we
experience from your bountiful brother.
But, indeed. Madam, I have the pleasure of discovering every day more
and more, that there is not a better disposed and more generous man in
the world than himself, for I verily think he has not been so
careful to conceal his _bad_ actions as his _good_ ones. His heart is
naturally beneficent, and his beneficence is the gift of God for the
most excellent purposes, as I have often freely told him. Pardon me,
my dear lady; I wish I may not be impertinently grave: but I find a
great many instances of his considerate charity, which few knew of,
and which, since I have been his almoner, could not avoid coming to my
knowledge. But this, possibly, is no news to your ladyship. Every body
knows the generous goodness of your _own_ heart: every one wanting
relief tasted the bounty of your excellent _mother_ my late honoured
lady: so that 'tis a _family grace_, and I have no need to speak of it
to you. Madam.
This cannot, I hope, be construed as if I would hereby suppose
ourselves less obliged. I know nothing so godlike in human nature as
this disposition to do good to our fellow-creatures: for is it not
following immediately the example of that generous Providence which
every minute is conferring blessings upon us all, and by giving power
to the rich, makes them but the dispensers of its benefits to those
that want them? Yet, as there are but too many objects of compassion,
and as the most beneficent cannot, like Omnipotence, do good to all,
how much are they obliged who are distinguished from others!-And
this being kept in mind, will always contribute to make the benefited
receive, as thankfully as they _ought_, the favours of the obliger.
I know not if I write to be understood, in all I mean; but my grateful
heart is so over-filled when on this subject, that methinks I want to
say a great deal more at the same time that I am apprehensive I say
too much. Yet, perhaps, the copies of the letters I here inclose (that
marked [I.] written by me to my parents, on our return to Kent; that
marked [II.] from my dear father in answer to it; and that marked
[III.] mine in reply to his) will (at the same time that they may
convince your ladyship that I will conceal nothing from you in the
course of this correspondence, which may in the least amuse and divert
you, or better explain our grateful sentiments), in a great measure,
answer what your ladyship expects from me, as to the happy fortnight
we passed in Kent.
I will now conclude, choosing to suspend the correspondence, till I
know from your ladyship, whether it will not be too low, too idle for
your attention; whether you will not dispense with your own commands
when you see I am so little likely to answer what you may possibly
expect from me: or whether, if you insist upon my scribbling, you
would have me write in any other way, be less tedious, less serious-in
short, less or more any thing. For all that is in my power, your
ladyship may command from, _Madam, your obliged and faithful servant_.
P.B.
Your dearest brother, from whose knowledge I would not keep any thing
that shall take up any considerable portion of my time, gives me leave
to proceed in this correspondence, if you command it; and is pleased
to say, he will content himself to see such parts of it, and _only_
such parts, as I shall shew him, or read to him.--Is not this very
good, Madam?--O, my lady, you don't know how happy I am!
LETTER XII
_From Lady Davers to Mrs. B._
My dear Pamela,
You very much oblige me by your cheerful compliance with my request: I
leave it entirely to you to write as you shall be in the humour,
when you take up your pen; and then I shall have you write with less
restraint: for, you must know, that what we admire in _you_, are truth
and nature, not studied or elaborate epistles. We can hear at church,
or read in our closets, fifty good things that we expect not from you:
but we cannot receive from any body else the pleasure of sentiments
flowing with that artless ease, which so much affects us when we read
your letters. Then, my sweet girl, your gratitude, prudence, integrity
of heart, your humility, shine so much in all your letters and
thoughts, that no wonder my brother loves you as he does.
But I shall make you proud, I doubt, and so by praise ruin those
graces which we admire, and, but for that, cannot praise you too much.
In my conscience, if thou canst hold as thou hast begun, I believe
thou wilt have him _all to thyself_; and that was more than I once
thought any woman on this side the seventieth year of his age would
ever be able to say. The letters to and from your parents, we are
charmed with, and the communicating of them to me, I take to be as
great an instance of your confidence in me, as it is of your judgment
and prudence; for you cannot but think, that we, his relations, are
a little watchful over your conduct, and have our eyes upon you, to
observe what use you are likely to make of your power over your man,
with respect to your own relations.
Hitherto all is unexampled prudence, and you take the right method to
reconcile even the proudest of us to your marriage, and make us not
only love you, but respect your parents: for their honesty will, I
perceive, be their distinguishing character, and they will not forget
themselves, nor their former condition.
I can tell you, you are exactly right; for if you were to be an
_encroacher_, as the good old man calls it, my brother would be the
first to see it, and would gradually think less and less of you, till
possibly he might come to despise you, and to repent of his choice:
for the least shadow of an imposition, or low cunning, or mere
selfishness, he cannot bear.
In short, you are a charming girl; and Lady Betty says so too; and
moreover adds, that if he makes you not the best and _faithfullest_ of
husbands, he cannot deserve you, for all his fortune and birth. And in
my heart, I begin to think so too.
But won't you oblige me with the sequel of your letter to your father?
For, you promise, my dear charming scribbler, in that you sent me, to
write again to his letter; and I long to see how you answer the latter
part of it, about your relations desiring already to come and live
with him. I know what I _expect_ from you. But let it be what it will,
send it to me exactly as you wrote it; and I shall see whether I have
reason to praise or reprove you. For surely, Pamela, you must leave
one room to blame you for something. Indeed I can hardly bear the
thought, that you should so much excel as you do, and have more
prudence, by nature, as it were, than the best of us get in a course
of the genteelest educations and with fifty advantages, at least,
in conversation, that _you_ could not have, by reason of my mother's
retired life, while you were with her, and your close attendance on
her person.
But I'll tell you what has been a great improvement to you; it is your
own writings. This itch of scribbling has been a charming help. For
here, having a natural fund of good sense, and prudence above your
years, you have, with the observations these have enabled you to make,
been flint and steel too, as I may say, to yourself: so that you have
struck _fire_ when you pleased, wanting nothing but a few dry leaves,
like the first pair in old Du Bartas, to serve as tinder to catch your
animating sparks. So that reading constantly, and thus using yourself
to write, and enjoying besides a good memory, every thing you heard
and read became your own; and not only so, but was improved by passing
through more salubrious ducts and vehicles; like some fine fruit
grafted upon a common free-stock, whose more exuberant juices serve to
bring to quicker and greater perfection the downy peach, or the smooth
nectarine, with its crimson blush.
Really, Pamela, I believe, I, too, shall improve by writing to
you-Why, you dear saucy-face, at this rate, you'll make every one that
converses with you, better, and wiser, and _wittier_ too, as far as I
know, than they ever before thought there was _room_ for 'em to be.
As to my own part, I begin to like what I have written myself, I
think; and your correspondence may revive the poetical ideas that used
to fire my mind, before I entered into the drowsy married life; for my
good Lord Davers's turn happens not to be to books; and so by degrees
my imagination was in a manner quenched, and I, as a dutiful wife
should, endeavoured to form my taste by that of the man I
chose.--But, after all, Pamela, you are not to be a little proud of my
correspondence; and I could not have thought it ever would have come
to this; but you will observe, that I am the more free and unreserved,
to encourage _you_ to write without restraint: for already you have
made us a family of writers and readers; so that Lord Davers himself
is become enamoured of your letters, and desires of all things he
may hear read every one that passes between us. Nay, Jackey, for that
matter, who was the most thoughtless, whistling, sauntering fellow you
ever knew, and whose delight in a book ran no higher than a song or a
catch, now comes in with an enquiring face, and vows he'll set pen
to paper, and turn letter-writer himself; and intends (if my brother
won't take it amiss, he says) to begin to _you_, provided he could be
sure of an answer.
I have twenty things still to say; for you have unlocked all our
bosoms. And yet I intended not to write above ten or a dozen lines
when I began; only to tell you, that I would have you take your own
way, in your subjects, and in your style. And if you will but give me
hope, that you are in the way I so much wish to have you in, I will
then call myself your affectionate sister; but till then, it shall
only barely be _your correspondent_,
B. DAVERS. You'll proceed with the account of your Kentish affair, I
doubt not.
LETTER XIII
MY DEAR GOOD LADY,
What kind, what generous things are you pleased to say of your happy
correspondent! And what reason have I to value myself on such an
advantage as is now before me, if I am capable of improving it as I
ought, from a correspondence with so noble and so admired a lady!
To be praised by such a genius, and my honoured benefactor's worthy
sister, whose favour, next to his, it was always my chief ambition to
obtain, is what would be enough to fill with vanity a steadier and a
more equal mind than mine.
I have heard from my late honoured lady, what a fine pen her beloved
daughter was mistress of, when she pleased to take it up. But I never
could have presumed, but from your ladyship's own motion, to hope
to be in any manner the subject of it, much less to be called your
correspondent.
Indeed, Madam, I _am_ very proud of this honour, and consider it as
such a heightening to my pleasures, as only _that_ could give; and I
will set about obeying your ladyship without reserve.
But, first, permit me to disclaim any merit, from my own poor
writings, to that improvement which your goodness imputes to me. What
I have to boast, of that sort, is owing principally, if it deserves
commendation, to my late excellent lady.
It is hard to be imagined what pains her ladyship took with her poor
servant. Besides making me keep a book of her charities dispensed by
me, I always set down, in my way, the cases of the distressed, their
griefs from misfortunes, and their joys of her bountiful relief; and
so I entered early into the various turns that affected worthy hearts,
and was taught the better to regulate my own, especially by the help
of her fine observations, when I read what I wrote. For many a time
has her generous heart overflowed with pleasure at my remarks, and
with praises; and I was her good girl, her dear Pamela, her hopeful
maiden; and she would sometimes snatch my hand with transport, and
draw me to her, and vouchsafe to kiss me; and always was saying,
what she would do for me, if God spared her, and I continued to be
deserving.
O my dear lady! you cannot think what an encouragement this
condescending behaviour and goodness was to me. Madam, you
_cannot_ think it.
I used to throw myself at her feet, and embrace her knees; and, my
eyes streaming with tears of joy, would often cry, "O continue to me,
my dearest lady, the blessing of your favour, and kind instructions,
and it is all your happy Pamela can wish for."
But I will proceed to obey your ladyship, and write with as much
freedom as I possibly _can_: for you must not expect, that I can
entirely divest myself of that awe which will necessarily lay me under
a greater restraint, than if writing to my parents, whose partiality
for their daughter made me, in a manner, secure of their good
opinions.
To shorten the work before me, in the account I am to give of the
sweet fortnight that we passed in Kent, I enclose not only the copy of
the letter your ladyship requested, but my father's answer to it.
The letters I sent before, and those I now send, will afford several
particulars; such as a brief description of the house and farm, and
your honoured brother's intentions of retiring thither now-and-then;
of the happiness and gratitude of my dear parents, and their wishes to
be able to deserve the comfort his goodness has heaped upon them; and
that in stronger lights than I am able to set them; I will only, in a
summary manner, mention the rest; and, particularly, the behaviour of
my dear benefactor to me, and my parents. He seemed always to delight
in being particularly kind to them before strangers, and before the
tenants, and before Mr. Sorby, Mr. Bennet, and Mr. Shepherd, three of
the principal gentlemen in the neighbourhood, who, with their ladies,
came to visit us, and whose visits we _all_ returned; for your
dear brother would not permit my father and mother to decline the
invitation of those worthy families.
Every day we rode out, or walked a little about the grounds; and while
we were there, he employed hands to cut a vista through a coppice,
as they call it, or rather a little wood, to a rising ground, which,
fronting an old-fashioned balcony, in the middle of the house, he
ordered it to be planted like a grove, and a pretty alcove to be
erected on its summit, of which he has sent them a draught, drawn by
his own hand. This and a few other alterations, mentioned in my letter
to my father, are to be finished against we go down next.
The dear gentleman was every hour pressing me, while there, to take
one diversion or other, frequently upbraiding me, that I seemed not to
_choose_ any thing, urging me to propose sometimes what I could _wish_
he should oblige me in, and not always to leave it to him to choose
for me: saying, he was half afraid that my constant compliance with
every thing he proposed, laid me sometimes under a restraint: and he
would have me have a will of my own, since it was impossible, that it
could be such as he should not take a delight in conforming to it.
I will not trouble your ladyship with any further particulars relating
to this happy fortnight, which was made up all of white and unclouded
days, to the very last; and your ladyship will judge better than I can
describe, of the parting between my dear parents, and their honoured
benefactor and me.
We set out, attended with the good wishes of crowds of persons of all
degrees; for your dear brother left behind him noble instances of his
bounty; it being the _first_ time, as he bid Mr. Longman say, that he
had been down among them since that estate had been in his hands.
But permit me to observe, that I could not forbear often, very often,
in this happy period, to thank God in private, for the blessed terms
upon which I was there, to what I should have been, had I gracelessly
accepted of those which formerly were tendered to me; for your
ladyship will remember, that the Kentish estate was to be part of the
purchase of my infamy.
We returned through London, by the like easy journeys, but tarried
not to see any thing of that vast metropolis, any more than we did
in going through it before; your beloved brother only stopping at his
banker's, and desiring him to look out for a handsome house, which he
proposes to take for his winter residence. He chooses it to be about
the new buildings called Hanover Square; and he left Mr. Longman there
to see one, which his banker believed would be fit for him.
And thus, my dear lady, I have answered your first commands, by the
help of the letters which passed between my dear parents and me; and
conclude this with the assurance that I am, with high respect, _your
ladyship's most obliged and faithful servant_,
P.B.
LETTER XIV
MY DEAREST LADY,
I now set myself to obey your ladyship's second command, which is,
to give an account in what manner your dear brother broke to me the
affair of the unfortunate Miss Godfrey, with my behaviour upon it; and
this I cannot do better, than by transcribing scribing the relation I
gave at that time, in letters to my dear parents, which your ladyship
has not seen, in these very words.
[See Vol. I, p. 431, beginning "My dear Mr. B.," down to p. 441.]
Thus far, my dear lady, the relation I gave to my parents, at the time
of my being first acquainted with this melancholy affair.
It is a great pleasure to me, that I can already flatter myself, from
the hints you kindly gave me, that I behaved as you wished I should
behave. Indeed, Madam, I could not help it, for I pitied most
sincerely the unhappy lady; and though I could not but rejoice, that
I had had the grace to escape the dangerous attempts of the dear
intriguer, yet never did the story of any unfortunate lady make such
an impression upon me as hers did: she loved _him_, and believed, no
doubt, he loved _her_ too well to take ungenerous advantages of her
soft passion for him: and so, by degrees, put herself into his power;
and too seldom, alas I have the noblest-minded of the seducing sex the
mercy or the goodness to spare the poor creatures that do!
Then 'tis another misfortune of people in love; they always think
highly of the beloved object, and lowly of themselves, such a dismal
mortifier is love!
I say not this, Madam, to excuse the poor lady's fall; nothing can
do that; because virtue is, and ought to be, preferable to all
considerations, and to life itself. But, methinks, I love this dear
lady so well for the sake of her edifying penitence, that I would
fain extenuate her crime, if I could; and the rather, as in all
probability, it was a _first love_ on _both_ sides; and so he could
not appear to her as a _practised_ deceiver.
Your ladyship will see, by what I have transcribed, how I behaved
myself to the dear Miss Goodwin; and I am so fond of the little
charmer, as well for the sake of her unhappy mother, though personally
unknown to me, as for the relation she bears to the dear gentleman
whom I am bound to love and honour, that I must beg your ladyship's
interest to procure her to be given up to my care, when it shall be
thought proper. I am sure I shall act by her as tenderly as if I
was her own mother. And glad I am, that the poor unfaulty baby is so
justly beloved by Mr. B.
But I will here conclude this letter, with assuring your ladyship, and
I am _your obliged and humble servant,_
P.B.
LETTER XV
MY GOOD LADY,
I now come to your ladyship's remarks on my conduct to Mrs. Jewkes:
which you are pleased to think too kind and forgiving considering the
poor woman's baseness.
Your ladyship says, that I ought not to have borne her in my sight,
after the impudent assistance she gave to his lewd attempts; much less
to have left her in her place, and rewarded her. Alas! my dear lady,
what could I do? a poor prisoner as I was made, for weeks together, in
breach of all the laws of civil society; without a soul who durst be
my friend; and every day expecting to be ruined and undone, by one of
the haughtiest and most determined spirits in the world!--and when it
pleased God to turn his heart, and incline him to abandon his wicked
attempts, and to profess honourable love to me, his poor servant, can
it be thought I was to insist upon conditions with such a gentleman,
who had me in his power; and who, if I had provoked him, might have
resumed all his wicked purposes against me?
Indeed, I was too much overjoyed, after all my dangers past (which
were so great, that I could not go to rest, nor rise, but with such
apprehensions, that I wished for death rather than life), to think of
refusing any terms that I could yield to, and keep my honour.
And though such noble ladies, as your ladyship and Lady Betty, who are
born to independency, and are hereditarily, as I may say, on a foot
with the highest-descended gentleman in the land, might have exerted
a spirit, and would have a right to choose your own servants, and to
distribute rewards and punishments to the deserving and undeserving,
at your own good pleasure; yet what had I, a poor girl, who owed even
my title to common notice, to the bounty of my late good lady, and had
only a kind of imputed sightliness of person, though enough to make
me the subject of vile attempts; who, from a situation of terror and
apprehension, was lifted up to an hope, beyond my highest ambition,
and was bid to pardon the bad woman, as an instance, that I could
forgive his own hard usage of me; who had experienced so often the
violence and impetuosity of his temper, which even his beloved mother
never ventured to oppose till it began to subside, and then, indeed,
he was all goodness and acknowledgment; of which I could give your
ladyship more than one instance.
What, I say, had I to do, to take upon me lady-airs, and to resent?
But, my dear ladies (let me, in this instance, bespeak the attention
of you both), I should be inexcusable, if I did not tell you all the
truth; and that is, that I not only forgave the poor wretch, in regard
to _his commands_, but from _my own inclination_ also. If I am wrong
in saying this, I must submit it to your ladyships; and, as I pretend
not to perfection, am ready to take the blame I deserve in your
ladyships' judgments: but indeed, were it to be again, I verily think,
I could not help forgiving her.--And were I not able to say this, I
should be thought to have made a mean court to my master's passions,
and to have done a wrong thing with my eyes open: which I humbly
conceive, no one should do.
When full power was given me over this poor creature (seemingly at
least, though it might possibly have been resumed, and I might have
been re-committed to hers, had I given him reason to think I made an
arrogant use of it), you cannot imagine what a triumph I had in my
mind over the mortified guilt, which (from the highest degree of
insolence and imperiousness, that before had hardened her masculine
features) appeared in her countenance, when she found the tables
likely to be soon turned upon her.
This change of behaviour, which at first discovered itself in a sullen
awe, and afterwards in a kind of silent respect, shewed me, what an
influence power had over her: and that when she could treat her late
prisoner, when taken into favour, so obsequiously, it was the less
wonder the bad woman could think it her duty to obey commands so
unjust, when her obedience to them was required from her master.
To be sure, if a look could have killed her, after some of her bad
treatment, she had been slain over and over, as I may say: but to
me, who was always taught to distinguish between the person and
the action, I could not hold my resentment against the poor passive
machine of mischief one day together, though her actions were so
odious to me.
I should indeed except that time of my grand trial when she appeared
so much a wretch to me, that I saw her not (even after two days that
she was kept from me) without great flutter and emotion of heart: and
I had represented to your brother before, how hard a condition it was
for me to forgive so much unwomanly wickedness.
But, my dear ladies, when I considered the latter in _one_ particular
light, I could the more easily forgive her; and _having_ forgiven
her, _bear her in my sight_, and act by her (as a consequence of that
forgiveness) as if she had not so horridly offended. Else how would it
have been forgiveness? especially as she was ashamed of her crime, and
there was no fear of her repeating it.
Thus then I thought on the occasion: "Poor wretched agent, for
purposes little less than infernal! I _will_ forgive thee, since _thy_
master and _my_ master will have it so. And indeed thou art beneath
the resentment even of such a poor girl as I. I will _pity_ thee,
base and abject as thou art. And she who is the object of my _pity_ is
surely beneath my _anger_."
Such were then my thoughts, my proud thoughts, so far was I from
being guilty of _intentional_ meanness in forgiving, at Mr. B.'s
interposition, the poor, low, creeping, abject _self_-mortified, and
_master_-mortified, Mrs. Jewkes.
And do you think, ladies, when you revolve in your thoughts, _who_ I
was, and _what_ I was, and what I had been _designed_ for; when you
revolve the amazing turn in my favour, and the prospects before me (so
much above my hopes, that I left them entirely to Providence to direct
for me, as it pleased, without daring to look forward to what those
prospects seemed naturally to tend); when I could see my haughty
persecutor become my repentant protector; the lofty spirit that used
to make me tremble, and to which I never could look up without awe,
except in those animating cases, where his guilty attempts, and the
concern I had to preserve my innocence, gave a courage more than
natural to my otherwise dastardly heart: when this impetuous spirit
could stoop to request one whom he had sunk beneath even her usual low
character of his servant, who was his prisoner, under sentence of a
ruin worse than death, as he had intended it, and had seized her for
that very purpose, could stoop to acknowledge the vileness of that
purpose; could say, at one time, that my forgiveness of Mrs. Jewkes
should stand me in greater stead than I was aware of: could tell her,
before me, that she must for the future shew me all the respect due
to one he must love; at another, acknowledged before her, that he
had been stark naught, and that I was very forgiving; again, to Mrs.
Jewkes, putting himself on a level with her, as to guilt, "We are
both in generous hands: and, indeed, if Pamela did not pardon _you_,
I should think she but half forgave _me_, because you acted by my
instructions:" another time to the same, "We have been both sinners,
and must be both included in one act of grace:"--when I was thus
lifted up to the state of a sovereign forgiver, and my lordly master
became a petitioner for himself, and the guilty creature, whom he put
under my feet; what a triumph was here for the poor Pamela? and could
I have been guilty of so mean a pride, as to trample upon the poor
abject creature, when I found her thus lowly, thus mortified, and
wholly in my power?
Then, my dear ladies, while I was enjoying the soul-charming fruits of
that innocence which the Divine Grace had enabled me to preserve, in
spite of so many plots and contrivances on my master's side, and such
wicked instigations and assistances on hers, and all my prospects were
improving upon me beyond my wishes; when all was unclouded sunshine,
and I possessed my mind in peace, and had only to be thankful to
Providence, which had been so gracious to my unworthiness; when I saw
my persecutor become my protector, my active enemy no longer my enemy,
but creeping with slow, doubtful feet, and speaking to me with awful
hesitating doubt of my acceptance; a stamp of an insolent foot
now turned into curtseying half-bent knees; threatening hands into
supplicating folds; and the eye unpitying to innocence, running
over with the sense of her own guilt; a faltering accent on her late
menacing tongue, and uplifted handkerchief, "I see she will be my
lady: and then I know how it will go with me!"--Was not this, my
ladies, a triumph of triumphs to the late miserable, now exalted,
Pamela!--could I do less than pardon her? And having declared that I
did so, was I not to shew the sincerity of my declaration?
Would it not have shewn my master, that the low-born Pamela was
incapable of a generous action, had she refused the only request her
humble condition had given her the opportunity of granting, at that
time, with innocence? Would he not have thought the humble cottager
as capable of insolence, and vengeance too, in her turn, as the better
born? and that she wanted but the power, to shew the like unrelenting
temper, by which she had so grievously suffered? And might not this
have given him room to think me (and to have resumed and prosecuted
his purposes accordingly) fitter for an arrogant kept mistress, than
an humble and obliged wife!
"I see" (might he not have said?), "the girl has strong passions and
resentments; and she that has, will be sometimes _governed_ by them.
I will improve upon the hint she herself has now given me, by her
inexorable temper: I will gratify her revenge, till I turn it upon
herself: I will indulge her pride, till I make it administer to
her fall; for a wife I cannot think of in the low-born cottager,
especially when she has lurking in her all the pride and arrogance"
(you know, my ladies, his haughty way of speaking of our sex) "of
the better descended. And by a little perseverance, and watching her
unguarded hours, and applying temptations to her passions, I shall
first discover them, and then make my advantage of them."
Might not this have been the language, and this the resolution, of
such a dear wicked intriguer?--For, my lady, you can hardly conceive
the struggles he apparently had to bring down his high spirit to so
humble a level. And though, I hope, all would have been, even in this
_worst_ case, ineffectual, through Divine Grace, yet how do I know
what lurking vileness might have appeared by degrees in this frail
heart, to encourage his designs, and to augment my trials and my
dangers? And perhaps downright violence might have been used, if he
could not, on one hand, have subdued his passions, nor, on the other,
have overcome his pride--a pride, that every one, reflecting upon the
disparity of birth and condition between us, would have dignified with
the name of _decency_; a pride that was become such an essential part
of the dear gentleman's character, in this instance of a wife, that
although he knew he could not keep it up, if he made _me_ happy, yet
it was no small motive of his choosing me, in one respect, because he
expected from me more humility, more submission, than he thought would
be paid him by a lady equally born and educated; and of this I will
send you an instance, in a transcription from that part of my
journal you have not seen, of his lessons to me, on my incurring
his displeasure by interposing between yourself and him in your
misunderstanding at the Hall: for, Madam, I intend to send, at times,
any thing I think worthy of your ladyship's attention, out of those
papers you were so kind as to excuse me from sending you in a lump,
and many of which must needs have appeared very impertinent to such
judges.
Thus (could your ladyship have thought it?) have I ventured upon a
strange paradox, that even this strongest instance of his debasing
himself, is not the weakest of his pride: and he ventured once at Sir
Simon Darnford's to say, in your hearing, as you may remember, that,
in his conscience, he thought he should hardly have made a tolerable
husband to any body but Pamela: and why? For the reasons you will
see in the inclosed papers, which give an account of the noblest and
earliest curtain-lecture that ever girl had: one of which is, that he
expects to be _borne_ with (_complied_ with, he meant) even when in
the wrong: another, that a wife should never so much as expostulate
with him, though he was in the wrong, till, by complying with all
he insisted upon, she should have shewn him, she designed rather to
convince him, for his _own_ sake, than for _contradiction's_ sake; and
then, another time, perhaps he might take better resolutions.
I hope, from what I have said, it will appear to your lady-ship,
and to Lady Betty too, that I am justified, or at least excused, in
pardoning Mrs. Jewkes.
But your dear brother has just sent me word, that supper waits for me:
and the post being ready to go off, I defer till the next opportunity
which I have to say as to these good effects: and am, in the mean
time, _your ladyship's most obliged and faithful servant_,
P.B.
LETTER XVI
MY DEAR LADY,
I will now acquaint you with the good effects my behaviour to Mrs.
Jewkes has had upon her, as a farther justification of my conduct
towards the poor woman.
That she began to be affected as I wished, appeared to me before I
left the Hall, not only in the conversations I had with her after
my happiness was completed; but in her general demeanour also to the
servants, to the neighbours, and in her devout behaviour at church:
and this still further appears by a letter I have received from Miss
Darnford. I dare say your ladyship will be pleased with the perusal
of the whole letter, although a part of it would answer my present
design; and in confidence, that you will excuse, for the sake of its
other beauties, the high and undeserved praises which she so lavishly
bestows upon me, I will transcribe it all.
_From Miss Darnford to Mrs. B._
"MY DEAR NEIGHBOUR THAT WAS,
"I must depend upon your known goodness to excuse me for not writing
before now, in answer to your letter of compliment to us, for the
civilities and favours, as you call them, which you received from us
in Lincolnshire, where we were infinitely more obliged to you than you
to us.
"The truth is, my papa has been much disordered with a kind of
rambling rheumatism, to which the physicians, learnedly speaking, give
the name of _arthritici vaga_, or the flying gout; and when he ails
ever so little (it signifies nothing concealing his infirmities, where
they are so well known, and when he cares not who knows them), he is
so peevish, and wants so much attendance, that my mamma, and her two
girls (one of which is as waspish as her papa; you may be sure I don't
mean myself) have much ado to make his worship keep the peace; and I
being his favourite, when he is indisposed, having most patience, if I
may give myself a good word, he calls upon me continually, to read to
him when he is grave, which is not often, and to tell him stories,
and sing to him when he is merry; and so I have been employed as a
principal person about him, till I have frequently become sad to make
him cheerful, and happy when I could do it at any rate. For once, in
a pet, he flung a book at my head, because I had not attended him for
two hours, and he could not bear to be slighted by little bastards,
that was his word, that were fathered upon him for his vexation! O
these men! Fathers or husbands, much alike! the one tyrannical, the
other insolent: so that, between one and t'other, a poor girl has
nothing for it, but a few weeks' courtship, and perhaps a first
month's bridalry, if that: and then she is as much a slave to her
husband, as she was a vassal to her father--I mean if the father be a
Sir Simon Darnford, and the spouse a Mr. B.
"But I will be a little more grave; for a graver occasion calls for
it, yet such as will give you real pleasure. It is the very great
change that your example has had upon your housekeeper.
"You desired her to keep up as much regularity as she could among the
servants there; and she is next to exemplary in it, so that she has
every one's good word. She speaks of her lady not only with respect,
but reverence; and calls it a blessed day for all the family, and
particularly for herself, that you came into Lincolnshire. She reads
prayers, or makes one of the servants read them, every Sunday night;
and never misses being at church, morning and afternoon; and is
preparing herself, by Mr. Peters's advice and direction, for receiving
the sacrament; which she earnestly longs to receive, and says it will
be the seal of her reformation.
"Mr. Peters gives us this account of her, and says she is full of
contrition for her past mis-spent life, and is often asking him, if
such and such sins can be forgiven? and among them, names her vile
behaviour to her angel lady, as she calls you.
"It seems she has written a letter to you, which passed Mr. Peters's
revisal, before she had the courage to send it; and prides herself
that you have favoured her with an answer to it, which, she says, when
she is dead, will be found in a cover of black silk next her heart;
for any thing from your hand, she is sure, will contribute to make her
keep her good purposes: and for that reason she places it there; and
when she has had any bad thoughts, or is guilty of any faulty word,
or passionate expression, she recollects her lady's letter, which
recovers her to a calm, and puts her again into a better frame.
"As she has written to you 'tis possible I might have spared you
the trouble of reading this account of her; but yet you will not
be displeased, that so free a liver and speaker should have some
testimonial besides her own assurances, to vouch for the sincerity of
her reformation.
"What a happy lady are you, that persuasion dwells upon your tongue,
and reformation follows your example!"
Your ladyship will forgive me what may appear like vanity in this
communication. Miss Darnford is a charming young lady. I always
admired her; but her letters are the sweetest, kindest!--Yet I am too
much the subject of her encomiums, and so will say no more; but add
here a copy of the poor woman's letter to me; and your ladyship will
see what an ample correspondence you have opened to yourself, if you
go on to countenance it.
"HONOURED MADAM,
"I have been long labouring under two difficulties; the desire I had
to write to you, and the fear of being thought presumptuous if I did.
But I will depend on your goodness, so often tried; and put pen to
paper, in that very closet, and on that desk, which once were so much
used by yourself, when I was acting a part that now cuts me to the
heart to think of. But you forgave me. Madam, and shewed me you
had too much goodness to revoke your forgiveness; and could I have
silenced the reproaches of my heart, I should have had no cause to
think I had offended.
"But, Oh I Madam, how has your goodness to me, which once filled me
with so much gladness, now, on reflection, made me sorrowful, and at
times, miserable.--To think I should act so barbarously as I did,
by so much sweetness, and so much forgiveness. Every place that I
remember to have used you hardly in, how does it now fill me with
sadness, and makes me often smite my breast, and sit down with tears
and groans, bemoaning my vile actions, and my hard heart!--How many
places are there in this melancholy fine house, that call one thing or
other to my remembrance, that give me remorse! But the pond, and the
woodhouse, whence I dragged you so mercilously, after I had driven you
to despair almost, what thoughts do they bring to my remembrance! Then
my wicked instigations.--What an odious wretch was I!
"Had his honour been as abandoned as myself, what virtue had been
destroyed between _his_ orders and _my_ too rigorous execution of
them; nay, stretching them to shew my wicked zeal, to serve a master,
whom, though I honoured, I should not (as you more than once hinted to
me, but with no effect at all, so resolutely wicked was my heart) have
so well obeyed in his unlawful commands!
"His honour has made you amends, has done justice to your merits, and
so atoned for _his_ fault. But as for _me_, it is out of my power ever
to make reparation.--All that is left me, is, to let your ladyship
see, that your pious example has made such an impression upon me, that
I am miserable now in the reflection upon my past guilt.
"_You_ have forgiven me, and _GOD_ will, I hope; for the creature
cannot be more merciful than the Creator; that is all my hope!--Yet,
sometimes, I dread that I am forgiven here, at least not punished, in
order to be punished the more hereafter!--What then will become of
the unhappy wretch, that has thus lived in a state of sin, and so
qualified herself by a course of wickedness, as to be thought a proper
instrument for the worst of purposes!
"Pray your ladyship, let not my honoured master see this letter. He
will think I have the boldness to reflect upon him: when, God knows my
heart, I only write to condemn myself, and my _unwomanly_ actions, as
you were pleased often most justly to call them.
"But I might go on thus for ever accusing myself, not considering whom
I am writing to, and whose precious time I am taking up. But what I
chiefly write for is, to beg your ladyship's prayers for me. For, oh!
Madam, I fear I shall else be ever miserable! We every week hear
of the good you do, and the charity you extend to the bodies of the
miserable. Extend, I beseech you, good Madam, to the unhappy Jewkes,
the mercy of your prayers, and tell me if you think I have not sinned
beyond hope of pardon; for there is a woe denounced against the
presumptuous sinner.
"Your ladyship assured me, at your departure, on the confession of my
remorse for my misdoings, and my promise of amendment, that you would
take it for proof of my being in earnest, if I would endeavour to keep
up a regularity among the servants here; if I would subdue them with
kindness, as I had owned myself subdued; and if I would endeavour to
make every one think, that the best security they could give of doing
their duty to their master in his _absence_, was by doing it to
God Almighty, from whose all-seeing eye nothing can be hid. This, I
remember, your ladyship told me, was the best test of fidelity and
duty, that any servants could shew; since it was impossible, without
religion, but that worldly convenience, or self-interest, must be the
main tie; and so the worst actions might succeed, if servants thought
they should find their sordid advantage in sacrificing their duty.
"So well am I convinced of this truth, that I hope I have begun the
example to good effect: and as no one in the family was so wicked as
I, it was therefore less difficult to reform them; and you will have
the pleasure to know, that you have now servants here, whom you need
not be ashamed to call yours.
"'Tis true, I found it a little difficult at first to keep them within
sight of their duty, after your ladyship departed: but when they saw I
was in earnest, and used them courteously, as you advised, and as your
usage of me convinced me was the rightest usage; when they were told
I had your commands to acquaint you how they conformed to your
injunctions; the task became easy: and I hope we shall all be still
more and more worthy of the favour of so good a lady and so bountiful
a master.
"I dare not presume upon the honour of a line to your unworthy
servant. Yet it would pride me much, if I could have it. But I shall
ever pray for your ladyship's and his honour's felicity, as becomes
_your undeserving servant_,
"K. JEWKES."
I have already, with these transcribed letters of Miss Darnford and
Mrs. Jewkes, written a great deal: but nevertheless, as there yet
remains one passage in your ladyship's letter, relating to Mrs.
Jewkes, that seems to require an answer, I will take notice of it, if
I shall not quite tire your patience.
That passage is this; Lady Betty rightly observes, says your ladyship,
that he knew what a vile woman she [Mrs. Jewkes] was, when he put you
into her power; and no doubt, employed her, because he was sure she
would answer all his purposes: and therefore she should have had very
little opinion of the sincerity of his reformation, while he was so
solicitous in keeping her there.
She would, she says, had she been in your case, have had one struggle
for her dismission, let it have been taken as it would; and he that
was so well pleased with your virtue, must have thought this a natural
consequence of it, if in earnest to become virtuous himself.
But, alas! Madam, he was not so well pleased with my virtue for
virtue's sake, as Lady Betty thinks he was.--He would have been glad,
even then, to have found me less resolved on that score. He did not so
much as _pretend_ to any disposition to virtue. No, not he!
He had entertained, as it proved, a strong passion for me, which had
been heightened by my _resisting_ it. His pride, and his advantages
both of person and fortune, would not let him brook control; and when
he could not have me upon his own terms, God turned his evil purposes
to good ones; and he resolved to submit to mine, or rather to such as
he found I would not yield to him without.
But Lady Betty thinks, I was to blame to put Mrs. Jewkes upon a foot,
in the present I made on my nuptials, with Mrs. Jervis. But I rather
put Mrs. Jervis on a foot with Mrs. Jewkes; for the dear gentleman had
_named_ the sum for me to give Mrs. Jewkes, and I would not give Mrs.
Jervis _less_, because I loved her better; nor _more_ could I give
her, on that occasion, without making such a difference between two
persons equal in station, on a solemnity too where one was present and
assisting, the other not, as would have shewn such a partiality, as
might have induced their master to conclude, I was not so sincere in
my forgiveness, as he hoped from me, and as I really was.
But a stronger reason still was behind; that I could, much more
agreeably, both to Mrs. Jervis and myself, shew my love and gratitude
to the dear good woman: and this I have taken care to do, in the
manner I will submit to your ladyship; at the tribunal of whose
judgment I am willing all my actions, respecting your dear brother,
shall be tried. And I hope you will not have reason to think me a
too profuse or lavish creature; yet, if you have, pray, my dear lady,
don't spare me; for if you shall judge me profuse in one article, I
will endeavour to save it in another.
But I will make what I have to say on this head the subject of a
letter by itself: and am, mean time, _your ladyship's most obliged and
obedient servant_,
P.B.
LETTER XVII
MY DEAR LADY,
It is needful, in order to let you more intelligibly into the subject
where I left off in my last, for your ladyship to know that your
generous brother has made me his almoner, as I was my late dear
lady's; and ordered Mr. Longman to pay me fifty pounds quarterly, for
purposes of which he requires no account, though I have one always
ready to produce.
Now, Madam, as I knew Mrs. Jervis was far from being easy in her
circumstances, thinking herself obliged to pay old debts for two
extravagant children, who are both dead, and maintaining in schooling
and clothes three of their children, which always keeps her bare, I
said to her one day, as she and I sat together, at our needles (for
we are always running over old stories, when alone)--"My good Mrs.
Jervis, will you allow me to ask you after your own private affairs,
and if you are tolerably, easy in them?"
"You are very good, Madam," said she, "to concern yourself about my
poor matters, so much as your thoughts are employed, and every moment
of your time is taken up, from the hour you rise, to the time of your
rest. But I can with great pleasure attribute it to your bounty, and
that of my honoured master, that I am easier and easier every day."
"But tell me, my dear Mrs. Jervis," said I, "how your matters
_particularly_ stand. I love to mingle concerns with my friends,
and as I hide nothing from _you_, I hope you'll treat me with equal
freedom; for I always loved you, and always will; and nothing but
death shall divide our friendship."
She had tears of gratitude in her eyes, and taking off her spectacles,
"I cannot bear," she said, "so much goodness!--Oh! my lady!"
"Oh! my Pamela, say," replied I. "How often must I chide you for
calling me any thing but your Pamela, when we are alone together?"
"My heart," said she, "will burst with your goodness! I cannot bear
it!"
"But you _must_ bear it, and bear still greater exercises to your
grateful heart, I can tell you that. A pretty thing, truly! Here I, a
poor helpless girl, raised from poverty and distress by the generosity
of the best of men, only because I was young and sightly, shall put
on lady-airs to a gentlewoman born, the wisdom of whose years, her
faithful services, and good management, make her a much greater merit
in this family, than I can pretend to have! And shall I return, in
the day of my power, insult and haughtiness for the kindness and
benevolence I received from her in that of my indigence!--Indeed,
I won't forgive you, my dear Mrs. Jervis, if I think you capable of
looking upon me in any other light than as your daughter; for you have
been a mother to me, when the absence of my own could not afford me
the comfort and good counsel I received every day from you."
Then moving my chair nearer, and taking her hand, and wiping, with my
handkerchief in my other, her reverend cheek, "Come, my dear second
mother," said I, "call me your daughter, your Pamela: I have passed
many sweet hours with you under that name; and as I have but too
seldom such an opportunity as this, open to me your worthy heart, and
let me know, if I cannot make my _second_ mother as easy and happy as
our dear master has made my _first_."
She hung her head, and I waited till the discharge of her tears gave
time for utterance to her words; provoking only her speech, by saying,
"You used to have three grand-children to provide for in clothes and
schooling. They are all living, I hope?"
"Yes, Madam, they are living: and your last bounty (twenty guineas was
a great sum, and all at once!) made me very easy and very happy!"
"How easy and how happy, Mrs. Jervis?"
"Why, my dear lady, I paid five to one old creditor of my unhappy
sons; five to a second; and two and a half to two others, in
proportion to their respective demands; and with the other five I paid
off all arrears of the poor children's schooling and maintenance;
and all are satisfied and easy, and declare they will never do harsh
things by me, if they are paid no more."
"But tell me, Mrs. Jervis, the whole you owe in the world; and you and
I will contrive, with justice to our best friend, to do all we can to
make you quite easy; for, at your time of life, I cannot bear that you
shall have any thing to disturb you, which I can remove, and so, my
dear Mrs. Jervis, let me know all. I know your debts (dear, just,
good woman, as you are!) like David's sins, are ever before you:
so come," putting my hand in her pocket, "let me be a friendly
pick-pocket; let me take out your memorandum-book, and we will see how
all matters stand, and what can be done. Come, I see you are too much
moved; your worthy heart is too much affected" (pulling out her book,
which she always had about her); "I will go to my closet, and return
presently."
So I left her, to recover her spirits, and retired with the good
woman's book to my closet.
Your dear brother stepping into the parlour just after I had gone out,
"Where's your lady, Mrs. Jervis?" said he. And being told, came up to
me:--"What ails the good woman below, my dear?" said he: "I hope you
and she have had no words?"
"No, indeed, Sir," answered I. "If we had, I am sure it would have
been my fault: but I have picked her pocket of her memorandum-book,
in order to look into her private affairs, to see if I cannot, with
justice to our common benefactor, make her as easy as you. Sir, have
made my other dear parents."
"A blessing," said he, "upon my charmer's benevolent heart!--I will
leave every thing to your discretion, my dear.--Do all the good you
prudently can to your Mrs. Jervis."
I clasped my bold arms about him, the starting tear testifying my
gratitude.--"Dearest Sir," said I, "you affect me as much as I did
Mrs. Jervis; and if any one but you had a right to ask, what ails your
Pamela? as you do, what ails Mrs. Jervis? I must say, I am hourly
so much oppressed by your goodness, that there is hardly any bearing
one's own joy."
He saluted me, and said, I was a dear obliging creature. "But," said
he, "I came to tell you, that after dinner we'll take a turn, if you
please, to Lady Arthur's: she has a family of London friends for her
guests, and begs I will prevail upon you to give her your company, and
attend you myself, only to drink tea with her; for I have told her we
are to have friends to sup with us."
"I will attend you, Sir," replied I, "most willingly; although I doubt
I am to be made a shew of."
"Something like it," said he, "for she has promised them this favour."
"I need not dress otherwise than I am?"
"No," he was pleased to say, I was always what he wished me to be.
So he left me to my _good works_ (those were his kind words) and I
ran over Mrs. Jervis's accounts, and found a balance drawn of all her
matters in one leaf, and a thankful acknowledgment to God, for her
master's last bounty, which had enabled her to give satisfaction to
others, and to do herself great pleasure, written underneath.
The balance of all was thirty-five pounds eleven shillings and odd
pence; and I went to my escritoir, and took out forty pounds, and down
I hasted to my good Mrs. Jervis, and I said to her, "Here, my dear
good friend, is your pocket-book; but are thirty-five or thirty-six
pounds all you owe, or are bound for in the world?"
"It is, Madam," said she, "and enough too. It is a great sum; but 'tis
in four hands, and they are all in pretty good circumstances, and so
convinced of my honesty, that they will never trouble me for it; for
I have reduced the debt every year something, since I have been in my
master's service."
"Nor shall it ever be in any body's _power_," said I, "to trouble you:
I'll tell you how we'll order it."
So I sat down, and made her sit by me. "Here, my dear Mrs. Jervis, is
forty pounds. It is not so much to me now, as the two guineas were to
you, that you would have given me at my going away from this house to
my father's, as I thought. I will not _give_ it you neither, at least
at _present_, as you shall hear: indeed I won't make you so uneasy as
that comes to. But take this, and pay the thirty-five pounds odd money
to the utmost farthing; and the remaining four pounds odd will be a
little fund in advance towards the children's schooling. And thus
you shall repay it; I always designed, as our dear master added five
guineas per annum to your salary, in acknowledgement of the pleasure
he took in your services, when I was Pamela Andrews, to add five
pounds per annum to it from the time I became Mrs. B. But from that
time, for so many years to come, you shall receive no more than you
did, till the whole forty pounds be repaid. So, my dear Mrs. Jervis,
you won't have any obligation to me, you know, but for the advance;
and that is a poor matter, not to be spoken of: and I will have leave
for it, for fear I should die."
Had your ladyship seen the dear good woman's behaviour, on this
occasion, you would never have forgotten it. She could not speak;
tears ran down her cheeks in plentiful currents: her modest hand put
gently from her my offering hand, her bosom heav'd, and she sobb'd
with the painful tumult that seemed to struggle within her, and which,
for some few moments, made her incapable of speaking.
At last, I rising, and putting my arm round her neck, wiping her eyes,
and kissing her cheek, she cried, "My excellent lady! 'tis too much!
I cannot bear all this."--She then threw herself at my feet; for I
was not strong enough to hinder it; and with uplifted hands--"May God
Almighty," said she--I kneeled by her, and clasping her hands in mine,
both uplifted together--"May God Almighty," said I, drowning her voice
with my louder voice, "bless us both together, for many happy years!
And bless and reward the dear gentleman, who has thus enabled me to
make _the widow's heart to sing for joy!_"
And thus, my lady, did I force upon the good woman's acceptance the
forty pounds.
Permit me, Madam, to close this letter here, and to resume the subject
in my next: till when I have the honour to be _your ladyship's most
obliged and faithful servant_,
P.B.
LETTER XVIII
MY DEAR LADY,
I now resume my last subject where I left off, that your ladyship may
have the whole before you at one view.
I went after dinner, with my dear benefactor, to Lady Arthur's; and
met with fresh calls upon me for humility, having the two natural
effects of the praises and professed admiration of that lady's guests,
as well as my dear Mr. B.'s, and those of Mr. and Mrs. Arthur, to
guard myself against: and your good brother was pleased to entertain
me in the chariot, going and coming, with an account of the orders he
had given in relation to the London house, which is actually
taken, and the furniture he should direct for it; so that I had no
opportunity to tell him what I had done in relation to Mrs. Jervis.
But after supper, retiring from company to my closet, when his friends
were gone, he came up to me about our usual bedtime: he enquired
kindly after my employment, which was trying to read in the French
Telemachus: for, my lady, I'm learning French, I'll assure you! And
who, do you think, is my master?--Why, the best I _could_ have in the
world, your dearest brother, who is pleased to say, I am no dunce: how
inexcusable should I be, if I was, with such a master, who teaches me
on his knee, and rewards me with a kiss whenever I do well, and says,
I have already nearly mastered the accent and pronunciation, which he
tells me is a great difficulty got over.
I requested him to render for me into English two or three places that
were beyond my reach; and when he had done it, he asked me, in French,
what I had done for Mrs. Jervis.
I said, "Permit me, Sir (for I am not proficient enough to answer
you in my new tongue), in English, to say, I have made the good woman
quite happy; and if I have your approbation, I shall be as much so
myself in this instance, as I am in all others."
"I dare answer for your prudence, my dear," he was pleased to say:
"but this is your favourite: let me know, when you have so bountiful a
heart to strangers, what you do for your favourites?"
I then said, "Permit my bold eye, Sir, to watch yours, as I obey you;
and you know you must not look full upon me then; for if you do, how
shall I look at you again; how see, as I proceed, whether you are
displeased? for you will not chide me in words, so partial have you
the goodness to be to all I do."
He put his arm round me, and looked down now and then, as I desired!
for O! Madam, he is all condescension and goodness to his unworthy,
yet grateful Pamela! I told him all I have written to you about the
forty pounds.--"And now, dear Sir," said I, half hiding my face on his
shoulder, "you have heard what I have done, chide or beat your Pamela,
if you please: it shall be all kind from you, and matter of future
direction and caution."
He raised my head, and kissed me two or three times, saying, "Thus
then I chide, I beat, my angel!--And yet I have one fault to find with
you, and let Mrs. Jervis, if not in bed, come up to us, and hear what
it is; for I will _expose_ you, as you deserve before her."--My Polly
being in hearing, attending to know if I wanted her assistance to
undress, I bade her call Mrs. Jervis. And though I thought from his
kind looks, and kind words, as well as tender behaviour, that I had
not much to fear, yet I was impatient to know what my fault was, for
which I was to be exposed.
The good woman came; and as she entered with all that modesty which
is so graceful in her, he moved his chair further from me, and, with
a set aspect, but not unpleasant, said, "Step in, Mrs. Jervis: your
lady" (for so, Madam, he will always call me to Mrs. Jervis, and to
the servants) "has incurred my censure, and I would not tell her in
what, till I had you face to face."
She looked surprised--now on me, now on her dear master; and I, not
knowing what he would say, looked a little attentive. "I am sorry--I
am very sorry for it, Sir," said she, curtseying low:--"but should be
more sorry, if _I_ were the unhappy occasion."
"Why, Mrs. Jervis, I can't say but it is on your account that I must
blame her."
This gave us both confusion, but especially the good woman; for still
I hoped much from his kind behaviour to me just before--and she said,
"Indeed, Sir, I could never deserve----"
He interrupted her--"My charge against you, Pamela," said he, "is that
of niggardliness, and no other; for I will put you both out of your
pain: you ought not to have found out the method of repayment.
"The dear creature," said he, to Mrs. Jervis, "seldom does any thing
that can be mended; but, I think, when your good conduct deserved an
annual acknowledgment from me, in addition to your salary, the lady
should have shewed herself no less pleased with your service than the
gentleman. Had it been for old acquaintance-sake, for sex-sake, she
should not have given me cause to upbraid her on this head. But I will
tell you, that you must look upon the forty pounds you have, as the
effect of just distinction on many accounts: and your salary from last
quarter-day shall be advanced, as the dear niggard intended it some
years hence; and let me only add, that when my Pamela first begins
to shew a coldness to her Mrs. Jervis, I shall then suspect she is
beginning to decline in that humble virtue, which is now peculiar to
herself and makes her the delight of all who converse with her."
He was thus pleased to say: thus, with the most graceful generosity,
and a nobleness of mind _truly_ peculiar to himself, was he pleased
to _act_: and what could Mrs. Jervis or I say to him?--Why, indeed,
nothing at all!--We could only look upon one another, with our eyes
and our hearts full of a gratitude that would not permit either of
us to speak, but which expressed itself at last in a manner he was
pleased to call more elegant than words--with uplifted folded hands,
and tears of joy.
O my dear lady! how many opportunities have the beneficent _rich_ to
make _themselves_, as well as their _fellow-creatures_, happy! All
that I could think, or say, or act, was but my duty before; what a
sense of obligation then must I lie under to this most generous of
men!
But here let me put an end to this tedious subject; the principal
part of which can have no excuse, if it may not serve as a proof of
my cheerful compliance with your ladyship's commands, that I recite
_every_ thing of concern to me, and with the same freedom as I used to
do to my dear parents.
I have done it, and at the same time offered what I had to plead in
behalf of my conduct to the two housekeepers, which you expected from
me; and I shall therefore close this my humble defence, if I may so
call it, with the assurance that I am, _my dearest lady, your obliged
and faithful servant_,
P.B.
LETTER XIX
_From Lady Davers to Mrs. B. in answer to the six last Letters._
"_Where she had it, I can't tell I but I think I never met with
the fellow of her in my life, at any age_;" are, as I remember, my
brother's words, speaking of his Pamela in the early part of your
papers. In truth, thou art a surprising creature; and every letter we
have from you, we have new subjects to admire you for.--"Do you think,
Lady Betty," said I, when I had read to the end of the subject about
Mrs. Jervis, "I will not soon set out to hit this charming girl a box
of the ear or two?"--"For what, Lady Davers?" said she.
"For what!" replied I.--"Why, don't you see how many slaps of the face
the bold slut hits me! _I'll_ LADY-AIRS her! I will. _I'll_ teach
her to reproach me, and so many of her betters, with her cottage
excellencies, and improvements, that shame our education."
Why, you dear charming Pamela, did you only excel me in _words_, I
could forgive you: for there may be a knack, and a volubility, as to
_words_, that a natural talent may supply; but to be thus out-done in
_thought_ and in _deed_, who can bear it? And in so young an insulter
too!
Well, Pamela, look to it, when I see you: you shall feel the weight
of my hand, or--the pressure of my lip, one or t'other, depend on it,
very quickly; for here, instead of my stooping, as I thought I would
be, to call _you_ sister, I shall be forced to think, in a little
while, that you ought not to own _me as yours_, till I am nearer your
standard.
But to come to business, I will summarily take notice of the following
particulars in all your obliging letters, in order to convince you of
my friendship, by the freedom of my observations on the subjects you
touch upon.
First, then, I am highly pleased with what you write of the advantages
you received from the favour of my dear mother; and as you know many
things of her by your attendance upon her the last three or four years
of her life, I must desire you will give me, as opportunity shall
offer, all you can recollect in relation to the honoured lady, and of
her behaviour and kindness to you, and with a retrospect to your own
early beginnings, the dawnings of this your bright day of excellence:
and this not only I, but the countess, and Lady Betty, with whom I am
going over your papers again, and her sister, Lady Jenny, request of
you.
2. I am much pleased with your Kentish account; though we wished you
had been more particular in some parts of it; for we are greatly taken
with your descriptions: and your conversation pieces: yet I own, your
honest father's letters, and yours, a good deal supply that _defect_.
3. I am highly delighted with your account of my brother's breaking
to you the affair of Sally Godfrey, and your conduct upon it. 'Tis a
sweet story as he brought it in, and as you relate it. The wretch
has been very just in his account of it. We are in love with your
charitable reflections in favour of the poor lady; and the more, as
she certainly deserved them, and a better mother too than she had, and
a faithfuller lover than she met with.
4. You have exactly hit his temper in your declared love of Miss
Goodwill. I see, child, you know your man; and never fear but you'll
hold him, if you can go on thus to act, and outdo your sex. But I
should think you might as well not insist upon having her with you;
you'd better see her now and then at the dairy-house, or at school,
than have her with you. But this I leave to your own discretion.
5. You have satisfactorily answered our objections to your behaviour
to Mrs. Jewkes. We had not considered your circumstances quite so
thoroughly as we ought to have done. You are a charming girl, and all
your motives are so just, that we shall be a little more cautious for
the future how we censure you.
In short, I say with the countess, "This good girl is not without
her pride; but it is the pride that becomes, and can only attend the
innocent heart; and I'll warrant," said her ladyship, "nobody will
become her station so well, as one who is capable of so worthy a pride
as this."
But what a curtain-lecture hadst thou, Pamela! A noble one, dost thou
call it?--Why, what a wretch hast thou got, to expect thou shouldst
never expostulate against his lordly will, even when in the wrong,
till thou hast obeyed it, and of consequence, joined in the evil he
imposes!
Much good may such a husband do you, says Lady Betty!--Every body will
_admire_ you, but no one will have reason to _envy_ you upon those
principles.
6. I am pleased with your promise of sending what you think I
shall like to see, out of those papers you choose not to shew me
collectively: this is very obliging. You're a good girl; and I love
you dearly.
7. We have all smiled at your paradox, Pamela, that his marrying you
was an instance of his pride.--The thought, though, is pretty enough,
and ingenious; but whether it will hold or not, I won't just now
examine.
8. Your observation on the _forget_ and _forgive_ we are much pleased
with.
9. You are very good in sending me a copy of Miss Darnford's letter.
She is a charming young lady. I always had a great opinion of
her merit; her letter abundantly confirms me in it. I hope you'll
communicate to me every letter that passes between you, and pray send
in your next a copy of your answer to her letter: I must insist upon
it, I think.
10. I am glad, with all my heart, to hear of poor Jewkes's
reformation: Your example carries all before it. But pray oblige me
with your answer to her letter, don't think me unreasonable: 'tis all
for your sake.
Pray--have you shewn Jewkes's letter to your good friend?--Lady Betty
wants to know (if you _have_) what he could say to it? For, she says,
it cuts him to the quick. And I think so too, if he takes it as he
ought: but, as you say, he's above loving virtue for _virtue's sake_.
11. Your manner of acting by Mrs. Jervis, with so handsome a regard to
my brother's interest, her behaviour upon it, and your relation of
the whole, and of his generous spirit in approving, reproving, and
improving, your prudent generosity, make no inconsiderable figure in
your papers. And Lady Betty says, "Hang him, he has some excellent
qualities too.--It is impossible not to think well of him; and his
good actions go a great way towards atoning for his bad." But you,
Pamela, have the glory of all.
12. I am glad you are learning French: thou art a happy girl in thy
teacher, and he is a happy man in his scholar. We are pleased with
your pretty account of his method of instructing and rewarding.
'Twould be strange, if you did not thus learn any language quickly,
with such encouragements, from the man you love, were your genius less
apt than it is. But we wished you had enlarged on that subject: for
such fondness of men to their wives, who have been any time married,
is so rare, and so unexpected from _my_ brother, that we thought you
should have written a side upon that subject at least.
What a bewitching girl art thou! What an exemplar to wives now, as
well as thou wast before to maidens! Thou canst tame lions, I
dare say, if thoud'st try.--Reclaim a rake in the meridian of his
libertinism, and make such an one as my brother, not only marry thee,
but love thee better at several months' end, than he did the first
day, if possible!
Now, my dear Pamela, I think I have taken notice of the most material
articles in your letters, and have no more to say to you; but write
on, and oblige us; and mind to send me the copy of your letter to Miss
Darnford, of that you wrote to poor penitent Jewkes, and every article
I have written about, and all that comes into your head, or that
passes, and you'll oblige _yours, &c,_
B. DAVERS.
LETTER XX
MY DEAR LADY,
I read with pleasure your commands, in your last kind and obliging
letter: and you may be sure of a ready obedience in every one of them,
that is in my power.
That which I can most easily do, I will first do; and that is, to
transcribe the answer I sent to Miss Darnford, and that to Mrs.
Jewkes, the former of which, (and a long one it is) is as follows:
"DEAR MISS DARNFORD,
"I begin now to be afraid I shall not have the pleasure and benefit I
promised myself of passing a fortnight or three weeks at the Hall, in
your sweet conversation, and that of your worthy family, as well
as those others in your agreeable neighbourhood, whom I must always
remember with equal honour and delight.
"The occasion will be principally, that we expect, very soon, Lord and
Lady Davers, who propose to tarry here a fortnight at least; and after
that, the advanced season will carry us to London, where Mr. B.
has taken a house for his winter residence, and in order to attend
parliament: a service he says, which he has been more deficient in
hitherto, than he can either answer to his constituents, or to his own
conscience; for though he is but one, yet if any good motion should be
lost by one, every absent member, who is independent, has to reproach
himself with the consequence of the loss of that good which might
otherwise redound to the commonwealth. And besides, he says, such
excuses as he could make, _every one_ might plead; and then public
affairs might as well be left to the administration, and no parliament
be chosen.
"See you, my dear Miss Darnford, from the humble cottager, what a
public person your favourite friend is grown! How easy is it for a
bold mind to look forward, and, perhaps, forgetting what she was, now
she imagines she has a stake in the country, takes upon herself to be
as important, as significant, as if, like my dear Miss Darnford, she
had been born to it!
"Well; but may I not ask, whether, if the mountain cannot come to
Mahomet, Mahomet will not come to the mountain? Since Lady Davers's
visit is so uncertain as to its beginning and duration, and so great
a favour as I am to look upon it, and really shall, it being her first
visit to _me_:--and since we must go and take possession of our London
residence, why can't Sir Simon spare to us the dear lady whom he could
use hardly, and whose attendance (though he is indeed entitled to all
her duty) he did not, just in that instance, quite so much deserve?
"'Well, but after all, Sir Simon,' would I say, if I had been in
presence at his peevish hour, 'you are a fine gentleman, are you not?
to take such a method to shew your good daughter, that because she did
not come _soon enough_ to you, she came _too soon_! And did ever papa
before you put a _good book_ (for such I doubt not it was, _because_
you were in affliction, though so little affected by its precepts) to
such a _bad use_? As parents' examples are so prevalent, suppose your
daughter had taken it, and flung it at her sister; Miss Nancy at her
waiting-maid; and so it had gone through the family; would it not have
been an excuse for every one to say, that the father, and head of the
family had set the example?
"'You almost wish, my dear Miss tells me, that I would undertake
_you_!--This is very good of you. Sir Simon,' I might (would his
patience have suffered me to run on thus) have added; 'but I hope,
since you are so sensible that you _want_ to be undertaken, (and
since this peevish rashness convinces me that you _do_) that you
will undertake _yourself_; that you will not, when your indisposition
requires the attendance and duty of your dear lady and daughter,
make it more uncomfortable to them, by _adding_ a difficulty of being
pleased, and an impatience of spirit, to the concern their duty and
affection make them have for you; and, _at least_, resolve never to
take a book into your hand again, if you cannot make a better use of
it, than you did then.'
"But Sir Simon will say, I have _already undertaken_ him, were he to
see this. Yet my Lady Darnford once begged I would give him a hint or
two on this subject, which, she was pleased to say, would be better
received from me than from any body: and if it be a little too severe,
it is but a just reprisal made by one whose ears, he knows, he has
cruelly wounded more than once, twice, or thrice, besides, by what
he calls his _innocent_ double entendres, and who, if she had not
resented it, when an opportunity offered, must have been believed, by
him, to be neither more nor less than a hypocrite. There's for you,
Sir Simon: and so here ends all my malice; for now I have spoken my
mind.
"Yet I hope your dear papa will not be so angry as to deny me, for
this my freedom, the request I make to _him_, to your _mamma_, and
to your _dear self_, for your beloved company, for a month or two in
Bedfordshire, and at London: and if you might be permitted to winter
with us at the latter, how happy should I be! It will be half done the
moment you desire it. Sir Simon loves you too well to refuse you, if
you are earnest in it. Your honoured mamma is always indulgent to
your requests: and Mr. B. as well in kindness to me, as for the great
respect he bears you, joins with me to beg this favour of you, and of
Sir Simon and my lady.
"If it can be obtained, what pleasure and improvement may I not
propose to myself, with so polite a companion, when we are carried by
Mr. B. to the play, the opera, and other of the town diversions! We
will work, visit, read, and sing together, and improve one another;
you _me_, in every word you shall speak, in every thing you shall do;
I _you_, by my questions, and desire of information, which will make
you open all your breast to me: and so unlocking that dear storehouse
of virtuous knowledge, improve your own notions the more for
communicating them. O my dear Miss Damford I how happy is it in your
power to make me!
"I am much affected with your account of Mrs. Jewkes's reformation,
I could have wished, had I not _other_ and _stronger_ inducements
(in the pleasure of so agreeable a neighbourhood, and so sweet a
companion), I could have been down at the Hall, in hopes to have
confirmed the poor woman in her newly assumed penitence. God give her
grace to persevere in it!--To be an humble means of saving a soul from
perdition! O my dear Miss Darnford, let me enjoy that heart-ravishing
hope!--To pluck such a brand as this out of the fire, and to assist to
quench its flaming susceptibility for mischief, and make it useful to
edifying purposes, what a pleasure does this afford one! How does it
encourage one to proceed in the way one has been guided to pursue!
How does it make me hope, that I am raised to my present condition,
in order to be an humble instrument in the hand of Providence to
communicate great good to others, and so extend to many those benefits
I have received, which, were they to go no further than myself, what a
vile, what an ungrateful creature should I be!
"I see, my dearest Miss Darnford, how useful in every condition of
life a virtuous and a serious turn of mind may be!
"In hopes of seeing you with us, I will not enlarge on several
agreeable subjects, which I could touch upon with pleasure, besides
what I gave you in my former (of my reception here, and of the
kindness of our genteel neighbours): such, particularly, as the
arrival here of my dear parents, and the kind, generous entertainment
they met with from my best friend; his condescension in not only
permitting me to attend them to Kent, but accompanying us thither, and
settling them in a most happy manner, beyond their wishes and my
own; but yet so much in character, as I may say, that every one must
approve his judicious benevolence; the favours of my good Lady Davers
to me, who, pleased with my letters, has vouchsafed to become my
correspondent; and a thousand things, which I want personally to
communicate to my dear Miss Darnford.
"Be pleased to present my humble respects to Lady Darnford, and to
Miss Nancy; to good Madam Jones, and to your kind friends at Stamford;
also to Mr. and Mrs. Peters, and their kins-woman: and beg of that
good gentleman from me to encourage his new proselyte all he can; and
I doubt not, she will do credit, poor woman! to the pains he shall
take with her. In hopes of your kind compliance with my wishes for
your company, I remain, _dearest Miss Darnford, your faithful and
obliged friend and servant,_
"P.B."
This, my good lady, is the long letter I sent to Miss Darnford, who,
at parting, engaged me to keep up a correspondence with her, and put
me in hopes of passing a month or two at the Hall, if we came down,
and if she could persuade Sir Simon and her mamma to spare her to my
wishes. Your ladyship will excuse me for so faintly mentioning the
honours you confer upon me: but I would not either add or diminish in
the communications I make to you.
The following is the copy of what I wrote to Mrs. Jewkes:
"You give me, Mrs. Jewkes, very great pleasure, to find, that, at
length, God Almighty has touched your heart, and let you see, while
health and strength lasted, the error of your ways. Many an unhappy
one has not been so graciously touched, till they have smarted under
some heavy afflictions, or been confined to the bed of sickness, when,
perhaps, they have made vows and resolutions, that have held them no
longer than the discipline lasted; but you give me much better hopes
of the sincerity of your conversion; as you are so well convinced,
before some sore evil has overtaken you: and it ought to be an earnest
to you of the Divine favour, and should keep you from despondency.
"As to me, it became me to forgive you, as I most cordially did; since
your usage of me, as it proved, was but a necessary means in the hand
of Providence, to exalt me to that state of happiness, in which I have
every day more and more cause given me to rejoice, by the kindest and
most generous of gentlemen.
"As I have often prayed for you, even when you used me the most
unkindly, I now praise God for having heard my prayers, and with high
delight look upon you as a reclaimed soul given to my supplication.
May the Divine goodness enable you to persevere in the course you have
begun! And when you can taste the all-surpassing pleasure that fills
the worthy breast, on being placed in a station where your example
may be of advantage to the souls of others, as well as to your own--a
pleasure that every good mind glories in, and none else can truly
relish; then may you be assured, that nothing but your perseverance,
and the consequential improvement resulting from it, is wanted to
convince you, that you are in a right way, and that the woe that is
pronounced against the presumptuous sinner, belongs not to you.
"Let me, therefore, dear Mrs. Jewkes (for now _indeed_ you are dear to
me), caution you against two things; the one, that you return not
to your former ways, and wilfully err after this repentance; for the
Divine goodness will then look upon itself as mocked by you, and will
withdraw itself from you; and more dreadful will your state then be,
than if you had never repented: the other, that you don't despair of
the Divine mercy, which has so evidently manifested itself in your
favour, and has awakened you out of your deplorable lethargy, without
those sharp medicines and operations, which others, and perhaps _not
more faulty_ persons, have suffered. But go on cheerfully in the same
happy path. Depend upon it, you are now in the right way, and turn not
either to the right hand or to the left; for the reward is before you,
in reputation and a good fame in this life, and everlasting felicity
beyond it.
"Your letter is that of a sensible woman, as I always thought you; and
of a truly contrite one, as I hope you will prove yourself to be: and
I the rather hope it, as I shall be always desirous, then of taking
every opportunity that offers of doing you real service, as well with
regard to your present as future life: for I am, _good_ Mrs. Jewkes,
as I now hope I may call you, _your loving friend to serve you_,
P.B.
"Whatever good books the worthy Mr. Peters will be so kind as to
recommend to you, and to those under your direction, send for them
either to Lincoln, Stamford, or Grantham, and place them to my
account: and may they be the effectual means of confirming you and
them in the good way you are in! I have done as much for all here:
and, I hope, to no bad effect: for I shall now tell them, by Mrs.
Jervis, if there be occasion, that I hope they will not let me be
out-done in Bedfordshire, by Mrs. Jewkes in Lincolnshire; but that the
servants of both houses may do credit to the best of masters. Adieu,
_good_ woman; as once more I take pleasure to style you."
* * * * *
Thus, my good lady, have I obeyed you, in transcribing these two
letters. I will now proceed to your ladyship's twelve articles. As to
the
1. I will oblige your ladyship, as I have opportunity, in my future
letters, with such accounts of my dear lady's favour and goodness to
me, as I think will be acceptable to you, and to the noble ladies you
mention.
2. I am extremely delighted, that your ladyship thinks so well of my
dear honest parents: they are good people, and ever had minds that set
them above low and sordid actions: and God and your good brother has
rewarded them most amply in this world, which is more than they ever
expected, after a series of unprosperousness in all they undertook.
Your ladyship is pleased to say, that people in upper life love to see
how plain nature operates in honest minds, who have hardly any thing
else for their guide: and if I might not be thought to descend too
low for your ladyship's attention (for, as to myself, I shall, I hope,
always look back with pleasure to what I _was_, in order to increase
my thankfulness for what I _am_), I would give you a scene of
resignation, and contented poverty, of which otherwise you can hardly
have a notion. I _will_ give it, because it will be a scene of nature,
however low, which your ladyship loves, and it shall not tire you by
its length.
It was upon occasion of a great loss and disappointment which happened
to my dear parents; for though they were never high in life, yet they
were not always so low as my honoured lady found them, when she took
me. My poor father came home; and as the loss was of such a nature, as
that he could not keep it from my mother, he took her hand, and said,
after he had acquainted her with it, "Come, my dear, let us take
comfort, that we did for the best. We left the issue to Providence,
as we ought, and that has turned it as it pleased; and we must be
content, though not favoured as we wished.--All the business is, our
lot is not cast for this life. Let us resign ourselves to the Divine
will, and continue to do our duty, and this short life will soon be
past. Our troubles will be quickly overblown; and we shall be happy in
a better, I make no doubt."
Then my dear mother threw her arms about his neck, and said, with
tears, "God's will be done, my dear love! All cannot be rich and
happy. I am contented, and had rather say, I have a poor honest
husband, than a guilty rich one. What signifies repining: let the
world go as it will, we shall have our length and our breadth at last.
And Providence, I doubt not, will be a better friend to our good
girl here, because she is good, than we could be, if this had not
happened," pointing to me, who, then about eleven years old (for it
was before my lady took me), sat weeping in the chimney corner, over a
few dying embers of a fire, at their moving expressions.
I arose, and kissing both their hands, and blessing them, said, "And
this length and breadth, my dear parents, will be, one day, all that
the rich and the great can possess; and, it may be, their ungracious
heirs will trample upon their ashes, and rejoice they are gone: while
such a poor girl as I, am honouring the memories of mine, who, in
their good names, and good lessons, will have left me the best of
portions."
And then they both hugged me to their fond bosoms, by turns; and all
three were filled with comfort in one another.
For a farther proof that _honest poverty_ is not such a deplorable
thing as some people imagine, let me ask, what pleasure can those
over-happy persons know, who, from the luxury of their tastes, and
their affluent circumstances, always eat before they are hungry, and
drink before they are thirsty? This may be illustrated by the instance
of a certain eastern monarch, who, as I have read, marching at the
head of a vast army, through a wide extended desert, which afforded
neither river nor spring, for the first time, found himself (in common
with his soldiers) overtaken by a craving thirst, which made him pant
after a cup of water. And when, after diligent search, one of his
soldiers found a little dirty puddle, and carried him some of the
filthy water in his nasty helmet, the monarch greedily swallowing it,
cried out, that in all his life he never tasted so sweet a draught!
But when I talk or write of my worthy parents, how I run on!--Excuse
me, my good lady, and don't think me, in this respect, too much like
the cat in the fable, turned into a fine lady; for though I would
never forget what I was, yet I would be thought to know _how_
gratefully to enjoy my present happiness, as well with regard to my
obligations to God, as to your dear brother. But let me proceed to
your ladyship's third particular.
3. And you cannot imagine. Madam, how much you have set my heart at
rest, when you say, that my dear Mr. B. gave me a just narrative of
this affair with Miss Godfrey: for when your ladyship desired to
know how he had recounted that story, lest you should make a
misunderstanding between us unawares, I knew not what to think. I was
afraid some blood had been shed on the occasion by him: for the lady
was ruined, and as to her, nothing could have happened worse. The
regard I have for Mr. B.'s future happiness, which, in my constant
supplication for him in private, costs me many a tear, gave me great
apprehensions, and not a little uneasiness. But as your ladyship tells
me that he gave me a just account, I am happy again.
I now come to your ladyship's fourth particular.
And highly delighted I am for having obtained your approbation of
my conduct to the child, as well as of my behaviour towards the
dear gentleman, on the unhappy lady's score. Your ladyship's wise
intimations about having the child with me, make due impressions upon
me; and I see in them, with grateful pleasure, your unmerited regard
for me. Yet, I don't know how it is, but I have conceived a strange
passion for this dear baby; I cannot but look upon her poor mamma as
my sister in point of trial; and shall not the prosperous sister
pity and love the poor dear sister that, in so slippery a path, has
_fallen_, while _she_ had the happiness to keep her feet?
The rest of your ladyship's articles give me the greatest pleasure and
satisfaction; and if I can but continue myself in the favour of your
dear brother, and improve in that of his noble sister, how happy shall
I be! I will do all I can to deserve both. And I hope you will take as
an instance of it, my cheerful obedience to your commands, in writing
to so fine a judge, such crude and indigested stuff, as, otherwise I
ought to be ashamed to lay before you.
I am impatient for the honour of your presence here; and yet I perplex
myself with the fear of appearing so unworthy in your eye when near
you, as to suffer in your opinion; but I promise myself, that however
this may be the case on your first visit, I shall be so much improved
by the benefits I shall reap from your lessons and good example, that
whenever I shall be favoured with a _second_ you shall have fewer
faults to find with me; till, as I shall be more and more favoured, I
shall in time be just what your ladyship will wish me to be, and, of
consequence, more worthy than I am of the honour of stiling myself
_your ladyship's most humble and obedient servant_, P.B.
LETTER XXI
_From Miss Darnford, in answer to Mrs. B.'s, p_. 60.
MY DEAR MRS. B.,
You are highly obliging in expressing so warmly your wishes to have me
with you. I know not any body in this world, out of our own family, in
whose company I should be happier; but my papa won't part with me, I
think; though I have secured my mamma in my interest; and I know Nancy
would be glad of my absence, because the dear, perversely envious,
thinks _me_ more valued than _she_ is; and yet, foolish girl, she
don't consider, that if her envy be well grounded, I should return
with more than double advantages to what I now have, improved by your
charming conversation.
My papa affects to be in a fearful pet, at your lecturing of him So
justly; for my mamma would show him the letter; and he says he will
positively demand satisfaction of Mr. B. for your treating him so
freely. And yet he shall hardly think him, he says, on a rank with
him, unless Mr. B. will, on occasion of the new commission, take out
his Dedimus: and then if he will bring you down to Lincolnshire, and
join with him to commit you prisoner for a month at the Hall, all
shall be well.
It is very obliging in Mr. B. to join in your kind invitation:
but--yet I am loth to say it to you--the character of your worthy
gentleman, I doubt, stands a little in the way with my papa.
My mamma pleaded his being married. "Ads-dines, Madam," said he, "what
of all that!"
"But, Sir," said I, "I hope, if I may not go to Bedfordshire, you'll
permit me to go to London, when Mrs. B. goes?"
"No," said he, "positively no!"
"Well, Sir, I have done. I could hope, however, you would enable me to
give a better reason to good Mrs. B. why I am not permitted to accept
of the kind invitation, than that which I understand you have been
pleased to assign."
He stuck his hands in his sides, with his usual humourous
positiveness. "Why, then tell her she is a very saucy lady, for her
last letter to you, and her lord and master is not to be trusted; and
it is my absolute will and pleasure that you ask me no more questions
about it."
"I will very faithfully make this report, Sir."--"Do so." And so
I have. And your poor Polly Darnford is disappointed of one of the
greatest pleasures she could have had.
I can't help it--if you truly pity me you can make me easier under
the disappointment, than otherwise possible, by favouring me with
an epistolary conversation, since I am denied a personal one; and my
mamma joins in the request; particularly let us know how Lady Davers's
first visit passes; which Mrs. Peters and Mrs. Jones, who know my lady
so well, likewise long to hear. And this will make us the best amends
in your power for the loss of your good neighbourhood, which we had
all promised to ourselves.
This denial of my papa comes out, since I wrote the above, to be
principally owing to a proposal made him of an humble servant to
one of his daughters: he won't say which, he tells us, in his usual
humourous way, lest we should fall out about it.
"I suppose," I tell him, "the young gentleman is to pick and choose
which of the two he likes best." But be he a duke, 'tis all one to
Polly, if he is not something above our common Lincolnshire class of
fox-hunters.
I have shewn Mr. and Mrs. Peters your letter. They admire you beyond
expression; and Mr. Peters says, he does not know, that ever he did
any thing in his life, that gave him so much inward reproach, as his
denying you the protection of his family, which Mr. Williams sought to
move him to afford you, when you were confined at the Hall, before
Mr. B. came down to you, with his heart bent on mischief; and all
he comforts himself with is, that very denial, as well as the other
hardships you have met with, were necessary to bring about that work
of Providence which was to reward your unexampled virtue.
Yet, he says, he doubts he shall not be thought excusable by you, who
are so exact in _your_ own duty, since he had the unhappiness to lose
such an opportunity to have done honour to his function, had he had
the fortitude to have done _his;_ and he has begged of me to hint his
concern to you on this head; and to express his hopes, that neither
religion nor his cloth may suffer in your opinion, for the fault
of one of its professors, who never was wanting in his duty so much
before.
He had it often upon his mind, he says, to write to you on this very
subject; but he had not the courage; and besides, did not know _how_
Mr. B. might take it, if he should see that letter, as the case had
such delicate circumstances in it, that in blaming himself, as he
should very freely have done, he must, by implication, have cast still
greater blame upon him.
Mr. Peters is certainly a very good man, and my favourite for that
reason; and I hope _you,_ who could so easily forgive the late wicked,
but now penitent Jewkes, will overlook with kindness a fault in a good
man, which proceeded more from pusillanimity and constitution, than
from want of principle: for once, talking of it to my mamma, before
me, he accused himself on this score, to her, with tears in his eyes.
She, good lady, would have given you this protection at Mr. Williams's
desire; but wanted the power to do it.
So you see, my dear Mrs. B., how your virtue has shamed every one
into such a sense of what they ought to have done, that good, bad, and
indifferent, are seeking to make excuses for past misbehaviour, and
to promise future amendment, like penitent subjects returning to their
duty to their conquering sovereign, after some unworthy defection.
Happy, happy lady! May you ever be so! May you always convert your
enemies, invigorate the lukewarm, and every day multiply your friends,
wishes _your most affectionate,_
POLLY DARNFORD.
P.S. How I rejoice in the joy of your honest parents! God bless 'em!
I am glad Lady Davers is so wise. Every one I have named desire their
best respects. Write oftener, and omit not the minutest thing: for
every line of yours carries instruction with it.
LETTER XXII
From Sir Simon Darnford to Mr. B.
SIR,
Little did I think I should ever have occasion to make a formal
complaint against a person very dear to you, and who I believe
deserves to be so; but don't let her be so proud and so vain of
obliging and pleasing you, as to make her not care how she affronts
every body else.
The person is no other than the wife of your bosom, who has taken such
liberties with me as ought not to be taken, and sought to turn my own
child against me, and make a dutiful girl a rebel.
If people will set up for virtue, and all that, let 'em be uniformly
virtuous, or I would not give a farthing for their pretences.
Here I have been plagued with gouts, rheumatisms, and nameless
disorders, ever since you left us, which have made me call for a
little more attendance than ordinary; and I had reason to think myself
slighted, where an indulgent father can least bear to be so, that is,
where he most loves; and that by young upstarts, who are growing up to
the enjoyment of those pleasures which have run away from me, fleeting
rascals as they are! before I was willing to part with them. And I
rung and rung, and "Where's Polly?" (for I honour the slut with too
much of my notice), "Where's Polly?" was all my cry, to every one
who came up to ask what I rung for. And, at last, in burst the pert
baggage, with an air of assurance, as if she thought all must be well
the moment she appeared, with "Do you want me, papa?"
"Do I want you, Confidence? Yes, I do. Where have you been these two
hours, that you never came near me, when you knew 'twas my time
to have my foot rubbed, which gives me mortal pain?" For you must
understand, Mr. B., that nobody's hand's so soft as Polly's.
She gave me a saucy answer, as I was disposed to think it, because I
had just then a twinge, that I could scarce bear; for pain is a plaguy
thing to a man of my lively spirits.
She gave me, I say, a careless answer, and turning upon her heel; and
not coming to me at my first word, I flung a book which I had in my
hand, at her head. And, this fine lady of your's, this paragon of
meekness and humility, in so many words, bids me, or, which is worse,
tells my own daughter to bid me, never to take a book into my hands
again, if I won't make a better use of it:--and yet, what better
use can an offended father make of the best books, than to correct a
rebellious child with them, and oblige a saucy daughter to jump into
her duty all at once?
Mrs. B. reflects upon me for making her blush formerly, and saying
things before my daughters, that, truly, I ought to be ashamed of?
then avows malice and revenge. Why neighbour, are these things to be
borne?--Do you allow your lady to set up for a general corrector of
every body's morals but your own?--Do you allow her to condemn the
only instances of wit that remain to this generation; that dear polite
_double entendre_, which keeps alive the attention, and quickens the
apprehension, of the best companies in the world, and is the salt, the
sauce, which gives a poignancy to all our genteeler entertainments!
Very fine, truly! that more than half the world shall be shut out of
society, shall be precluded their share of conversation amongst the
gay and polite of both sexes, were your lady to have her will! Let
her first find people who can support a conversation with wit and good
sense like her own, and then something may be said: but till then,
I positively say, and will swear upon occasion, that double entendre
shall not be banished from our tables; and where this won't raise a
blush, or create a laugh, we will, if we please, for all Mrs. B. and
her new-fangled notions, force the one and the other by still plainer
hints; and let her help herself how she can.
Thus, Sir, you find my complaints are of a high nature, regarding the
quiet of a family, the duty of a child to a parent, and the freedom
and politeness of conversation; in all which your lady has greatly
offended; and I insist upon satisfaction from you, or such a
correction of the fair transgressor, as is in your power to inflict,
and which may prevent worse consequences from _your offended friend
and servant_,
SIMON DARNFORD.
LETTER XXIII
_From Mr. B. in Answer to the preceding one._
DEAR SIR SIMON,
You cannot but believe that I was much surprised at your letter,
complaining of the behaviour of my wife. I could no more have expected
such a complaint from such a gentleman, than I could, that she would
have deserved it: and I am very sorry on _both_ accounts. I have
talked to her in such a manner, that, I dare say, she will never give
you like cause to appeal to me.
It happened, that the criminal herself received it from her servant,
and brought it to me in my closet; and, making her honours (for I
can't say but she is very obliging to me, though she takes such saucy
freedoms with my friends) away she tript; and I, inquiring for her,
when, with surprise, as you may believe, I had read your charge, found
she was gone to visit a poor sick neighbour; of which indeed I knew
before because she took the chariot; but I had forgot it in my wrath.
At last, in she came, with that sweet composure in her face which
results from a consciousness of doing _generally_ just and generous
things. I resumed, therefore, that sternness and displeasure which her
entrance had almost dissipated. I took her hand; her charming eye
(you know what an eye she has, Sir Simon) quivered at my overclouded
aspect; and her lips, half drawn to a smile, trembling with
apprehension of a countenance so changed from what she left it.
And then, all stiff and stately as I could look, did I accost
her--"Come along with me, Pamela, to my closet. I want to talk with
you."
"What have I done? Let me know, good Sir!" looking round, with her
half-affrighted eyes, this way and that, on the books, and pictures,
and on me, by turns.
"You shall know soon," said I, "the _crime_ you have been guilty
of."--"_Crime_, Sir! Pray let me--This closet, I hoped, would not be a
_second_ time witness to the flutter you put me in."
_There_ hangs a tale, Sir Simon, which I am not very fond of relating,
since it gave beginning to the triumphs of this little sorceress. I
still held one hand, and she stood before me, as criminals ought to
do before their judge, but said, "I see, Sir, sure I do,--or what will
else become of me!--less severity in your eyes, than you affect to
put on in your countenance. Dear Sir, let me but know my fault: I will
repent, acknowledge, and amend."
"You must have great presence of mind, Pamela, such is the nature of
your fault, if you can look me in the face, when I tell it you."
"Then let me," said the irresistible charmer, hiding her face in my
bosom, and putting her other arm about my neck, "let me thus, my dear
Mr. B., hide this guilty face, while I hear my fault told; and I will
not seek to extenuate it, by my tears, and my penitence."
I could hardly hold out. What infatuating creatures are these women,
when they thus soothe and calm the tumults of an angry heart! When,
instead of _scornful_ looks darted in return for _angry_ ones, words
of _defiance_ for words of _peevishness,_ persisting to defend
_one_ error by _another_, and returning _vehement wrath_ for _slight
indignation,_ and all the hostile provocations of the marriage
warfare; they can thus hide their dear faces in our bosoms, and wish
but to _know_ their faults, to _amend_ them!
I could hardly, I say, resist the sweet girl's behaviour; nay, I
believe, I did, and in defiance to my resolved displeasure, press her
forehead with my lips, as the rest of her face was hid on my breast;
but, considering it was the cause of my _friend,_ I was to assert, my
_injured_ friend, wounded and insulted, in so various a manner by the
fair offender, thus haughtily spoke I to the trembling mischief, in a
pomp of style theatrically tragic:
"I will not, too inadvertent, and undistinguishing Pamela, keep
you long in suspense, for the sake of a circumstance, that, on this
occasion, ought to give you as much joy, as it has, till now, given
me--since it becomes an advocate in your favour, when otherwise you
might expect very severe treatment. Know then, that the letter you
gave me before you went out, is a letter from a friend, a neighbour, a
worthy neighbour, complaining of your behaviour to him;--no other than
Sir Simon Darnford" (for I would not amuse her too much), "a gentleman
I must always respect, and whom, as my friend, I expected _you_
should: since, by the value a wife expresses for one esteemed by her
husband, whether she thinks so well of him herself, or not, a man
ought always to judge of the sincerity of her regards to himself."
She raised her head at once on this:--"Thank Heaven," said she, "it is
no worse!--I was at my wit's end almost, in apprehension: but I know
how this must be. Dear Sir, how could you frighten me so?--I know how
all this is!--I can now look you in the face, and hear all that Sir
Simon can charge me with! For I am sure, I have not so affronted him
as to make him angry indeed. And truly" (ran she on, secure of pardon
as she seemed to think), "I should respect Sir Simon not only as your
friend, but on his own account, if he was not so sad a rake at a time
of life--"
Then I interrupted her, you must needs think. Sir Simon; for how could
I bear to hear my worthy friend so freely treated! "How now, Pamela!"
said I; "and is it thus, by _repeating_ your fault, that you _atone_
for it? Do you think I can bear to hear my friend so freely treated?"
"Indeed," said she, "I do respect Sir Simon very much as your
_friend_, permit me to repeat; but cannot for his wilful failings.
Would it not be, in some measure, to approve of faulty conversation,
if one can hear it, and not discourage it, when the occasion comes in
so pat?--And, indeed, I was glad of an opportunity," continued she,
"to give him a little rub; I must needs own it: but if it displeases
you, or has made him angry in earnest, I am sorry for it, and will be
less bold for the future."
"Read then," said I, "the heavy charge, and I'll return instantly to
hear your answer to it." So I went from her, for a few minutes. But,
would you believe it, Sir Simon? she seemed, on my return, very little
concerned at your just complaints. What self-justifying minds have the
meekest of these women!--Instead of finding her in repentant tears, as
one would expect, she took your angry letter for a jocular one; and
I had great difficulty to convince her of the heinousness of _her_
fault, or the reality of your resentment. Upon which, being determined
to have justice done to my friend, and a due sense of her own great
error impressed upon her, I began thus:
"Pamela, take heed that you do not suffer the purity of your own mind,
in breach of your charity, to make you too rigorous a censurer
of other people's actions: don't be so puffed up with your own
perfections, as to imagine, that, because other persons allow
themselves liberties you cannot take, _therefore_ they must be wicked.
Sir Simon is a gentleman who indulges himself in a pleasant vein, and,
I believe, as well as you, _has been_ a great rake and libertine:"
(You'll excuse me, Sir Simon, because I am taking your part), "but
what then? You see it is all over with him now. He says, that he
_must_, and therefore he _will_ be virtuous: and is a man for ever to
hear the faults of his youth, when so willing to forget them?"
"Ah! but, Sir, Sir," said the bold slut, "can you say he is _willing_
to forget them?--Does he not repine in this very letter, that
he _must_ forsake them; and does he not plainly cherish the
_inclination_, when he owns--" She hesitated--"Owns what?"--"You know
what I mean. Sir, and I need not speak it: and can there well be a
more censurable character?--Then before his maiden daughters! his
virtuous lady! _before_ any body!--What a sad thing is this, at a time
of life, which should afford a better example!
"But, dear Sir," continued the bold prattler, (taking advantage of
a silence more owing to displeasure than approbation) "let me, for
I would not be too _censorious_" (No, not she! in the very act of
censoriousness to say this!), "let me offer but one thing: don't
you think Sir Simon himself would be loth to be thought a reformed
gentleman? Don't you see his delight, when speaking of his former
pranks, as if sorry he could not play them over again? See but how he
simpers, and _enjoys_, as one may say, the relations of his own rakish
actions, when he tells a bad story!"
"But," said I, "were this the case" (for I profess, Sir Simon, I was
at a grievous loss to defend you), "for you to write all these free
things against a father to his daughter, is that right, Pamela?"
"O, Sir! the good gentleman himself has taken care, that such a
character as I presumed to draw to Miss of her papa, was no strange
one to her. You have seen yourself, Mr. B., whenever his arch leers,
and his humourous attitude on those occasions, have taught us to
expect some shocking story, how his lady and daughters (used to him as
they are), have suffered in their apprehensions of what he would say,
before he spoke it: how, particularly, dear Miss Darnford has looked
at me with concern, desirous, as it were, if possible, to save her
papa from the censure, which his faulty expressions must naturally
bring upon him. And, dear Sir, is it not a sad thing for a young lady,
who loves and honours her papa, to observe, that he is discrediting
himself, and _wants_ the example he ought to _give?_ And pardon me,
Sir, for smiling on so serious an occasion; but is it not a fine
sight to see a gentleman, as we have often seen Sir Simon, when he has
thought proper to read a passage in some bad book, pulling off _his
spectacles_, to talk filthily upon it? Methinks I see him now," added
the bold slut, "splitting his arch face with a broad laugh, shewing a
mouth, with hardly a tooth in it, and making obscene remarks upon what
he has read."
And then the dear saucy-face laughed out, to bear _me_ company; for I
could not, for the soul of me, avoid laughing heartily at the figure
she brought to my mind, which I have seen my old friend more than once
make, with his dismounted spectacles, arch mouth, and gums of shining
jet, succeeding those of polished ivory, of which he often boasts, as
one ornament of his youthful days.--And I the rather in my heart, Sir
Simon, gave you up, because, when I was a sad fellow, it was always my
maxim to endeavour to touch a lady's heart without wounding her
ears. And, indeed, I found my account sometimes in observing it. But,
resuming my gravity--"Hussy, said I, do you think I will have my old
friend thus made the object of your ridicule?--Suppose a challenge
should have ensued between us on your account--what might have been
the issue of it? To see an old gentleman, stumping, as he says, on
crutches, to fight a duel in defence of his wounded honour!"--"Very
bad, Sir, to be sure: I see that, and am sorry for it: for had you
carried off Sir Simon's crutch, as a trophy, he must have lain sighing
and groaning like a wounded soldier in the field of battle, till
another had been brought him, to have stumped home with."
But, dear Sir Simon, I have brought this matter to an issue, that
will, I hope, make all easy;--Miss Polly, and my Pamela, shall both be
punished as they deserve, if it be not your own fault. I am told, that
the sins of your youth don't sit so heavily upon your limbs, as in
your imagination; and I believe change of air, and the gratification
of your revenge, a fine help to such lively spirits as yours, will set
you up. You shall then take coach, and bring your pretty criminal to
mine; and when we have them together, they shall humble themselves
before us, and you can absolve or punish them, as you shall see
proper. For I cannot bear to have my worthy friend insulted in so
heinous a manner, by a couple of saucy girls, who, if not taken down
in time, may proceed from fault to fault, till there will be no living
with them.
If (to be still more serious) your lady and you will lend Miss
Darnford to my Pamela's wishes, whose heart is set upon the hope of
her wintering with us in town, you will lay an obligation upon us
both; which will be acknowledged with great gratitude by, dear Sir,
_your affectionate and humble servant_.
LETTER XXIV
_From Sir Simon Darnford in reply._
Hark ye, Mr. B.--A word in your ear:--to be plain: I like neither you
nor your wife well enough to trust my Polly with you.
But here's war declared against my poor gums, it seems. Well, I will
never open my mouth before your lady as long as I live, if I can help
it. I have for these ten years avoided to put on my cravat; and for
what reason, do you think?--Why, because I could not bear to see what
ruins a few years have made in a visage, that used to inspire love and
terror as it pleased. And here your--what-shall-I-call-her of a wife,
with all the insolence of youth and beauty on her side, follows me
with a glass, and would make me look in it, whether I will or not. I'm
a plaguy good-humoured old fellow--if I am an old fellow--or I should
not bear the insults contained in your letter. Between you and your
lady, you make a wretched figure of me, that's certain.--And yet 'tis
_taking my part_.
But what must I do?--I'd be glad at any rate to stand in your
lady's graces, that I would; nor would I be the last rake libertine
unreformed by her example, which I suppose will make virtue the
fashion, if she goes on as she does. But here I have been used to cut
a joke and toss the squib about; and, as far as I know, it has
helped to keep me alive in the midst of pains and aches, and with two
women-grown girls, and the rest of the mortifications that will attend
on _advanced years_; for I won't (hang me if I will) give it up as
absolute _old age!_
But now, it seems, I must leave all this off, or I must be mortified
with a looking glass held before me, and every wrinkle must be made
as conspicuous as a furrow--And what, pray, is to succeed to this
reformation?--I can neither fast nor pray, I doubt.--And besides, if
my stomach and my jest depart from me, farewell, Sir Simon Darnford!
But cannot I pass as one necessary character, do you think: as a foil
(as, by-the-bye, some of your own actions have been to your lady's
virtue) to set off some more edifying example, where variety of
characters make up a feast in conversation?
Well, I believe I might have trusted you with my daughter, under your
lady's eye, rake as you have been yourself; and fame says wrong, if
you have not been, for your time a bolder sinner than ever I was, with
your maxim of touching ladies' hearts, without wounding their ears,
which made surer work with them, that was all; though 'tis to be hoped
you are now reformed; and if you are, the whole country round you,
east, west, north, and south, owe great obligations to your fair
reclaimer. But here is a fine prim young fellow, coming out of
Norfolk, with one estate in one county, another in another, and
jointures and settlements in his hand, and more wit in his head, as
well as more money in his pocket, than he can tell what to do with, to
visit our Polly; though I tell her I much question the former quality,
his wit, if he is for marrying.
Here then is the reason I cannot comply with your kind Mrs. B.'s
request. But if this matter should go off; if he should not like
_her_, or she _him_; or if I should not like _his_ terms, or he
_mine_;--or still another _or_, if he should like Nancy better why,
then perhaps, if Polly be a good girl, I may trust to her virtue, and
to your honour, and let her go for a month or two.
Now, when I have said this, and when I say, further, that I can
forgive your severe lady, and yourself too, (who, however, are less to
be excused in the airs you assume, which looks like one chimney-sweeper
calling another a sooty rascal) I gave a proof of my charity, which
I hope with Mrs. B. will cover a multitude of faults; and the rather,
since, though I cannot be a _follower_ of her virtue in the strictest
sense, I can be an _admirer_ of it; and that is some little merit: and
indeed all that can be at present pleaded by _yourself_, I doubt, any
more than _your humble servant_,
SIMON DARNFORD.
LETTER XXV
MY HONOURED AND DEAR PARENTS,
I hope you will excuse my long silence, which has been owing to
several causes, and having had nothing new to entertain you with: and
yet this last is but a poor excuse to you, who think every trifling
subject agreeable from your daughter.
I daily expect here my Lord and Lady Davers. This gives me no small
pleasure, and yet it is mingled with some uneasiness at times; lest I
should not, when viewed so intimately near, behave myself answerably
to her ladyship's expectations. But I resolve not to endeavour to
move out of the sphere of my own capacity, in order to emulate her
ladyship. She must have advantages, by conversation, as well as
education, which it would be arrogance in me to assume, or to think of
imitating.
All that I will attempt to do, therefore, shall be, to shew such a
respectful obligingness to my lady, as shall be consistent with the
condition to which I am raised; so that she may not have reason to
reproach me of pride in my exaltation, nor her dear brother to rebuke
me for meanness in condescending: and, as to my family arrangement, I
am the less afraid of inspection, because, by the natural bias of
my own mind, I bless God, I am above dark reserves, and have not one
selfish or sordid view, to make me wish to avoid the most scrutinising
eye.
I have begun a correspondence with Miss Darnford, a young lady
of uncommon merit. But yet you know her character from my former
writings. She is very solicitous to hear of all that concerns me, and
particularly how Lady Davers and I agree together. I loved her from
the moment I saw her first; for she has the least pride, and the most
benevolence and solid thought, I ever knew in a young lady, and does
not envy any one. I shall write to her often: and as I shall have so
many avocations besides to fill up my time, I know you will excuse me,
if I procure from this lady the return of my letters to her, for your
perusal, and for the entertainment of your leisure hours. This will
give you, from time to time, the accounts you desire of all that
happens here. But as to what relates to our own particulars, I beg you
will never spare writing, as I shall not answering; for it is one of
my greatest delights, that I have such worthy parents (as I hope in
God, I long shall) to bless me and to correspond with me.
The papers I send herewith will afford you some diversion,
particularly those relating to Sir Simon Darnford; and I must desire,
that when you have perused them (as well as what I shall send for the
future), you will return them to me.
Mr. Longman greatly pleased me, on his last return, in his account of
your health, and the satisfaction you take in your happy lot; and I
must recite to you a brief conversation on this occasion, which, I
dare say, will please you as much as it did me.
After having adjusted some affairs with his dear principal, which took
up two hours, my best beloved sent for me. "My dear," said he, seating
me by him, and making the good old gentleman sit down, (for he will
always rise at my approach) "Mr. Longman and I have settled, in two
hours, some accounts, which would have taken up as many months with
some persons: for never was there an exacter or more methodical
accomptant. He gives me (greatly to my satisfaction, because I know
it will delight you) an account of the Kentish concern, and of the
pleasure your father and mother take in it.--Now, my charmer," said
he, "I see your eyes begin to glisten: O how this subject raises your
whole soul to the windows of it!--Never was so dutiful a daughter, Mr.
Longman; and never did parents better deserve a daughter's duty."
I endeavoured before Mr. Longman to rein in a gratitude, that my
throbbing heart confessed through my handkerchief, as I perceived: but
the good old gentleman could not hinder his from shewing itself at
his worthy eyes, to see how much I was favoured--_oppressed_, I should
say--with the tenderest goodness to me, and kind expressions.--"Excuse
me," said he, wiping his cheeks: "my delight to see such merit so
justly rewarded will not be contained, I think." And so he arose and
walked to the window.
"Well, good Mr. Longman," said I, as he returned towards us, "you give
me the pleasure to know that my father and mother are well; and happy
then they _must_ be, in a goodness and bounty, that I, and many more,
rejoice in."
"Well and happy, Madam;--ay, that they are, indeed! A worthier couple
never lived. Most nobly do they go on in the farm. Your honour is one
of the happiest gentlemen in the world. All the good you do, returns
upon you in a trice. It may well be said _you cast your bread upon the
waters_; for it presently comes to you again, richer and heavier
than when you threw it in. All the Kentish tenants, Madam, are hugely
delighted with their good steward: every thing prospers under his
management: the gentry love both him and my dame; and the poor people
adore them."
Thus ran Mr. Longman on, to my inexpressible delight, you may believe;
and when he withdrew--"'Tis an honest soul," said my dear Mr. B. "I
love him for his respectful love to my angel, and his value for the
worthy pair. Very glad I am, that every thing answers _their_ wishes.
May they long live, and be happy!"
The dear man makes me spring to his arms, whenever be touches this
string: for he speaks always thus kindly of you; and is glad to hear,
he says, that you don't live only to yourselves; and now and then
adds, that he is as much satisfied with your prudence, as he is with
mine; that parents and daughter do credit to one another: and that
the praises he hears of you from every mouth, make him take as great
pleasure in you, as if you were his own relations. How delighting, how
transporting rather, my dear parents, must this goodness be to your
happy daughter! And how could I forbear repeating these kind things to
you, that you may see how well every thing is taken that you do?
When the expected visit from Lord and Lady Davers is over, the
approaching winter will call us to London; and as I shall then be
nearer to you, we may oftener hear from one another, which will be a
great heightening to my pleasures.
But I hear such an account of the immoralities which persons may
observe there, along with the public diversions, that it takes off a
little from the satisfaction I should otherwise have in the thought of
going thither. For, they say, quarrels, and duels, and gallantries, as
they are called, so often happen in London, that those enormities are
heard of without the least wonder or surprise.
This makes me very thoughtful at times. But God, I hope, will preserve
our dearest benefactor, and continue to me his affection, and then
I shall be always happy; especially while your healths and felicity
confirm and crown the delights of _your ever dutiful daughter,_ P.B.
LETTER XXVI
MY DEAREST CHILD,
It may not be improper to mention ourselves, what the nature of
the kindnesses is, which we confer on our poor neighbours, and the
labouring people, lest it should be surmised, by any body, that we
are lavishing away wealth that is not our own. Not that we fear either
your honoured husband or you will suspect so, or that the worthy
Mr. Longman would insinuate as much; for he saw what we did, and was
highly pleased with it, and said he would make such a report of it as
you write he did. What we do is in small things, though the good we
hope from them is not small perhaps: and if a very distressful
case should happen among our poor neighbours, requiring any thing
considerable, and the objects be deserving, we would acquaint you with
it, and leave it to you to do as God should direct you.
My dear child, you are very happy, and if it _can_ be, may you be
happier still! Yet I verily think you cannot be more happy than your
father and mother, except in this one thing, that all our happiness,
under God, proceeds from you; and, as other parents bless their
children with plenty and benefits, you have blessed your parents (or
your honoured husband rather for your sake) with all the good things
this world can afford.
Your papers are the joy of our leisure hours; and you are kind beyond
all expression, in taking care to oblige us with them. We know how
your time is taken up, and ought to be very well contented, if but
now and then you let us hear of your health and welfare. But it is
not enough with such a good daughter, that you have made our lives
_comfortable_, but you will make them _joyful_ too, by communicating
to us, all that befals you: and then you write so piously, and
with such a sense of God's goodness to you, and intermix such good
reflections in your writings, that whether it be our partial love or
not, I cannot tell, but, truly, we think nobody comes up to you: and
you make our hearts and eyes so often overflow, as we read, that we
join hand in hand, and say to each other, in the same breath--"Blessed
be God, and blessed be you, my love,"--"For such a daughter," says the
one--"For such a daughter," says the other--"And she has your own sweet
temper," cry I.--"And she has your own honest heart," cries she: and
so we go on, blessing God, and you, and blessing your spouse, and
ourselves!--Is any happiness like ours, my dear daughter?
We are really so enraptured with your writings, that when our spirits
flag, through the infirmity of years, which hath begun to take hold of
us, we have recourse to some of your papers:--"Come, my dear," cry I,
"what say you to a banquet now?"--She knows what I mean. "With all my
heart," says she. So I read although it be on a Sunday, so good are
your letters; and you must know, I have copies of many, and after a
little while we are as much alive and brisk, as if we had no nagging
at all, and return to the duties of the day with double delight.
Consider then, my dear child, what joy your writings give us: and
yet we are afraid of oppressing you, who have so much to do of other
kinds; and we are heartily glad you have found out a way to save
trouble to yourself, and rejoice us, and oblige so worthy a young
lady as Miss Darnford, all at one time. I never shall forget her dear
goodness, and notice of me at the Hall, kindly pressing my rough hands
with her fine hands, and looking in my face with _so_ much kindness
in her eyes!--What good people, as well as bad, there are in high
stations!--Thank God there are; else our poor child would have had
a sad time of it too often, when she was obliged to _step out of
herself_, as once I heard you phrase it, into company you could not
_live with_.
Well, but what shall I say more? and yet how shall I end?--Only, with
my prayers, that God will continue to you the blessing and comforts
you are in possession of!--And pray now, be not over-thoughtful about
London; for why should you let the dread of future evils lessen your
present joys?--There is no absolute perfection in this life, that's
true; but one would make one's self as easy as one could. 'Tis time
enough to be troubled when troubles come--"_Sufficient unto the day is
the evil thereof_."
Rejoice, then, as you have often said you would, in your present
blessings, and leave the event of things to the Supreme Disposer
of all events. And what have _you_ to do but to rejoice? _You_, who
cannot see a sun rise, but it is to bless you, and to raise up from
their beds numbers to join in the blessing! _You_ who can bless your
high-born friends, and your low-born parents, and obscure relations!
the rich by your example, and the poor by your bounty; and bless
besides so good and so brave a husband;--O my dear child, what, let
me repeat it, have _you_ to do but rejoice?--_For many daughters have
done wisely, but you have excelled them all_.
I will only add, that every thing the 'squire ordered is just upon the
point of being finished. And when the good time comes, that we shall
be again favoured with his presence and yours, what a still greater
joy will this afford to the already overflowing hearts of _your ever
loving father and mother_,
JOHN _and_ ELIZ. ANDREWS.
LETTER XXVII
MY DEAREST MISS DARNFORD,
The interest I take in everything that concerns you, makes me very
importunate to know how you approve the gentleman, whom some of your
best friends and well-wishers have recommended to your favour. I hope
he will deserve your good opinion, and then he must excel most of the
unmarried gentlemen in England.
Your papa, in his humourous manner, mentions his large possessions and
riches; but were he as rich as Croesus, he should not have my consent,
if he has no greater merit; though that is what the generality of
parents look out for first; and indeed an easy fortune is so far from
being to be disregarded, that, when attended with equal merit, I think
it ought to have a _preference_ given to it, supposing affections
disengaged. For 'tis certain, that a man or woman may stand as good a
chance for happiness in marriage with a person of fortune, as with one
who has not that advantage; and notwithstanding I had neither riches
nor descent to boast of, I must be of opinion with those who say, that
they never knew any body despise either, that had them. But to permit
riches to be the _principal_ inducement, to the neglect of superior
merit, that is the fault which many a one smarts for, whether the
choice be their own, or imposed upon them by those who have a title to
their obedience.
Here is a saucy body, might some who have not Miss Darnford's kind
consideration for her friend, be apt to say, who being thus meanly
descended, nevertheless presumes to give her opinion, in these high
cases, unasked.--But I have this to say; that I think myself so
entirely divested of partiality to my own case, that, as far as my
judgment shall permit, I will never have that in view, when I am
presuming to hint my opinion of general rules. For, most surely, the
honours I have received, and the debasement to which my best friend
had subjected himself, have, for their principal excuse, that the
gentleman was entirely independent, had no questions to ask, and had
a fortune sufficient to make himself, as well as the person he
chose, happy, though she brought him nothing at all; and that he had,
moreover, such a character for good sense, and knowledge of the world,
that nobody could impute to him any other inducement, but that of a
noble resolution to reward a virtue he had so frequently, and, I will
say, so wickedly, tried, and could not subdue.
My dear Miss, let me, as a subject very pleasing to me, touch upon
your kind mention of the worthy Mr. Peters's sentiments to that
part of his conduct to me, which (oppressed by the terrors and
apprehensions to which I was subjected) once I censured; and the
readier, as I had so great an honour for his cloth, that I thought,
to be a clergyman, and all that was compassionate, good, and virtuous,
was the same thing.
But when I came to know Mr. Peters, I had a high opinion of his
worthiness, and as no one can be perfect in this life, thus I thought
to myself: How hard was then my lot, to be the cause of stumbling
to so worthy a heart. To be sure, a gentleman, one who knows, and
practises so well, his duty, in every other instance, and preaches it
so efficaciously to others, must have been _one day_ sensible, that it
would not have mis-become his function and character to have afforded
that protection to oppressed innocence, which was requested of him:
and how would it have grieved his considerate mind, had my ruin been
completed, that he did not!
But as he had once a namesake, as one may say, that failed in a much
greater instance, let not _my_ want of charity exceed _his_ fault;
but let me look upon it as an infirmity, to which the most perfect
are liable; I was a stranger to him; a servant girl carried off by
her master, a young gentleman of violent and lawless passions, who,
in this very instance, shewed how much in earnest he was set upon
effecting all his vile purposes; and whose heart, although _God_ might
touch, it was not probable any lesser influence could. Then he was not
sure, that, though he might assist my escape, I might not afterwards
fall again into the hands of so determined a violator: and that
difficulty would not, with such an one, enhance his resolution to
overcome all obstacles.
Moreover, he might think, that the person, who was moving him to this
worthy measure, possibly sought to gratify a view of his own, and that
while endeavouring to save, to outward appearance, a virtue in danger,
he was, in reality, only helping another to a wife, at the hazard of
exposing himself to the vindictiveness of a violent temper, and a rich
neighbour, who had power as well as will to resent; for such was his
apprehension, entirely groundless as it was, though not improbable, as
it might seem to him.
For all these considerations, I must pity, rather than too rigorously
censure, the worthy gentleman, and I will always respect him. And
thank him a thousand times, my dear, in my name, for his goodness in
condescending to acknowledge, by your hand, his infirmity, as such;
for this gives an excellent proof of the natural worthiness of his
heart; and that it is beneath him to seek to extenuate a fault, when
he thinks he has committed one.
Indeed, my dear friend, I have so much honour for the clergy of all
degrees, that I never forget in my prayers one article, that God will
make them shining lights to the world; since so much depends on their
ministry and examples, as well with respect to our public as private
duties. Nor shall the faults of a few make impression upon me to the
disadvantage of the order; for I am afraid a very censorious temper,
in this respect, is too generally the indication of an uncharitable
and perhaps a profligate heart, levelling characters, in order to
cover some inward pride, or secret enormities, which they are ashamed
to avow, and will not be instructed to amend.
Forgive, my dear, this tedious scribble; I cannot for my life write
short letters to those I love. And let me hope that you will favour
me with an account of your new affair, and how you proceed in it;
and with such of your conversations, as may give me some notion of a
polite courtship. For, alas! your poor friend knows nothing of this.
All her courtship was sometimes a hasty snatch of the hand, a black
and blue gripe of the arm, and--"Whither now?"--"Come to me when I bid
you!" And Saucy-face, and Creature, and such like, on his part--with
fear and trembling on mine; and--"I will, I will!--Good Sir, have
mercy!" At other times a scream, and nobody to hear or mind me; and
with uplift hands, bent knees, and tearful eyes--"For God's sake, pity
your poor servant."
This, my dear Miss Darnford, was the hard treatment that attended my
courtship--pray, then, let me know, how gentlemen court their equals
in degree; how they look when they address you, with their knees bent,
sighing, supplicating, and _all that_, as Sir Simon says, with the
words Slave, Servant, Admirer, continually at their tongue's end.
But after all, it will be found, I believe, that be the language and
behaviour ever so obsequious, it is all designed to end alike--The
English, the plain English, of the politest address, is,--"I am now,
dear Madam, your humble servant: pray be so good as to let me be your
master,"--"Yes, and thank you too," says the lady's heart, though not
her lips, if she likes him. And so they go to church together; and,
in conclusion, it will be happy, if these obsequious courtships end no
worse than my frightful one.
But I am convinced, that with a man of sense, a woman of tolerable
prudence _must_ be happy.
That whenever you marry, it may be to such a man, who then must value
you as you deserve, and make you happy as I now am, notwithstanding
all that's past, wishes and prays _your obliged friend and servant,_
P.B.
[N.B.--Although Miss Darnford could not receive the above letter
so soon, as to answer it before others were sent to her by her fair
correspondent; yet we think it not amiss to dispense with the order of
time, that the reader may have the letter and answer at one view, and
shall on other occasions take the like liberty.]
LETTER XXVIII
_In answer to the preceding_
MY DEAR MRS. B.,
You charm us all with your letters. Mr. Peters says, he will never go
to bed, nor rise, but he will pray for you, and desires I will return
his thankful acknowledgment for your favourable opinion of him, and
kind allowances. If there be an angel on earth, he says, you are
one. My papa, although he has seen your stinging reflection upon his
refusal to protect you, is delighted with you too; and says, when you
come down to Lincolnshire again, he will be _undertaken_ by you
in good earnest: for he thinks it was wrong in him to deny you his
protection.
We all smiled at the description of your own uncommon courtship. And,
as they say the days of courtship are the happiest part of life, if we
had not known that your days of marriage are happier by far than any
other body's courtship, we must needs have pitied. But as the one
were days of trial and temptation, the others are days of reward and
happiness: may the last always continue to be so, and you'll have no
occasion to think any body happier than Mrs. B.!
I thank you heartily for your good wishes as to the man of sense.
Mr. Murray has been here, and continues his visits. He is a lively
gentleman, well enough in his person, has a tolerable character, yet
loves company, and will take his bottle freely; my papa likes him
ne'er the worse for that: he talks a good deal; dresses gay, and even
richly, and seems to like his own person very well--no great pleasure
this for a lady to look forward to; yet he falls far short of that
genteel ease and graceful behaviour, which distinguish your Mr. B.
from any body I know.
I wish Mr. Murray would apply to my sister. She is an ill-natured
girl; but would make a good wife, I hope; and fancy she'd like him
well enough. I can't say I do. He laughs too much; has something
boisterous in his conversation: his complaisance is not pretty; he is,
however, well versed in country sports; and my papa loves him for that
too, and says--"He is a most accomplished gentleman."--"Yes Sir," cry
I, "as gentlemen go."--"You _must_ be saucy," says Sir Simon, "because
the man offers himself to your acceptance. A few years hence, perhaps,
if you remain single, you'll alter your note, Polly, and be willing to
jump at a much less worthy tender."
I could not help answering that, although I paid due honour to all my
papa was pleased to say, I could not but hope he would be mistaken in
this. But I have broken my mind to my dear mamma, who tells me, she
will do me all the pleasure she can; but would be loth the youngest
daughter should go _first_, as she calls it. But if I could come
and live with you a little now and then, I did not care who married,
unless such an one offered as I never expect.
I have great hopes the gentleman will be easily persuaded to quit me
for Nancy; for I see he has not delicacy enough to love with any great
distinction. He says, as my mamma tells me by the bye, that I am the
handsomest, and best humoured, and he has found out as he thinks, that
I have some wit, and have ease and freedom (and he tacks innocence
to them) in my address and conversation. 'Tis well for me, _he_ is
of this opinion: for if he thinks justly, which I must question, _any
body_ may think so still much more; for I have been far from taking
pains to engage his good word, having been under more reserve to him,
than ever I was before to any body.
Indeed, I can't help it: for the gentleman is forward without
delicacy; and (pardon me, Sir Simon) my papa has not one bit of it
neither; but is for pushing matters on, with his rough raillery, that
puts me out of countenance, and has already adjusted the sordid part
of the preliminaries, as he tells me.
Yet I hope Nancy's three thousand pound fortune more than I am likely
to have, will give her the wished-for preference with Mr. Murray;
and then, as to a brother-in-law, in prospect, I can put off all
restraint, and return to my usual freedom.
This is all that occurs worthy of notice from us: but from you, we
expect an account of Lady Davers's visit, and of the conversations
that offer among you; and you have so delightful a way of making every
thing momentous, either by your subject or reflections, or both, that
we long for every post-day, in hopes of the pleasure of a letter. And
yours I will always carefully preserve, as so many testimonies of the
honour I receive in this correspondence: which will be always esteemed
as it deserves, by, my dear Mrs. B., _your obliged and faithful_
POLLY DARNFORD.
Mrs. Peters, Mrs. Jones, my papa, mamma, and sister, present their
respects. Mr. Peters I mentioned before. He continues to give a very
good account of poor Jewkes; and is much pleased with her.
LETTER XXIX
MY DEAR MISS DARNFORD,
At your desire, and to oblige your honoured mamma, and your good
neighbours, I will now acquaint you with the arrival of Lady Davers,
and will occasionally write what passes among us, I will not say
worthy of notice; for were I only to do so, I should be more brief,
perhaps, by much, than you seem to expect. But as my time is pretty
much taken up, and I find I shall be obliged to write a bit now, and
a bit then, you must excuse me, if I dispense with some forms, which I
ought to observe, when I write to one I so dearly love; and so I will
give it journal-wise, as it were, and have no regard, when it would
fetter or break in upon my freedom of narration, to inscription or
subscription; but send it as I have opportunity, and if you please to
favour me so far, as to lend it me, after you have read the stuff,
for the perusal of my father and mother, to whom my duty, and promise
require me to give an account of my proceedings, it will save me
transcription, for which I shall have no time; and then you will
excuse blots and blurs, and I will trouble myself no farther for
apologies on that score, but this once for all.
If you think it worth while when they have read it, you shall have it
again.
WEDNESDAY MORNING, SIX O'CLOCK.
For my dear friend permits me to rise an hour sooner than usual, that
I may have time to scribble; for he is always pleased to see me so
employed, or in reading; often saying, when I am at my needle, (as his
sister once wrote) "Your maids can do this, Pamela: but they cannot
write as you can." And yet, as he says, when I choose to follow my
needle, as a diversion from too intense study, (but, alas! I know not
what study is, as may be easily guessed by my hasty writing, putting
down every thing as it comes) I shall then do as I please. But I
promised at setting out, what a good wife I'd endeavour to make: and
every honest body should try to be as good as her word, you know, and
such particulars as I then mentioned, I think I ought to dispense with
as little as possible; especially as I promised no more than what was
my duty to perform, if I had _not_ promised. But what a preamble is
here? Judge by it what impertinences you may expect as I proceed.
Yesterday evening arrived here my Lord and Lady Davers, their nephew,
and the Countess of C., mother of Lady Betty, whom we did not expect,
but took it for the greater favour. It seems her ladyship longed, as
she said, to see _me_; and this was her principal inducement. The two
ladies, and their two women, were in Lord Davers's coach and six, and
my lord and his nephew rode on horseback, attended with a train of
servants.
We had expected them to dinner; but they could not reach time enough;
for the countess being a little incommoded with her journey, the coach
travelled slowly. My lady would not suffer her lord, nor his nephew,
to come hither before her, though on horseback, because she would be
present, she said, when his lordship first saw me, he having quite
forgot _her mother's Pamela_; that was her word.
It rained when they came in; so the coach drove directly to the door,
and Mr. B. received them there; but I was in a little sort of flutter,
which Mr. B. observing, made me sit down in the parlour to compose
myself. "Where's Pamela?" said my lady, as soon as she alighted.
I stept out, lest she should take it amiss: and she took my hand, and
kissed me: "Here, my lady countess," said she, presenting me to her,
"here's the girl; see if I said too much in praise of her person."
The countess saluted me with a visible pleasure in her eye, and said,
"Indeed, Lady Davers, you have not. 'Twould have been strange (excuse
me, Mrs. B., for I know your story), if such a fine flower had not
been transplanted from the field to the garden."
I made no return, but by a low curtsey, to her ladyship's compliment.
Then Lady Davers taking my hand again, presented me to her lord: "See
here, my lord, my mother's Pamela."--"And see here, my lord," said
her generous brother, taking my other hand most kindly, "see here your
brother's Pamela too!"
My lord saluted me: "I do," said he to his lady, and to his brother;
"and I see the first person in her, that has exceeded my expectation,
when every mouth had _prepared_ me to expect a wonder."
Mr. H., whom every one calls Lord Jackey, after his aunt's example,
when she is in good humour with him, and who is a very _young_
gentleman, though about as old as my best friend, came to me next,
and said, "Lovelier and lovelier, by my life!--I never saw your peer,
Madam."
Will you excuse me, my dear, all this seeming vanity, for the sake of
repeating exactly what passed?
"Well, but," said my lady, taking my hand, in her free quality way,
which quite dashed me, and holding it at a distance, and turning me
half round, her eye fixed to my waist, "let me observe you a little,
my sweet-faced girl;--I hope I am right: I hope you will do credit
to my brother, as he has done you credit. Why do you let her lace so
tight, Mr. B.?"
I was unable to look up, as you may believe, Miss: my face, all over
scarlet, was hid in my bosom, and I looked so _silly!_--
"Ay," said my naughty lady, "you may well look down, my good girl: for
works of this nature will not be long hidden.--And, oh! my lady," (to
the countess) "see how like a pretty _thief_ she looks!"
"Dear my lady!" said I: for she still kept looking at me: and her good
brother, seeing my confusion, in pity to me, pressed my blushing face
a moment to his generous breast, and said, "Lady Davers, you should
not be thus hard upon my dear girl, the moment you see her, and before
so many witnesses:--but look up, my best love, take your revenge of my
sister, and tell her, you wish her in the same way."
"It is so then?" said my lady. "I'm glad of it with all my heart. I
will now love you better and better: but I almost doubted it, seeing
her still so slender. But if, my good child, you lace too tight, I'll
never forgive you." And so she gave me a kiss of congratulation, as
she said.
Do you think I did not look very silly? My lord, smiling, and gazing
at me from head to foot; Lord Jackey grinning and laughing, like
an oaf, as I then, in my spite, thought. Indeed the countess said,
encouragingly to me, but severely in persons of birth, "Lady Davers,
you are as much too teazing, as Mrs. B. is too bashful. But you are a
happy man, Mr. B., that your lady's bashfulness is the principal mark
by which we can judge she is not of quality." Lord Jackey, in the
language of some character in a play, cried out, "_A palpable hit, by
Jupiter!_" and laughed egregiously, running about from one to another,
repeating the same words.
We talked only upon common topics till supper-time, and I was all ear,
as I thought it became me to be; for the countess had, by her first
compliment, and by an aspect as noble as intelligent, overawed me,
as I may say, into a respectful silence, to which Lady Davers's
free, though pleasant raillery (which she could not help carrying on
now-and-then) contributed. Besides, Lady Davers's letters had given me
still greater reason to revere her wit and judgment than I had before,
when I reflected on her passionate temper, and such parts of the
conversation I had had with her ladyship in your neighbourhood; which
(however to be admired) fell short of her letters.
When we were to sit down at table, I looked, I suppose, a little
diffidently: for I really then thought of my lady's anger at the Hall,
when she would not have permitted me to sit at table with her; and Mr.
B. saying, "Take your place, my dear; you keep our friends standing;"
I sat down in my usual seat. And my lady said, "None of your
reproaching eye, Pamela; I know what you hint at by it; and every
letter I have received from you has made me censure myself for my
_lady-airs_, as you call 'em, you sauce-box you: I told you, I'd
_lady-airs_ you when I saw you; and you shall have it all in good
time."
"I am sure," said I, "I shall have nothing from your ladyship, but
what will be very agreeable: but, indeed, I never meant any thing
particular by that, or any other word that I wrote; nor could I think
of any thing but what was highly respectful to your ladyship."
Lord Davers was pleased to say, that it was impossible I should either
write or speak any thing that could be taken amiss.
Lady Davers, after supper, and the servants were withdrawn, began
a discourse on titles, and said, "Brother, I think you should hold
yourself obliged to my Lord Davers; for he has spoken to Lord S. who
made him a visit a few days ago, to procure you a baronet's
patent. Your estate, and the figure you make in the world, are so
considerable, and your family besides is so ancient, that, methinks,
you should wish for some distinction of that sort."
"Yes, brother," said my lord, "I did mention it to Lord S. and told
him, withal, that it was without your knowledge or desire that I spoke
about it; and I was not very sure you would accept of it; but 'tis a
thing your sister has wished for a good while."
"What answer did my Lord S. make to it?" said Mr. B.
"He said, 'We,' meaning the ministers, I suppose, 'should be glad to
oblige a man of Mr. B.'s figure in the world; but you mention it so
slightly, that you can hardly expect courtiers will tender it to any
gentleman that is so indifferent about it; for, Lord Davers, we seldom
grant honours without a view: I tell you that,' added he, smiling."
"My Lord S. might mention this as a jest," returned Mr. B., "but he
spoke the truth. But your lordship said well, that I was indifferent
about it. 'Tis true, 'tis an hereditary title; but the rich citizens,
who used to be satisfied with the title of Knight, (till they made it
so common, that it is brought into as great contempt almost as that
of the French knights of St. Michael,[1] and nobody cares to accept
of it) now are ambitious of this; and, as I apprehend, it is hastening
apace into like disrepute. Besides, 'tis a novel honour, and what the
ancestors of our family, who lived at its institution, would never
accept of. But were it a peerage, which has some essential privileges
and splendours annexed to it, to make it desirable to some men, I
would not enter into conditions for it. Titles at best," added he,
"are but shadows; and he that has the substance should be above
valuing them; for who that has the whole bird, would pride himself
upon a single feather?"
"But," said my lady, "although I acknowledge that the institution is
of late date, yet, as abroad, as well as at home, it is regarded as
a title of dignity, and the best families among the gentry
are supposed to be distinguished by it, I should wish you to
accept of it. And as to citizens who have it, they are not many; and
some of this class of people, or their immediate descendants, have
bought themselves into the peerage itself of the one kingdom or the
other."
[Footnote 1: This order was become so scandalously common in France,
that, to order to suppress it, the hangman was vested with the ensigns
of it, which effectually abolished it.]
"As to what it is looked upon abroad," said Mr. B., "this is of no
weight at all; for when an Englishman travels, be he of what degree
he will, if he has an equipage, and squanders his money away, he is a
lord of course with foreigners: and therefore Sir Such-a-one is rather
a diminution to him, as it gives him a lower title than his vanity
would perhaps make him aspire to be thought in the possession
of. Then, as to citizens, in a trading nation like this, I am not
displeased in the main, with seeing the overgrown ones creeping into
nominal honours; and we have so many of our first titled families, who
have allied themselves to trade, (whose inducements were money only)
that it ceases to be either a wonder as to the fact, or a disgrace as
to the honour."
"Well, brother," said my lady, "I will tell you farther, the thing may
be had for asking for; if you will but go to court, and desire to kiss
the king's hand, that will be all the trouble you'll have: and pray
now oblige me in it."
"If a title would make me either a better or a wiser man," replied Mr.
B., "I would embrace it with pleasure. Besides, I am not so satisfied
with some of the measures now pursuing, as to owe any obligation
to the ministers. Accepting of a small title from them, is but like
putting on their badge, or listing under their banners; like a certain
lord we all know, who accepted of one degree more of title to shew he
was theirs, and would not have an higher, lest it should be thought a
satisfaction tantamount to half the pension he demanded: and could I
be easy to have it supposed, that I was an ungrateful man for voting
as I pleased, because they gave me the title of a baronet?"
The countess said, the world always thought Mr. B. to be a man of
steady principles, and not attached to any party; but, in her opinion,
it was far from being inconsistent with any gentleman's honour and
independency, to accept of a title from a prince he acknowledged as
his sovereign.
"'Tis very true. Madam, that I am attached to no party, nor ever will.
I will be a _country gentleman_, in the true sense of the word, and
will accept of no favour that shall make any one think I would _not_
be of the opposition when I think it a necessary one; as, on the other
hand, I should scorn to make myself a round to any man's ladder of
preferment, or a caballer for the sake of my own."
"You say well, brother," returned Lady Davers; "but you may
undoubtedly keep your own principles and independency, and yet pay
your duty to the king, and accept of this title; for your family and
fortune will be a greater ornament to the title, than the title to
you."
"Then what occasion have I for it, if that be the case, Madam?"
"Why, I can't say, but I should be glad you had it, for your family's
sake, as it is an hereditary honour. Then it would mend the style of
your spouse here; for the good girl is at such a loss for an epithet
when she writes, that I see the constraint she lies under. It is,
'_My dear gentleman, my best friend, my benefactor, my dear Mr. B._'
whereas Sir William would turn off her periods more roundly, and no
other softer epithets would be wanting."
"To me," replied he, "who always desire to be distinguished as my
Pamela's best friend, and think it an honour to be called _her dear
Mr. B. and her dear man_, this reason weighs very little, unless there
were no other Sir William in the kingdom than _her_ Sir William: for
I am very emulous of her favour, I can tell you, and think it no small
distinction."
I blushed at this too great honour, before such company, and was
afraid my lady would be a little picqued at it. But after a pause,
she said, "Well, then, brother, will you let Pamela decide upon this
point?"
"Rightly put," said the countess. "Pray let Mrs. B. choose for you,
Sir. My lady has hit the thing."
"Very good, by my soul," says Lord Jackey; "let my _young aunt_," that
was his word, "choose for you, Sir."
"Well, then, Pamela," said Mr. B., "give us your opinion, as to this
point."
"But, first," said Lady Davers, "say you will be determined by it; or
else she will be laid under a difficulty."
"Well, then," replied he, "be it so--I will be determined by your
opinion, my dear; give it me freely."
Lord Jackey rubbed his hands together, "Charming, charming, as I hope
to live! By Jove, this is just as I wished!"
"Well, now, Pamela," said my lady, "speak your true heart without
disguise: I charge you do."
"Why then, gentlemen and ladies," said I, "if I must be so bold as to
speak on a subject, upon which on several accounts, it would become me
to be silent, I should be _against_ the title; but perhaps my reason
is of too private a nature to weigh any thing: and if so, it would not
become me to have any choice at all."
They all called upon me for my reason; and I said, looking down
a little abashed, "It is this: Here my dear Mr. B. has disparaged
himself by distinguishing, as he has done, such a low creature as I;
and the world will be apt to say, he is seeking to repair _one
way_ the honour he has lost _another!_ and then perhaps, it will be
attributed to my pride and ambition: 'Here, they will perhaps say,
'the proud cottager will needs be a lady in hopes to conceal her
descent;' whereas, had I such a vain thought, it would be but making
it the more remembered against both Mr. B. and myself. And indeed, as
to my own part, I take too much pride in having been lifted up into
this distinction for the causes to which I owe it, your brother's
_bounty_ and _generosity_, than to be ashamed of what I _was_: only
now-and-then I am concerned for his own sake, lest he should be too
much censured. But this would not be prevented, but rather be promoted
by the title. So I am humbly of opinion against the title."
Mr. B. had hardly patience to hear me out, but came to me and folding
his arms about me, said, "Just as I wished, have you answered, my
beloved Pamela; I was never yet deceived in you; no, not once."
"Madam," said he to the countess, "Lord Davers, Lady Davers, do we
want any titles, think you, to make us happy but what we can confer
upon ourselves?" And he pressed my hand to his lips, as he always
honours me most in company and went to his place highly pleased; while
his fine manner drew tears from my eyes, and made his noble sister's
and the countess's glisten too.
"Well, for my part," said Lady Davers, "thou art a strange girl:
where, as my brother once said, gottest thou all this?" Then
pleasantly humorous, as if she was angry, she changed her tone, "What
signify thy _meek_ words and _humble_ speeches when by thy _actions_,
as well as _sentiments_, thou reflectest upon us all? Pamela," said
she, "have less merit, or take care to conceal it better: I shall
otherwise have no more patience with thee, than thy monarch has just
now shewn."
The countess was pleased to say, "You're a happy couple indeed!"
Such sort of entertainment as this you are to expect from your
correspondent. I cannot do better than I can; and it may appear such
a mixture of self-praise, vanity, and impertinence, that I expect you
will tell me freely, as soon as this comes to your hand, whether it be
tolerable to you. Yet I must write on, for my dear father and mother's
sake, who require it of me, and are prepared to approve of every thing
that comes from me, for no other reason but that: and I think you
ought to leave me to write to them only, as I cannot hope it will be
entertaining to any body else, without expecting as much partiality
and favour from others, as I have from my dear parents. Mean time
I conclude here my first conversation-piece; and am, and will be,
_always yours, &c._ P.B.
LETTER XXX
THURSDAY MORNING, SIX O'CLOCK.
Our breakfast conversation yesterday (at which only Mrs. Worden, my
lady's woman, and my Polly attended) was so whimsically particular,
(though I doubt some of it, at least, will appear too trifling) that
I must acquaint my dear Miss Darnford with it, who is desirous of
knowing all that relates to Lady Davers's conduct towards me.
You must know, then, I have the honour to stand very high in the
graces of Lord Davers, who on every occasion is pleased to call me his
_good Sister_, his _dear Sister_, and sometimes his _charming Sister_,
and he says, he will not be out of my company for an hour together,
while he stays here, if he can help it.
My lady seems to relish this very well in the main, though she cannot
quite so readily, yet, frame her mouth to the sound of the word
_Sister_, as my lord does; of which this that follows is one instance.
His lordship had called me by that tender name twice before, and
saying, "I will drink another dish, I think, my _good Sister_." My
lady said, "Your lordship has got a word by the end, that you seem
mighty fond of: I have taken notice, that you have called Pamela
_Sister, Sister, Sister_, no less than three times in a quarter of an
hour."
My lord looked a little serious: "I shall one day," said he, "be
allowed to choose my own words and phrases, I hope--Your sister, Mr.
B.," added he, "often questions whether I am at age or not, though the
House of Peers made no scruple of admitting me among them some years
ago."
Mr. B. said severely, but with a smiling air, "'Tis well she has
such a gentleman as your lordship for a husband, whose affectionate
indulgence to her makes you overlook all her saucy sallies! I am sure,
when you took her out of our family into your own, we all thought
ourselves, I in particular, bound to pray for you."
I thought this a great trial of my lady's patience: but it was from
Mr. B. And she said, with a half-pleasant, half-serious air, "How now,
Confidence!--None but my brother could have said this, whose violent
spirit was always much more intolerable than mine: but I can tell you,
Mr. B., I was always thought very good-humoured and obliging to every
body, till your impudence came from college, and from your travels;
and then, I own, your provoking ways made me now-and-then a little out
of the way."
"Well, well, sister, we'll have no more of this subject; only let
us see that my Lord Davers wants not his proper authority with you,
although you used to keep _me_ in awe formerly."
"Keep _you_ in awe!--That nobody could ever do yet, boy or man.
But, my lord, I beg your pardon; for this brother will make mischief
betwixt us if he can--I only took notice of the word _Sister_ so often
used, which looked more like affectation than affection."
"Perhaps, Lady Davers," said my lord, gravely, "I have two reasons for
using the word so frequently."
"I'd be glad to hear them," said the dear taunting lady; "for I don't
doubt they're mighty good ones. What are they, my lord?"
"One is, because I love, and am fond of my new relation: the other,
that you are so sparing of the word, that I call her so for us both."
"Your lordship says well," replied Mr. B., smiling: "and Lady Davers
can give two reasons why she does _not_."
"Well," said my lady, "now we are in for't, let us hear _your_ two
reasons likewise; I doubt not they're wise ones too."
"If they are _yours_, Lady Davers, they must be so. One is, That every
condescension (to speak in a proud lady's dialect) comes with as much
difficulty from her, as a favour from the House of Austria to
the petty princes of Germany. The second, Because those of your
sex--(Excuse me, Madam," to the countess) "who have once made
scruples, think it inconsistent with themselves to be over hasty to
alter their own conduct, choosing rather to persist in an error, than
own it to be one."
This proceeded from his impatience to see me in the least slighted
by my lady; and I said to Lord Davers, to soften matters, "Never,
my lord, were brother and sister so loving in earnest, and yet so
satirical upon each other in jest, as my good lady and Mr. B. But your
lordship knows their way."
My lady frowned at her brother, but turned it off with an air: "I
love the mistress of this house," said she, "very well; and am quite
reconciled to her: but methinks there is such a hissing sound in the
word _Sister_, that I cannot abide it. 'Tis a true English word, but
a word I have not been used to, having never had a sis-s-s-ter
before, as you know,"--Speaking the first syllable of the word with an
emphatical hiss.
Mr. B. said, "Observe you not, Lady Davers, that you used a word (to
avoid that) which had twice the hissing in it that _sister_ has? And
that was mis-s-s-tress, with two other hissing words to accompany it,
of this-s-s hous-s-e: but to what childish follies does not pride
make one stoop!--Excuse, Madam" (to the countess), "such poor low
conversation as we are dwindled into."
"O Sir," said her ladyship, "the conversation is very agreeable;--and
I think, Lady Davers, you're fairly caught."
"Well," said my lady, "then help me, good _sister_--there's for
you!--to a little sugar. Will that please you, Sir?"
"I am always pleased," replied her brother, smiling, "when Lady Davers
acts up to her own character, and the good sense she is mistress of."
"Ay, ay, my good brother, like other wise men, takes it for granted
that it is a mark of good sense to approve of whatever _he_ does.--And
so, for this one time, I am a very sensible body with him--And I'll
leave off, while I have his good word. Only one thing I must say to
you, my dear," turning to me, "that though I call you Pamela, as I
please, be assured, I love you as well as if I called you _sister_, as
Lord Davers does, at every word."
"Your ladyship gives me great pleasure," said I, "in this kind
assurance; and I don't doubt but I shall have the honour of being
called by that tender name, if I can be so happy as to deserve it;
and I'll lose no opportunity that shall be afforded me, to show how
sincerely I will endeavour to do so."
She was pleased to rise from her seat: "Give me a kiss, my dear girl;
you deserve every thing: and permit me to say Pamela sometimes, as the
word occurs: for I am not used to speak in print; and I will call you
_sister_ when I think of it, and love you as well as ever sister loved
another."
"These proud and passionate folks," said Mr. B., "how good they can
be, when they reflect a little on what becomes their characters!"
"So, then," rejoined my lady, "I am to have no merit of my own, I see,
do what I will. This is not quite so generous in my brother, as one
might expect."
"Why, you saucy sister--excuse me. Lord Davers--what merit _would_
you assume? Can people merit by doing their duty? And is it so great a
praise, that you think fit to own for a sister so deserving a girl as
this, whom I take pride in calling my wife?"
"Thou art what thou always wert," returned my lady; "and were I in
this my imputed pride to want an excuse, I know not the creature
living, that ought so soon to make one for me, as you."
"I _do_ excuse you," said he, "for _that_ very reason, if you please:
but it little becomes either your pride, or mine, to do any thing that
wants excuse."
"Mighty moral! mighty grave, truly!--Pamela, friend, sister,--there's
for you!--thou art a happy girl to have made such a reformation in
thy honest man's way of _thinking_ as well as _acting_. But now we are
upon this topic, and only friends about us, I am resolved to be even
with thee, brother--Jackey, if you are not for another dish, I wish
you'd withdraw. Polly Barlow, we don't want you. Beck, you may stay."
Mr. H. obeyed; and Polly went out; for you must know, Miss, that my
Lady Davers will have none of the men-fellows, as she calls them, to
attend upon us at tea. And I cannot say but I think her entirely in
the right, for several reasons that might be given.
When they were withdrawn, my lady repeated, "Now we are upon this
topic of reclaiming and reformation, tell me, thou bold wretch; for
you know I have seen all your rogueries in Pamela's papers; tell me,
if ever rake but thyself made such an attempt as thou didst, on this
dear good girl, in presence of a virtuous woman, as Mrs. Jervis was
always noted to be? As to the other vile creature, Jewkes, 'tis less
wonder, although in _that_ thou hadst the impudence of _him_ who set
thee to work: but to make thy attempt before Mrs. Jervis, and in spite
of _her_ struggles and reproaches, was the very stretch of shameless
wickedness."
Mr. B. seemed a little disconcerted, and said, "Surely, Lady Davers,
this is going too far! Look at Pamela's blushing face, and downcast
eye, and wonder at yourself for this question, as much as you do at me
for the action you speak of."
The countess said to me, "My dear Mrs. B., I wonder not at this sweet
confusion on so affecting a question!--but, indeed, since it is
come in so naturally, I must say, Mr. B., that we have all, and
my daughters too, wondered at this, more than at any part of your
attempts; because, Sir, we thought you one of the most civilized men
in England, and that you could not but wish to have saved appearances
at least."
"Though this is to you, my Pamela, the renewal of griefs; yet hold
up your dear face. You may--The triumph was yours--the shame and the
blushes ought to be mine--And I will humour my saucy sister in all she
would have me say."
"Nay," said Lady Davers, "you know the question; I cannot put it
stronger."
"That's very true," replied he: "But would you expect I should give
you a _reason_ for an attempt that appears to you so very shocking?"
"Nay, Sir," said the countess, "don't say _appears_ to Lady Davers;
for (excuse me) it will appear so to every one who hears of it."
"I think my brother is too hardly used," said Lord Davers; "he has
made all the amends he could make:--and _you_, my sister, who were the
person offended, forgive him now, I hope; don't you?"
I could not answer; for I was quite confounded; and made a motion to
withdraw: but Mr. B. said, "Don't go, my dear: though I ought to be
ashamed of an action set before me in so full a glare, in presence of
Lord Davers and the countess; yet I will not have you stir because I
forget how you represented it, and you must tell me."
"Indeed, Sir, I cannot," said I; "pray, my dear ladies--pray, my good
lord--and, dear Sir, don't thus _renew my griefs_, as you were pleased
justly to phrase it."
"I have the representation of that scene in my pocket," said my lady;
"for I was resolved, as I told Lady Betty, to shame the wicked wretch
with it the first opportunity; and I'll read it to you; or rather, you
shall read it yourself, Bold-face, if you can."
So she pulled those leaves out of her pocket, wrapped up carefully in
a paper. "Here,--I believe he who could act thus, must read it; and,
to spare Pamela's confusion, read it to yourself; for we all know how
it was."
"I think," said he, taking the papers, "I can say something to abate
the heinousness of this heavy charge, or else I should not stand thus
at the insolent bar of my sister, answering her interrogatories."
I send you, my dear Miss Darnford, a transcript of the charge. To be
sure, you'll say, he was a very wicked man.
Mr. B. read it to himself, and said, "This is a dark affair, as here
stated; and I can't say, but Pamela, and Mrs. Jervis too, had great
reason to apprehend the worst: but surely readers of it, who were less
parties in the supposed attempt, and not determined at all events to
condemn me, might have made a more favourable construction for me,
than you, Lady Davers, have done in the strong light in which you have
set this heinous matter before us.
"However, since my lady," bowing to the countess, "and Lord Davers
seem to expect me particularly to answer this black charge, I will,
at a proper time, if agreeable, give you a brief history of my
passion for this dear girl; how it commenced and increased, and my own
struggles with it, and this will introduce, with some little advantage
to myself perhaps, what I have to say, as to this supposed attempt:
and at the same time enable you the better to account for some facts
which you have read in my pretty accuser's papers."
This pleased every one, and they begged him to begin _then_; but he
said, it was time we should think of dressing, the morning being far
advanced; and if no company came in, he would, in the afternoon, give
them the particulars they desired to hear.
The three gentlemen rode out, and returned to dress before dinner: my
lady and the countess also took an airing in the chariot. Just as they
returned, compliments came from several of the neighbouring ladies to
our noble guests, on their arrival in these parts; and to as many as
sent, Lady Davers desired their companies for to-morrow afternoon, to
tea; but Mr. B. having fallen in with some of the gentlemen likewise,
he told me, we should have most of our visiting neighbours at dinner,
and desired Mrs. Jervis might prepare accordingly for them.
After dinner Mr. H. took a ride out, attended by Mr. Colbrand, of whom
he is very fond, ever since he frightened Lady Davers's footmen at
the Hall, threatening to chine them, if they offered to stop his lady:
for, he says, he loves a man of courage: very probably knowing his
own defects that way, for my lady often calls him a chicken-hearted
fellow. And then Lord and Lady Davers, and the countess, revived the
subject of the morning; and Mr. B. was pleased to begin in the manner
I shall mention by-and-bye. For here I am obliged to break off.
Now, my dear Miss Darnford, I will proceed.
"I began," said Mr. B., "very early to take notice of this lovely
girl, even when she was hardly thirteen years old; for her charms
increased every day, not only in my eye, but in the eyes of all who
beheld her. My mother, as _you_ (Lady Davers) know, took the greatest
delight in her, always calling her, her Pamela, her good child: and
her waiting-maid and her cabinet of rarities were her boasts, and
equally shewn to every visitor: for besides the beauty of her figure,
and the genteel air of her person, the dear girl had a surprising
memory, a solidity of judgment above her years, and a docility so
unequalled, that she took all parts of learning which her lady, as
fond of instructing her as she of improving by instruction, crowded
upon her; insomuch that she had masters to teach her to dance, sing,
and play on the spinnet, whom she every day surprised by the readiness
wherewith she took every thing.
"I remember once, my mother praising her girl before me, and my aunt
B. (who is since dead), I could not but notice her fondness for her,
and said, 'What do you design, Madam, to do _with_ or _for_, this
Pamela of yours? The accomplishments you give her will do her more
hurt than good; for they will set her so much above her degree, that
what you intend as a kindness, may prove her ruin.'
"My aunt joined with me, and spoke in a still stronger manner against
giving her such an education: and added, as I well remember, 'Surely,
sister, you do wrong. One would think, if one knew not my nephew's
discreet pride, that you design her for something more than your own
waiting-maid.'
"'Ah! sister,' said the old lady, 'there is no fear of what you hint
at; his family pride, and stately temper, will secure my son: he has
too much of his father in him. And as for Pamela, you know not the
girl. She has always in her thoughts, and in her mouth, too, her
parents' mean condition, and I shall do nothing for _them_, at least
at present, though they are honest folks, and deserve well, because I
will keep the girl humble.'
"'But what can I do with the little baggage?' continued my mother;
'she conquers every thing so fast, and has such a thirst after
knowledge, and the more she knows, I verily think, the humbler she is,
that I cannot help letting go, as my son, when a little boy, used to
do to his kite, as fast as she pulls; and to what height she'll soar,
I can't tell.
"'I intended,' proceeded the good lady, 'at first, only to make
her mistress of some fine needle-work, to qualify her (as she has a
delicacy in her person, that makes it a pity ever to put her to hard
work) for a genteel place; but she masters that so fast, that now as
my daughter is married and gone from me, I am desirous to qualify her
to divert and entertain me in my thoughtful hours: and were _you_,
sister, to know what she is capable of, and how diverting her innocent
prattle is to me, and her natural simplicity, which I encourage her
to preserve amidst all she learns, you would not, nor my son neither,
wonder at the pleasure I take in her. Shall I call her in?'
"'I don't want,' said I, 'to have the girl called in: if you, Madam,
are diverted with her, that's enough. To be sure, Pamela is a better
companion for a lady, than a monkey or a harlequin: but I fear you'll
set her above herself, and make her vain and pert; and that, at last,
in order to support her pride, she may fall into temptations which may
be fatal to herself, and others too.'
"'I'm glad to hear this from my _son_,' replied the good lady. 'But
the moment I see my favour puffs her up, I shall take other measures.'
"'Well,' thought I to myself, 'I only want to conceal my views from
your penetrating eye, my good mother; and I shall one day take as much
delight in your girl, and her accomplishments, as you now do; so go
on, and improve her as fast as you will. I'll only now and then talk
against her, to blind you; and doubt not that all you do will qualify
her the better for my purpose. Only,' thought I, 'fly swiftly on, two
or three more tardy years, and I'll nip this bud by the time it begins
to open, and place it in my bosom for a year or two at least: for so
long, if the girl behaves worthy of her education, I doubt not, she'll
be new to me.--Excuse me, ladies;--excuse me, Lord Davers;--if I am
not ingenuous, I had better be silent."
I will not interrupt this affecting narration, by mentioning my own
alternate blushes, confusions, and exclamations, as the naughty man
went on; nor the censures, and many _Out upon you's_ of the attentive
ladies, and _Fie, brother's_, of Lord Davers; nor yet with apologies
for the praises on myself, so frequently intermingled--contenting
myself to give you, as near as I can recollect, the very sentences
of the dear relator. And as to our occasional exclaimings and
observations, you may suppose what they were.
"So," continued Mr. B., "I went on dropping hints against her now and
then; and whenever I met her in the passages about the house, or in
the garden, avoiding to look at, or to speak to her, as she passed me,
curtseying, and putting on a thousand bewitching airs of obligingness
and reverence; while I (who thought the best way to demolish the
influence of such an education, would be not to alarm her fears on
one hand, or to familiarize myself to her on the other, till I came to
strike the blow) looked haughty and reserved, and passed by her with
a stiff nod at most. Or, if I spoke, 'How does your lady this morning,
girl?--I hope she rested well last night:' then, covered with blushes,
and curtseying at every word, as if she thought herself unworthy of
answering my questions, she'd trip away in a kind of confusion, as
soon as she had spoken. And once I heard her say to Mrs. Jervis,
'Dear Sirs, my young master spoke to me, and called me by my name,
saying--How slept your lady last night, Pamela?--Was not that very
good, Mrs. Jervis?'--'Ay,' thought I, 'I am in the right way, I find:
this will do in proper time. Go on, my dear mother, improving as fast
as you will: I'll engage to pull down in three hours, what you'll
be building up in as many years, in spite of all the lessons you can
teach her.'
"'Tis enough for me, that I am establishing in you, ladies, and in
you, my lord, a higher esteem for my Pamela (I am but too sensible I
shall lose a good deal of my own reputation) in the relation I am now
giving you.
"I dressed, grew more confident, and as insolent withal, as if, though
I had not Lady Davers's wit and virtue, I had all her spirit--(excuse
me, Lady Davers;) and having a pretty bold heart, which rather put me
upon courting than avoiding a danger or difficulty, I had but too much
my way with every body; and many a menaced complaint have I _looked
down_, with a haughty air, and a promptitude, like that of Colbrand's
to your footmen at the Hall, to clap my hand to my side; which was of
the greater service to my bold enterprise, as two or three gentlemen
had found I knew how to be in earnest."
"Ha!" said my lady, "thou wast ever an impudent fellow: and many a
vile roguery have I kept from my poor mother.--Yet, to my knowledge,
she thought you no saint."
"Ay, poor lady," continued he, "she used now-and-then to catechize me;
and was _sure_ I was not so good as I ought to be:--'For, son,' she
would cry, 'these late hours, these all night works, and to come home
so _sober_ cannot be right.-I'm not sure, if I were to know all, (and
yet I'm afraid of inquiring after your ways) whether I should not have
reason to wish you were brought home in wine, rather than to come in
so sober, and so late, as you do.'
"Once, I remember, in the summer-time, I came home about six in the
morning, and met the good lady unexpectedly by the garden back-door,
of which I had a key to let myself in at all hours. I started,
and would have avoided her: but she called me to her, and then I
approached her with an air, 'What brings you, Madam, into the garden
at so early an hour?' turning my face from her; for I had a few
scratches on my forehead--with a thorn, or so--which I feared she
would be more inquisitive about than I cared she should.
"'And what makes you,' said she, 'so early here, Billy?--What a
rakish figure dost thou make!--One time or other these courses will
yield you but little comfort, on reflection: would to God thou wast
but happily married!'
"'So, Madam, the old wish!--I'm not so bad as you think me:--I hope I
have not merited so great a punishment.'
"These hints I give, not as matter of glory, but shame: yet I ought to
tell you all the truth, or nothing. 'Meantime,' thought I, (for I used
to have some compunction for my vile practices, when cool reflection,
brought on by satiety, had taken hold of me) 'I wish this sweet girl
was grown to years of susceptibility, that I might reform this wicked
course of life, and not prowl about, disturbing honest folks' peace,
and endangering myself.' And as I had, by a certain very daring and
wicked attempt, in which, however, I did not succeed, set a hornet's
nest about my ears, which I began to apprehend would sting me to
death, having once escaped an ambush by dint of mere good luck;
I thought it better to remove the seat of my warfare into another
kingdom, and to be a little more discreet for the future in my amours.
So I went to France a second time, and passed a year there in the
best of company, and with some improvement both to my morals and
understanding; and had a very few sallies, considering my love of
intrigue, and the ample means I had to prosecute successfully all the
desires of my heart.
"When I returned, several matches were proposed to me, and my good
mother often requested me to make her so happy, as she called it, as
to see me married before she died; but I could not endure the thoughts
of the state: for I never saw a lady whose temper and education I
liked, or with whom I thought I could live tolerably. She used in vain
therefore to plead family reasons to me:--like most young fellows, I
was too much a self-lover, to pay so great a regard to posterity; and,
to say truth, had little solicitude at that time, whether my name were
continued or not, in my own descendants. However, I looked upon
my mother's Pamela with no small pleasure, and I found her so
much improved, as well in person as behaviour, that I had the less
inducement either to renew my intriguing life, or to think of a
married state.
"Yet, as my mother had all her eyes about her, as the phrase is,
I affected great shyness, both before her, and to the girl; for I
doubted not, my very looks would be watched by them both; and what the
one discovered would not be a secret to the other; and laying myself
open too early to a suspicion, I thought, would but ice the girl over,
and make her lady more watchful.
"So I used to go into my mother's apartment, and come out of it,
without taking the least notice of her, but put on stiff airs; and as
she always withdrew when I came in, I never made any pretence to keep
her there.
"Once, indeed, my mother, on my looking after her, when her back was
turned, said, 'My dear son, I don't like your eye following my girl
so intently.--Only I know that sparkling lustre natural to it, or I
should have some fear for my Pamela, as she grows older.'
"'_I_ look after her. Madam!-_My_ eyes sparkle at such a girl as that!
No indeed! She may be your favourite as a waiting-maid; but I see
nothing but clumsy curtseys and awkward airs about her. A little
rustic affectation of innocence, that to such as cannot see into her,
may pass well enough.'
"'Nay, my dear,' replied my mother, 'don't say that, of all things.
She has no affectation, I am sure.'
"'Yes, she has, in my eye, Madam, and I'll tell you how it is; you
have taught her to assume the airs of a gentlewoman, to dance, and
to enter a room with a grace; and yet bid her keep her low birth and
family in view: and between the one character, which she wants to get
into, and the other she dares not get out of, she trips up and down
mincingly, and knows not how to set her feet: so 'tis the same in
every gesture: her arms she knows not whether to swim with, or to
hold before her, nor whether to hold her head up or down; and so
does neither, but hangs it on one side: a little awkward piece of
one-and-t'other I think her. And, indeed, you'd do the girl more
kindness to put her into your dairy, than to keep her about your
person; for she'll be utterly spoiled, I doubt, for any useful
purpose.'
"'Ah, son!' said she, 'I fear, by your description, you have minded
her too much in one sense, though not enough in another. 'Tis not my
intention to recommend her to your notice, of all men; and I doubt
not, if it please God I live, and she continues a good girl, but she
will make a man of some middling, genteel business, very happy.'
"Pamela came in just then, with an air so natural, so humble, and yet
so much above herself, that I was forced to turn my head from her,
lest my mother should watch my eye again, and I be inclined to do her
that justice, which my heart assented to, but which my lips had just
before denied her.
"All my difficulty, in apprehension, was my good mother; the effect
of whose lessons to her girl, I was not so much afraid of as her
vigilance. 'For,' thought I, 'I see by the delicacy of her person, the
brilliancy of her eye, and the sweet apprehensiveness that plays
about every feature of her face, she must have tinder enough in her
constitution, to catch a well-struck spark; and I'll warrant I shall
know how to set her in a blaze, in a few months more.'
"Yet I wanted, as I passed, to catch her attention too: I expected her
to turn after me, and look so as to shew a liking towards me; for I
had a great opinion of my person and air, which had been fortunately
distinguished by the ladies, whom, of course, my vanity made me allow
to be very good judges of these outward advantages.
"But to my great disappointment, Pamela never, by any favourable
glance, gave the least encouragement to my vanity. 'Well,' thought I,
'this girl has certainly nothing ethereal in her mould: all unanimated
clay!--But the dancing and singing airs my mother is teaching her,
will better qualify her in time, and another year will ripen her into
my arms, no doubt of it. Let me only go on thus, and make her _fear_
me: that will enhance in her mind every favour I shall afterwards
vouchsafe to shew her: and never question old _humdrum_ Virtue,'
thought I, 'but the tempter _without_, and the tempter _within_, will
be too many for the perversest nicety that ever the sex boasted.'
"Yet, though I could not once attract her eye towards me, she never
failed to draw mine after her, whenever she went by me, or wherever I
saw her, except, as I said, in my mother's presence; and particularly
when she had passed me, and could not see me look at her, without
turning her head, as I expected so often from her in vain.
"You will wonder, Lord Davers, who, I suppose, was once in love, or
you'd never have married such an hostile spirit as my sister's there-"
"Go on, sauce--box," said she, "I won't interrupt you."
"You will wonder how I could behave so coolly as to escape all
discovery so long from a lady so watchful as my mother, and from the
apprehensiveness of the girl.
"But, to say nothing of her tender years, and that my love was not of
this bashful sort, I was not absolutely determined, so great was my
pride, that I ought to think her worthy of being my _mistress_, when
I had not much reason, as I thought, to despair of prevailing upon
persons of higher birth (were I disposed to try) to live with me upon
my own terms. My pride, therefore, kept my passion at bay, as I may
say: so far was I from imagining I should ever be brought to what has
since happened! But to proceed:
"Hitherto my mind was taken up with the beauties of her person only.
My EYE had drawn my HEART after it, without giving myself any trouble
about that sense and judgment which my mother was always praising in
her Pamela, as exceeding her years and opportunities: but an occasion
happened, which, though slight in itself, took the HEAD into the
party, and I thought of her, young as she was, with a distinction,
that before I had not for her. It was this:
"Being with my mother in her closet, who was talking to me on the old
subject, _matrimony_, I saw Pamela's commonplace book, as I may call
it; in which, by her lady's direction, from time to time, she had
transcribed from the Bible, and other good books, such passages
as most impressed her as she read--A method, I take it, my dear"
(_turning to me_), "of great service to you, as it initiated you into
writing with that freedom and ease, which shine in your saucy letters
and journals; and to which my present fetters are not a little owing:
just as pedlars catch monkeys in the baboon kingdoms, provoking the
attentive fools, by their own example, to put on shoes and stockings,
till the apes of imitation, trying to do the like, entangle their
feet, and so cannot escape upon the boughs of the tree of liberty, on
which before they were wont to hop and skip about, and play a thousand
puggish tricks.
"I observed the girl wrote a pretty hand, and very swift and free;
and affixed her points or stops with so much judgment (her
years considered), that I began to have an high opinion of her
understanding. Some observations likewise upon several of the passages
were so just and solid, that I could not help being tacitly surprised
at them.
"My mother watched my eye, and was silent: I seemed not to observe
that she did; and after a while, laid down the book, shutting it with
great indifference, and talking of another subject.
"Upon this, my mother said, 'Don't you think Pamela writes a pretty
hand, son?'
"'I did not mind it much,' said I, with a careless air. 'This is her
writing, is it?' taking the book, and opening it again, at a place of
Scripture. 'The girl is mighty pious!' said I.
"'I wish _you_ were so, child.'
"'I wish so too, Madam, if it would please _you_.'
"'I wish so, for your _own_ sake, child.'
"'So do I, Madam;' and down I laid the book again very carelessly.
"'Look once more in it,' said she, 'and see if you can't open it upon
some place that may strike you.'
"I opened it at--'_Train up a child in the way it should go_,' &c. 'I
fancy,' said I, 'when I was of Pamela's age, I was pretty near as good
as she.'
"'Never, never,' said my mother; 'I am sure I took great pains with
you; but, alas I to very little purpose. You had always a violent
headstrong will.'
"'Some allowances for boys and girls, I hope, Madam; but you see I am
as good for a man as my sister for a woman.'
"'No indeed, you are not, I do assure you.'
"'I am sorry for that. Madam; you give me a sad opinion of myself.'"
"Brazen wretch!" said my lady; "but go on."
"'Turn to one of the girl's observations on some text,' said my
mother.
"I did; and was pleased with it more than I would own. 'The girl's
well enough,' said I, 'for what she is; but let's see what she'll be a
few years hence. Then will be the trial.'
"'She'll be always good, I doubt not.'
"'So much the better for her. But can't we talk of any other subject?
You complain how seldom I attend you; and when you are always talking
of matrimony, or of this low-born, raw girl, it must needs lessen the
pleasure of approaching you.'
"But now, as I hinted to you, ladies, and my lord, I had a still
higher opinion of Pamela; and esteemed her more worthy of my attempts.
'For,' thought I, 'the girl has good sense, and it will be some
pleasure to watch by what gradations she may be made to rise into
love, and into a higher life, than that to which she was born.' And so
I began to think she would be worthy in time of being my _mistress,_
which, till now, as I said before, I had been a little scrupulous
about.
"I took a little tour soon after this in company of some friends, with
whom I had contracted an intimacy abroad, into Scotland and Ireland,
they having a curiosity to see those countries, and we spent six or
eight months on this expedition; and when I had landed them in France,
I returned home, and found my good mother in a very indifferent state
of health, but her Pamela arrived to a height of beauty and perfection
which exceeded all my expectations. I was so taken with her charms
when I first saw her, which was in the garden, with a book in her
hand, just come out of a little summer-house, that I then thought of
obliging her to go back again, in order to begin a parley with her:
but while I was resolving, she tript away with her curtesies and
reverences, and was out of my sight before I could determine.
"I was resolved, however, not to be long without her; and Mrs. Jewkes
having been recommended to me a little before, by a brother-rake, as
a woman of tried fidelity, I asked her if she would be faithful, if I
had occasion to commit a pretty girl to her care?
"She hoped, she said, it would be with the lady's own consent, and she
should make no scruple in obeying me.
"So I thought I would way-lay the girl, and carry her first to
a little village in Northamptonshire, to an acquaintance of Mrs.
Jewkes's. And when I had brought her to be easy and pacified a little,
I designed that Jewkes should attend her to Lincolnshire: for I knew
there was no coming at her here, under my mother's wing, by her
own consent, and that to offer terms to her, would be to blow up my
project all at once. Besides, I was sensible, that Mrs. Jervis would
stand in the way of my proceedings as well as my mother.
"The method I had contrived was quite easy, as I imagined, and such
as could not have failed to answer my purpose, as to carrying her off;
and I doubted not of making her well satisfied in her good fortune
very quickly; for, having a notion of her affectionate duty to her
parents, I was not displeased that I could make the terms very easy
and happy to them all.
"What most stood in my way, was my mother's fondness for her: but
supposing I had got her favourite in my hands, which appeared to me,
as I said, a task very easy to be conquered, I had actually formed a
letter for her to transcribe, acknowledging a love-affair, and laying
her withdrawing herself so privately, to an implicit obedience to her
husband's commands, to whom she was married that morning, and who,
being a young gentleman of genteel family, and dependent on his
friends, was desirous of keeping it all a profound secret; and
begging, on that account, her lady not to divulge it, so much as to
Mrs. Jervis.
"And to prepare for this, and make her escape the more probable, when
matters were ripe for my plot, I came in one night, and examined all
the servants, and Mrs. Jervis, the latter in my mother's hearing,
about a genteel young man, whom I pretended to find with a pillion on
the horse he rode upon, waiting about the back door of the garden, for
somebody to come to him; and who rode off, when I came up to the door,
as fast as he could. Nobody knew any thing of the matter, and they
were much surprised at what I told them: but I begged Pamela might be
watched, and that no one would say any thing to her about it.
"My mother said, she had two reasons not to speak of it to Pamela:
one to oblige me: the other and chief, because it would break the poor
innocent girl's heart, to be suspected. 'Poor dear child!' said
she, 'whither can she go, to be so happy as with me? Would it not be
inevitable ruin to her to leave me? There is nobody comes after her:
she receives no letters, but now-and-then one from her father and
mother, and those she shews me.'
"'Well,' replied I, 'I hope she can have no design; 'twould be strange
if she had formed any to leave so good a mistress; but you can't
be _sure_ all the letters she receives are from her father; and her
shewing to you those he writes, looks like a cloak to others she may
receive from another hand. But it can be no harm to have an eye upon
her. You don't know, Madam, what tricks there are in the world.'
"'Not I, indeed; but only this I know, that the girl shall be under no
restraint, if she is resolved to leave me, well as I love her.'
"Mrs. Jervis said, she would have an eye upon Pamela, in obedience to
my command, but she was sure there was no need; nor would she so much
wound the poor child's peace, as to mention the matter to her.
"This I suffered to blow off, and seemed to my mother to have so good
an opinion of her Pamela, that I was sorry, as I told her, I had such
a surmise: saying, that though the fellow and the pillion were odd
circumstances, yet I dared to say, there was nothing in it: for I
doubted not, the girl's duty and gratitude would hinder her from doing
a foolish or rash thing.
"This my mother heard with pleasure: although my motive was but to lay
Pamela on the thicker to her, when she was to be told she had escaped.
"She was _glad_ I was not an enemy to the poor child. 'Pamela has
no friend but me,' continued she; 'and if I don't provide for her, I
shall have done her more harm than good (as you and your aunt B. have
often said,) in the accomplishments I have given her: and yet the poor
girl, I see that,' added she, 'would not be backward to turn her hand
to any thing for the sake of an honest livelihood, were she put to it;
which, if it please God to spare me, and she continues good, she never
shall be.'
"I wonder not, Pamela, at your tears on this occasion. Your lady was
an excellent woman, and deserved this tribute to her memory. All my
pleasure now is, that she knew not half my wicked pranks, and that I
did not vex her worthy heart in the prosecution of this scheme;
which would have given me a severe sting, inasmuch as I might have
apprehended, with too much reason, that I had shortened her days by
the knowledge of the one and the other.
"I had thus every thing ready for the execution of my project: but my
mother's ill state of health gave me too much concern, to permit me to
proceed. And, now-and-then, as my frequent attendance in her illness
gave me an opportunity of observing more and more of the girl; her
affectionate duty, and continual tears (finding her often on her
knees, praying for her mistress,) I was moved to pity her; and while
those scenes of my mother's illness and decline were before me, I
would resolve to conquer, if possible, my guilty passion, as those
scenes taught me, while their impressions held, justly to call it; and
I was much concerned to find it so difficult a task; for, till now,
I thought it principally owing to my usual enterprising temper, and a
love of intrigue; and that I had nothing to do but to resolve against
it, and to subdue it.
"But I was greatly mistaken: for I had insensibly brought myself
to admire her in every thing she said or did; and there was so much
gracefulness, humility, and innocence in her whole behaviour, and I
saw so many melting scenes between her lady and her, that I found I
could not master my esteem for her.
"My mother's illness increasing beyond hopes of recovery, and having
settled all her greater affairs, she talked to me of her servants; I
asked what she would have done for Pamela and Mrs. Jervis.
"'Make Mrs. Jervis, my dear son, as happy as you can: she is a
gentlewoman born, you know; let her always be treated as such; but
for your own sake, don't make her independent; for then you'll want a
faithful manager. Yet if you marry, and your lady should not value her
as she deserves, allow her a competency for the rest of her life, and
let her live as she pleases.
"'As for Pamela, I hope you will be her protector!--She is a good
girl: I love her next to you and your dear sister. She is just
arriving at a trying time of life. I don't know what to say for her.
What I had designed was, that if any man of a genteel calling should
offer, I would give her a little pretty portion, had God spared my
life till then. But were she made independent, some idle fellow might
snap her up; for she is very pretty: or if she should carry what you
give her to her poor parents, as her duty would lead her to do, they
are so unhappily involved, that a little matter would be nothing to
them, and the poor girl might be to seek again. Perhaps Lady Davers
will take her. But I wish she was not so pretty! She may be the bird
for which some wicked fowler will spread his snares; or, it may be,
every lady will not choose to have such a waiting-maid. You are a
young gentleman, and I am sorry to say, not better than I wish you to
be--Though I hope my Pamela would not be in danger from her master,
who owes all his servants protection, as much as the king does to his
subjects. Yet I don't know how to wish her to stay with you, for your
own reputation's sake, my dear son;--for the world will censure as it
lists.--Would to God!' said she, 'the dear girl had the small-pox in
a mortifying manner: she'd be lovely though in the genteelness of her
person and the excellencies of her mind; and more out of danger of
suffering from the transcient beauties of countenance. Yet I think,'
added she, 'she might be safe and happy under Mrs. Jervis's care;
and if you marry, and your lady parts with Mrs. Jervis, let 'em go
together, and live as they like. I think that will be the best for
both. And you have a generous spirit enough: I will not direct you
in the _quantum_. But, my dear son, remember that I am the less
concerned, that I have not done for the poor girl myself, because I
depend upon you: the manner how fitly to provide for her, has made me
defer it till now, that I have so much more important concerns on my
hands; life and strength ebbing so fast, that I am hardly fit for any
thing, or to wish for any thing, but to receive the last releasing
stroke.'"
Here he stopped, being under some concern himself, and we in much
more. At last he resumed the subject.
"You will too naturally think, my lord--and you, my good ladies--that
the mind must be truly diabolical, that could break through the regard
due to the solemn injunctions of a dying parent. They _did_ hold me a
good while indeed; and as fast as I found any emotions of a contrary
nature rise in my breast, I endeavoured for some time to suppress
them, and to think and act as I ought; but the dear bewitching girl
every day rose in her charms upon me: and finding she still continued
the use of her pen and ink, I could not help entertaining a jealousy,
that she was writing to somebody who stood well in her opinion; and my
love for her, and my own spirit of intrigue, made it a sweetheart of
course. And I could not help watching her emotions; and seeing her
once putting a letter she had just folded up, into her bosom, at my
entrance into my mother's dressing-room, I made no doubt of detecting
her, and her correspondent; and so I took the letter from her stays,
she trembling and curtseying with a sweet confusion: and highly
pleased I was to find it contained only innocence and duty to the
deceased mistress, and the loving parents, expressing her joy that,
in the midst of her grief for losing the one, she was not obliged
to return to be a burden to the other; and I gave it her again, with
words of encouragement, and went down much better satisfied than I had
been with her correspondence.
"But when I reflected upon the innocent simplicity of her style, I was
still more in love with her, and formed a stratagem, and succeeded in
it, to come at her other letters, which I sent forward, after I had
read them, all but three or four, which I kept back, when my plot
began to ripen for execution; although the little slut was most
abominably free with my character to her parents.
"You will censure me, no doubt, that my mother's injunctions made not
a more lasting impression. But really I struggled hard with myself
to give them their due force: and the dear girl, as I said, every day
grew lovelier, and more accomplished. Her letters were but so many
links to the chains in which she had bound me; and though once I
had resolved to part with her to Lady Davers, and you, Madam, had
an intention to take her, I could not for my life give her up; and
thinking more honourably then of the state of a mistress than I have
done since, I could not persuade myself (since I intended to do as
handsomely by her as ever man did to a lady in that situation) but
that I should do better for her than my mother had wished me to do,
and so _more_ than answer all her injunctions, as to the providing
for her: and I could not imagine I should meet with a resistance I had
seldom encountered from persons much her superiors as to descent; and
was amazed at it; for it confounded me in all the notions I had of
her sex, which, like a true libertine, I supposed wanted nothing but
_importunity_ and _opportunity_, a bold attempter, and a mind not
ungenerous. Sometimes I admired her for her virtue; at other times,
impetuous in my temper, and unused to control, I could have beat her.
She well, I remember, describes the tumults of my soul, repeating what
once passed between us, in words like, these:--'Take the little
witch from me, Mrs. Jervis.--I can neither bear, nor forbear her--But
stay-you shan't go--Yet be gone!--No, come back again.'--She thought I
was mad, she says in her papers. Indeed I was little less. She says,
I took her arm, and griped it black and blue, to bring her back again;
and then sat down and looked at her as silly as such a poor girl as
she!--Well did she describe the passion I struggled with; and no one
can conceive how much my pride made me despise myself at times for the
little actions my love for her put me upon, and yet to find that love
increasing every day, as her charms and her resistance increased.--I
have caught myself in a raging fit, sometimes vowing I would have her,
and, at others, jealous that, to secure herself from my attempts, she
would throw herself into the arms of some menial or inferior, whom
otherwise she would not have thought of.
"Sometimes I soothed, sometimes threatened her; but never was
such courage, when her virtue seemed in danger, mixed with so
much humility, when her fears gave way to her hopes of a juster
treatment.--Then I would think it impossible (so slight an opinion had
I of woman's virtue) that such a girl as this, cottage-born, who
owed every thing to my family, and had an absolute dependence upon my
pleasure: myself not despicable in person or mind, as I supposed;
she unprejudiced in any man's favour, at an age susceptible of
impressions, and a frame and constitution not ice or snow: 'Surely,'
thought I, 'all this frost must be owing to the want of fire in my
attempts to thaw it: I used to dare more, and succeed better. Shall
such a girl as this awe me by her rigid virtue? No, she shall not.'
"Then I would resolve to be more in earnest. Yet my love was a
traitor, that was more faithful to _her_ than to _me_; it had more
honour in it at bottom than I had designed. Awed by her unaffected
innocence, and a virtue I had never before encountered, so uniform and
immovable, the moment I _saw_ her I was half disarmed; and I courted
her consent to that, which, though I was not likely to obtain, yet it
went against me to think of extorting by violence. Yet marriage was
never in my thoughts: I scorned so much as to promise it.
"To what numberless mean things did not this unmanly passion subject
me!--I used to watch for her letters, though mere prittle-prattle and
chit-chat, received them with delight, though myself was accused in
them, and stigmatized as I deserved.
"I would listen meanly at her chamber-door, try to overhear her little
conversation; in vain attempted to suborn Mrs. Jervis to my purposes,
inconsistently talking of honour, when no one step I took, or action
I attempted, shewed any thing like it: lost my dignity among my
servants; made a party in her favour against me, of every body,
but whom my money corrupted, and that hardly sufficient to keep my
partisans steady to my interest; so greatly did the virtue of the
servants triumph over the vice of the master, when confirmed by such
an example!
"I have been very tedious, ladies and my Lord Davers, in my narration:
but I am come within view of the point for which I now am upon my
trial at your dread tribunal (_bowing to us all_).
"After several endeavours of a smooth and rough nature, in which my
devil constantly failed me, and her good angel prevailed, I had talked
to Mrs. Jervis to seduce the girl (to whom, in hopes of frightening
her, I had given warning, but which she rejected to take, to my great
disappointment) to desire to stay; and suspecting Mrs. Jervis played
me booty, and rather confirmed her in her coyness, and her desire of
leaving me, I was mean enough to conceal myself in the closet in Mrs.
Jervis's room, in order to hear their private conversation; but really
not designing to make any other use of my concealment, than to tease
her a little, if she should say any thing I did not like; which would
give me a pretence to treat her with greater freedoms than I had
ever yet done, and would be an introduction to take off from her
unprecedented apprehensiveness another time.
"But the dear prattler, not knowing I was there, as she undressed
herself, begun such a bewitching chit-chat with Mrs. Jervis, who, I
found, but ill kept my secret, that I never was at such a loss what to
resolve upon. One while I wished myself, unknown to them, out of the
closet, into which my inconsiderate passion had meanly led me; another
time I was incensed at the freedom with which I heard myself treated:
but then, rigidly considering that I had no business to hearken to
their private conversation, and it was such as became _them_, while
I ought to have been ashamed to give occasion for it, I excused them
both, and admired still more and more the dear prattler.
"In this suspense, the undesigned rustling of my night-gown, from
changing my posture, alarming the watchful Pamela, she in a fright
came towards the closet to see who was there. What could I then do,
but bolt out upon the apprehensive charmer; and having so done, and
she running to the bed, screaming to Mrs. Jervis, would not any man
have followed her thither, detected as I was? But yet, I said, if she
forbore her screaming, I would do her no harm; but if not, she should
take the consequence. I found, by their exclamations, that this would
pass with both for an attempt of the worst kind; but really I had no
such intentions as they feared. When I found myself detected; when the
dear frightened girl ran to the bed; when Mrs. Jervis threw herself
about her; when they would not give over their hideous squallings;
when I was charged by Mrs. Jervis with the worst designs; it was
enough to make me go farther than I designed; and could I have
prevailed upon Mrs. Jervis to go up, and quiet the maids, who seemed
to be rising, upon the other screaming, I believe, had Pamela kept out
of her fit, I should have been a little freer with her, than ever I
had been; but, as it was, I had no thought but of making as honourable
a retreat as I could, and to save myself from being exposed to my
whole family: and I was not guilty of any freedoms, that her modesty,
unaffrighted, could reproach herself with having suffered; and the
dear creature's fainting fits gave _me_ almost as great apprehensions
as I could give _her_.
"Thus, ladies--and, my lord--have I tediously, and little enough to
my own reputation, given you my character, and told you more against
myself than any _one_ person could accuse me of. Whatever redounds to
the credit of my Pamela, redounds in part to my own; and so I have the
less regret to accuse myself, since it exalts her. But as to a formed
intention to hide myself in the closet, in order to attempt the girl
by violence, and in the presence of a good woman, as Mrs. Jervis is,
which you impute to me, bad as I was, I was not so vile, so abandoned
as that.
"Love, as I said before, subjects its inconsiderate votaries to
innumerable meannesses, and unlawful passion to many more. I could not
live without this dear girl. I hated the thoughts of matrimony
with any body: and to be brought to the state by my mother's
waiting-maid.--'Forbid it, pride!' thought I; 'forbid it, example!
forbid it, all my past sneers, and constant ridicule, both on the
estate, and on those who descended to inequalities in it! and, lastly,
forbid it my family spirit, so visible in Lady Davers, as well as
in myself, to whose insults, and those of all the world, I shall be
obnoxious, if I take such a step!'
"All this tends to demonstrate the strength of my passion: I could
not conquer my love; so I conquered a pride, which every one thought
unconquerable; and since I could not make an innocent heart vicious,
I had the happiness to follow so good an example; and by this means, a
vicious heart is become virtuous. I have the pleasure of rejoicing in
the change, and hope I shall do so still more and more; for I really
view with contempt my past follies; and it is now a greater wonder to
me how I could act as I did, than that I should detest those actions,
which made me a curse, instead of a benefit to society. I am not yet
so pious as my Pamela; but that is to come; and it is one good sign,
that I can truly say, I delight in every instance of her piety and
virtue: and now I will conclude my tedious narration."
Thus he ended his affecting relation: which in the course of it gave
me a thousand different emotions; and made me often pray for him, that
God will entirely convert a heart so generous and worthy, as his is on
most occasions. And if I can but find him not deviate, when we go
to London, I shall greatly hope that nothing will affect his morals
again.
I have just read over again the foregoing account of himself. As near
as I remember (and my memory is the best faculty I have), it is pretty
exact; only he was fuller of beautiful similitudes, and spoke in a
more flowery style, as I may say. Yet don't you think, Miss (if I
have not done injustice to his spirit), that the beginning of it,
especially, is in the saucy air of a man too much alive to such
notions? For so the ladies observed in his narration.--Is it very
like the style of a true penitent?--But indeed he went on better, and
concluded best of all.
But don't you observe what a dear good lady I had? A thousand
blessings on her beloved memory! Were I to live to see my children's
children, they should be all taught to lisp her praises before they
could speak. _My_ gratitude should always be renewed in _their_
mouths; and God, and my dear father and mother, my lady, and my master
that was, my best friend that is, but principally, as most due, the
FIRST, who inspired all the rest, should have their morning, their
noontide, and their evening praises, as long as I lived!
I will only observe farther, as to this my third conversation-piece,
that my Lord Davers offered to extenuate some parts of his dear
brother-in-law's conduct, which he did not himself vindicate; and Mr.
B. was pleased to say, that my lord was always very candid to him,
and kind in his allowances for the sallies of ungovernable youth. Upon
which my lady said, a little tartly, "Yes, and for a very good reason,
I doubt not; for who cares to condemn himself?"
"Nay," said my lord pleasantly, "don't put us upon a foot, neither:
for what sallies I made before I knew your ladyship, were but like
those of a fox, which now and then runs away with a straggling pullet,
when nobody sees him, whereas those of my brother were like the
invasions of a lion, breaking into every man's fold, and driving the
shepherds, as well as the sheep, before him."--"Ay," said my lady,
"but I can look round me, and have reason, perhaps, to think the
invading lion has come off, little as he deserved it, better than the
creeping fox, who, with all his cunning, sometimes suffers for his
pilfering theft."
O, my dear, these gentlemen are strange creatures!--What can they
think of themselves? for they say, there is not one virtuous man in
five; but I hope, for our sex's sake, as well as for the world's
sake, all is not true that evil fame reports; for you know every
man-trespasser must _find_ or _make_ a woman-trespasser!--And if
so, what a world is this!--And how must the innocent suffer from the
guilty! Yet, how much better is it to suffer one's self, than to be
the cause of another's sufferings? I long to hear of you, and must
shorten my future accounts, or I shall do nothing but write, and tire
_you_ into the bargain, though I cannot my dear father and mother. I
am, my dear Miss, _always yours_, P.B.
LETTER XXXI
_From Miss Darnford to Mrs. B._
DEAR MRS. B.,
Every post you more and more oblige us to admire and love you: and let
me say, I will gladly receive your letters upon your own terms: only
when your worthy parents have perused them, see that I have every line
of them again.
Your account of the arrival of your noble guests, and their behaviour
to you, and yours to them; your conversation, and wise determination,
on the offered title of Baronet; the just applauses conferred upon you
by all, particularly the good countess; your breakfast conversation,
and the narrative of your saucy abominable _master_, though amiable
_husband_; all delight us beyond expression.
Do go on, dear excellent lady, with your charming journals, and let us
know all that passes.
As to the state of matters with us, I have desired my papa to allow
me to decline Mr. Murray's addresses. The good man loved me most
violently, nay, he could not live without me: life was no life, unless
I favoured him: but yet, after a few more of these flights, he is
trying to sit down satisfied without my papa's foolish perverse girl,
as Sir Simon calls me, and to transpose his affections to a worthier
object, my sister Nancy; and it would make you smile to see how, a
little while before he _directly_ applied to her, she screwed up her
mouth to my mamma, and, truly, she'd have none of Polly's leavings;
no, not she!--But no sooner did he declare himself in form, than the
_gaudy wretch_, as he was before with her, became a _well-dressed_
gentleman;--the _chattering magpie_ (for he talks and laughs much),
_quite conversable_, and has something _agreeable_ to say upon _every
subject_. Once he would make a good master of the buck-hounds; but
now, really, the _more_ one is in his company, the _more polite_ one
finds him.
Then, on his part,--he happened to see Miss Polly first; and truly,
he could have thought himself very happy in so agreeable a young lady;
yet there was always something of majesty (what a stately name for
ill nature!) in Miss Nancy, something so awful; that while Miss Polly
engaged the affections at first sight, Miss Nancy struck a man with
reverence; insomuch, that the one might he loved as a woman, but the
other revered as something more: a goddess, no doubt!
I do but think, that when he comes to be lifted up to her celestial
sphere, as her fellow constellation, what a figure Nancy and her
_ursus major_ will make together; and how will they glitter and shine
to the wonder of all beholders!
Then she must make a brighter appearance by far, and a more pleasing
one too: for why? She has three thousand _satellites_, or little
stars, in her train more than poor Polly can pretend to. Won't there
be a fine twinkling and sparkling, think you, when the greater and
lesser bear-stars are joined together?
But excuse me, dear Mrs. B.; this saucy girl has vexed me just now, by
her ill-natured tricks; and I am even with her, having thus vented my
spite, though she knows nothing of the matter.
So, fancy you see Polly Darnford abandoned by her own fault; her papa
angry at her; her mamma pitying her, and calling her silly girl; Mr.
Murray, who is a rough lover, growling over his mistress, as a dog
over a bone he fears to lose; Miss Nancy, putting on her prudish
pleasantry, snarling out a kind word, and breaking through her sullen
gloom, for a smile now and then in return; and I laughing at both in
my sleeve, and thinking I shall soon get leave to attend you in town,
which will be better than twenty humble servants of Mr. Murray's cast:
or, if I can't, that I shall have the pleasure of your correspondence
here, and enjoy, unrivalled, the favour of my dear parents, which this
ill-tempered girl is always envying me.
Forgive all this nonsense. I was willing to write something, though
worse than nothing, to shew how desirous I am to oblige you, had I a
capacity or subject, as you have. But nobody can love you better, or
admire you more, of this you may be assured (however unequal in all
other respects), than _your_ POLLY DARNFORD.
I send you up some of your papers for the good couple in Kent. Pray,
pay my respects to them: and beg they'll let me have 'em again as soon
as they can, by your conveyance.
Our Stamford friends desire their kindest respects; they mention you
with delight in every letter.
LETTER XXXII
_The Journal continued._
THURSDAY, FRIDAY EVENING.
My dear Miss Darnford,
I am returned from a very busy day, having had no less than fourteen
of our neighbours, gentlemen and ladies, to dinner: the occasion,
principally, to welcome our noble guests into these parts; Mr. B.
having, as I mentioned before, turned the intended visit into an
entertainment, after his usual generous manner.--He and Lord Davers
are gone part of the way with them home; and Lord Jackey, mounted with
his favourite Colbrand, as an escort to the countess and Lady Davers,
who are taking an airing in the chariot. They offered to take the
coach, if I would have gone; but being fatigued, I desired to be
excused. So I retired to my closet; and Miss Damford, who is seldom
out of my thoughts, coming into my mind, I had a new recruit of
spirits, which enabled me to resume my pen, and thus I proceed with my
journal.
Our company was, the Earl and Countess of D., who are so fashionable a
married couple, that the earl made it his boast, and his countess bore
it like one accustomed to such treatment, that he had not been in his
lady's company an hour abroad before for seven years. You know his
lordship's character: every body does; and there is not a worse, as
report says, in the peerage.
Sir Thomas Atkyns, a single gentleman, not a little finical and
ceremonious, and a mighty beau, though of the tawdry sort, and
affecting foreign airs; as if he was afraid it would not be judged by
any other mark that he had travelled.
Mr. Arthur and his lady, a moderately happy couple, who seem always,
when together, to behave as if upon a compromise; that is, that each
should take it in turn to say free things of the other; though some
of their freedoms are of so cutting a nature, that it looks as if they
intended to divert the company at their own expense. The lady, being
of a noble family, strives to let every one know that she values
herself not a little upon that advantage; but otherwise has many good
qualities.
Mr. Brooks and his lady. He is a free joker on serious subjects, but
a good-natured man, and says sprightly things with no ill grace: the
lady a little reserved, and haughty, though to-day was freer than
usual; as was observed at table by
Lady Towers, who is a maiden lady of family, noted for her wit and
repartee, and who says many good things, with so little doubt and
really so good a grace, that one cannot help being pleased with her.
This lady is generally gallanted by
Mr. Martin of the Grove, so called, to distinguish him from a rich
citizen of that name, settled in these parts, but being covetous and
proud, is seldom admitted among the gentry in their visits or parties
of pleasure.
Mr. Dormer, one of a very courteous demeanour, a widower, was another,
who always speaks well of his deceased lady, and of all the sex for
her sake. Mr. Chapman and his lady, a well-behaved couple, not ashamed
to be very tender and observing to each other, but without that
censurable fondness which sits so ill upon some married folks in
company.
Then there was the dean, our good minister, whom I name last, because
I would close with one of the worthiest; and his daughter, who came to
supply her mamma's place, who was indisposed; a well-behaved prudent
young lady. And here were our fourteen guests.
The Countess of C., Lord and Lady Davers, Mr. H., my dear Mr. B. and
your humble servant, made up the rest of the company. Thus we had a
capacious and brilliant circle; and all the avenues to the house were
crowded with their equipages.
The subjects of discourse at dinner were various, as you may well
suppose; and the circle was too large to fall upon any regular or very
remarkable topics. A good deal of sprightly wit, however, flew about,
between the Earl of D., Lady Towers, and Mr. Martin, in which that
lord suffered as he deserved; for he was no match for the lady,
especially as the presence of the dean was a very visible restraint
upon him, and Mr. Brooks too: so much awe will the character of a good
clergyman always have upon even forward spirits, where he is known
to have had an inviolable regard to it himself.--Besides, the good
gentleman has, naturally, a genteel and inoffensive vein of raillery,
and so was too hard for them at their own weapons. But after dinner,
and the servants being withdrawn, Mr. Martin singled me out, as he
loves to do, for a subject of encomium, and made some high compliments
to my dear Mr. B. upon his choice; and wished (as he often does), he
could find just such another for himself.
Lady Towers told him it was a thing as unaccountable as it was
unreasonable, that every rake who loved to destroy virtue, should
expect to be rewarded with it: and if his _brother_ B. had come off so
well, she thought no one else ought to expect it.
Lady Davers said, it was a very just observation: and she thought it
a pity there was not a law, that every man who made a harlot of an
honest woman, should be obliged to marry one of another's making.
Mr. B. said, that would be too severe; it would be punishment enough,
if he was to marry his own; and especially if he had not seduced her
under promise of marriage.
"Then you'd have a man be obliged to stand to his promise, I suppose,
Mr. B.?" replied Lady Davers. "Yes, madam."--"But," said she, "the
proof would be difficult perhaps: and the most unguilty heart of our
sex might be least able to make it out.--But what say you, my Lord D.;
will you, and my Lord Davers, join to bring a bill into the House of
Peers, for the purposes I mentioned? I fancy my brother would give it
all the assistance he could in the Lower House."
"Indeed," said Mr. B., "if I may be allowed to speak in the
plural number, _we_ must not pretend to hold an argument on this
subject.--What say you, Mr. H.? Which side are you of?"--"Every
gentleman," replied he, "who is not of the ladies' side, is deemed
a criminal; and I was always of the side that had the power of the
gallows."
"That shews," returned Lady Towers, "that Mr. H. is more afraid of
the _punishment_, than of deserving it."--"'Tis well," said Mr. B.,"
that any consideration deters a man of Mr. H.'s time of life. What may
be _fear_ now, may improve to _virtue_ in time."
"Ay," said Lady Davers, "Jackey is one of his uncle's _foxes_: he'd be
glad to snap up a straggling pullet, if he was not well looked after,
perhaps."--"Pray, my dear," said Lord Davers, "forbear: you ought not
to introduce two different conversations into different companies."
"Well, but," said Lady Arthur, "since you seem to have been so hard
put to it, as _single_ men, what's to be done with the married man who
ruins an innocent body?--What punishment, Lady Towers, shall we find
out for such an one; and what reparation to the injured?" This
was said with a particular view to the earl, on a late scandalous
occasion; as I afterwards found.
"As to the punishment of the gentleman," replied Lady Towers, "where
the law is not provided for it, it must be left, I believe, to his
conscience. It will then one day be heavy enough. But as to the
reparation to the woman, so far as it can be made, it will be
determinable as the unhappy person _may_ or may _not_ know, that her
seducer is a married man: if she knows he is, I think she neither
deserves redress nor pity, though it elevate not _his_ guilt. But if
the case be otherwise, and _she_ had no means of informing herself
that he was married, and he promised to make her his wife, to be
sure, though _she_ cannot be acquitted, _he_ deserves the severest
punishment that can be inflicted.--What say you, Mrs. B.?"
"If I must speak, I think that since custom now exacts so little
regard to virtue from men, and so much from women, and since the
designs of the former upon the latter are so flagrantly avowed and
known, the poor creature, who suffers herself to be seduced, either by
a _single_ or _married_ man, _with_ promises, or _without_, has only
to sequester herself from the world, and devote the rest of her days
to penitence and obscurity. As to the gentleman," added I, "he must,
I doubt, be left to his conscience, as you say, Lady Towers, which he
will one day have enough to do to pacify."
"Every young lady has not your angelic perfection, Madam," said Mr.
Dormer. "And there are cases in which the fair sex deserve compassion,
ours execration. Love may insensibly steal upon a soft heart; when
once admitted, the oaths, vows, and protestations of the favoured
object, who declaims against the deceivers of his sex, confirm her
good opinion of him, till having lull'd asleep her vigilance, in an
unguarded hour he takes advantage of her unsuspecting innocence. Is
not such a poor creature to be pitied? And what punishment does not
such a seducer deserve?"
"You have put, Sir," said I, "a moving case, and in a generous manner.
What, indeed, does not such a deceiver deserve?"--"And the more,"
said Mrs. Chapman, "as the most innocent heart is generally the most
credulous."--"Very true," said my countess; "for such an one as would
do no harm to others, seldom suspects any _from_ others; and her
lot is very unequally cast; admired for that very innocence which
tempts some brutal ravager to ruin it."--"Yet, what is that virtue,"
said the dean, "which cannot stand the test?"
"But," said Lady Towers, very satirically, "whither, ladies, are we
got? We are upon the subject of virtue and honour. Let us talk of
something in which the _gentlemen_ can join with us. This is such
an one, you see, that none but the dean and Mr. Dormer can discourse
upon."--"Let us then," retorted Mr. Martin, "to be even with _one_
lady at least find a subject that will be _new_ to her: and that is
CHARITY."
"Does what I said concern Mr. Martin more than any other gentleman,"
returned Lady Towers, "that he is disposed to take offence at it?"
"You must pardon me, Lady Towers," said Mr. B., "but I think a lady
should never make a motion to wave such subjects as those of virtue
and honour; and less still, in company, where there is so much
occasion, as she seems to think, for enforcing them."
"I desire not to wave the subject, I'll assure you," replied she. "And
if, Sir, you think it may do good, we will continue it for the sakes
of all you gentlemen" (looking round her archly), "who are of opinion
you may be benefited by it."
A health to the king and royal family, brought on public affairs and
politics; and the ladies withdrawing to coffee and tea, I have no more
to say as to this conversation, having repeated all that I remember
was said to any purpose.
SATURDAY MORNING
The countess being a little indisposed. Lady Davers and I took an
airing this morning in the chariot, and had a long discourse together.
Her ladyship was pleased to express great favour and tenderness
towards me; gave me much good advice, as to the care she would have me
take of myself; and told me, that her hopes, as well as her brother's,
all centred in my welfare; and that the way I was in made her love me
better and better.
She was pleased to tell me, how much she approved of the domestic
management; and to say, that she never saw such regularity and method
in any family in her life, where was the like number of servants:
every one, she said, knew their duty, and did it without speaking to,
in such silence, and with so much apparent cheerfulness and delight,
without the least hurry or confusion, that it was her surprise and
admiration: but kindly would have it that I took too much care upon
me. "Yet," said she, "I don't see but you are always fresh and lively,
and never seem tired or fatigued; and are always dressed and easy, so
that no company find you unprepared, or unfit to receive them, come
when they will, whether it be to breakfast or dinner."
I told her ladyship, I owed all this and most of the conduct for
which she was pleased to praise me, to her dear brother, who, at the
beginning of my happiness, gave me several cautions and instructions
for my behaviour; which had been the rule of my conduct ever since,
and I hoped ever would be:--"To say nothing," added I, "which yet
would be very unjust, of the assistance I received from worthy Mrs.
Jervis, who is an excellent manager."
_Good Creature_, _Sweet Pamela_, and _Charming Girl_, were her
common words; and she was pleased to attribute to me a graceful and
unaffected ease, and that I have a natural dignity in my person and
behaviour, which at once command love and reverence; so that, my dear
Miss Darnford, I am in danger of being proud. For you must believe,
that her ladyship's approbation gives me great pleasure; and the more,
as I was afraid, before she came, I should not have come on near
so well in her opinion. As the chariot passed along, she took great
notice of the respects paid me by people of different ranks, and of
the blessings bestowed upon me, by several, as we proceeded; and said,
she should fare well, and be rich in good wishes, for being in my
company.
"The good people who know us, _will_ do so, Madam," said I; "but I had
rather have their silent prayers than their audible ones; and I have
caused some of them to be told so. What I apprehend is, that you will
be more uneasy to-morrow, when at church you'll see a good many people
in the same way. Indeed my story, and your dear brother's tenderness
to me, are so much talked of, that many strangers are brought hither
to see us: 'tis the only thing," continued I (and so it is, Miss),
"that makes me desirous to go to London; for by the time we return,
the novelty, I hope, will cease." Then I mentioned some verses of Mr.
Cowley, which were laid under my cushion in our seat at church, two
Sundays ago, by some unknown hand; and how uneasy they have made me.
I will transcribe them, my dear, and give you the particulars of our
conversation on that occasion. The verses are these:
"Thou robb'st my days of bus'ness and delights,
Of sleep thou robb'st my nights.
Ah! lovely thief! what wilt thou do?
What! rob me of heaven too?
Thou ev'n my prayers dost steal from me,
And I, with wild idolatry,
Begin to GOD, and end them all to thee.
No, to what purpose should I speak?
No, wretched heart, swell till you break.
She cannot love me, if she would,
And, to say truth, 'twere pity that she should.
No, to the grave thy sorrow bear,
As silent as they will be there;
Since that lov'd hand this mortal wound does give,
So handsomely the thing contrive
That she may guiltless of it live;
So perish, that her killing thee
May a chance-medley, and no murder, be."
I had them in my pocket, and read them to my lady; who asked me, if
her brother had seen them? I told her, it was he that found them under
the cushion I used to sit upon; but did not shew them to me till I
came home; and that I was so vexed at them, that I could not go to
church in the afternoon.
"What should you be vexed at, my dear?" said she: "how could you help
it? My brother was not disturbed at them, was he?"--"No, indeed,"
replied I: "he chid _me_ for being so; and was pleased to make me a
fine compliment upon it; that he did not wonder that every body who
saw me loved me. But I said, this was all that wicked wit is good for,
to inspire such boldness in bad hearts, which might otherwise not dare
to set pen to paper to affront any one. But pray, Madam," added I,
"don't own I have told you of them, lest the least shadow of a thought
should arise, that I was prompted by some vile secret vanity, to tell
your ladyship of them, when I am sure, they have vexed me more than
enough. For is it not a sad thing, that the church should be profaned
by such actions, and such thoughts, as ought not to be brought into
it? Then, Madam, to have any wicked man _dare_ to think of one with
impure notions! It gives me the less opinion of myself, that I should
be so much as _thought of_ as the object of any wicked body's wishes.
I have called myself to account upon it, whether any levity in my
looks, my dress, my appearance, could embolden such an offensive
insolence. And I have thought upon this occasion better of Julius
Caesar's delicacy than I did, when I read of it; who, upon an attempt
made on his wife, to which, however, it does not appear she gave the
least encouragement, said to those who pleaded for her against the
divorce he was resolved upon, _that the wife of Caesar ought not to
be suspected_.--Indeed, Madam," continued I, "it would extremely shock
me, but to know that any wicked heart had conceived a design upon me;
upon _me_, give me leave to repeat, whose only glory and merit is,
that I have had the grace to withstand the greatest of trials and
temptations, from a gentleman more worthy to be beloved, both for
person and mind, than any man in England."
"Your observation, my dear, is truly delicate, and such as becomes
your mind and character. And I really think, if any lady in the world
is secure from vile attempts, it must be you; not only from your
story, so well known, and the love you bear to your man, and his merit
to you, but from the prudence, and natural _dignity_, I will say, of
your behaviour, which, though easy and cheerful, is what would strike
dead the hope of any presumptuous libertine the moment he sees you."
"How can I enough," returned I, and kissed her hand, "acknowledge your
ladyship's polite goodness in this compliment? But, my lady, you see
by the very instance I have mentioned, that a liberty is taken, which
I cannot think of without pain."
"I am pleased with your delicacy, my dear, as I said before. You can
never err, whilst thus watchful over your conduct: and I own you have
the more reason for it, as you have married a mere Julius Caesar, an
open-eyed rake" (that was her word), "who would, on the least surmise,
though ever so causeless on your part, have all his passions up
in arms, in fear of liberties being offered like those he has not
scrupled to take."--"O but, Madam," said I, "he has given me great
satisfaction in one point; for you must think I should not love him as
I ought, if I had not a concern for his future happiness, as well
as for his present; and that is, he has assured me, that in all the
liberties he has taken, he never attempted a married lady, but always
abhorred the thought of so great an evil."--"'Tis pity," said her
ladyship, "that a man who could conquer his passions _so far_, could
not subdue them entirely. This shews it was in his own power to do so;
and increases his crime: and what a wretch is he, who scrupling, under
pretence of conscience or honour, to attempt ladies _within_ the pale,
boggles not to ruin a poor creature _without_; although he knows, he
thereby, most probably, for ever deprived her of that protection, by
preventing her marriage, which even among such rakes as himself, is
deemed, he owns, inviolable; and so casts the poor creature headlong
into the jaws of perdition."
"Ah! Madam," replied I, "this was the very inference I made upon the
occasion."--"And what could he say?"--"He said, my inference was just;
but called me _pretty preacher_;--and once having cautioned me not
to be over-serious to him, so as to cast a gloom, as he said, over
our innocent enjoyments, I never dare to urge matters farther, when he
calls me by that name."
"Well," said my lady, "thou'rt an admirable girl! God's goodness was
great to our family, when it gave thee to it. No wonder," continued
she, "as my brother says, every body that sees you, and has heard your
character, loves you. And this is some excuse for the inconsiderate
folly even of this unknown transcriber."--"Ah! Madam," replied I, "but
is it not a sad thing, that people, if they must take upon them to
like one's behaviour in general, should have the _worst_, instead
of the _best_ thoughts upon it? If I were as good as I _ought_ to
be, and as some _think_ me, must they wish to make me bad for that
reason?"
Her ladyship was pleased to kiss me as we sat. "My charming Pamela, my
_more than sister,_."--(Did she say?)--Yes, she did say so! and
made my eyes overflow with joy to hear the sweet epithet. "How your
conversation charms me!--I charge you, when you get to town, let
me have your remarks on the diversions you will be carried to by
my brother. Now I know what to expect from _you_, and you know how
acceptable every thing from you will be _to me_, I promise great
pleasure, as well to myself as to my worthy friends, particularly to
Lady Betty, in your unrestrained free correspondence.--Indeed,
Pamela, I must bring you acquainted with Lady Betty: she is one of the
worthies of our sex, and has a fine understanding.--I'm sure you'll
like her.--But (for the world say it not to my brother, nor let Lady
Betty know I tell you so, if ever you should be acquainted) I had
carried the matter so far by my officious zeal to have my brother
married to so fine a lady, not doubting his joyful approbation, that
it was no small disappointment to _her_, when he married you: and this
is the best excuse I can make for my furious behaviour to you at the
Hall. For though I am naturally very hasty and passionate, yet then
I was almost mad.--Indeed my disappointment had given me so much
indignation both against you and him, that it is well I did not do
some violent thing by you. I believe you did feel the weight of my
hand: but what was that? 'Twas well I did not _kill you dead_."--These
were her ladyship's words--"For how could I think the wild libertine
capable of being engaged by such noble motives, or thee what thou
art!--So this will account to thee a little for my violence then."
"Your ladyship," said I, "all these things considered, had but too
much reason to be angry at your dear brother's proceedings, so well as
you always loved him, so high a concern as you always had to promote
his honour and interest, and so far as you had gone with Lady Betty."
"I tell thee, Pamela, that the old story of Eleanor and Rosamond run
in my head all the way of my journey, and I almost wished for a potion
to force down thy throat: when I found thy lewd paramour absent, (for
little did I think thou wast married to him, though I expected thou
wouldst try to persuade me to believe it) fearing that his intrigue
with thee would effectually frustrate my hopes as to Lady Betty and
him: 'Now,' thought I, 'all happens as I wish!--Now will I confront
this brazen girl!--Now will I try her innocence, as I please, by
offering to take her away with me; if she refuses, take that refusal
for a demonstration of her guilt; and then,' thought I, 'I will make
the creature provoke me, in the presence of my nephew and my woman,'
(and I hoped to have got that woman Jewkes to testify for me too), and
I cannot tell what I might have done, if thou hadst not escaped out of
the window, especially after telling me thou wast as much married as
I was, and hadst shewn me his tender letter to thee, which had a quite
different effect upon me than you expected. But if I had committed
any act of violence, what remorse should I have had on reflection, and
knowing what an excellence I had injured! Thank God thou didst escape
me!" And then her ladyship folded her arms about me, and kissed me.
This was a sad story, you'll say, my dear: and I wonder what her
ladyship's passion would have made her do! Surely she would not have
_killed me dead_! Surely she would not!--Let it not, however, Miss
Darnford--nor you, my dear parents--when you see it--go out of
your own hands, nor be read, for my Lady Davers's sake, to any body
else--No, not to your own mamma. It made me tremble a little, even at
this distance, to think what a sad thing passion is, when way is
given to its ungovernable tumults, and how it deforms and debases the
noblest minds.
We returned from this agreeable airing just in time to dress before
dinner, and then my lady and I went together into the countess's
apartment, where I received abundance of compliments from both. As
this brief conversation will give you some notion of that management
and economy for which they heaped upon me their kind praises, I will
recite to you what passed in it, and hope you will not think me too
vain; and the less, because what I underwent formerly from my lady's
indignation, half entitles me to be proud of her present kindness and
favour.
Lady Davers said, "Your ladyship must excuse us, that we have lost so
much of your company; but here, this sweet girl has so entertained me,
that I could have staid out with her all day; and several times did I
bid the coachman prolong his circuit."--"My good Lady Davers, Madam,"
said I, "has given me inexpressible pleasure, and has been all
condescension and favour, and made me as proud as proud can
be."--"You, my dear Mrs. B.," said she, "may have given great pleasure
to Lady Davers, for it cannot be otherwise--But I have no great notion
of her ladyship's condescension, as you call it--(pardon me, Madam,"
said she to her, smiling) "when she cannot raise her style above the
word _girl_, coming off from a tour you have made so delightful to
her."--"I protest to you, my Lady C.," replied her ladyship, with
great goodness, "that word, which once I used through pride, as you'll
call it, I now use for a very different reason. I begin to doubt,
whether to call her _sister_, is not more honour to myself than to
her; and to this hour am not quite convinc'd. When I am, I will call
her so with pleasure." I was quite overcome with this fine compliment,
but could not answer a word: and the countess said, "I could have
spared you longer, had not the time of day compelled your return; for
I have been very agreeably entertained, as well as you, although but
with the talk of your woman and mine. For here they have been giving
me such an account of Mrs. B.'s economy, and family management, as
has highly delighted me. I never knew the like; and in so young a lady
too.--We shall have strange reformations to make in our families, Lady
Davers, when we go home, were we to follow so good an example.--Why,
my dear Mrs. B.," continued her ladyship, "you out-do all your
neighbours. And indeed I am glad I live so far from you:--for were I
to try to imitate you, it would still be _but_ imitation, and you'd
have the honour of it."--"Yet you hear, and you see by yesterday's
conversation," said Lady Davers, "how much her best neighbours,
of both sexes, admire her: they all yield to her the palm,
unenvying."--"Then, my good ladies," said I, "it is a sign I have most
excellent neighbours, full of generosity, and willing to encourage a
young person in doing right things: so it makes, considering what I
was, more for their honour than my own. For what censures should not
such a one as I deserve, who have not been educated to fill up my time
like ladies of condition, were I not to employ myself as I do? I,
who have so little other merit, and who brought no fortune at
all."--"Come, come, Pamela, none of your self-denying ordinances,"
that was Lady Davers's word; "you must know something of your own
excellence: if you do not, I'll tell it you, because there is no fear
you will be proud or vain upon it. I don't see, then, that there
is the lady in yours, or any neighbourhood, that behaves with more
decorum, or better keeps up the part of a lady, than you do. How you
manage it, I can't tell; but you do as much by a look, and a pleasant
one too, that's the rarity! as I do by high words, and passionate
exclamations: I have often nothing but blunder upon blunder, as if the
wretches were in a confederacy to try my patience."--"Perhaps,"
said I, "the awe they have of your ladyship, because of your high
qualities, makes them commit blunders; for I myself was always more
afraid of appearing before your ladyship, when you have visited
your honoured mother, than of any body else, and have been the more
sensibly awkward through that very awful respect."--"Psha, psha,
Pamela, that is not it: 'tis all in yourself. I used to think my
mamma, and my brother too, had as awkward servants as ever I saw any
where--except Mrs. Jervis--Well enough for a bachelor, indeed!--But,
here!--thou hast not parted with one servant--Hast thou?"--"No,
Madam."--"How!" said the countess; "what excellence is here!--All of
them, pardon me, Mrs. B., your fellow-servants, as one may say, and
all of them so respectful, so watchful of your eye; and you, at the
same time, so gentle to them, so easy, so cheerful."
Don't you think me, my dear, insufferably vain? But 'tis what they
were pleased to say. 'Twas their goodness to me, and shewed how much
they can excel in generous politeness. So I will proceed. "Why
this," continued the countess, "must be _born_ dignity--_born_
discretion--Education cannot give it:--if it could, why should not
_we_ have it?"
The ladies said many more kind things of me then; and after dinner
they mentioned all over again, with additions, before my best friend,
who was kindly delighted with the encomiums given me by two ladies of
such distinguishing judgment in all other cases. They told him, how
much they admired my family management: then they would have it that
my genius was universal, for the employments and accomplishments of
my sex, whether they considered it as employed in penmanship, in
needlework, in paying or receiving visits, in music, and I can't tell
how many other qualifications, which they were pleased to attribute
to me, over and above the family management: saying, that I had
an understanding which comprehended every thing, and an eye that
penetrated into the very bottom of matters in a moment, and never
was at a loss for the _should be_, the _why_ or _wherefore_, and the
_how_--these were their comprehensive words; that I did every
thing with celerity, clearing all as I went, and left nothing, they
observed, to come over again, that could be dispatched at once: by
which means, they said, every hand was clear to undertake a new
work, as well as my own head to direct it; and there was no hurry nor
confusion: but every coming hour was fresh and ready, and unincumbered
(so they said), for its new employment; and to this they attributed
that ease and pleasure with which every thing was performed, and that
I could _do_ and _cause_ to be done, so much business without hurry
either to myself or servants.
Judge how pleasing this was to my best beloved, who found, in their
kind approbation, such a justification of his own conduct as could not
fail of being pleasing to him, especially as Lady Davers was one of
the kind praisers. Lord Davers was so highly delighted, that he rose
once, begging his brother's excuse, to salute me, and stood over
my chair, with a pleasure in his looks that cannot be expressed,
now-and-then lifting up his hands, and his good-natured eye glistening
with joy, which a pier-glass gave me the opportunity of seeing, as
sometimes I stole a bashful glance towards it, not knowing how or
which way to look. Even Mr. H. seemed to be touched very sensibly; and
recollecting his behaviour to me at the Hall, he once cried out,
"What a sad whelp was _I_, to behave as I formerly did, to so much
excellence!--Not, Mr. B., that I was any thing uncivil neither;--but
in unworthy sneers, and nonsense.--You know me well enough.--You
called me, _tinsell'd boy_, though, Madam, don't you remember that?
and said, _twenty or thirty years hence, when I was at age, you'd give
me an answer._ Egad! I shall never forget your looks, nor your words
neither!--they were severe speeches, were they not, Sir?"--"O you see,
Mr. H.," replied my dear Mr. B., "Pamela is not quite perfect. We must
not provoke her; for she'll call us both so, perhaps; for I wear a
laced coat, sometimes, as well as you."
"Nay, I can't be angry," said he. "I deserved it richly, that I
did, had it been worse."--"Thy silly tongue," said my lady, "runs
on without fear or wit. What's past is past."--"Why, Madam, I was
plaguily wrong; and I said nothing of any body but _myself_:--and
have been ready to hang myself since, as often as I have thought of my
nonsense."--"My nephew," said my lord, "must bring in hanging, or
the gallows in every speech he makes, or it will not be he." Mr. B.,
smiling, said, with severity enough in his meaning, as I saw by the
turn of his countenance, "Mr. H. knows that his birth and family
entitle him more to the _block_, than the rope, or he would not make
so free with the latter."--"Good! very good, by Jupiter!" said Mr.
H. laughing. The countess smiled. Lady Davers shook her head at her
brother, and said to her nephew, "Thou'rt a good-natured foolish
fellow, that thou art."--"For what, Madam? Why the word _foolish_,
aunt? What have I said now?"
"Nothing to any purpose, indeed," said she; "when thou dost, I'll
write it down."--"Then, Madam," said he, "have your pen and ink always
about you, when I am present; and put that down to begin with!" This
made every one laugh. "What a happy thing is it," thought I, "that
good nature generally accompanies this character; else, how would some
people be supportable?"
But here I'll break off. 'Tis time, you'll say. But you know to whom
I write, as well as to yourself, and they'll be pleased with all
my silly scribble. So excuse one part for that, and another for
friendship's sake, and then I shall be wholly excusable to you.
Now the trifler again resumes her pen. I am in some pain, Miss, for
to-morrow, because of the rules we observe of late in our family on
Sundays, and of going through a crowd to church; which will afford new
scenes to our noble visitors, either for censure or otherwise: but I
will sooner be censured for doing what I think my duty, than for the
want of it; and so will omit nothing that we have been accustomed to
do.
I hope I shall not be thought ridiculous, or as one who aims at works
of supererogation, for what I think is very short of my duty. Some
order, surely, becomes the heads of families; and besides, it would
be discrediting one's own practice, if one did not appear at one time
what one does at another. For that which is a reason for discontinuing
a practice for some company, would seem to be a reason for laying it
aside for ever, especially in a family visiting and visited as ours.
And I remember well a hint given me by my dearest friend once on
another subject, that it is in every one's power to prescribe rules to
himself, after a while, and persons to see what is one's way, and that
one is not to be put out of it. But my only doubt is, that to ladies,
who have not been accustomed perhaps to the _necessary_ strictness, I
should make myself censurable, as if I aimed at too much perfection:
for, however one's duty is one's duty, and ought not to be dispensed
with; yet, when a person, who uses to be remiss, sees so hard a task
before them, and so many great points to get over, all to be no more
than tolerably regular, it is rather apt to frighten and discourage,
than to allure; and one must proceed, as I have read soldiers do, in
a difficult siege, inch by inch, and be more studious to entrench
and fortify themselves, as they go on gaining upon the enemy, than
by rushing all at once upon an attack of the place, be repulsed, and
perhaps obliged with great loss to abandon a hopeful enterprise. And
permit me to add, that young as I am, I have often observed, that
over-great strictnesses all at once enjoined and insisted upon, are
not fit for a beginning reformation, but for stronger Christians only;
and therefore generally do more harm than good.
But shall I not be too grave, my dear friend?--Excuse me; for this is
Saturday night: and as it was a very good method which the ingenious
authors of the Spectator took, generally to treat their more serious
subjects on this day; so I think one should, when one can, consider it
as the preparative eve to a still better.
SUNDAY.
Now, my dear, by what I have already written, it is become in a manner
necessary to acquaint you briefly with the method my dear Mr. B. not
only permits, but encourages me to take, in the family he leaves to my
care, as to the Sunday _duty_.
The worthy dean, at my request, and my beloved's permission,
recommended to me, as a sort of family chaplain, for Sundays, a young
gentleman of great sobriety and piety, and sound principles, who
having but lately taken orders, has at present no other provision.
And this gentleman comes, and reads prayers to us about seven in the
morning, in the lesser hall, as we call it, a retired apartment, next
the little garden; for we have no chapel with us here, as in your
neighbourhood; and this generally, with some suitable exhortation,
or meditation out of some good book, which he is so kind as to let me
choose now-and-then, when I please, takes up little more than half an
hour. We have a great number of servants of both sexes: and myself,
Mrs. Jervis, and Polly Barlow, are generally in a little closet,
which, when we open the door, is but just a separation from the
hall.--Mr. Adams (for that is our young clergyman's name) has a desk
at which sometimes Mr. Jonathan makes up his running accounts to Mr.
Longman, who is very scrupulous of admitting any body to the use of
his office, because of the writing in his custody, and the order he
values himself upon having every thing in. About seven in the evening
he comes again, and I generally, let me have what company I will,
find time to retire for about another half hour; and my dear Mr. B.
connives at, and excuses my absence, if enquired after; though for so
short a time, I am seldom missed.
To the young gentleman I shall present, every quarter, five guineas,
and Mr. B. presses him to accept of a place at his table at his
pleasure: but, as we have generally much company, his modesty makes
him decline it, especially at those times.--Mr. Longman joins with us
very often in our Sunday office, and Mr. Colbrand seldom misses: and
they tell Mrs. Jervis that they cannot express the pleasure they have
to meet me there; and the edification they receive.
My best beloved dispenses as much as he can with the servants, for the
evening part, if he has company; or will be attended only by John or
Abraham, perhaps by turns; and sometimes looks upon his watch, and
says, "'Tis near seven;" and if he says so, they take it for a hint
that they may be dispensed with for half an hour; and this countenance
which he gives me, has contributed not a little to make the matter
easy and delightful to me, and to every one.--When I part from them,
on the breaking up of our assembly, they generally make a little row
on each side of the hall-door; and when I have made my compliments,
and paid my thanks to Mr. Adams, they whisper, as I go out, "God bless
you, Madam!" and bow and curtsey with such pleasure in their honest
countenances as greatly delights me: and I say, "So my good friends--I
am glad to see you--Not one absent!" or but one--(as it falls
out)--"This is very obliging," I cry: and thus I shew them, that I
take notice, if any body be not there. And back again I go to pay my
duty to my earthly benefactor: and he is pleased to say sometimes,
that I come to him with such a radiance in my countenance, as gives
him double pleasure to behold me; and often tells me, that but for
appearing too fond before company, he could meet me as I enter, with
embraces as pure as my own heart.
I hope in time, I shall prevail upon the dear man to give me his
company.--But, thank God, I am enabled to go thus far already!--I will
leave the rest to his providence. For I have a point very delicate to
touch upon in this particular; and I must take care not to lose the
ground I have gained, by too precipitately pushing at too much at
once. This is my comfort, that next to being uniform _himself_, is
that permission and encouragement he gives _me_ to be so, and his
pleasure in seeing me so delighted--and besides, he always gives me
his company to church. O how happy should I think myself, if he would
be pleased to accompany me to the divine office, which yet he has not
done, though I have urged him as much as I durst.--Mrs. Jervis asked
me on Saturday evening, if I would be concerned to see a larger
congregation in the lesser hall next morning than usual? I answered,
"No, by no means." She said, Mrs. Worden, and Mrs. Lesley (the two
ladies' women), and Mr. Sidney, my Lord Davers's gentleman, and Mr.
H.'s servant, and the coachmen and footmen belonging to our noble
visitors, who are, she says, all great admirers of our family
management and good order, having been told our method, begged to join
in it. I knew I should be a little dashed at so large a company; but
the men being orderly for lords' servants, and Mrs. Jervis assuring me
that they were very earnest in their request, I consented to it.
When, at the usual time, (with my Polly) I went down, I found Mr.
Adams here (to whom I made my first compliments), and every one of our
own people waiting for me, Mr. Colbrand excepted (whom Mr. H. had kept
up late the night before), together with Mrs. Worden and Mrs. Lesley,
and Mr. Sidney, with the servants of our guests, who, as also
worthy Mr. Longman, and Mrs. Jervis, and Mr. Jonathan, paid me their
respects: and I said, "This is early rising, Mrs. Lesley and Mrs.
Worden; you are very kind to countenance us with your companies in
this our family order. Mr. Sidney, I am glad to see you.--How do you
do, Mr. Longman?" and looked round with complacency on the servants of
our noble visitors. And then I led Mrs. Worden and Mrs. Lesley to
my little retiring place, and Mrs. Jervis and my Polly followed; and
throwing the door open, Mr. Adams began some select prayers; and as he
reads with great emphasis and propriety, as if his heart was in
what he read, all the good folks were exceedingly attentive.--After
prayers, Mr. Adams reads a meditation, from a collection made for
private use, which I shall more particularly mention by-and-by; and
ending with the usual benediction, I thanked the worthy gentleman,
and gently chid him in Mr. B.'s name, for his modesty in declining
our table; and thanking Mr. Longman, Mrs. Worden, and Mrs. Lesley,
received their kind wishes, and hastened, blushing through their
praises, to my chamber, where, being alone, I pursued the subject for
an hour, till breakfast was ready, when I attended the ladies, and my
best beloved, who had told them of the verses placed under my cushion
at church.--We set out, my Lord and Lady Davers, and myself, and
Mr. H. in our coach, and Mr. B. and the countess in the chariot; both
ladies and the gentlemen splendidly dressed; but I avoided a glitter
as much as I could, that I might not seem to vie with the two
peeresses.--Mr. B. said, "Why are you not full-dressed, my dear?" I
said, I hoped he would not be displeased; if he was, I would do as
he commanded. He kindly answered, "As you like best, my love. You are
charming in every dress."
The chariot first drawing up to the church door, Mr. B. led the
countess into church. My Lord Davers did me that honour; and Mr. H.
handed his aunt through a crowd of gazers, many of whom, as usual,
were strangers. The neighbouring gentlemen and their ladies paid
us their silent respects; but the thoughts of the wicked verses,
or rather, as Lady Davers will have me say, wicked action of the
transcriber of them, made me keep behind the pew; but my lady sat
down by me, and whisperingly talked between whiles, to me, with great
tenderness and freedom in her aspect; which I could not but take
kindly, because I knew she intended by it, to shew every one she was
pleased with me.
Afterwards she was pleased to add, taking my hand, and Mr. B. and
the countess heard her (for she raised her voice to a more audible
whisper), "I'm proud to be in thy company, and in this solemn place,
I take thy hand, and acknowledge with pride, my _sister_." I looked
down; and indeed, at church, I can hardly at any time look up; for who
can bear to be gazed at so?--and softly said, "Oh! my good lady! how
much you honour me; the place, and these surrounding eyes, can only
hinder me from acknowledging as I ought."
My best friend, with pleasure in his eyes, said, pressing his hand
upon both ours, as my lady had mine in hers--"You are two beloved
creatures: both excellent in your way. God bless you both."--"And you
too, my dear brother," said my lady.
The countess whispered, "You should spare a body a little! You give
one, ladies, and Mr. B., too much pleasure all at once. Such company,
and such behaviour adds still more charms to devotion; and were I to
be here a twelvemonth, I would never miss once accompanying you to
this good place."
Mr. H. thought he must say something, and addressing himself to his
noble uncle, who could not keep his good-natured eye off me--"I'll be
_hang'd_, my lord, if I know how to behave myself! Why this outdoes
the chapel!--I'm glad I put on my new suit!" And then he looked upon
himself, as if he would support, as well as he could, his part of the
general admiration.
But think you not, my dear Miss Darnford, and my dearest father and
mother, that I am now in the height of my happiness in this life, thus
favoured by Lady Davers? The dean preached an excellent sermon; but I
need not have said that; only to have mentioned, that _he_ preached,
was saying enough.
My lord led me out when divine service was over; and being a little
tender in his feet, from a gouty notice, walked very slowly. Lady
Towers and Mrs. Brooks joined us in the porch, and made us their
compliments, as did Mr. Martin. "Will you favour us with your company
home, my old acquaintance?" said Mr. B. to him.--"I can't, having a
gentleman, my relation, to dine with me; but if it will be agreeable
in the evening, I will bring him with me to taste of your Burgundy:
for we have not any such in the county."--"I shall be glad to see you,
or any friend of yours," replied Mr. B.
Mr. Martin whispered--"It is more, however, to admire your lady, I can
tell you that, than your wine.-Get into your coaches, ladies," said
he, with his usual freedom; "our maiden and widow ladies have a fine
time of it, wherever you come: by my faith they must every one of
them quit this neighbourhood, if you were to stay in it: but all their
hopes are, that while you are in London, they'll have the game in
their own hands."--"_Sister_," said Lady Davers, most kindly to me, in
presence of many, who (in a respectful manner) gathered near us, "Mr.
Martin is the same gentleman he used to be, I see."
"Mr. Martin, Madam," said I, smiling, "has but one fault: he is too
apt to praise whom he favours, at the expense of his absent friends."
"I am always proud of your reproofs, Mrs. B.," replied he.-"Ay," said
Lady Towers, "that I believe.--And, therefore, I wish, for all our
sakes, you'd take him oftener to task, Mrs. B."
Lady Towers, Lady Arthur, Mrs. Brooks, and Mr. Martin, all claimed
visits from us; and Mr. B. making excuses, that he must husband his
time, being obliged to go to town soon, proposed to breakfast with
Lady Towers the next morning, dine with Mrs. Arthur, and sup with
Mrs. Brooks; and as there cannot be a more social and agreeable
neighbourhood any where, his proposal, after some difficulty, was
accepted; and our usual visiting neighbours were all to have notice
accordingly, at each of the places.
I saw Sir Thomas Atkyns coming towards us, and fearing to be stifled
with compliments, I said--"Your servant, ladies and gentlemen;" and
giving my hand to Lord Davers, stept into the chariot, instead of the
coach; for people that would avoid bustle, sometimes make it. Finding
my mistake, I would have come out, but my lord said, "Indeed you
shan't: for I'll step in, and have you all to myself."
Lady Davers smiled--"Now," said she (while the coach drew up), "is my
Lord Davers pleased;--but I see, sister, you were tired with part of
your company in the coach."--"'Tis well contrived, my dear," said Mr.
B., "as long as you have not deprived me of this honour;" taking the
countess's hand, and leading her into the coach.
Will you excuse all this impertinence, my dear?--I know my father and
mother will be pleased with it; and you will therefore bear with me;
for their kind hearts will be delighted to hear every minute thing
in relation to Lady Davers and myself.--When Mr. Martin came in
the evening, with his friend (who is Sir William G., a polite young
gentleman of Lincolnshire), he told us of the praises lavished away
upon me by several genteel strangers; one saying to his friend, he had
travelled twenty miles to see me.--My Lady Davers was praised too for
her goodness to me, and the gracefulness of her person; the countess
for the noble serenity of her aspect, and that charming ease and
freedom, which distinguished her birth and quality. My dear Mr. B., he
said, was greatly admired too: but he would not make _him_ proud;
for he had superiorities enough already, that was his word, over his
neighbours: "But I can tell you," said he, "that for most of your
praises you are obliged to your lady, and for having rewarded her
excellence as you have done: for one gentleman," added he, "said, he
knew no one but _you_ could deserve her; and he believed _you_ did,
from that tenderness in your behaviour to her, and from that grandeur
of air, and majesty of person, that seemed to shew you formed for her
protector, as well as rewarder.--Get you gone to London, both of you,"
said he. "I did not intend to tell you, Mr. B., what was said of you."
The women of the two ladies had acquainted their ladyships with
the order I observed for the day, and the devout behaviour of the
servants. And about seven, I withdrawing as silently and as unobserved
as I could, was surprised, as I was going through the great hall, to
be joined by both.
"I shall come at all your secrets, Pamela," said my lady, "and be
able, in time, to cut you out in your own way. I know whither you are
going."
"My good ladies," said I, "pardon me for leaving you. I will attend
you in half an hour."
"No, my dear," said Lady Davers, "the countess and I have resolved
to attend you for that half hour, and we will return to company
together."
"Is it not descending too much, my ladies, as to the company?"--"If it
is for us, it is for you," said the countess; "so we will either act
up to you, or make you come down to us; and we will judge of all your
proceedings."
Every one, but Abraham (who attended the gentlemen), and all their
ladyships' servants, and their two women, were there; which pleased
me, however, because it shewed, that even the strangers, by this their
second voluntary attendance, had no ill opinion of the service.
But they were all startled, ours and theirs, to see the ladies
accompanying me.
I stept up to Mr. Adams.--"I was in hopes. Sir," said I, "we should
have been favoured with your company at our table." He bowed.--"Well,
Sir," said I, "these ladies come to be obliged to you for your good
offices; and you'll have no better way of letting them return their
obligations, than to sup, though you would not dine with them."--"Mr.
Longman," said my lady, "how do you do?--We are come to be witnesses
of the family decorum."--"We have a blessed lady, Madam," said he:
"and your ladyship's presence augments our joys."
I should have said, we were not at church in the afternoon; and when I
do not go, we have the evening service read to us, as it is at
church; which Mr. Adams performed now, with his usual distinctness and
fervour.
When all was concluded, I said, "Now, my dearest ladies, excuse me for
the sake of the delight I take in seeing all my good folks about me in
this decent and obliging manner.--Indeed, I have no ostentation in it,
if I know my own heart."
The countess and Lady Davers, delighted to see such good behaviour in
every one, sat a moment or two looking upon one another in silence;
and then my Lady Davers took my hand: "Beloved, deservedly beloved
of the kindest of husbands, what a blessing art thou to this
family!"--"And to every family," said the countess, "who have the
happiness to know, and the grace to follow, her example!"--"But
where," said Lady Davers, "collectedst thou all this good sense, and
fine spirit in thy devotion?"--"The Bible," said I, "is the foundation
of all."--Lady Davers then turning herself to Mrs. Jervis--"How do
you, good woman?" said she. "Why you are now made ample amends for the
love you bore to this dear creature formerly."
"You have an angel, and not a woman, for your lady, my good Mrs.
Jervis," said the countess.
Mrs. Jervis, folding her uplifted hands together--"O my good lady, you
know not our happiness; no, not one half of it. We were before blessed
with plenty, and a bountiful indulgence, by our good master; but our
plenty brought on wantonness and wranglings: but now we have peace as
well as plenty; and peace of mind, my dear lady, in doing all in our
respective powers, to shew ourselves thankful creatures to God, and to
the best of masters and mistresses."
"Good soul!" said I, and was forced to put my handkerchief to my eyes:
"your heart is always overflowing thus with gratitude and praises, for
what you so well merit from us."
"Mr. Longman," said my lady, assuming a sprightly air, although her
eye twinkled, to keep within its lids the precious water, that sprang
from a noble and well-affected heart, "I am glad to see you here,
attending your pious young lady.--Well might you love her, honest
man!--I did not know there was so excellent a creature in any rank."
"Madam," said the other worthy heart, unable to speak but in
broken sentences, "you don't know--indeed you don't, what a--what
a--hap--happy--family we are!--Truly, we are like unto Alexander's
soldiers, every one fit to be a general; so well do we all know our
duties, and _practise_ them too, let me say.--Nay, and please your
ladyship, we all of us long till morning comes, thus to attend my
lady; and after that is past, we long for evening, for the same
purpose: for she is so good to us--You cannot think how good she is!
But permit your honoured father's old servant to say one word more,
that though we are always pleased and joyful on these occasions; yet
we are in transports to see our master's noble sister thus favouring
us--with your ladyship too," (to the countess)--"and approving our
young lady's conduct and piety."
"Blessing on you all!" said my lady. "Let us go, my lady;--let us go,
sister, for I cannot stop any longer!"
As I slid by, following their ladyships--"How do you, Mr. Colbrand?"
said I softly: "I feared you were not well in the morning." He
bowed--"Pardon me, Madam--I was leetel indispose, dat ish true!"
Now, my dear friend, will you forgive me all this self-praise, as it
may seem?--Yet when you know I give it you, and my dear parents, as so
many instances of my Lady Davers's reconciliation and goodness to me,
and as it will shew what a noble heart she has at bottom, when her
pride of quality and her passion have subsided, and her native good
sense and excellence taken place, I flatter myself, I may be the
rather excused; and especially, as I hope to have your company and
countenance one day, in this my delightful Sunday employment.
I should have added, for I think a good clergyman cannot be too much
respected, that I repeated my request to Mr. Adams, to oblige us with
his company at supper; but he so very earnestly begged to be excused,
and with so much concern of countenance, that I thought it would be
wrong to insist upon it; though I was sorry for it, sure as I am that
modesty is always a sign of merit.
We returned to the gentlemen when supper was ready, as cheerful and
easy, Lady Davers observed, as if we had not been present at so solemn
a service. "And this," said she, after they were gone, "makes religion
so pleasant and delightful a thing, that I profess I shall have a much
higher opinion of those who make it a regular and constant part of
their employment, than ever I had."
"Then," said she, "I was once, I remember, when a girl, at the
house of a very devout man, for a week, with his granddaughter, my
school-fellow; and there were such preachments _against_ vanities,
and _for_ self-denials, that were we to have followed the good man's
precepts, (though indeed not his practice, for well did he love
his belly), half God Almighty's creatures and works would have been
useless, and industry would have been banished the earth.
"Then," added her ladyship, "have I heard the good man confess himself
guilty of such sins, as, if true (and by his hiding his face with his
broad-brimmed hat, it looked a little bad against him), he ought to
have been hanged on a gallows fifty feet high."
These reflections, as I said, fell from my lady, after the gentlemen
were gone, when she recounted to her brother, the entertainment, as
she was pleased to call it, I had given her. On which she made high
encomiums, as did the countess; and they praised also the natural
dignity which they imputed to me, saying, I had taught them a way they
never could have found out, to descend to the company of servants,
and yet to secure, and even augment, the respect and veneration of
inferiors at the same time. "And, Pamela," said my lady, "you are
certainly very right to pay so much regard to the young clergyman; for
that makes all he reads, and all he says, of greater efficacy with the
auditors, facilitates the work you have in view to bring about, and in
your own absence (for your monarch may not always dispense with you,
perhaps) strengthens his influence, and encourages him, beside."
MONDAY.
I am to thank you, my dear Miss Damford, for your kind letter,
approving of my scribble. When you come to my Saturday's and Sunday's
accounts, I shall try your patience. But no more of that; for as you
can read them, or let them alone, I am the less concerned, especially
as they will be more indulgently received somewhere else, than they
may merit; so that my labour will not be wholly lost.
I congratulate you with all my heart on your dismissing Mr. Murray; I
could not help shewing your letter to Mr. B. And what do you think the
free gentleman said upon it? I am half afraid to tell you: but do,
now you are so happily disengaged, get leave to come, and let us two
contrive to be even with him for it. You are the only lady in the
world that I would join with against him.
He said, that your characters of Mr. Murray and Miss Nancy, which he
called severe (but I won't call them so, without your leave), looked
a little like petty spite, and as if you were sorry the gentleman took
you at your word. That was what he said--Pray let us punish him for
it. Yet, he called you charming lady, and said much in your praise,
and joined with me, that Mr. Murray, who was so easy to part with you,
could not possibly deserve you.
"But, Pamela," said he, "I know the sex well enough. Miss Polly
may not love Mr. Murray; yet, to see her sister addressed and
complimented, and preferred to herself, by one whom she so lately
thought she could choose or refuse, is a mortifying thing.--And young
ladies cannot bear to sit by neglected, while two lovers are playing
pug's tricks with each other.
"Then," said he, "all the preparations to matrimony, the clothes to
be bought, the visits to be paid and received, the compliments of
friends, the busy novelty of the thing, the day to be fixed, and
all the little foolish humours and nonsense attending a concluded
courtship, when _one sister_ is to engross all the attention and
regard, the new equipages, and so forth; these are all subjects of
mortification to the _other_, though she has no great value for the
man perhaps."
"Well, but, Sir," said I, "a lady of Miss Darnford's good sense,
and good taste, is not to be affected by these parades, and has well
considered the matter, no doubt; and I dare say, rejoices, rather than
repines, at missing the gentleman."
I hope you will leave the happy pair (for they are so, if they think
themselves so) together, and Sir Simon to rejoice in his accomplished
son-in-law elect, and give us your company to London. For who would
stay to be vexed by that ill-natured Miss Nancy, as you own you were,
at your last writing?--But I will proceed, and the rather, as I have
something to tell you of a conversation, the result of which has done
me great honour, and given inexpressible delight; of which in its
place.
We pursued Mr. B.'s proposal, returning several visits in one day;
for we have so polite and agreeable a neighbourhood, that all seem
desirous to accommodate each other.
We came not home till ten in the evening, and then found a letter from
Sir Jacob Swynford, uncle by the half blood to Mr. B., acquainting
him, that hearing his niece, Lady Davers, was with him, he would be
here in a day or two (being then upon his journey) to pay a visit to
both at the same time. This gentleman is very particularly odd and
humoursome: and his eldest son being next heir to the maternal estate,
if Mr. B. should have no children, was exceedingly dissatisfied
with his debasing himself in marrying me; and would have been better
pleased had he not married at all, perhaps.
There never was any cordial love between Mr. B.'s father and him,
nor between the uncle, and nephew and niece: for his positiveness,
roughness, and self-interestedness too, has made him, though very
rich, but little agreeable to the generous tempers of his nephew and
niece; yet when they meet, which is not above once in four or five
years, they are very civil and obliging to him. Lady Davers wondered
what could bring him hither now: for he lives in Herefordshire, and
seldom stirs ten miles from home. Mr. B. said, he was sure it was not
to compliment him and me on our nuptials. "No, rather," said my
lady, "to satisfy himself if you are in a way to cut out his own
cubs."--"Thank God, we are," said he. "Whenever I was strongest set
against matrimony, the only reason I had to weigh against my dislike
to it was, that I was unwilling to leave so large a part of my estate
to that family. My dear," said he to me, "don't be uneasy; but you'll
see a relation of mine much more disagreeable than you can imagine;
but no doubt you have heard his character."
"Ah, Pamela," said Lady Davers, "we are a family that value ourselves
upon our ancestry; but, upon my word, Sir Jacob, and all his line,
have nothing else to boast of. And I have been often ashamed of my
relation to them."--"No family, I believe, my lady, has every body
excellent in it," replied I: "but I doubt I shall stand but poorly
with Sir Jacob."
"He won't dare to affront you, my dear," said Mr. B., "although he'll
say to you, and to me, and to my sister too, blunt and rough things.
But he'll not stay above a day or two, and we shall not see him again
for some years to come; so we'll bear with him."
I am now, Miss, coming to the conversation I hinted at.
TUESDAY.
On Tuesday, Mr. Williams came to pay his respects to his kind patron.
I had been to visit a widow gentlewoman, and, on my return, went
directly to my closet, so knew not of his being here till I came to
dinner; for Mr. B. and he were near two hours in discourse in the
library. When I came down, Mr. B. presented him to me. "My friend Mr.
Williams, my dear," said he. "Mr. Williams, how do you do?" said I; "I
am glad to see you."
He rejoiced, he said, to see me look so well; and had longed for an
opportunity to pay his respects to his worthy patron and me before:
but had been prevented twice when upon the point of setting out. Mr.
B. said, "I have prevailed upon my old acquaintance to reside with us,
while he stays in these parts. Do you, my dear, see that every thing
is made agreeable to him."--"To be sure, Sir, I will."
Mr. Adams being in the house, Mr. B. sent to desire he would dine with
us: if it were but in respect to a gentleman of the same cloth, who
gave us his company.
Mr. B., when dinner was over, and the servants were withdrawn, said,
"My dear, Mr. Williams's business, in part, was to ask my advice as to
a living that is offered him by the Earl of ----, who is greatly taken
with his preaching and conversation." "And to quit yours, I presume,
Sir," said Lord Davers. "No, the earl's is not quite so good as mine,
and his lordship would procure him a dispensation to hold both. What
would _you_ advise, my dear?"
"It becomes not me, Sir, to meddle with such matters as these."--"Yes,
my dear, it does, when I ask your opinion."--"I beg pardon, Sir.--My
opinion then is, that Mr. Williams will not care to do any thing
that _requires_ a dispensation, and which would be unlawful without
it."--"Madam," said Mr. Williams, "you speak exceedingly well."
"I am glad, Mr. Williams, that you approve of my sentiments, required
of me by one who has a right to command me in every thing: otherwise
this matter is above my sphere; and I have so much good will to Mr.
Williams, that I wish him every thing that will contribute to make him
happy."
"Well, my dear," said Mr. B., "but what would you advise in this case?
The earl proposes, that Mr. Williams's present living be supplied by a
curate; to whom, no doubt, Mr. Williams will be very genteel; and,
as we are seldom or never there, his lordship thinks we shall not be
displeased with it, and insists upon proposing it to me; as he has
done."
Lord Davers said, "I think this may do very well, brother. But what,
pray, Mr. Williams, do you propose to allow to your curate? Excuse
me, Sir, but I think the clergy do so hardly by one another generally,
that they are not to be surprised that some of the laity treat them as
they do."
Said Mr. B., "Tell us freely, Pamela, what you would advise your
friend Mr. Williams to do."
"And must I, Sir, speak my mind on such a point, before so many better
judges?"
"Yes, _sister_," said her ladyship (a name she is now pleased to give
me freely before strangers, after her dear brother's example, who is
kindest, though always kind, at such times) "you _must_; if I may be
allowed to say _must_."--"Why then," proceeded I, "I beg leave to ask
Mr. Williams one question; that is, whether his present parishioners
do not respect and esteem him in that particular manner, which I think
every body must, who knows his worth?"
"I am very happy. Madam, in the good-will of all my parishioners, and
have great acknowledgments to make for their civilities to me."--"I
don't doubt," said I, "but it will be the same wherever you go; for
bad as the world is, a prudent and good clergyman will never fail of
respect. But, Sir, if you think your ministry among them is attended
with good effects; if they esteem your person with a preference, and
listen to your doctrines with attention; methinks, for _their_ sakes,
'tis pity to leave them, were the living of less value, as it is of
_more_, than the other. For, how many people are there who can benefit
by one gentleman's preaching, rather than by another's; although,
possibly, the one's abilities may be no way inferior to the other's?
There is much in a _delivery_, as it is called, in a manner, a
deportment, to engage people's attention and liking; and as you are
already in possession of their esteem, you are sure to do much of the
good you aim and wish to do. For where the flock loves the shepherd,
all the work is easy, and more than half done; and without that, let
him have the tongue of an angel, and let him live the life of a saint,
he will be heard with indifference, and, oftentimes, as his subject
may be, with disgust."
I paused here; but every one being silent--"As to the earl's
friendship, Sir," continued I, "you can best judge what force that
ought to have upon you; and what I have mentioned would be the only
difficulty with me, were I in Mr. Williams's case. To be sure, it will
be a high compliment to his lordship, and so he ought to think it,
that you quit a better living to oblige him. And he will be bound in
honour to make it up to you. For I am far from thinking that a
prudent regard to worldly interest misbecomes the character of a good
clergyman; and I wish all such were set above the world, for their own
sakes, as well as for the sakes of their hearers; since independency
gives a man respect, besides the power of doing good, which will
enhance that respect, and of consequence, give greater efficacy to his
doctrines.
"As to strengthening of a good man's influence, a point always to be
wished, I would not say so much as I have done, if I had not heard Mr.
Longman say, and I heard it with great pleasure, that the benefice Mr.
Williams so worthily enjoys is a clear two hundred pounds a year.
"But, after all, does happiness to a gentleman, a scholar, a
philosopher, rest in a greater or lesser income? On the contrary,
is it not oftener to be found in a happy competency or mediocrity?
Suppose my dear Mr. B. had five thousand pounds a year added to his
present large income, would that increase his happiness? That it would
add to his cares, is no question; but could it give him one single
comfort which he has not already? And if the dear gentleman had two
or three thousand less, might he be less happy on that account? No,
surely; for it would render a greater prudence on my humble part
necessary, and a nearer inspection, and greater frugality, on his own;
and he must be contented (if he did not, as now, perhaps, lay up every
year) so long as he lived within his income.--And who will say, that
the obligation to greater prudence and economy is a misfortune?
"The competency, therefore, the golden mean, is the thing; and I have
often considered the matter, and endeavoured to square my actions by
the result of that consideration. For a person who, being not born to
an estate, is not satisfied with a competency, will probably know no
limits to his desires. One whom an acquisition of one or two hundred
pounds a year will not satisfy, will hardly sit down contented with
any sum. For although he may propose to himself at a distance, that
such and such an acquisition will be the height of his ambition; yet
he will, as he approaches to that, advance upon himself farther and
farther, and know no bound, till the natural one is forced upon him,
and his life and his views end together.
"Now let me humbly beg pardon of you all, ladies and gentlemen,"
turning my eyes to each; "but most of you, my good lady."
"Indeed, Madam," said Mr. Williams, "after what I have heard from you,
I would not, for the world, have been of another mind."
"You are a good man," said I; "and I have such an opinion of your
worthiness, and the credit you do your function, that I can never
suspect either your judgment or your conduct. But pray, Sir, may I
ask, what have you determined to do?"--"Why, Madam," replied he, "I
am staggered in that too, by the observation you just now made, that
where a man has the love of his parishioners, he ought not to think of
leaving them."--"Else, Sir, I find you was rather inclined to oblige
the earl, though the living be of _less_ value! This is very noble,
Sir; it is more than generous."
"My dear," said Mr. B., "I'll tell you (for Mr. Williams's modesty
will not let him speak it before all the company) what _is_
his motive; and a worthy one you'll say it is. Excuse me, Mr.
Williams;"--for the reverend gentleman blushed.
"The earl has of late years--we all know his character--given himself
up to carousing, and he will suffer no man to go from his table sober.
Mr. Williams has taken the liberty to expostulate, as became his
function, with his lordship on this subject, and upon some other
irregularities, so agreeably, that the earl has taken a great liking
to him, and promises, that he will suffer his reasonings to have an
effect upon him, and that he shall reform his whole household, if
he will come and live near him, and regulate his table by his own
example. The countess is a very good lady, and privately presses Mr.
Williams to oblige the earl: and this is our worthy friend's main
inducement; with the hope, which I should mention, that he has, of
preserving untainted the morals of the two young gentlemen, the earl's
son, who, he fears, will be carried away by the force of such an
example: and he thinks, as the earl's living has fallen, mine may be
better supplied than the earl's, if he, as he kindly offers, gives it
me back again; otherwise the earl, as he apprehends, will find out
for his, some gentleman, if such an one can be found, as will rather
further, than obstruct his own irregularities, as was the unhappy case
of the last incumbent."
"Well," said Lady Davers, "I shall always have the highest respect for
Mr. Williams, for a conduct so genteel and so prudent. But, brother,
will you--and will you, Mr. Williams--put this whole affair into Mrs.
B.'s hands, since you have such testimonies, _both_ of you, of the
rectitude of her thinking and acting?"--"With all my heart,
Madam," replied Mr. Williams; "and I shall be proud of such a
direction,"--"What say _you_, brother? You are to suppose the living
in your own hands again; will you leave the whole matter to my
_sister_ here?"--"Come, my dear," said Mr. B., "let us hear how
you'd wish it to be ordered. I know you have not need of one moment's
consideration, when once you are mistress of a point."
"Nay," said Lady Davers, "that is not the thing. I repeat my demand:
shall it be as Mrs. B. lays it out, or not?"--"Conditionally," said
Mr. B., "provided I cannot give satisfactory reasons, why I _ought_
not to conform to her opinion; for this, as I said, is a point of
conscience with me; and I made it so, when I presented Mr. Williams to
the living: and have not been deceived in that presentation."--"To be
sure," said I, "that is very reasonable, Sir; and on that condition,
I shall the less hesitate to speak my mind, because I shall be in no
danger to commit an irreparable error."
"I know well, Lady Davers," added Mr. B., "the power your sex have
over ours, and their subtle tricks: and so will never, in my weakest
moments, be drawn in to make a blindfold promise. There have been
several instances, both in sacred and profane story, of mischiefs done
by such surprises: so you must allow me to suspect myself, when I know
the dear slut's power over me, and have been taught, by the inviolable
regard she pays to her own word, to value mine--And now, Pamela, speak
all that is in your heart to say." "With your _requisite_ condition
in my eye, I will, Sir. But let me see that I state the matter right.
And, preparative to it, pray, Mr. Williams, though you have not been
long in possession of this living, yet, may-be, you can compute what
it is likely, by what you know of it, to bring in clear?"
"Madam," said he, "by the best calculation I can make--I thank _you_
for it, good Sir--it may, one year with another, be reckoned at three
hundred pounds per annum; and is the best within twenty miles of it,
having been improved within these two last years."
"If it was five hundred pounds, and would make you happier--(for
_that_, Sir, is the thing) I should wish it you," said I, "and think
it short of your merits. But pray, Sir, what is the earl's living
valued at?"
"At about two hundred and twenty pounds, Madam."--"Well, then,"
replied I, very pertly, "I believe now I have it.
"Mr. Williams, for motives most excellently worthy of his function,
inclines to surrender up to Mr. B. his living of three hundred pounds
per annum, and to accept of the earl's living of two hundred and
twenty. Dear Sir, I am going to be very bold; but under _your_
condition nevertheless:--let the gentleman, to whom you shall present
the living of E. allow eighty pounds per annum out of it to Mr.
Williams, till the earl's favour shall make up the difference to him,
and no longer. And--but I dare not name the gentleman:--for
how, dear Sir, were I to be so bold, shall I part with my
chaplain?"--"Admirable! most admirable!" said Lord and Lady Davers, in
the same words. The countess praised the decision too; and Mr. H. with
his "Let me be hang'd," and his "Fore Gad's," and such exclamations
natural to him, made his plaudits. Mr. Williams said, he could wish
with all his heart it might be so; and Mr. Adams was so abashed and
surprised, that he could not hold up his head;--but joy danced in his
silent countenance, for all that.
Mr. B. having hesitated a few minutes. Lady Davers called out for his
objection, or consent, according to condition, and he said, "I cannot
so soon determine as that prompt slut did. I'll withdraw one minute."
He did so, as I found afterwards to advise, like the considerate and
genteel spirit he possesses, with Mr. Williams, whom he beckoned out,
and to examine whether he was in _earnest_ willing to give it up, or
very desirous for any one to succeed him; saying, that if he had, he
thought himself obliged, in return for his worthy behaviour to him, to
pay a particular regard to his recommendation. And so being answered
as he desired, in they came together again.
But I should say, that his withdrawing with a very serious aspect,
made me afraid I had gone too far: and I said, "What shall I do, if I
have incurred Mr. B.'s anger by my over-forwardness! Did he not look
displeased? Dear ladies, if he be so, plead for me, and I'll withdraw
when he comes in; for I cannot stand his anger: I have not been used
to it."
"Never fear, Pamela," said my lady; "he can't be angry at any thing
you say or do. But I wish, for the sake of what I have witnessed of
Mr. Adams's behaviour and modesty, that such a thing could be done
for him." Mr. Adams bowed, and said, "O my good ladies! 'tis too
considerable a thing: I cannot expect it--I do not--it would be
presumption if I did."
Just then re-entered Mr. B. and Mr. Williams: the first with a stately
air, the other with a more peace-portending smile on his countenance.
But Mr. B. sitting down, "Well, Pamela," said he, very gravely, "I see
that power is a dangerous thing in any hand."--"Sir, Sir!" said I--"My
dear lady," whispering to Lady Davers, "I will withdraw, as I said I
would." And I was getting away as fast as I could: but he arose and
took my hand, "Why is my charmer so soon frightened?" said he, most
kindly; and still more kindly, with a noble air, pressed it to his
lips. "I must not carry my jest too far upon a mind so apprehensive,
as I otherwise might be inclined to do." And leading me to Mr. Adams
and Mr. Williams, he said, taking Mr. Williams's hand with his left,
as he held mine in his right, "Your worthy brother clergyman, Mr.
Adams, gives me leave to confirm the decision of my dear wife, whom
you are to thank for the living of E. upon the condition she proposed;
and may you give but as much satisfaction _there_, as you have done
in _this_ family, and as Mr. Williams has given to his flock; and they
will then be pleased as much with your ministry as they have hitherto
been with his."
Mr. Adams trembled with joy, and said, he could not tell how to bear
this excess of goodness in us both: and his countenance and eyes gave
testimony of a gratitude too high for further expression.
As for myself, you, my honoured and dear friends, who know how much I
am always raised, when I am made the dispenser of acts of bounty and
generosity to the deserving; and who now instead of incurring blame,
as I had apprehended, found myself applauded by every one, and most by
the gentleman whose approbation I chiefly coveted to have: you, I say,
will judge how greatly I must be delighted.
But I was still more affected, when Mr. B. directing himself to me,
and to Mr. Williams at the same time, was pleased to say, "Here, my
dear, you must thank this good gentleman for enabling you to give such
a shining proof of your excellence: and whenever I put power into your
hands for the future, act but as you have now done, and it will be
impossible that I should have any choice or will but yours."
"O Sir," said I, pressing his hand with my lips, forgetting how many
witnesses I had of my grateful fondness, "how shall I, oppressed with
your goodness, in such a signal instance as this, find words equal to
the gratitude of my heart!--But here," patting my bosom, "just here,
they stick;--and I cannot--"
And, indeed, I could say no more; and Mr. B. in the delicacy of his
apprehensiveness for me, led me into the next parlour; and placing
himself by me on the settee, said, "Take care, my best beloved, that
the joy, which overflows your dear heart, for having done a beneficent
action to a deserving gentleman, does not affect you too much."
My Lady Davers followed us: "Where is my angelic sister?" said she. "I
have a share in her next to yourself, my noble brother." And clasping
me to her generous bosom, she ran over with expressions of favour to
me, in a style and words, which would suffer, were I to endeavour to
repeat them.
Coffee being ready, we returned to the company. My Lord Davers was
pleased to make me a great many compliments, and so did Mr. H. after
his manner. But the countess exceeded _herself_ in goodness.
Mr. B. was pleased to say, "It is a rule with me, not to leave till
to-morrow what can be done to-day:--and _when_, my dear, do you
propose to dispense with Mr. Adams's good offices in your family? Or
did you intend to induce him to go to town with us?"
"I had not proposed anything, Sir, as to that, for I had not asked
your kind direction: but the good dean will supply us, I doubt not,
and when we set out for London, Mr. Adams will be at full liberty,
with his worthy friend, Mr. Williams, to pursue the happy scheme your
goodness has permitted to take effect."
"Mr. Adams, my dear, who came so lately from the university, can,
perhaps, recommend such another young gentleman as himself, to perform
the functions he used to perform in your family."
I looked, it seems, a little grave; and Mr. B. said, "What have you to
offer, Pamela?--What have I said amiss?"
"Amiss! dear Sir!--"
"Ay, and dear Madam too! I see by your bashful seriousness, in place
of that smiling approbation which you always shew when I utter any
thing you _entirely_ approve, that I have said something which would
rather meet with your acquiescence, than choice. So, as I have often
told you, none of your reserves; and never _hesitate_ to me your
consent in any thing, while you are sure I will conform to your
wishes, or pursue my own liking, as _either_ shall appear reasonable
to me, when I have heard _your_ reasons."
"Why, then, dear Sir, what I had presumed to think, but I submit it to
your better judgment, was, whether, since the gentleman who is so kind
as to assist us in our family devotions, in some measure acts in
the province of the worthy dean, it were not right, that our own
parish-minister, whether here or in London, should name, or at least
approve _our_ naming, the gentleman?"
"Why could not I have thought of that, as well as you,
sauce-box?--Lady Davers, I am entirely on your side: I think she
deserves a slap now from us both."
"I'll forgive her," said my lady, "since I find her sentiments and
actions as much a reproof to others as to me."
"Mr. Williams, did you ever think," said Mr. B., "it would have come
to this?--Did you ever know such a saucy girl in your life?--Already
to give herself these reproaching airs?"--"No, never, if your honour
is pleased to call the most excellent lady in the world by such a
name, nor any body else."
"Pamela, I charge you," said the dear gentleman, "if you _study_
for it, be sometimes in the wrong, that one may not always be taking
lessons from such an assurance; but in our turns, have something to
teach _you_."
"Then, dear Sir," said I, "must I not be a strange creature? For how,
when you, and my good ladies, are continually giving me such charming
examples, can I do a wrong thing?"
I hope you will forgive me, my dear, for being so tedious on the
foregoing subject, and its most agreeable conclusion. It is an
important one, because several persons, as conferers or receivers,
have found their pleasure and account in it; and it would be well, if
conversation were often attended with like happy consequences. I have
one merit to plead in behalf even of my prolixity; that in reciting
the delightful conferences I have the pleasure of holding with our
noble guests and Mr. B., I am careful not to write twice upon one
topic, although several which I omit, may be more worthy of your
notice than those I give; so that you have as much variety from me, as
the nature of the facts and cases will admit of.
But here I will conclude, having a very different subject, as a proof
of what I have advanced, to touch in my next. Till when, I am _your
most affectionate and faithful_,
P.B.
LETTER XXXIII
My dear Miss Darnford,
I now proceed with my journal, which I brought down to Tuesday
evening; and of course I begin with
WEDNESDAY.
Towards evening came Sir Jacob Swynford, on horseback, attended by two
servants in liveries. I was abroad; for I had got leave for a whole
afternoon, attended by my Polly; which time I passed in visiting no
less than four poor sick families, whose hearts I made glad. But I
should be too tedious, were I to give you the particulars; besides,
I have a brief list of cases, which, when you'll favour me with your
company, I may shew you: for I oblige myself, though not desired, to
keep an account of what I do with no less than two hundred pounds
a year, that Mr. B. allows me to expend in acts of charity and
benevolence.
Lady Davers told me afterwards, that Sir Jacob carried it mighty stiff
and formal when he alighted. He strutted about the court-yard in his
boots, with his whip in his hand; and though her ladyship went to the
great door, in order to welcome him, he turned short, and, whistling,
followed the groom into the stable, as if he had been at an inn, only,
instead of taking off his hat, pulling its broad brim over his eyes,
for a compliment. In she went in a pet, as she says, saying to the
countess, "A surly brute he always was! _My_ uncle! He's more of an
ostler than a gentleman; I'm resolved I'll not stir to meet him
again. And yet the wretch loves respect from others, though he never
practises common civility himself."
The countess said, she was glad he was come, for she loved to divert
herself with such odd characters now-and-then.
And now let me give you a short description of him as I found him,
when I came in, that you may the better conceive what sort of a
gentleman he is.
He is about sixty-five years of age, a coarse, strong, big-boned man,
with large irregular features; he has a haughty supercilious look, a
swaggering gait, and a person not at all bespeaking one's favour in
behalf of his mind; and his mind, as you shall hear by and bye, not
clearing up those prepossessions in his disfavour, with which his
person and features at first strike one. His voice is big and surly;
his eyes little and fiery; his mouth large, with yellow and blackish
teeth, what are left of them being broken off to a tolerable regular
height, looked as if they were ground down to his gums, by constant
use. But with all these imperfections, he has an air that sets
him somewhat above the mere vulgar, and makes one think half his
disadvantages rather owing to his own haughty humour, than to nature;
for he seems to be a perfect tyrant at first sight, a man used to
prescribe, and not to be prescribed to; and has the advantage of a
shrewd penetrating look, but which seems rather acquired than natural.
After he had seen his horses well served, and put on an old-fashioned
gold-buttoned coat, which by its freshness shewed he had been very
chary of it, a better wig, but in stiff buckle, and a long sword,
stuck stiffly, as if through his coat lappets, in he came, and with
an imperious air entering the parlour, "What, nobody come to meet me!"
said he; and saluting her ladyship. "How do you do, niece?" and
looked about haughtily, she says, as if he expected to see me. My lady
presenting the countess, said, "The Countess of C., Sir Jacob!"--"Your
most obedient humble servant, Madam. I hope his lordship is
well."--"At your service, Sir Jacob."
"I wish he was," said he, bluntly; "he should not have voted as he did
last sessions, I can tell you that."
"Why, Sir Jacob," said she, "_servants_, in this free kingdom, don't
always do as their _masters_ would have 'em."--"_Mine_ do, I can tell
you that. Madam."
"Right or wrong, Sir Jacob?"--"It can't be wrong if I command
them."--"Why, truly, Sir Jacob, there's many a private gentleman
carries it higher to a servant, than he cares his _prince_ should to
him; but I thought, till now, it was the king only that could do no
wrong."
"But I always take care to be right."--"A good reason--because, I dare
say, you never think you can be in the wrong."--"Your ladyship should
spare me: I'm but just come off a journey. Let me turn myself about,
and I'll be up with you, never fear. Madam.--But where's my nephew,
Lady Davers? And where's your lord? I was told you were all here, and
young H. too upon a very extraordinary occasion; so I was willing to
see how causes went among you. It will be long enough before you come
to see me."--"My brother, and Lord Davers, and Mr. H. have all rode
out."--"Well, niece," strutting with his hands behind him, and his
head held up--"Ha!--He has made a fine kettle on't--han't he?--that
ever such a rake should be so caught! They tell me, she's plaguy
cunning, and quite smart and handsome. But I wish his father
were living. Yet what could he have done? Your brother was always
unmanageable. I wish he'd been my son; by my faith, I do! What! I
hope, niece, he locks up his baby, while you're here? You don't keep
her company, do you?"
"Yes, Sir Jacob, I do: and you'll do so too, when you see her."--"Why,
thou countenancest him in his folly, child: I'd a better opinion of
thy spirit! Thou married to a lord, and thy brother to a--Can'st tell
me what, Barbara? If thou can'st, pr'ythee do."--"To an angel; and so
you'll say presently."
"What, dost think I shall look through _his_ foolish eyes? What
a disgrace to a family ancienter than the Conquest! _O Tempora! O
Mores!_ What will this world come to?" The countess was diverted with
this odd gentleman, but ran on in my praise, for fear he should say
some rude things to me when I came in; and Lady Davers seconded her.
But all signified nothing. He would tell us both his mind, let the
young whelp (that was his word) take it as he would--"And pray," said
he, "can't I see this fine body before he comes in? Let me but turn
her round two or three times, and ask her a question or two; and by
her answer I shall know what to think of her in a twinkling."--"She
is gone to take a little airing, Sir Jacob, and won't be back till
supper-time."
"Supper-time! Why, she is not to sit at table, is she? If she does,
I won't; that's positive. But now you talk of a supper, what have
you?--I must have a boiled chicken, and shall eat it all myself. Who's
housekeeper now? I suppose all's turned upside down."
"No, there is not one new servant, except a girl that waits upon her
own person: all the old ones remain."--"That's much! These creatures
generally take as great state upon them as a born lady; and they're in
the right. If they can make the man stoop to the great point, they'll
hold his nose to the grind-stone: and all the little ones come about
in course."--"Well, Sir Jacob, when you see her, you'll alter your
mind."--"Never, never; that's positive."
"Ay, Sir Jacob, I was as positive as you once; but I love her now as
well as if she were my own sister."
"O hideous, hideous! All the fools he has made wherever he has
travelled, will clap their hands at him, and at you too, if you talk
at this rate. But let me speak to Mrs. Jervis, if she be here: I'll
order my own supper."
So he went out, saying, he knew the house, though in a better
mistress's days. The countess said, if Mr. B. as she hoped, kept his
temper, there would be good diversion with the old gentleman. "O yes,"
said my lady, "my brother will, I dare say. He despises the surly
brute too much to be angry with him, say what he will." He talked a
great deal against me to Mrs. Jervis. You may guess, my dear, that
she launched out in my praises; and he was offended at her, and said,
"Woman! woman! forbear these ill-timed praises; her birth's a disgrace
to our family. What! my sister's waiting-maid, taken upon charity!
I cannot bear it." I mention all these things, as I afterwards heard
them, because it shall prepare you to judge what a fine time I was
likely to have of it. When Mr. B. and my Lord Davers, and Mr. H. came
home, which they did about half an hour after six, they were told who
was there, just as they entered the parlour; and Mr. B. smiled at Lord
Davers, and entering, "Sir Jacob," said he, "welcome to Bedfordshire;
and thrice welcome to this house; I rejoice to see you."
My lady says, never was so odd a figure as the old baronet made, when
thus accosted. He stood up indeed; but as Mr. B. offered to take his
hand, he put 'em both behind him. "Not that you know of. Sir!" And
then looking up at his face, and down at his feet, three or four times
successively, "Are you my brother's son? That very individual son,
that your good father used to boast of, and say, that for handsome
person, true courage, noble mind, was not to be matched in any three
counties in England?"
"The very same, dear Sir, that my honoured father's partiality used to
think he never praised enough."
"And what is all of it come to at last?--He paid well, did he not, to
teach you to know the world, nephew! hadst thou been born a fool, or a
raw greenhead, or a doating greyhead--"--"What then, Sir Jacob?"--"Why
then thou wouldst have done just as thou hast done!"--"Come, come, Sir
Jacob, you know not my inducement. You know not what an angel I have
in person and mind. Your eyes shall by and bye be blest with the sight
of her: your ears with hearing her speak: and then you'll call all you
have said, profanation."--"What is it I hear? You talk in the language
of romance; and from the housekeeper to the head of the house, you're
all stark staring mad. Nephew, I wish, for thy own credit, thou
wert--But what signifies wishing?--I hope you'll not bring your syren
into my company."
"Yes, I will, Sir, because I love to give you pleasure. And say not a
word more, for your own sake, till you see her. You'll have the less
to unsay, Sir Jacob, and the less to repent of."
"I'm in an enchanted castle, that's certain. What a plague has this
little witch done to you all? And how did she bring it about?"
The ladies and Lord Davers laughed, it seems; and Mr. B. begging him
to sit down, and answer him some family questions, he said, (for
it seems he is very captious at times), "What, am I to be
laughed at!--Lord Davers, I hope _you're_ not bewitched, too, are
you?"--"Indeed, Sir Jacob, I am. My sister B. is my doating-piece."
"Whew!" whistled he, with a wild stare: "and how is it with you,
youngster?"--"With me, Sir Jacob?" said Mr. H., "I'd give all I'm
worth in the world, and ever shall be worth, for such another wife."
He ran to the window, and throwing up the sash looking into the
court-yard, said, "Hollo--So-ho! Groom--Jack--Jonas--Get me my
horse!--I'll keep no such company!--I'll be gone! Why, Jonas!" calling
again.
"You're not in earnest, Sir Jacob," said Mr. B.
"I am!--I'll away to the village this night! Why you're all upon the
high game! I'll--But who comes here?"--For just then, the chariot
brought me into the court-yard--"Who's this? who is she?"--"One
of _my_ daughters," started up the countess; "my youngest daughter
Jenny!--She's the pride of my family, Sir Jacob!"--"I was running; for
I thought it was the grand enchantress." Out steps Lady Davers to me;
"Dear Pamela," said she, "humour all that's said to you. Here's
Sir Jacob come. You're the Countess of C.'s youngest daughter
Jenny--That's your cue."--"Ah? but, Madam," said I, "Lady Jenny is not
married," looking (before I thought) on a circumstance that I think
too much of sometimes, though I carry it off as well as I can. She
laughed at my exception: "Come, Lady Jenny," said she, (for I just
entered the great door), "I hope you've had a fine airing."--"A very
pretty one, Madam," said I, as I entered the parlour. "This is a
pleasant country, Lady Davers." ("_Wink when I'm wrong," whispered
I_), "Where's Mrs. B.?" Then, as seeing a strange gentleman, I started
half back, into a more reserved air; and made him a low curt'sy. Sir
Jacob looked as if he did not know what to think of it, now at me, now
at Mr. B. who put him quite out of doubt, by taking my hand: "Well,
Lady Jenny, did you meet my fugitive in your tour?"
"No, Mr. B. Did she go my way? I told you I would keep the great
road."--"Lady Jenny C.," said Mr. B., presenting me to his uncle. "A
charming creature!" added he: "Have you not a son worthy of such
an alliance?"--"Ay, nephew, this is a lady indeed! Why the plague,"
whispered he, "could you not have pitched your tent here? Miss, by
your leave," and saluting me, turned to the countess. "Madam, you've
a charming daughter! Had my rash nephew seen this lovely creature,
and you condescended, he'd never have stooped to the cottage as he has
done."--"You're right, Sir Jacob," said Mr. B.; "but I always ran too
fast for my fortune: yet these ladies of family never bring out their
jewels into bachelors' company; and when, too late, we see what we've
missed, we are vexed at our precipitation."
"Well said, however, boy. I wish thee repentance, though 'tis out of
thy power to mend. Be that one of thy curses, when thou seest this
lady; as no doubt it is." Again surveying me from head to foot, and
turning me round, which, it seems, is a mighty practice with him to a
stranger lady, (and a modest one too, you'll say, Miss)--"Why, truly,
you're a charming creature, Miss--Lady Jenny I would say--By your
leave, once more!--My Lady Countess, she is a charmer! But--but--"
staring at me, "Are you married, Madam?" I looked a little silly; and
my new mamma came up to me, and took my hand: "Why, Jenny, you are
dressed oddly to-day!--What a hoop you wear; it makes you look I can't
tell how!"
"Madam, I thought so; what signifies lying?--But 'tis only the hoop, I
see--Really, Lady Jenny, your hoop is enough to make half a hundred
of our sex despair, lest you should be married. I thought it was
something! Few ladies escape my notice. I always kept a good look-out;
for I have two daughters of my own. But 'tis the hoop, I see plainly
enough. You are so slender every where but _here_," putting his
hand upon my hip which quite dashed me; and I retired behind my Lady
Countess's chair.
"Fie, Sir Jacob!" said Mr. B.; "before us young gentlemen, to take
such liberties with a maiden lady! You give a bad example."--"Hang
him that sets you a bad example, nephew. But I see you're right; I see
Lady Jenny's a maiden lady, or she would not have been so shamefaced.
I'll swear for her on occasion. Ha, ha, ha!--I'm sure," repeated he,
"she's a maiden--For our sex give the married ladies a freer air in a
trice."--"How, Sir Jacob!" said Lady Davers.
"O fie!" said the countess. "Can't you praise the maiden ladies, but
at the expense of the married ones! What do you see of freedom in
me?"--"Or in me?" said Lady Davers. "Nay, for that matter you are very
well, I must needs say. But will you pretend to blush with that virgin
rose?--Od's my life, Miss--Lady Jenny I would say, come from behind
your mamma's chair, and you two ladies stand up now together. There,
so you do--Why now, blush for blush, and Lady Jenny shall be three
to one, and a deeper crimson by half. Look you there else! An hundred
guineas to one against the field." Then stamping with one foot, and
lifting up his hands and eyes "Lady Jenny has it all to nothing--Ha,
ha, ha! You may well sit down both of you; but you're a blush too
late, I can tell you that. Well hast thou done. Lady Jenny," tapping
my shoulder with his rough paw.
I was hastening away, and he said, "But let's see you again, Miss; for
now will I stay, if they bring nobody else." And away I went; for I
was quite out of countenance, "What a strange creature," thought I,
"is this!" Supper being near ready, he called out for Lady Jenny, for
the sight of her, he said, did him good; but he was resolved not to
sit down to table with _somebody else_. The countess said, she would
fetch her daughter; and stepping out, returned saying, "Mrs. B.
understands that Sir Jacob is here, and does not choose to see her; so
she begs to be excused; and my Jenny and she desire to sup together."
"The very worst tidings I have heard this twelvemonth. Why, nephew,
let your girl sup with any body, so we may have Lady Jenny back with
us."--"I know," said the countess, (who was desirous to see how far he
could carry it), "Jenny won't leave Mrs. B.; so if you see _one_,
you must see _t'other_."--"Nay, then I must sit down contented. Yet I
should be glad to see Lady Jenny. But I will not sit at table with Mr.
B.'s girl--that's positive."
"Well, well, let 'em sup together, and there's an end of it," said
Mr. B. "I see my uncle has as good a judgment as any body of fine
ladies."--("_That I have, nephew._")--"But he can't forgo his humour,
in compliment to the finest lady in England."
"Consider, nephew, 'tis not thy doing a foolish thing, and calling
a girl wife, shall cram a niece down my throat, that's positive. The
moment she comes down to take place of these ladies, I am gone, that's
most certain."--"Well then, shall I go up, and oblige Pamela to sup
by herself, and persuade Lady Jenny to come down to us?"--"With all
my soul, nephew,--a good notion.--But, Pamela--did you say?--A _queer_
sort of name! I have heard of it somewhere!--Is it a Christian or
a Pagan name?--Linsey-woolsey--half one, half t'other--like thy
girl--Ha, ha, ha."--"Let me be _hang'd_," whispered Mr. H. to his
aunt, "if Sir Jacob has not a power of wit; though he is so whimsical
with it. I like him much."--"But hark ye, nephew," said Sir Jacob,
"one word with you. Don't fob upon us your girl with the Pagan name
for Lady Jenny. I have set a mark upon her, and should know her from
a thousand, although she had changed her hoop." Then he laughed again,
and said, he hoped Lady Jenny would come--and without any body with
her--"But I smell a plot," said he--"By my soul I won't stay, if
they both come together. I won't be put upon--But here is one or
both--Where's my whip?--I'll go."--"Indeed, Mr. B., I had rather have
staid with Mrs. B.," said I, as I entered, as he had bid me.
"'Tis she! 'tis she! You've nobody behind you!--No, she han't--Why
now, nephew, you are right; I was afraid you'd have put a trick
upon me.--You'd _rather_," repeated he to me, "have staid with Mrs.
B.!--Yes, I warrant--But you shall be placed in better company, my
dear child."--"Sister," said Mr. B., "will you take that chair; for
Pamela does not choose to give my uncle disgust, who so seldom comes
to see us." My lady took the upper end of the table, and I sat next
below my new mamma. "So, Jenny," said she, "how have you left Mrs.
B.?"--"A little concerned; but she was the easier, as Mr. B. himself
desired I'd come down."
My Lord Davers sat next me, and Sir Jacob said, "Shall I beg a favour
of you, my lord, to let me sit next to Lady Jenny?" Mr. B. said,
"Won't it be better to sit over-against her, uncle?"--"Ay, that's
right. I' faith, nephew, thou know'st what's right. Well, so I will."
He accordingly removed his seat, and I was very glad of it; for though
I was sure to be stared at by him, yet I feared if he sat next me, he
would not keep his hands off my hoop.
He ran on a deal in my praises, after his manner, but so rough at
times, that he gave me pain; and I was afraid too, lest he should
observe my ring; but he stared so much in my face, that it escaped his
notice. After supper, the gentlemen sat down to their bottle, and
the ladies and I withdrew, and about twelve they broke up; Sir Jacob
talking of nothing but Lady Jenny, and wished Mr. B. had happily
married such a charming creature, who carried tokens of her high birth
in her face, and whose every feature and look shewed her to be nobly
descended.
They let him go to bed with his mistake: but the countess said next
morning, she thought she never saw a greater instance of stupid pride
and churlishness; and should be sick of the advantage of birth or
ancestry, if this was the natural fruit of it. "For a man," said her
ladyship, "to come to his nephew's house, and to suffer the mistress
of it to be closetted up (as he thinks), in order to humour his absurd
and brutal insolence, and to behave as he has done, is such a ridicule
upon the pride of descent, that I shall ever think of it.--O Mrs. B.,"
said she, "what advantages have you over every one that sees you; but
most over those who pretend to treat you unworthily!" I expect to be
called to breakfast every minute, and shall then, perhaps, see how
this matter will end. I wish, when it is revealed, he may not be in a
fury, and think himself imposed on. I fear it won't go off so well as
I wish; for every body seems to be grave, and angry at Sir Jacob.
THURSDAY.
I now proceed with my tale. At breakfast-time, when every one was sat,
Sir Jacob began to call out for Lady Jenny. "But," said he, "I'll have
none of your girl, nephew: although the chair at the tea-table is left
for somebody."--"No," said Mr. B., "we'll get Lady Jenny to supply
Mrs. B.'s place, since you don't care to see her."--"With all my
heart," replied he.--"But, uncle," said Mr. B., "have you really no
desire, no curiosity to see the girl I have married?"--"No, none at
all, by my soul."
Just then I came in, and paying my compliments to the company, and to
Sir Jacob--"Shall I," said I, "supply Mrs. B.'s place in her
absence?" And down I sat. After breakfast, and the servants were
withdrawn--"Lady Jenny," said Lady Davers, "you are a young lady, with
all the advantages of birth and descent, and some of the best blood
in the kingdom runs in your veins; and here Sir Jacob Swynford is
your great admirer; cannot _you_, from whom it will come with a double
grace, convince him that he acts unkindly at my brother's house, to
keep the person he has thought worthy of making the mistress of it,
out of company? And let us know your opinion, whether my
brother himself does right, to comply with such an unreasonable
distaste?"--"Why, how now, Lady Davers! This from you! I did not
expect it!"
"My uncle," said Mr. B., "is the only person in the kingdom that I
would have humoured thus: and I made no doubt, when he saw how willing
I was to oblige him in such a point, he would have acted a more
generous part than he has yet done.--But, Lady Jenny, what say you to
my sister's questions?"
"If I must speak my mind," replied I, "I should take the liberty to
be very serious with Sir Jacob, and to say, that when a thing is done,
and cannot be helped, he should take care how he sows the seeds of
indifference and animosity between man and wife, and makes a gentleman
dissatisfied with his choice, and perhaps unhappy as long as he
lives."--"Nay, Miss," said he, "if all are against me, and you, whose
good opinion I value most, you may e'en let the girl come, and sit
down.--If she is but half as pretty, and half as wise, and modest, as
you, I shall, as it cannot be helped, as you say, be ready to think
better of the matter. For 'tis a little hard, I must needs say, if she
has hitherto appeared before all the good company, to keep her out of
the way on my account."--"Really, Sir Jacob," said the countess, "I
have blushed for you more than once on this occasion. But the mistress
of this house is more than half as wise, and modest, and lovely: and
in hopes you will return me back some of the blushes I have lent
you, see _there_, in my daughter Jenny, whom you have been so justly
admiring, the mistress of the house, and the lady with the Pagan
name." Sir Jacob sat aghast, looking at us all in turn, and then cast
his eyes on the floor. At last, up he got, and swore a sad oath: "And
am I thus tricked and bamboozled," that was his word; "am I? There's
no bearing this house, nor her presence, now, that's certain; and I'll
begone."
Mr. B. looking at me, and nodding his head towards Sir Jacob, as he
was in a flutter to begone, I rose from my chair, and went to him, and
took his hand. "I hope, Sir Jacob, you will be able to bear _both_,
when you shall see no other difference but that of descent, between
the supposed Lady Jenny you so kindly praised, and the girl your
dear nephew has so much exalted."--"Let me go," said he; "I am most
confoundedly bit. I cannot look you in the face! By my soul, I cannot!
For 'tis impossible you should forgive me."--"Indeed it is not, Sir;
you have done nothing but what I can forgive you for, if your dear
nephew can; for to him was the wrong, if any, and I am sure he
can overlook it. And for his sake, to the uncle of so honoured a
gentleman, to the brother of my late good lady, I can, with a bent
knee, _thus_, ask your blessing, and your excuse for joining to keep
you in this suspense."--"Bless you!" said he, and stamped--"Who can
choose but bless you?"-and he kneeled down, and wrapped his arms about
me.--"But, curse me," that was his strange word, "if ever I was so
touched before!" My dear Mr. B., for fear my spirits should be too
much affected (for the rough baronet, in his transport, had bent me
down lower than I kneeled), came and held my arm; but permitted Sir
Jacob to raise me; only saying, "How does my angel? Now she has made
this conquest, she has completed all her triumphs."--"Angel, did
you call her?--I'm confounded with her goodness, and her sweet
carriage!--Rise, and let me see if I can stand myself! And, believe
me, I am sorry I have acted thus so much like a bear; and the more I
think of it, the more I shall be ashamed of myself." And the tears, as
he spoke, ran down his rough cheeks; which moved me much; for to see a
man with so hard a countenance weep, was a touching sight.
Mr. H. putting his handkerchief to his eyes, his aunt said, "What's
the matter, Jackey?"--"I don't know how 'tis," answered he; "but
here's strange doings, as ever I knew--For, day after day, one's
ready to cry, without knowing whether it be for joy or sorrow!--What
a plague's the matter with me, I wonder!" And out he went, the two
ladies, whose charming eyes, too, glistened with pleasure, smiling
at the effect the scene had upon Mr. H. and at what he said.--"Well,
Madam," said Sir Jacob, approaching me; for I had sat down, but then
stood up--"You will forgive me; and from my heart I wish you joy. By
my soul I do,"--and saluted me.--"I could not have believed there had
been such a person breathing. I don't wonder at my nephew's loving
you!--And you call her sister, Lady Davers, don't you?--If you do,
I'll own her for my niece."
"Don't I!--Yes, I do," said she, coming to me, "and am proud so to
call her. And this I tell you, for _your_ comfort, though to _my own
shame_, that I used her worse than you have done, before I knew her
excellence; and have repented of it ever since."
I bowed to her ladyship, and kissed her hand--"My dearest lady," said
I, "you have made me such rich amends since, that I am sure I may say,
'_It was good for me that I was afflicted!_'"--"Why, nephew, she has
the fear of God, I perceive, before her eyes too! I'm sure I've heard
those words. They are somewhere in the Scripture, I believe!--Why, who
knows but she may be a means to save your soul!--Hey, you know!"--"Ay,
Sir Jacob, she'll be a means to save a hundred souls, and might go a
great way to save yours if you were to live with her but one month."
"Well, but, nephew, I hope you forgive me too; for now I think of
it, I never knew you take any matter so patiently in my life."--"I
knew," said Mr. B., "that every extravagance you insisted upon, was
heightening my charmer's triumph, and increasing your own contrition;
and, as I was not _indeed_ deprived of her company, I could bear with
every thing you said or did--Yet, don't you remember my caution, that
the less you said against her, the less you'd have to unsay, and the
less to repent of!"
"I do; and let me ride out, and call myself to account for all I have
said against her, in her own hearing; and when I can think of but one
half, and how she has taken it, by my soul, I believe 'twill make me
_more_ than half mad."
At dinner (when we had Mr. Williams's company), the baronet told
me, he admired me now, as much as when he thought me Lady Jenny; but
complained of the trick put upon him by us all, and seemed now and
then a little serious upon it.
He took great notice of the dexterity which he imputed to me, in
performing the honours of the table. And every now and then, he lifted
up his eyes--"Very clever.--Why, Madam, you seem to me to be born to
these things!--I will be helped by nobody but you--And you'll have a
task of it, I can tell you; for I have a whipping stomach, and were
there fifty dishes, I always taste of every one." And, indeed, John
was in a manner wholly employed in going to and fro between the
baronet and me, for half an hour together.--He went from us afterwards
to Mrs. Jervis, and made her answer many questions about me, and how
all these matters had _come about_, as he phrased it; and returning,
when we drank coffee, said, "I have been _confabbing_ with Mrs.
Jervis, about you, niece. I never heard the like! She says you can
play on the harpsichord, and sing too; will you let a body have a tune
or so? My Mab can play pretty well, and so can Dolly; I'm a judge of
music, and would fain hear you." I said, if he was a judge, I should
be afraid to play before him; but I would not be asked twice, after
our coffee. Accordingly he repeated his request. I gave him a tune,
and, at his desire, sung to it: "Od's my life," said he, "you do it
purely!--But I see where it is. My girls have got _my_ fingers!" Then
he held both hands out, and a fine pair of paws shewed he. "Plague
on't, they touch two keys at once; but those slender and nimble
fingers, how they sweep along! My eye can't follow 'em--Whew,"
whistled he, "they are here and there, and every where at once!--Why,
nephew, I believe you have put another trick upon me. My niece is
certainly of quality! And report has not done her justice.--One more
tune, one more song--By my faith, your voice goes sweetly to your
fingers. 'Slife--I'll thrash my jades," that was his polite phrase,
"when I get home.--Lady Davers, you know not the money they have cost
me to qualify them; and here's a mere baby to them outdoes 'em by a
bar's length, without any expense at all bestowed upon her. Go over
that again--Confound me for a puppy! I lost it by my prating.--Ay,
there you have it! Oh! that I could but dance as well as thou sing'st!
I'd give you a saraband, old as I am."
After supper, we fell into a conversation, of which I must give you
some account, being on a topic that Mr. B. has been blamed for in his
marrying me, and which has stuck by some of his friends, even after
they have, in kindness to me, acquitted him in every other respect;
and that is, _the example he has set to young gentlemen of family and
fortune to marry beneath them_.--It was begun by Sir Jacob, who said,
"I am in love with my new niece, that I am: but still one thing
sticks with me in this affair, which is, what will become of degree
or distinction, if this practice of gentlemen marrying their mothers'
waiting-maids--excuse me, Madam--should come into vogue? Already,
young ladies and young gentlemen are too apt to be drawn away thus,
and disgrace their families. We have too many instances of this.
You'll forgive me, both of you."
"That," said Lady Davers, "is the _only_ thing!--Sir Jacob has hit
upon the point that would make one wish this example had not been set
by a gentleman of such an ancient family, till one becomes acquainted
with this dear creature; and then every body thinks it should not be
otherwise than it is."
"Ay, Pamela," said Mr. B., "what can you say to this? Cannot you
defend me from this charge? This is a point that has been often
objected to me; try for one of your pretty arguments in my behalf."
"Indeed, Sir," replied I, looking down, "it becomes not me to say any
thing to this."--"But indeed it does, if you can: and I beg you'll
help me to some excuse, if you have any at hand."--"Won't you. Sir,
dispense with me on this occasion? I know, not what to say. Indeed
I should not, if I may judge for myself, speak one _word_ to this
subject.--For it is my absolute opinion, that degrees in general
should be kept up; although I must always deem the present case an
happy exception to the rule." Mr. B. looked as if he still expected I
should say something.--"Won't you, Sir, dispense with me?" repeated I.
"Indeed I should not speak to this point, if I may be my own judge."
"I always intend, my dear, you shall judge for yourself; and, you
know, I seldom urge you farther, when you use those words. But if
you have any thing upon your mind to say, let's have it; for your
arguments are always new and unborrowed."
"I would then, if I _must_, Sir, ask, if there be not a nation, or
if there has not been a law in some nation, which, whenever a young
gentleman, be _his_ degree what it would, has seduced a poor creature,
be _her_ degree what it would, obliges him to marry that unhappy
person?"--"I think there is such a law in some country, I can't tell
where," said Sir Jacob.
"And do you think, Sir, whether it be so or not, that it is equitable
it should be so?"
"Yes, by my troth. Though I must needs own, if it were so in England,
many men, that I know, would not have the wives they now have."--"You
speak to your knowledge, I doubt not, Sir Jacob?" said Mr. B.
"Why, truly--I don't know but I do."
"All then," said I, "that I would infer, is, whether another law would
not be a still more just and equitable one, that the gentleman who
is repulsed, from a principle of virtue and honour, should not be
censured for marrying a person he could _not_ seduce? And whether it
is not more for both their honours, if he does: since it is nobler
to reward a virtue, than to repair a shame, were that shame to be
repaired by matrimony, which I take the liberty to doubt. But I beg
pardon: you commanded me, Sir, else this subject should not have found
a speaker to it, in me."
"This is admirably said," cried Sir Jacob.--"But yet this comes not
up to the objection," said Mr. B. "The setting an example to
waiting-maids to aspire, and to young gentlemen to descend. And I will
enter into the subject myself; and the rather, because as I go along,
I will give Sir Jacob a faint sketch of the merit and character of my
Pamela, of which he cannot be so well informed as he has been of
the disgrace which he imagined I had brought upon myself by marrying
her.--I think it necessary, that as well those persons who are afraid
the example should be taken, as those who are inclined to follow it,
should consider _all_ the material parts of it; otherwise, I think the
precedent may be justly cleared; and the fears of the one be judged
groundless, and the plea of the other but a pretence, in order to
cover a folly into which they would have fallen, whether they had this
example or not. For instance, in order to lay claim to the excuses,
which my conduct, if I may suppose it of force enough to do either
good or hurt, will furnish, it is necessary, that the object of their
wish should be a girl of exquisite beauty (and that not only in their
own blinded and partial judgments, but in the opinion of _every one_
who sees her, friend or foe), in order to justify the force which the
_first_ attractions have upon him: that she be descended of honest and
conscientious, though poor and obscure parents; who having preserved
their integrity, through great trials and afflictions, have, by
their examples, as well as precepts, laid deep in the girl's mind the
foundations of piety and virtue.
"It is necessary that, to the charms of person, this waiting-maid,
should have an humble, teachable mind, fine natural parts, a
sprightly, yet inoffensive wit, a temper so excellent, and a judgment
so solid, as should promise (by the love and esteem these qualities
should attract to herself from her fellow-servants, superior and
inferior) that she would become a higher station, and be respected
in it.--And that, after so good a foundation laid by her parents, she
should have all the advantages of female education conferred upon
her; the example of an excellent lady, improving and building upon so
worthy a foundation: a capacity surprisingly ready to take in all that
is taught her: an attention, assiduity, and diligence almost peculiar
to herself, at her time of life; so as, at fifteen or sixteen years of
age, to be able to vie with any young ladies of rank, as well in the
natural genteelness of her person, as in her acquirements: and that
in nothing but her humility she should manifest any difference between
herself and the high-born.
"It will be necessary, moreover, that she should have a mind above
temptation; that she should resist the _offers_ and _menaces_ of one
upon whom all her worldly happiness seemed to depend; the son of a
lady to whom she owed the greatest obligations; a person whom she did
not _hate_, but greatly _feared_, and whom her grateful heart would
have been _glad_ to oblige; and who sought to prevail over her virtue,
by all the inducements that could be thought of, to _attract_ a young
unexperienced virgin at one time, or to _frighten_ her at another,
into his purposes; who offered her very high terms, her circumstances
considered, as well for herself, as for parents she loved better than
herself, whose circumstances were low and distressful; yet, to all
these _offers_ and _menaces_, that she should be able to answer in
such words as these, which will always dwell upon my memory--'I reject
your proposals with all my soul. May God desert me, whenever I make
worldly grandeur my chiefest good! I know I am in your power; I dread
your will to ruin me is as great as your power. Yet, will I dare to
tell you, I will make no free-will offering of my virtue. All that I
_can_ do, poor as it is, I _will_ do, to shew you, that my will
bore no part in the violation of me.' And when future marriage was
intimated to her, to induce her to yield, to be able to answer, 'The
moment I yield to your proposals, there is an end of all merit, if
now I have any. And I should be so far from _expecting_ such an honour
that I will pronounce I should be most _unworthy_ of it.'
"If, I say, such a girl can be found, thus beautifully attractive in
_every one's_ eye, and not partially so only in a young gentle man's
_own_; and after that (what good persons would infinitely prefer
to beauty), thus piously principled; thus genteely educated and
accomplished; thus brilliantly witty; thus prudent, modest, generous,
undesigning; and having been thus tempted, thus tried, by the man she
hated not, pursued (not intriguingly pursuing), be thus inflexibly
virtuous, and proof against temptation: let her reform her libertine,
and let him marry her; and were he of princely extraction, I dare
answer for it, that no _two_ princes in _one age_, take the world
through, would be in danger. For, although I am sensible it is not to
my credit, I will say, that I never met with a repulse, nor a conduct
like this; and yet I never sunk very low for the subjects of my
attempts, either at home or abroad. These are obvious inferences,"
added he, "not refinements upon my Pamela's story; and if the
gentlemen were capable of thought and comparison, would rather make
such an example, as is apprehended, _more_ than _less_ difficult than
_before_.
"But if, indeed, the young fellow be such a booby, that he
cannot _reflect_ and _compare_, and take the case _with all its
circumstances_ together, I think his good papa or mamma should get him
a wife to their own liking, as soon as possible; and the poorest girl
in England, who is honest, should rather bless herself for escaping
such a husband, than glory in the catch she would have of him. For he
would hardly do honour to his family in any one instance."--"Indeed,"
said the countess, "it would be pity, after all, that such an one
should marry any lady of prudence and birth; for 'tis enough in
conscience, that he is a disgrace to _one_ worthy family; it would be
pity he should make _two_ unhappy."
"Why, really, nephew," said Sir Jacob, "I think you have said much
to the purpose. There is not so much danger, from the example, as
I apprehended, from _sensible_ and _reflecting_ minds. I did not
consider this matter thoroughly, I must needs say."
"And the business is," said Lady Davers--"You'll excuse me,
sister--There will be more people hear that Mr. B. has married his
mother's waiting-maid, than will know his inducements."--"Not many,
I believe, sister. For when 'tis known, I have some character in the
world, and am not quite an idiot (and my faults, in having not been
one of the most virtuous of men, will stand me in some stead in _this_
case, though hardly in _any other_) they will naturally enquire into
my inducements.--But see you not, when we go abroad, what numbers of
people her character draws to admire the dear creature? Does not this
shew, that her virtue has made her more conspicuous than my fortune
has made me? For I passed up and down quietly enough before (handsome
as my equipage always was) and attracted not any body's notice: and
indeed I had as lieve these honours were not so publicly paid _her_;
for even, were I fond to shew and parade, what are they, but a
reproach to me? And can I have any excellence, but a secondary one, in
having, after all my persecutions of her, done but common justice to
her merit?--This answers your objection, Lady Davers, and shews that
_my_ inducements and _her_ story must be equally known. And I really
think (every thing I have said considered, and that might still
farther be urged, and the conduct of the dear creature in the station
she adorns, so much exceeding all I hoped or could expect from the
most promising appearances), that she does _me_ more honour than I
have done _her_; and if I could put myself in a third person's place,
I think I should be of the same opinion, were I to determine upon such
another pair, exactly circumstanced as we are."
You may believe, my friend, how much this generous defence of the
step he had taken, attributing every thing to me, and deprecating
his worthy self, affected me. I played with a cork one while, with
my rings another; looking down, and every way but on the company; for
they gazed too much upon me all the time; so that I could only glance
a tearful eye now and then upon the dear man; and when it would
overflow, catch in my handkerchief the escaped fugitives that would
start unbidden beyond their proper limits, though I often tried, by
a twinkling motion, to disperse the gathering water, before it had
formed itself into drops too big to be restrained. All the company
praised the dear generous speaker; and he was pleased to say farther,
"Although, my good friends, I can truly say, that with all the pride
of family, and the insolence of fortune, which once made me doubt
whether I should not sink too low, if I made my Pamela my mistress
(for I should then have treated her not ungenerously, and should have
suffered her, perhaps, to call herself by my name), I have never once
repented of what I have done; on the contrary, always rejoiced in it,
and it has been, from the first day of our marriage, my pride and my
boast (and shall be, let others say what they will), that I can call
such an excellence, and such a purity, which I so little deserve,
mine; and I look down with contempt upon the rashness of all who
reflect upon me; for they can have no notion of my happiness or her
merit."
"O dear Sir, how do you overrate my poor merit!--Some persons are
happy in a life of _comforts_, but mine's a life of _joy!_--One
rapturous instance follows another so fast, that I know not how to
bear them."
"Whew!" whistled Sir Jacob. "Whereabouts am I?--I hope by-and-by
you'll come down to our pitch, that one may put in a word or two with
you."
"May you be long thus blest and happy together!" said Lady Davers. "I
know not which to admire most, the dear girl that never was bad, or
the dear man, who, having been bad, is now so good!"
Said Lord Davers, "There is hardly any bearing these moving scenes,
following one another so quick, as my sister says."
The countess was pleased to say, that till now she had been at a loss
to form any notion of the happiness of the first pair before the Fall;
but now, by so fine an instance as this, she comprehended it in all
its force. "God continue you to one another," added she, "for a credit
to the state, and to human nature."
Mr. H., having his elbows on the table, folded his hands, shaking
them, and looking down--"Egad, this is uncommon life, that it is! Your
two souls, I can see that, are like well-tuned instruments; but they
are too high set for me, a vast deal."
"The best thing," said Lady Davers (always severe upon her poor
nephew), "thou ever saidst. The music must be equal to that of
Orpheus, which can make such a savage as thee dance to it. I charge
thee, say not another word tonight."--"Why, indeed, aunt," returned
he, laughing, "I believe it _was_ pretty well said for your foolish
fellow: though it was by chance, I must confess; I did not think of
it."--"That I believe," replied my lady; "if thou hadst, thou'dst not
have spoken so well."
Sir Jacob and Mr. B. afterwards fell into a family discourse; and Sir
Jacob told us of two or three courtships by his three sons, and to
his two daughters, and his reasons for disallowing them: and I could
observe, he is an absolute tyrant in his family, though they are all
men and women grown, and he seemed to please himself how much they
stood in awe of him.
I would not have been so tediously trifling, but for the sake of my
dear parents; and there is so much self-praise, as it may seem, from a
person on repeating the fine things said of herself, that I am half
of opinion I should send them to Kent only, and to think you should be
obliged to me for saving you so much trouble and impertinence.
Do, dear Miss, be so free as to forbid me to send you any more long
journals, but common letters only, of how you do? and who and who's
together, and of respects to one another, and so forth--letters that
one might dispatch, as Sir Jacob says, in a _twinkling_, and perhaps
be more to the purpose than the tedious scrawl which kisses your
hands, from _yours most sincerely_, P.B.
Do, dear good Sir Simon, let Miss Polly add to our delights, by her
charming company. Mr. Murray, and the new affair will divert _you_, in
her absence.--So pray, since my good Lady Darnford has consented, and
she is willing, and her sister can spare her; don't be so cross as to
deny me.
* * * * *
LETTER XXXIV
_From Miss Damford to Mrs. B._
MY DEAR MRS. B.,
You have given us great pleasure in your accounts of your
conversations, and of the verses put so wickedly under your seat; and
in your just observations on the lines, and occasions.
I am quite shocked, when I think of Lady Davers's passionate
intentions at the hall, but have let nobody into the worst of the
matter, in compliance with your desire. We are delighted with the
account of your family management, and your Sunday's service. What an
excellent lady you are! And how happy and good you make all who know
you, is seen by the ladies joining in your evening service, as well as
their domestics.
We go on here swimmingly with our courtship. Never was there a fonder
couple than Mr. Murray and Miss Nancy. The modest girl is quite alive,
easy, and pleased, except now-and-then with me. We had a sad falling
out t'other day. Thus it was:--She had the assurance, on my saying,
they were so fond and free before-hand, that they would leave nothing
for improvement afterwards, to tell me, she had long perceived, that
my envy was very disquieting to me. This she said before Mr. Murray,
who had the good manners to retire, seeing a storm rising between
us. "Poor foolish girl!" cried I, when he was gone, provoked to great
contempt by her expression before him, "thou wilt make me despise thee
in spite of my heart. But, pr'ythee, manage thy matters with common
decency, at least."--"Good lack! _Common decency_, did you say? When
my sister Polly is able to shew me what it is, I shall hope to be
better for her example."--"No, thou'lt never be better for any body's
example! Thy ill-nature and perverseness will continue to keep thee
from that."--"My ill-temper, you have often told me, is _natural_ to
me; so it must become _me:_ but upon such a sweet-tempered young lady
as Miss Polly, her late assumed petulance sits but ill!"
"I must have had no bad temper, and that every one says, to bear with
thy sullen and perverse one, as I have done all my life."
"But why can't you bear with it a little longer, sister? Does any
thing provoke you _now_" (with a sly leer and affected drawl) "that
did not _formerly?_"
"Provoke me!--What should provoke me? I gave thee but a hint of thy
fond folly, which makes thee behave so before company, that every one
smiles at thee; and I'd be glad to save thee from contempt for thy
_new_ good humour, as I used to try to do, for thy _old_ bad nature."
"Is that it? What a kind sister have I! But I see it vexes you; and
_ill-natured_ folks love to teaze, you know. But, dear Polly,
don't let the affection Mr. Murray expresses for me, put such a
good-tempered body out of humour, pray don't--Who knows" (continued
the provoker, who never says a tolerable thing that is not
ill-natured) "but the gentleman may be happy that he has found a way,
with so much ease, to dispense with the difficulty that eldership laid
him under? But, as he did you the favour to let the repulse come from
you, don't be angry, sister, that he took you at the first word."
"Indeed," said I, with a contemptuous smile, "thou'rt in the right,
Nancy, to take the gentleman at _his_ first word. Hold him fast, and
play over all thy monkey tricks with him, with all my heart; who knows
but it may engage him more? For, should _he_ leave thee, I might be
too much provoked at thy ingratitude, _to turn over_ another gentleman
to thee. And let me tell thee, without such an introduction, thy
temper would keep any body from thee, that knows it!"
"Poor Miss Polly--Come, be as easy as you can! Who knows but we may
find out some cousin or friend of Mr. Murray's between us, that we may
persuade to address you? Don't make us your enemies: we'll try to make
you easy, if we can. 'Tis a little hard, that you should be so cruelly
taken at your word, that it is."--"Dost think," said I, "poor, stupid,
ill-judging Nancy, that I can have the same regret for parting with
a man I could not like, that thou hadst, when thy vain hopes met with
the repulse they deserved from Mr. B.?"--"Mr. B. come up again? I have
not heard of him a great while."--"No, but it was necessary that one
nail should drive out another; for thou'dst been repining still, had
not Mr. Murray been _turned over_ to thee."--"_Turned over!_ You used
that word once before: such great wits as you, methinks, should not
use the same word twice."
"How dost thou know what wits _should_ or should _not_ do? Thou hast
no talent but ill-nature; and 'tis enough for thee, that _one_ view
takes up thy whole thought. Pursue that--But I would only caution
thee, not to _satiate_ where thou wouldst _oblige_, that's all; or,
if thy man can be so gross as to like thy fondness, to leave something
for _hereafter_."
"I'll call him in again, sister, and you shall acquaint us how you'd
have it. Bell" (for the maid came in just then), "tell Mr. Murray I
desire him to walk in."--"I'm glad to see thee so teachable all at
once!--I find now what was the cause of thy constant perverseness: for
had the unavailing lessons my mamma was always inculcating into thee,
come from a _man_ thou couldst have had hopes of, they had succeeded
better."
In came Sir Simon with his crutch-stick--But can you bear this
nonsense, Mrs. B.?--"What sparring, jangling again, you sluts!--O what
fiery eyes on one side! and contemptuous looks on t'other!"
"Why, papa, my sister Polly has _turned over_ Mr. Murray to me, and
she wants him back again, and he won't come--That's all the matter!"
"You know Nancy, papa, never could _bear_ reproof, and yet would
always _deserve_ it!--I was only gently remarking for her instruction,
on her fondness before company, and she is as she _used to
be!_--Courtship, indeed, is a new thing to the poor girl, and so she
knows not how to behave herself in it."
"So, Polly, because you have been able to run over a long list of
humble servants, you must insult your sister, must you?--But are you
really concerned, Polly?--Hey!"--"Sir, this or anything is very well
from you. But these imputations of envy, before Mr. Murray, must make
the man very considerable with himself. Poor Nancy don't consider
that. But, indeed, how should she? How should _she_ be able to
reflect, who knows not what reflection is, except of the spiteful
sort? But, papa, should the poor thing add to _his_ vanity, which
wants no addition, at the expense of that pride, which can only
preserve her from contempt?"
I saw her affected, and was resolved to pursue my advantage.
"Pr'ythee, Nancy," continued I, "canst thou not have a _little_
patience, child--My papa will set the day as soon as he shall think it
proper. And don't let thy man toil to keep pace with thy fondness; for
I have pitied him many a time, when I have seen him stretched on the
tenters to keep thee in countenance."
This set the ill-natured girl in tears and fretfulness; all her old
temper came upon her, as I designed it should, for she had kept me at
bay longer than usual; and I left her under the dominion of it, and
because I would not come into fresh dispute, got my mamma's leave, and
went in the chariot, to beg a dinner at Lady Jones's; and then came
home as cool and as easy as I used to be; and found Nancy as sullen
and silent, as was her custom, before Mr. Murray tendered himself to
her ready acceptance. But I went to my spinnet, and suffered her to
swell on.
We have said nothing but No and Yes ever since; and I wish I was with
you for a month, and all their nonsense over without me. I am,
my dear, obliging, and excellent Mrs. B., _your faithful and
affectionate_
Polly Darnford.
The two following anticipating the order of time, for the reasons
formerly mentioned, we insert here.
* * * * *
LETTER XXXV
_From Miss Darnford to Mrs. B._
MY DEAR MRS. B.,
Pray give my service to your Mr. B. and tell him he is very impolite
in his reflections upon me, as to Mr. Murray, when he supposes I
regret the loss of him. You are much more favourable and _just_ too,
I will say, to your Polly Damford. These gentlemen, the very best
of them, are such indelicates! They think so highly of their saucy
selves, and confident sex, as if a lady cannot from _her_ heart
despise them; but if she turns them off, as they deserve, and
continues her dislike, what should be interpreted in her favour, as a
just and _regular_ conduct, is turned against her, and it must proceed
from spite. Mr. B. may think he knows much of the sex. But were I as
malicious as he is reflecting (and yet, if I have any malice, he has
raised it), I could say, that his acquaintance, was not with the most
unexceptionable, till he knew you: and he has not long enough been
happy in you, I find, to do justice to those who are proud to emulate
your virtues.
I say, Mrs. B., there can be no living with these men upon such
beginnings. They ought to know their distance, or be taught it, and
not to think it in their power to confer that as a favour, which they
should esteem it an honour to receive.
But neither can I bear, it seems, the preparatives to matrimony, the
fine clothes, the compliments, the _busy novelty_, as he calls it, the
new equipages, and so forth.
That's his mistake again, tell him: for one who can look forwarder
than the nine days of wonder, can easily despise so flashy and so
transient a glare. And were I fond of compliments, it would not,
perhaps, be the way to be pleased, in that respect, if I were to
marry.
Compliments in the single state are a lady's due, whether courted or
not; and she receives, or ought always to receive them, as such; but
in courtship they are poured out upon one, like a hasty shower, soon
to be over. A mighty comfortable consideration this, to a lady who
_loves to be complimented_! Instead of the refreshing April-like
showers, which beautify the sun-shine, she shall stand a deluge of
complaisance, be wet to the skin with it; and what then? Why be in a
Lybian desert ever after!--experience a constant parching drought and
all her attributed excellencies will be swallowed up in the quicksands
of matrimony. It may be otherwise with you; and it _must_ be so;
because there is such an infinite variety in your excellence. But does
Mr. B. think it must be so in _every_ matrimony?
'Tis true, he improves every hour, as I see in his fine speeches to
you. But it could not be Mr. B. if he did not: your merit _extorts_
it from him: and what an ungrateful, as well as absurd churl, would
he be, who should seek to obscure a meridian lustre, that dazzles the
eyes of every one else?
I thank you for your delightful narratives, and beg you to continue
them. I told you how your Saturday's conversation with Lady Davers,
and your Sunday employments, charm us all: so regular, and so easy to
be performed--That's the delightful thing--What every body may do;-and
yet so beautiful, so laudable, so uncommon in the practice, especially
among people in genteel life!--Your conversation and decision in
relation to the two parsons (more than charm) transport us. Mr. B.
judges right, and acts a charming part, to throw such a fine game into
your hands. And so excellently do you play it, that you do as much
credit to your partner's judgment as to your own. Never was so happy a
couple.
Mr. Williams is more my favourite than ever; and the amply rewarded
Mr. Adams, how did that scene affect us! Again and again, I say (for
what can I say else or more--since I can't find words to speak all I
think?), you're a charming lady! Yet, methinks, poor Mr. H. makes but
a sorry figure among you. We are delighted with Lady Davers; but still
more, if possible, with the countess: she is a fine lady, as you have
drawn her: but your characters, though truth and nature, are the most
shocking, or the most amiable, that I ever read.
We are full of impatience to hear of the arrival of Sir Jacob
Swynford. We know his character pretty well: but when he has sat for
it to your pencil, it must be an original indeed. I will have another
trial with my papa, to move him to let me attend you. I am rallying
my forces, and have got my mamma on my side again; who is concerned
to see her girl vexed and insulted by her younger sister; and who yet
minds no more what _she_ says to her, than what I say; and Sir Simon
loves to make mischief between us, instead of interposing to silence
either: and truly, I am afraid his delight of this kind will make him
deny his Polly what she so ardently wishes for. I had a good mind to
be sick, to be with you. I could fast two or three days, to give it
the better appearance; but then my mamma, who loves not deceit, would
blame me, if she knew my stratagem; and be grieved, if she thought I
was really ill. I know, fasting, when one has a stomach to eat, gives
one a very gloomy and mortified air. What would I not do, in short,
to procure to myself the inexpressible pleasure that I should have in
your company and conversation? But continue to write to me till then,
however, and that will be _next best_. I am _your most obliged and
obedient_ POLLY DARNFORD.
LETTER XXXVI
From the same.
My Dearest Mrs. B.,
I am all over joy and rapture. My good papa permits me to say, that
he will put his Polly under your protection, when you go to London. If
you have but a _tenth part_ of the pleasure I have on this occasion, I
am sure, I shall be as welcome as I wish. But he will insist upon it,
he says, that Mr. B. signs some acknowledgment, which I am to carry
along with _me_, that I am intrusted to his honour and yours,
and to be returned to him _heart-whole_ and _dutiful_, and with
a reputation as unsullied as he receives me. But do continue your
journals till then; for I have promised to take them up where you
leave off, to divert our friends here. There will be presumption!
But yet I will write nothing but what I will shew you, and have your
consent to send! For I was taught early not to tell tales out of
school; and a school, the best I ever went to, will be your charming
conversation.
We were greatly diverted with the trick put upon that _barbarian_
Sir Jacob. His obstinacy, repentance, and amendment, followed
so irresistibly in one half hour, from the happy thought of the
excellent lady countess, that I think no plot was ever more fortunate.
It was like springing a lucky mine in a siege, that blew up twenty
times more than was expected from it, and answered all the besiegers'
ends at once.
Mr. B.'s defence of his own conduct towards you is quite noble; and
he judges with his usual generosity and good sense, when, by adding to
your honour, he knows he enhances his own.
You bid me skim over your writings lightly; but 'tis impossible. I
will not flatter you, my dear Mrs. B., nor will I be suspected to
do so; and yet I cannot find words to praise, so much as I think you
deserve: so I will only say that your good parents, for whose pleasure
you write, as well as for mine, cannot receive or read them with more
delight than I do. Even my sister Nancy (judge of their effect by
this!) will at any time leave Murray, and forget to frown or be
ill-natured, while she can hear read what you write. And, angry as
she makes me some times, I cannot deny her this pleasure, because
possibly, among the innumerable improving reflections they abound
with, some one may possibly dart in upon her, and illuminate her, as
your conversation and behaviour did Sir Jacob.
But your application in P.S. to my papa pleased him; and confirmed his
resolution to let me go. He snatched the sheet that contained this,
"That's to me," said he: "I must read this myself." He did, and said,
"She's a sweet one: '_Do dear good Sir Simon_,'" repeated he aloud,
"'_let Miss Polly add to our delights!_' So she shall, then;--if that
will do it!--And yet this same Mrs. B. has so many delights already,
that I should think she might be contented. But, Dame Darnford, I
think I'll let her go. These sisters then, you'll see, how they'll
love at a distance, though always quarrelling when together." He
read on, "'_The new affair will divert you--Lady Darnford has
consented--Miss is willing; and her sister can spare her;'_--Very
prettily put, faith--'_And don't you be cross_'--Very sweet '_to
deny me_.'--Why, dear Mrs. B., I won't be so cross then; indeed I
won't!--And so, Polly, let 'em send word when they set out for London,
and you shall join 'em there with all my heart; but I'll have a letter
every post, remember that, girl."
"Any thing, any thing, dear papa," said I: "so I can but go!" He
called for a kiss, for his compliance. I gave it most willingly, you
may believe.
Nancy looked envious, although Mr. Murray came in just then. She
looked almost like a great glutton, whom I remember; one Sir Jonathan
Smith, who killed himself with eating: he used, while he was heaping
up his plate from one dish, to watch the others, and follow the knife
of every body else with such a greedy eye, as if he could swear a
robbery against any one who presumed to eat as well as he.
Well, let's know when you set out, and you shan't have been a week in
London, if I can help it, but you shall be told by my tongue, as now
by my pen, how much I am _your obliged admirer and friend_, POLLY
DARNFORD.
LETTER XXXVII
MY DEAR FRIEND,
I now proceed with my journal, which I had brought down to Thursday
night.
FRIDAY.
The two ladies resolving, as they said, to inspect all my proceedings,
insisted upon it, that I would take them with me in my _benevolent
round_ (as they, after we returned, would call it), which I generally
take once a week, among my poor and sick neighbours; and finding I
could not get off, I set out with them, my lady countess proposing
Mrs. Worden to fill up the fourth place in the coach. We talked all
the way of charity, and the excellence of that duty; and my Lady
Davers took notice of the text, that it would hide a _multitude of
faults_.
The countess said she had once a much better opinion of herself,
than she found she had reason for, within these _few_ days past: "And
indeed, Mrs. B.," said she, "when I get home, I shall make a good many
people the better for your example." And so said Lady Davers; which
gave me no small inward pleasure; and I acknowledged, in suitable
terms, the honour they both did me. The coach set us down by the side
of a large common, about five miles distant from our house; and we
alighted, and walked a little way, choosing not to have the coach come
nearer, that we might be taken as little notice of as possible; and
they entered with me into two mean cots with great condescension and
goodness; one belonging to a poor widow and five children, who had
been all down in agues and fevers; the other to a man and his wife
bed-rid with age and infirmities, and two honest daughters, one a
widow with two children, the other married to an husbandman, who had
also been ill, but now, by comfortable cordials, and good physic, were
pretty well to what they had been.
The two ladies were well pleased with my demeanour to the good folks:
to whom I said, that as I should go so soon to London, I was willing
to see them before I went, to wish them better and better, and to tell
them, that I should leave orders with Mrs. Jervis concerning them, to
whom they must make known their wants: and that Mr. Barrow would take
care of them, I was sure; and do all that was in the power of physic
for the restoration of their healths.
Now you must know, Miss, that I am not so good as the old ladies of
former days, who used to distil cordial waters, and prepare medicines,
and dispense them themselves. I knew, if I were so inclined, my dear
Mr. B. would not have been pleased with it, because in the approbation
he has kindly given to my present method, he has twice or thrice
praised me, that I don't carry my charity to extremes, and make his
house a dispensatory. I would not, therefore, by aiming at doing too
much, lose the opportunity of doing any good at all in these respects;
and besides, as the vulgar saying is, One must creep before one goes.
But this is my method:
I am upon an agreement with this Mr. Barrow, who is deemed a very
skilful and honest apothecary, and one Mr. Simmonds, a surgeon of
like character, to attend to all such cases and persons as I shall
recommend; Mr. Barrow, to administer physic and cordials, as he shall
judge proper, and even, in necessary cases, to call in a physician.
And now and then, by looking in upon them one's self, or sending a
servant to ask questions, all is kept right.
My Lady Davers observed a Bible, a Common Prayer-book, and a Whole
Duty of Man, in each cot, in leathern outside cases, to keep them
clean, and a Church Catechism or two for the children; and was pleased
to say, it was right; and her ladyship asked one of the children,
a pretty girl, who learnt her her catechism? And she curtsey'd and
looked at me; for I do ask the children questions, when I come, to
know how they improve; "'Tis as I thought," said my lady; "my sister
provides for both parts. God bless you, my dear!" said she, and tapped
my neck.
My ladies left tokens of their bounty behind them to both families,
and all the good folks blessed and prayed for us at parting: and as
we went out, my Lady Davers, with a serious air, was pleased to say to
me, "Take care of your health, my dear sister; and God give you, when
it comes, a happy hour: for how many real mourners would you have, if
you were to be called early to reap the fruits of your piety!"
"God's will must be done, my lady," said I. "The same Providence that
has so wonderfully put it in my power to do a little good, will raise
up new friends to the honest hearts that rely upon him."
This I said, because some of the good people heard my lady, and seemed
troubled, and began to redouble their prayers, for my safety and
preservation.
We walked thence to our coach, and stretched a little farther, to
visit two farmers' families, about a mile distant from each other.
One had the mother of the family, with two sons, just recovering, the
former from a fever, the latter from tertian agues; and I asked, when
they saw Mr. Barrow? They told me, with great commendations of him,
that he had but just left them. So, having congratulated their hopeful
way, and wished them to take care of themselves, and not go too early
to business, I said I should desire Mr. Barrow to watch over them, for
fear of a relapse, and should hardly see 'em again for some time; and
so I slid, in a manner not to be observed, a couple of guineas into
the good woman's hand; for I had a hint given me by Mrs. Jervis, that
their illness had made it low with them.
We proceeded then to the other farm, where the case was a married
daughter, who had a very dangerous lying-in, and a wicked husband who
had abused her, and run away from her; but she was mending apace, by
good comfortable things, which from time to time I had caused to be
sent her. Her old father had been a little unkind to her, before I
took notice of her; for she married against his consent; and indeed
the world went hard with the poor man, and he could not do much; and
besides, he had a younger daughter, who had lost all her limbs, and
was forced to be tied in a wicker chair, to keep her up in it; which
(having expended much to relieve her) was a great _pull-back_, as the
good old woman called it. And having been a year in arrear to a harsh
landlord, who, finding a good stock upon the ground, threatened to
distress the poor family, and turn them out of all, I advanced the
money upon the stock; and the poor man has already paid me half of it
(for, Miss, I must keep within compass too), which was fifty pounds at
first, and is in a fair way to pay me the other half, and make as much
more for himself.
Here I found Mr. Barrow, and he gave me an account of the success
of two other cases I had recommended to him; and told me, that John
Smith, a poor man, who, in thatching a barn, had tumbled down, and
broken his leg, and bruised himself all over, was in a fair way of
recovery. This poor creature had like to have perished by the cruelty
of the parish officers, who would have passed him away to Essex,
where his settlement was, though in a burning fever, occasioned by his
misfortune; but hearing of the case, I directed Mr. Simmonds to attend
him, and to provide for him at my expense, and gave my word, if he
died, to bury him.
I was glad to hear he was in so good a way, and told Mr. Barrow, I
hoped to see him and Mr. Simmonds together at Mr. B.'s, before I
set out for London, that we might advise about the cases under their
direction, and that I might acquit myself of some of my obligations to
them.
"You are a good man, Mr. Barrow," added I: "God will bless you for
your care and kindness to these poor destitute creatures. They all
praise you, and do nothing but talk of your humanity to them."
"O my good lady," said he, "who can forbear following such an example
as you set? Mr. Simmonds can testify as well as I (for now and then
a case requires us to visit together) that we can hardly hear any
complaints from our poor patients, let 'em be ever so ill, for the
praises and blessings they bestow upon you."
"It is good Mr. B. that enables and encourages me to do what I do.
Tell them, they must bless God, and bless him, and pray for me, and
thank you and Mr. Simmonds: we all join together, you know, for their
good."
The countess and Lady Davers asked the poor lying-in woman many
questions, and left with her, and for her poor sister, a miserable
object indeed!--(God be praised that I am not such an one!) marks of
their bounty in gold, and looking upon one another, and then upon me,
and lifting up their hands, could not say a word till we were in the
coach: and so we were carried home, after we had just looked in upon
a country school, where I pay for the learning of eight children. And
here (I hope I recite not this with pride, though I do with pleasure)
is a cursory account of my _benevolent weekly round_, as my ladies
will call it. I know you will not be displeased with it; but it will
highly delight my worthy parents, who, in their way, do a great deal
of discreet good in their neighbourhood: for indeed, Miss, a little
matter, _prudently_ bestowed, and on true objects of compassion (whose
cases are soon at a crisis, as are those of most labouring people),
will go a great way, and especially if laid out properly for 'em,
according to the exigencies of their respective cases.--For such
poor people, who live generally low, want very seldom any thing
but reviving cordials at first, and good wholesome kitchen physic
afterwards: and then the wheels of nature, being unclogged, new oiled,
as it were, and set right, they will go round again with pleasantness
and ease for a good while together, by virtue of that exercise which
their labour gives them; while the rich and voluptuous are forced to
undergo great fatigues to keep theirs clean and in order.
SATURDAY MORNING.
It is hardly right to trouble either of you, my honoured
correspondents, with an affair that has vexed me a good deal; and,
indeed, _should_ affect me more than any other mistress of a family,
for reasons which will be obvious to you, when I tell you the case.
And this I cannot forbear doing.
A pretty genteel young body, my Polly Barlow, as I call her, having
been well recommended, and behaved with great prudence till this time,
is the cause.
My dear Mr. B. and the two ladies, agreed with me to take a little
airing in the coach, and to call in upon Mr. Martin, who had a present
made him for his menagerie, in which he takes a great delight, of a
rare and uncommon creature, a native of the East Indies. But just
as Sir Jacob was on horseback to accompany them, and the ladies were
ready to go, I was taken with a sudden disorder and faintishness; so
that Lady Davers, who is very tender of me, and watches every change
of my countenance, would not let me go with them, though my disorder
was going off: and my dear Mr. B. was pleased to excuse me; and just
meeting with Mr. Williams, as they went to the coach, they took him
with them, to fill up the vacant place. So I retired to my closet, and
shut myself in.
They had asked Mr. H. to go with them, for company to Sir Jacob; but
he (on purpose, as I believe by what followed) could not be found,
when they set out: so they supposed he was upon some ramble with Mr.
Colbrand, his great favourite.
I was writing to you, being pretty well recovered, when I heard Polly,
as I supposed, and as it proved, come into my apartment: and down she
sat, and sung a little catch, and cried, "Hem!" twice; and presently
I heard two voices. But suspecting nothing, I wrote on, till I heard
a kind of rustling and struggling, and Polly's voice crying, "Fie--How
can you do so!--Pray, Sir."
This alarmed me much, because we have such orderly folks about us; and
I looked through the key-hole; and, to my surprise and concern, saw
Mr. H.--foolish gentleman!--taking liberties with Polly, that neither
became him to offer, nor, more foolish girl! her to suffer. And
having reason to think, that this was not their first interview, and
freedom--and the girl sometimes encouragingly laughing, as at other
times, inconsistently, struggling and complaining, in an accent that
was too tender for the occasion, I forced a faint cough. This frighted
them both: Mr. H. swore, and said, "Who can that be?--Your lady's gone
with them, isn't she?"
"I believe so!--I hope so!" said the silly girl--"yet that was like
her voice!--Me'm, are you in your closet, Me'm?" said she, coming
up to the door; Mr. H. standing like a poor thief, half behind the
window-curtains, till he knew whether it was I.
I opened the door: away sneaked Mr. H., and she leaped with surprise,
not hoping to find me there, though she asked the question.
"I thought--Indeed--Me'm--I thought you were gone out,"--"It is plain
you did, Polly.--Go and shut the chamber door, and come to me again."
She did, but trembled, and was so full of confusion, that I pitied the
poor creature, and hardly knew how to speak to her. For my compassion
got the upper hand of my resentment; and as she stood quaking and
trembling, and looking on the ground with a countenance I cannot
describe, I now and then cast my eye upon her, and was as often forced
to put my handkerchief to it.
At last I said, "How long have these freedoms past between you and Mr.
H.?--I am loth to be censorious, Polly; but it is too plain, that Mr.
H. would not have followed you into my chamber, if he had not met you
at other places."--The poor girl said never a word.--"Little did I
expect, Polly, that you would have shewn so much imprudence. You have
had instances of the vile arts of men against poor maidens: have
you any notion that Mr. H. intends to do honourably by you?"
--"Me'm--Me'm--I believe--I hope--I dare say, Mr. H. would not do
otherwise."--"So much the worse that you believe so, if you have not
very good reason for your belief. Does he pretend that he will marry
you?"--She was silent.--"Tell me, Polly, if he does?"--"He says
he will do honourably by me."--"But you know there is but one word
necessary to explain that other precious word _honour_, in this case.
It is _matrimony_. That word is as soon spoken as any other, and if
he _means_ it, he will not be shy to _speak_ it."--She was silent.--
"Tell me, Polly (for I am really greatly concerned for you), what
you think _yourself_; do you _hope_ he will marry you?"--She was
silent.--"Do, good Polly (I hope I may call you _good_ yet!),
answer me."--"Pray, Madam!" and she wept, and turned from me, to the
wainscot--"Pray, excuse me."--"But, indeed, Polly, I cannot _excuse_
you. You are under my protection. I was once in as dangerous a
situation as you can be in. And I did not escape it, child, by the
language and conduct I heard from you."--"Language and conduct,
Me'm!"--"Yes, Polly, language and conduct. Do you think, if I had set
me down in my lady's bed-chamber, sung a song, and hemm'd twice, and
Mr. B. coming to me, upon that signal (for such I doubt it was), I had
kept my place, and suffered myself to be rumpled, and only, in a soft
voice, and with an encouraging laugh, cried--'How can you do so?' that
I should have been what I am?"--"Me'm, I dare say, my lord" (so all
the servants call him, and his aunt often, when she puts Jackey
to it), "means no hurt."--"No hurt, Polly! What, and make you cry
'_Fie!_'-or do you intend to trust your honour to his mercy, rather
than to your own discretion?"--"I hope not, Me'm!"--"I hope not too,
Polly!--But you know he was free enough with you, to make you say
'_Fie!_' And what might have been the case, who knows? had I not
coughed on purpose: unwilling, for your sake, Polly, to find matters
so bad as I feared, and that you would have been led beyond what was
reputable."
"Reputable, Me'm!"--"Yes, Polly: I am sorry you oblige me to speak so
plain. But your good requires it. Instead of flying from him, you not
only laughed when you cried out, '_Fie!_' and '_How can you do so?_'
but had no other care than to see if any body heard you; and you
observe how he slid away, like a guilty creature, on my opening the
door--Do these things look well, Polly? Do you think they do?--And if
you hope to emulate my good fortune, do you think _this_ is the way?"
"I wish, Me'm, I had never seen Mr. H. For nobody will look upon me,
if I lose your favour!"
"It will still, Polly" (and I took her hand, with a kind look), "be in
your power to keep it: I will not mention this matter, if you make me
your friend, and tell me all that has passed."--Again she wept, and
was silent.--This made me more uneasy.--"Don't think, Polly," said I,
"that I would envy any other person's preferment, when I have been
so much exalted myself. If Mr. H. has talked to you of marriage, tell
me."--"No, Me'm, I can't say he has _yet_."--"Yet, Polly! Then he
_never_. will. For when men do talk of it, they don't always _mean_
it: but whenever they _mean_ it, how can they confirm a doubting
maiden, without _mentioning_ it: but alas for you, poor Polly!--The
freedoms you have permitted, no doubt, previous to those I heard, and
which might have been greater, had I not surprised you with my cough,
shew too well, that he _need_ not make any promises to you."--"Indeed,
Me'm," said she, sobbing, "I might be too little upon my guard; but I
would not have done any ill for the world."
"I hope you would not, Polly; but if you suffer these freedoms, you
can't tell what you'd have permitted--Tell me, do you love Mr. H.?"
"He is very good-humoured, Madam, and is not proud."--"No, 'tis not
his business to be proud, when he hopes to humble you--humble you,
indeed!--beneath the lowest person of the sex, that is honest."--"I
hope----"--"You _hope!_" interrupted I. "You _hope_ too much; and
I _fear a great deal_ for you, because you fear so _little_ for
yourself.--But say, how often have you been in private together?"
"In private, Me'm! I don't know what your ladyship calls
_private!_"--"Why that is _private_, Polly, when, as just now, you
neither imagined nor intended any body should see you."
She was silent; and I saw by this, poor girl, how true lovers are to
their secret, though, perhaps, their ruin depends upon keeping it.
But it behoved me, on many accounts, to examine this matter narrowly;
because if Mr. H. should marry her, it would have been laid upon Mr.
B.'s example.--And if Polly were ruined, it would be a sad thing, and
people would have said, "Aye, she could take care enough of herself,
but none at all of her servant: _her_ waiting-maid had a much more
remiss mistress than Pamela found, or the matter would not have been
thus."
"Well, Polly, I see," continued I, "that you will not speak out to me.
You may have _several_ reasons for it, possibly, though not _one_ good
one. But as soon as Lady Davers comes in, who has a great concern in
this matter, as well as Lord Davers, and are answerable to Lord H.
in a matter of so much importance as this, I will leave it to her
ladyship's consideration, and shall no more concern myself to ask you
questions about it--For then I must take her ladyship's directions,
and part with you, to be sure."
The poor girl, frighted at this (for every body fears Lady Davers),
wrung her hands, and begged, for God's sake, I would not acquaint Lady
Davers with it.
"But how can I help it?--Must I not connive at your proceedings, if
I do not? You are no fool, Polly, in other cases. Tell me, how it is
possible for me, in my situation, to avoid it?"
"I will tell your ladyship the whole truth; indeed I will--if you
will not tell Lady Davers. I am ready to sink at the thoughts of Lady
Davers knowing any thing of this."
This looked sadly. I pitied her, but yet was angry in my mind; for I
saw, too plainly, that her conduct could not bear a scrutiny, not even
in _her own _opinion, poor creature.
I said, "Make me acquainted with the whole."--"Will your ladyship
promise--"--"I'll promise nothing, Polly. When I have heard all you
think proper to say, I will do what befits me to do; but with as much
tenderness as I can for you--and that's all you ought to expect me
to promise."--"Why then, Madam--But how can I speak it?--I can speak
sooner to any body, than to Lady Davers and you, Madam: for her
ladyship's passion, and your ladyship's virtue--How shall I?"--And
then she threw herself at my feet, and hid her face with her apron.
I was in agonies for her, almost; I wept over her, and raised her up,
and said, "Tell me all. You cannot tell me worse than I apprehend, nor
I hope so bad! O Polly, tell me soon.--For you give me great pain."
And my back, with grief and compassion for the poor girl, was ready
to open, as it seemed to me.--In my former distresses, I have been
overcome by fainting next to death, and was deprived of sense for some
moments--But else, I imagine, I must have felt some such affecting
sensation, as the unhappy girl's case gave me.
"Then, Madam, I own," said she, "I have been too faulty."--"As
how?--As what?--In what way?--How faulty?"--asked I, as quick as
thought: "you are not ruined, are you?--Tell me, Polly!"--"No,
Madam, but--"--"But what?--Say, but what?"--"I had consented--"--"To
what?"--"To his proposals, Madam."--"What proposals?"--"Why, Madam, I
was to live with Mr. H."
"I understand you too well--But is it too late to break so wretched a
bargain;--have you already made a sacrifice of your honour?"
"No, Madam: but I have given it under my hand."
"Under your _hand!_--Ah! Polly, it is well if you have not given
it under your _heart_ too. But what foolishness is this!--What
consideration has he made you?"--"He has given it under his hand, that
he will always love me; and when his lordship's father dies, he will
own me."
"What foolishness is this on both sides!--But are you willing to be
released from this bargain?"
"Indeed I am. Madam, and I told him so yesterday. But he says he will
sue me, and ruin me, if I don't stand to it."
"You are ruined if you do!--And I wish--But tell me, Polly, are you
not ruined as it is?"
"Indeed I am not, Madam."
"I doubt, then, you were upon the brink of it, had not this
providential indisposition kept me at home.--You met, I suppose, to
conclude your shocking bargain.--O poor unhappy girl!--But let me see
what he has given under his hand!"
"He has 'em both, Madam, to be drawn up fair, and in a strong hand,
that shall be like a record."
Could I have thought, Miss, that a girl of nineteen could be so
ignorant in a point so important, when in every thing else she has
shewn no instances like this stupid folly?
"Has he given you money?"
"Yes, Madam, he gave me--he gave me--a note. Here it is. He says any
body will give me money for it." And this was a bank note of fifty
pounds, which she pulled out of her stays.
The result was, he was to settle one hundred pounds a year upon her
and hers, poor, poor girl--and was to _own_ her, as he calls it (but
as wife or mistress, she stipulated not), when his father died, and he
came into the title and estate.
I told her, it was impossible for me to conceal the matter from Lady
Davers, if she would not, by her promises to be governed entirely by
me, and to abandon all thoughts of Mr. H., give me room to conclude,
that the wicked bargain was at an end.
And to keep the poor creature in some spirits, and to enable her to
look up, and to be more easy under my direction, I blamed _him_ more
than I did _her_: though, considering what virtue requires of a
woman, and custom has made shameless in a man, I think the poor girl
inexcusable, and shall not be easy while she is about me. For she is
more to blame, because, of the two, she has more wit than the man.
"But what can I do?" thought I. "If I put her away, 'twill be to throw
her directly into his hands. He won't stay here long: and she _may_
see her folly. But yet her eyes were open; she knew what she had to
trust to--and by their wicked beginning, and her encouraging repulses,
I doubt she would have been utterly ruined that very day."
I knew the rage Lady Davers would be in with both. So this was another
embarrassment. Yet should my good intentions fail, and they conclude
their vile bargain, and it appeared that I knew of it, but would not
acquaint her, then should I have been more blamed than any mistress of
a family, circumstanced as I am. Upon the whole, I resolved to comfort
the girl as well as I could, till I had gained her confidence, that my
advice might have the more weight, and, by degrees, be more likely to
reclaim her: for, poor soul! there would be an end of her reputation,
the most precious of all jewels, the moment the matter was known; and
that would be a sad thing.
As for the man, I thought it best to take courage (and you, that know
me, will say, I must have a good deal more than usual) to talk to
Mr. H. on this subject. And she consenting I should, and, with great
protestations, declaring her sorrow and repentance, begging to get her
note of hand again, and to give him back his note of fifty pounds, I
went down to find him.
He shunned me, as a thief would a constable at the head of a
hue-and-cry. As I entered one room, he went into another, looking with
conscious guilt, yet confidently humming a tune. At last I fixed him,
bidding Rachel tell Polly be wanted to send a message by her to her
lady. By which I doubted not he was desirous to know what she had
owned, in order to govern himself accordingly.
His back was towards me; and I said--
"Mr. H., here I am myself, to take your commands."
He gave a caper half a yard high--"Madam, I wanted--I wanted to speak
to--I would have spoken with--"
"You wanted to send Polly to me, perhaps, Mr. H., to ask if I would
take a little walk with you in the garden."
"Very true, Madam!--Very true indeed!--You have guessed the matter. I
thought it was pity, this fine day, as every body was taking airing--"
"Well then. Sir, please to lead the way, and I'll attend you."
"Yet I fancy, Madam, the wind is a little too high for you.--Won't
you catch cold?"--"No, never fear, Mr. H., I am not afraid of a little
air."
"I will attend you presently, Madam: you'll be in the great gravel
walk, or on the terrace.--I'll wait upon you in an instant."
I had the courage to take hold of his arm, as if I had like to have
slipt.--For, thought I, thou shalt not see the girl till I have talked
to thee a little, if thou dost then.--"Excuse me, Mr. H.--I hope I
have not hurt my foot--I must lean upon you."
"Will you be pleased, Madam, to have a chair? I fear you have sprained
your foot.--Shall I help you to a chair?"
"No, no, Sir, I shall walk it off, if I hold by you."
So he had no excuse to leave me, and we proceeded into the garden. But
never did any thing look so like a _foolish fellow_, as his aunt
calls him. He looked, if possible, half a dozen ways at once, hemm'd,
coughed, turned his head behind him every now and then, started half a
dozen silly subjects, in hopes to hinder me from speaking.
I appeared, I believe, under some concern how to begin with him; for
he would have it I was not very well, and begged he might step in one
minute to desire Mrs. Jervis to attend me.
So I resolved to begin with him; lest I should lose the opportunity,
seeing my eel so very slippery. And placing myself on a seat, asked
him to sit down. He declined, and would wait upon me presently, he
said, and seemed to be going. So I began--"It is easy for me, Mr. H.,
to penetrate into the reason why you are so willing to leave me: but
'tis for your own sake, that I desire you to hear me, that no mischief
may ensue among friends and relations, on an occasion to which you are
no stranger."
"O, Madam, what can you mean? Surely, Madam, you don't think amiss of
a little innocent liberty, or so!"
"Mr. H.," replied I, "I want not any evidence of your inhospitable
designs upon a poor unwary young creature, whom your birth and quality
have found it too easy a task to influence."
"_Inhospitable designs_! Madam!--A harsh word! You very nice ladies
cannot admit of the least freedom in the world!--Why, Madam, I have
kiss'd a lady's woman before now, in a civil way or so, and never was
called to an account for it, as a breach of hospitality."
"Tis not for me, Mr. H., to proceed to _very nice _particulars with a
gentleman who can act as you have done, by a poor girl, that dare
not have looked up to a man of your quality, had you not levelled all
distinction between you in order to level the weak creature to the
common dirt of the highway. I must say, that the poor girl heartily
repents of her folly; and, to shew you, that it signifies nothing to
deny it, she begs you will return the note of her hand you extorted
from her foolishness; and I hope you'll be so much of a gentleman, as
not to keep in your power such a testimony of the weakness of any of
the sex."
"Has she told you that, Madam?--Why, may be--indeed--I can't but
say--Truly, it mayn't look so well to you, Madam: but young folks will
have frolics. It was nothing but a frolic. Let me _be hanged_, if it
was!"
"Be pleased then, Sir, to give up her note to me, to return to her.
Reputation should not be frolicked with, Sir; especially that of a
poor girl, who has nothing else to depend upon."
"I'll give it her myself, if you please, Madam, and laugh at her into
the bargain. Why, 'tis comical enough, if the little pug thought I was
earnest, I must have a laugh or two at her, Madam, when I give it her
up."
"Since, 'tis but a frolic, Mr. H., you won't take it amiss, that when
we are set down to supper, we call Polly in, and demand a sight of her
note, and that will make every one merry as well as you."
"Not so, Madam, that mayn't be so well neither! For, perhaps, they
will be apt to think it is in earnest; when, as I hope to live, 'tis
but a jest: nothing in the world else, upon honour!"
I put on then a still more serious air--"As you _hope to live_, say
you, Mr. H.!--and _upon your honour!_ How! fear you not an instant
punishment for this appeal? And what is the _honour_ you swear by?
Take that, and answer me, Sir: do gentlemen give away bank-notes for
_frolics_, and for _mere jests_, and _nothing in the world_ else!--I
am sorry to be obliged to deal thus with you. But I thought I was
talking to a gentleman who would not forfeit his veracity; and that in
so solemn an instance as this!"
He looked like a man thunderstruck. His face was distorted, and his
head seemed to turn about upon his neck, like a weather-cock in a
hurricane, to all points of the compass; his hands clenched as in
a passion, and yet shame and confusion struggling in every limb and
feature. At last he said, "I am confoundedly betrayed. But if I am
exposed to my uncle and aunt" (for the wretch thought of nobody but
himself), "I am undone, and shall never be able to look them in the
face. 'Tis true, I had a design upon her; and since she has betrayed
me, I think I may say, that she was as willing, almost, as I."
"Ungenerous, contemptible wretch!" thought I--"But such of our sex as
can thus give up their virtue, ought to expect no better: for he
that sticks not at _one_ bad action, will not scruple at _another_ to
vindicate himself: and so, devil-like, become the attempter and the
accuser too!"
"But if you will be so good," said he, with hands uplifted, "as to
take no notice of this to my uncle, and especially to my aunt and Mr.
B., I swear to you, I never will think of her as long as I live."
"And you'll bind this promise, will you, Sir, by _your honour_, and as
you _hope to live?_"
"Dear, good Madam, forgive me, I beseech you; don't be so severe upon
me. By all that's--"
"Don't swear, Mr. H. But as an earnest that I may believe you, give
me back the girl's foolish note, that, though 'tis of no significance,
she may not have _that_ to witness her folly."--He took out his
pocket-book: "There it is, Madam! And I beg you'll forgive this
attempt: I see I ought not to have made it. I doubt it was a breach of
the laws of hospitality, as you say. But to make it known, will only
expose me, and it can do no good; and Mr. B. will perhaps resent
it; and my aunt will never let me hear the last of it, nor my uncle
neither--And I shall be sent to travel again--And" (added the poor
creature) "I was once in a storm, and the crossing the sea again would
be death to me."
"What a wretch art thou!" thought I. "What could such an one as thou
find to say, to a poor creature that, if put in the scale against
considerations of virtue, should make the latter kick the [Transcriber's
note: illegible] "Poor, poor Tony Barrow! thou art sunk indeed! Too low
for excuse, and almost beneath pity!"
I told him, if I could observe that nothing passed between them, that
should lay me under a necessity of revealing the matter, I should not
be forward to expose him, nor the maiden either: but that he must, in
his own judgment, excuse me, if I made every body acquainted with it,
if I were to see the correspondence between them likely to be renewed
or carried on: "For," added I, "in that case I should owe it to
myself, to Mr. B., to Lord and Lady Davers, and to you, and the
unhappy body too, to do so."
He would needs drop down on one knee, to promise this; and with a
thousand acknowledgments, left me to find Mr. Colbrand, in order to
ride to meet the coach on its return. I went in, and gave the foolish
note to the silly girl, which she received eagerly, and immediately
burnt; and I told her, I would not suffer her to come near me but
as little as possible, when I was in company while Mr. H. staid; but
consigned her entirely to the care of Mrs. Jervis, to whom only, I
said, I would hint the matter as tenderly as I could: and for this, I
added, I had more reasons than one; first, to give her the benefit
of a good gentlewoman's advice, to which I had myself formerly been
beholden, and from whom I concealed nothing; next, to keep out of
Mr. H.'s way; and lastly that I might have an opportunity, from Mrs.
Jervis's opinion, to judge of the sincerity of her repentance: "For,
Polly," said I, "you must imagine, so regular and uniform as all our
family is, and so good as I thought all the people about me were,
that I could not suspect, that she, the duties of whose place made her
nearest to my person, was the farthest from what I wished."
I have set this matter so strongly before her, and Mrs. Jervis has
so well seconded me, that I hope the best; for the grief the poor
creature carries in her looks, and expresses in her words, cannot be
described; frequently accusing herself, with tears, saying often
to Mrs. Jervis, she is not worthy to stand in the presence of her
mistress, whose example she has made so bad an use of, and whose
lessons she had so ill followed.
I am sadly troubled at this matter, however; but I take great comfort
in reflecting that my sudden indisposition looked like a providential
thing, which may save one poor soul, and be a seasonable warning to
her, as long as she lives.
Meantime I must observe, that at supper last night, Mr. H. looked
abject and mean, and like a poor thief, as I thought, and conscious of
his disappointed folly (though I seldom glanced my eye upon him), had
less to say for himself than ever.
And once my Lady Davers, laughing, said, "I think in my heart, my
nephew looks more foolish every time I see him, than the last." He
stole a look at me, and blushed; and my lord said, "Jackey has some
grace! He blushes! Hold up thy head, nephew! Hast thou nothing at all
to say for thyself?"
Sir Jacob said, "A blush becomes a young gentleman! I never saw one
before though, in Mr. H.--What's the matter, Sir?"--"Only," said Lady
Davers, "his skin or his conscience is mended, that's all."
"Thank you, Madam," was all he said, bowing to his aunt, and affecting
a careless yet confused air, as if he whispered a whistle. "O,
wretch!" thought I, "see what it is to have a condemning conscience;
while every _innocent_ person looks round easy, smiling, and
erect!"--But yet it was not the shame of a bad action, I doubt, but
being discovered and disappointed, that gave him his confusion of
face.
What a sad thing for a person to be guilty of such actions, as shall
put it in the power of another, even by a look, to mortify him! And
if poor souls can be thus abjectly struck at such a discovery by
a fellow-creature, how must they appear before an unerring and
omniscient Judge, with a conscience standing in the place of a
thousand witnesses? and calling in vain upon the _mountains to fall
upon them_, and the _hills to cover them!_--How serious this subject
makes one!
SATURDAY EVENING.
I am just retired from a fatiguing service; for who should come to
dine with Mr. B. but that sad rake Sir Charles Hargrave; and Mr.
Walgrave, Mr. Sedley, and Mr. Floyd, three as bad as himself;
inseparable companions, whose whole delight is drinking, hunting, and
lewdness; but otherwise gentlemen of wit and large estates. Three of
them broke in upon us at the Hall, on the happiest day of my life,
to our great regret; and they had been long threatening to make this
visit, in order to see me, as they told Mr. B.
They whipt out two bottles of champagne instantly, for a _whet_, as
they called it; and went to view the stud and the kennel, and then
walked in the garden till dinner was ready; my Lord Davers, Mr. H.
and Sir Jacob, as well as Mr. B. (for they are all acquainted)
accompanying them.
Sir Charles, it seems, as Lord Davers told me afterwards; said, he
longed to see Mrs. B. She was the talk wherever he went, and he had
conceived a high opinion of her beforehand.
Lord Davers said, "I defy you, gentlemen, to think so highly of her as
she deserves, take mind and person together."
Mr. Floyd said, he never saw any woman yet, who came up to what he
expected, where fame had been lavish in her praise.
"But how, brother baronet," said Sir Charles to Sir Jacob, "came _you_
to be reconciled to her? I heard that you would never own her."
"Oons man!" said Sir Jacob, "I was taken in.--They contrived to clap
her upon me as Lady Jenny C. and pretended they'd keep t'other out of
my sight; and I was plaguily bit, and forced to get on as well as I
could."
"That was a bite indeed," said Mr. Walgrave; "and so you fell a
praising Lady Jenny, I warrant, to the skies."
"Ye--s" (drawling out the affirmative monosyllable), "I was used most
scurvily: faith I was. I bear 'em a grudge for it still, I can tell
'em that; for I have hardly been able to hold up my head like a man
since--but am forced to go and come, and to do as they bid me. By my
troth, I never was so manageable in my life."
"Your Herefordshire neighbours, Sir Jacob," said Mr. Sedley, with an
oath, "will rejoice to hear this; for the whole county there cannot
manage you."
"I am quite cow'd now, as you will see by-and-by; nay, for that
matter, if you can set Mrs. B. a talking, not one of you all will care
to open your lips, except to say as she says."
"Never fear, old boy," said Sir Charles, "we'll bear our parts in
conversation. I never saw the woman yet, who could give me either awe
or love for six minutes together. What think you, Mr. B.? Have you any
notion, that your lady will have so much power over us?"
"I think, Sir Charles, I have one of the finest women in England; but
I neither expect nor desire you rakes should see her with my eyes."
"You know, if I have a mind to love her, and make court to her too,
Mr. B., I will: and I am half in love with her already, although I
have not seen her."
They came in when dinner was near ready, and the four gentlemen took
each a large bumper of old hock for another whet.
The countess, Lady Davers, and I came down together. The gentlemen
knew our two noble ladies, and were known to them in person, as well
as by character. Mr. B., in his usual kind and encouraging manner,
took my hand, and presented the four gentlemen to me, each by his
name. Sir Charles said, pretty bluntly, that he hoped he was more
welcome to me now, than the last time he was under the same roof with
me; for he had been told since, that _that_ was our happy day.
I said, Mr. B.'s friends were always welcome to me.
"Tis well, Madam," said Mr. Sedley, "we did not know how it was. We
should have quartered ourselves upon Mr. B. for a week together, and
kept him up day and night."
I thought this speech deserved no answer, especially as they were
gentlemen who wanted no countenance, and addressed myself to Lord
Davers, who is always kindly making court to me: "I hope, my good
lord, you find yourself quite recovered of your head-ache?" (of which
he complained at breakfast).
"I thank you, my dear sister, pretty well."
"I was telling Sir Charles and the other gentlemen, niece," said Sir
Jacob, "how I was cheated here, when I came first, with a Lady Jenny."
"It was a very lucky cheat for me, Sir Jacob; for it gave you a
prepossession in my favour under so advantageous a character, that I
could never have expected otherwise."
"I wish," said the countess, "my daughter, for whom Sir Jacob took
you, had Mrs. B.'s qualities to boast of."--"How am I obliged to your
ladyship's goodness," returned I, "when you treat me with even greater
indulgence than you use to so beloved a daughter!"
"Nay, now you talk of treating," said Sir Charles, "when, ladies, will
you treat our sex with the politeness which you shew to one another?"
"When your sex deserve it, Sir Charles," answered Lady Davers.
"Who is to be judge of that?" said Mr. Walgrave.
"Not the gentlemen, I hope," replied my lady.
"Well then, Mrs. B.," said Sir Charles, "we bespeak your good opinion
of _us_; for you have _ours_."
"I am obliged to you, gentlemen; but I must be more cautious in
declaring _mine_, lest it should be thought I am influenced by your
kind, and perhaps too hasty, opinions of me."
Sir Charles swore they had _seen_ enough of me the moment I entered
the parlour, and heard enough the moment I opened my lips to answer
for _their_ opinions of me.
I said, I made no doubt, when _they_ had as good a subject to
expatiate upon, as I had, in the pleasure before me, of seeing so
many agreeable friends of Mr. B.'s, they would maintain the title they
claimed of every one's good opinion.
"This," said Sir Jacob, "is binding you over, gentlemen, to your good
behaviour. You must know, my niece never shoots flying, as _you_ do."
The gentlemen laughed: "Is it shooting flying, Sir Jacob," returned
Sir Charles, "to praise that lady?"
"Ads-bud, I did not think of that."
"Sir Jacob," said the countess, "you need not be at a fault;--for a
good sportsman always hits his mark, flying or not; and the gentlemen
had so fair an one, that they could not well miss it."
"You are fairly helped over the stile, Sir Jacob," said Mr. Floyd.
"And, indeed, I wanted it; though I limped like a puppy before I was
lame. One can't think of every thing as one used to do at your time
of life, gentlemen." This flippant stuff was all that passed, which I
_can_ recite; for the rest, at table, and after dinner, was too polite
by half for me; such as, the quantity of wine each man could
_carry off_ (that was the phrase), dogs, horses, hunting, racing,
cock-fighting, and all accompanied with swearing and cursing, and that
in good humour, and out of wantonness (the least excusable and more
profligate sort of swearing and cursing of all).
The gentlemen liked the wine so well, that we had the felicity to
drink tea and coffee by ourselves; only Mr. B. (upon our inviting the
gentlemen to partake with us) sliding in for a few minutes to tell us,
they would stick by what they had, and taking a dish of coffee with
us.
I should not omit one observation; that Sir Jacob, when they were
gone, said they were _pure company_; and Mr. H. that he never was
so delighted in his _born days_.--While the two ladies put up their
prayers, that they might never have such another entertainment. And
being encouraged by their declaration, I presumed to join in the same
petition.
Yet it seems, these are men of wit! I believe they must be so--for I
could neither like nor understand them. Yet, if their conversation had
much wit, I should think my ladies would have found it out.
The gentlemen, permit me to add, went away very merry, to ride ten
miles by owl-light; for they would not accept of beds here. They had
two French horns with them, and gave us a flourish or two at going
off. Each had a servant besides: but the way they were in would have
given me more concern than it did, had they been related to Mr. B. and
less used to it. And, indeed, it is a happiness, that such gentlemen
take no more care than they generally do, to interest any body
intimately in their healths and preservation; for these are all single
men. Nor need the public, any more than the private, be much concerned
about them; for let such persons go when they will, if they continue
single, their next heir cannot well be a worse commonwealth's man; and
there is a great chance he may be better.
You know I end my Saturdays seriously. And this, to what I have
already said, makes me add, that I cannot express how much I am, my
dear Miss Darnford, _your faithful and affectionate_ PB
LETTER XXXVIII
_From Mrs. B. to Miss Darnford. In Answer to Letters XXXV and XXXVI._
MY DEAR MISS DARNFORD,
I skip over the little transactions of several days, to let you know
how much you rejoice me, in telling me Sir Simon has been so kind as
to comply with my wishes. Both your most agreeable letters came to my
hand together, and I thank you a hundred times for them; and I thank
your dear mamma, and Sir Simon too, for the pleasure they have given
me in this obliging permission. How happy shall we be!--But how long
will you be permitted to stay, though? All the winter, I hope:--and
then, when that is over, let us set out together, if God shall spare
us, directly for Lincolnshire; and to pass most of the summer likewise
in each other's company. What a sweet thought is this!--Let me indulge
it a little while.
Mr. B. read your letters, and says, you are a charming young lady,
and surpass yourself in every letter. I told him, that he was more
interested in the pleasure I took in this favour of Sir Simon's than
he imagined. "As how, my dear?" said he. "A plain case, Sir," replied
I: "for endeavouring to improve myself by Miss Darnford's conversation
and behaviour, I shall every day be more worthy of your favour." He
kindly would have it, that nobody, no, not Miss Darnford herself,
excelled me.
'Tis right, you know, Miss, that Mr. B. should think so, though I must
know nothing at all, if I was not sensible how inferior I am to my
dear Miss Darnford: and yet, when I look abroad now-and-then, I could
be a proud slut, if I would, and not yield the palm to many others.
Well, my dear Miss,
SUNDAY
Is past and gone, as happy as the last; the two ladies, and, at
_their_ earnest request, Sir Jacob bearing us company, in the evening
part. My Polly was there morning and evening, with her heart broken
almost, poor girl!--I put her in a corner of my closet, that her
concern should not be minded. Mrs. Jervis gives me great hopes of her.
Sir Jacob was much pleased with our family order, and said, 'twas no
wonder I _kept_ so good myself, and made others so: and he thought
the four rakes (for he run on how much they admired me) would be
converted, if they saw how well I passed my time, and how cheerful and
easy every one, as well as myself was under it! He said, when he came
home, he must take such a method himself in _his_ family; for, he
believed, it would make not only better masters and mistresses, but
better children, and better servants too. But, poor gentleman! he has,
I doubt, a great deal to mend in _himself_, before he can begin such a
practice with efficacy in his _family_.
MONDAY.
In the afternoon. Sir Jacob took his leave of us, highly satisfied
with us both, and _particularly_ (so he said) with me; and promised
that my two cousins, as he called his daughters, and his sister, an
old maiden lady, if they went to town this winter, should visit me,
and be improved by me; that was his word. Mr. B. accompanied him some
miles on his journey, and the two ladies, and Lord Davers, and I, took
an airing in the coach.
Mr. B. was so kind as to tell me, when he came home, with a whisper,
that Miss Goodwin presented her duty to me.
I have got a multitude of fine things for the dear little creature,
and Mr. B. promises to give me a dairy-house breakfast, when our
guests are gone.
I enclose the history of this little charmer, by Mr. B.'s consent,
since you are to do us the honour, as he (as well as I) pleases
himself, to be one of our family--but keep it to yourself, whatever
you do. I am guarantee that you will; and have put it in a separate
paper, that you may burn it when read. For I may want your advice
on this subject, having a great desire to get this child in my
possession; and yet Lady Davers has given a hint, that dwells a little
with me. When I have the pleasure I hope for, I will lay all before
you, and be determined, and proceed, as far as I have power, by you.
You, my good father and mother, have seen the story in my former
papers.
TUESDAY.
You must know, I pass over the days thus swiftly, not that I could
not fill them up with writing, as amply as I have done the former;
but intending only to give you a general idea of our way of life and
conversation; and having gone through a whole week and more, you will
be able, from what I have recited, to form a judgment how it is with
us, one day with another. As for example, now and then neighbourly
visits received and paid--Needlework between whiles--Music--Cards
sometimes, though I don't love them--One more benevolent
round--Improving conversations with my dear Mr. B. and my two good
ladies--A lesson from him, when alone, either in French or Latin--A
new pauper case or two--A visit from the good dean--Mr. Williams's
departure, in order to put the new projected alteration in force,
which is to deprive me of my chaplain--(By the way, the dean is highly
pleased with this affair, and the motives to it, Mr. Adams being a
favourite of his, and a distant relation of his lady)--Mr. H.'s and
Polly's mutual endeavour to avoid one another--My lessons to the poor
girl, and cautions, as if she were my sister--
These, my dear Miss Darnford, and my honoured parents, are the
pleasant employments of our time; so far as we females are concerned:
for the gentlemen hunt, ride out, and divert themselves in their way,
and bring us home the news and occurrences they meet with abroad, and
now-and-then a straggling gentleman they pick up in their diversions.
And so I shall not enlarge upon these articles, after the tedious
specimens I have already given.
WEDNESDAY, THURSDAY.
Could you ever have thought, my dear, that husbands have a dispensing
power over their wives, which kings are not allowed over the laws?
I have had a smart debate with Mr. B., and I fear it will not be the
only one upon this subject. Can you believe, that if a wife thinks
a thing her duty to do, which her husband does not approve, he can
dispense with her performing it, and no sin shall lie at her door? Mr.
B. maintains this point. I have great doubts about it; particularly
one; that if a matter be my duty, and he dispenses with my performance
of it, whether, even although that were to clear _me_ of the sin,
it will not fall upon _himself_? And a good wife would be as much
concerned at this, as if it was to remain upon _her_. Yet he seems set
upon it. What can one do?--Did you ever hear of such a notion, before?
Of such a prerogative in a husband? Would you care to subscribe to it?
He says, the ladies are of his opinion. I'm afraid they are, and so
will not ask them. But, perhaps, I mayn't live, and other things may
happen; and so I'll say no more of it at present.
FRIDAY.
Mr. H. and my Lord and Lady Davers and the excellent Countess of C.
having left us this day, to our mutual regret, the former put the
following letter into my hands, with an air of respect and even
reverence. He says, he spells most lamentably; and this obliges me to
give it you _literally_:
"DEARE GOOD MADAM,
"I cannott contente myself with common thankes, on leaving youres, and
Mr. B.'s hospitabel house, because of _thatt there_ affaire, which I
neede not mention! and truly am _ashamed_ to mention, as I _have been_
to looke you in the face ever since it happen'd. I don't knowe _how
itt came aboute_, butt I thought butt att first of _joking_ a littel,
_or soe_; and seeing Polley heard me with more attentiveness than I
expected, I was encouraged to proceede; and _soe_, now I recollecte,
itt _camn aboute_.
"But she is innosente for me: and I don't knowe how _thatt_ came
about neither; for wee were oute one moonelighte nighte in the garden,
walking aboute, and afterwards tooke a _napp_ of two houres, as I
beliefe, in the summer-house in the littel gardin, being over-powered
with sleepe; for I woulde make her lay her head uppon my breste, till
before we were awar, wee felle asleepe. Butt before thatt, wee had
agreed on whatt you discovered.
"This is the whole truthe, and all the intimasies we ever hadde, to
_speake off_. But I beleefe we should have been better acquainted,
hadd you nott, luckily _for mee_! prevented itt, by being at home,
when we thought you abroad. For I was to come to her when shee hemm'd
_two or three times_; for having made a contract, you knowe. Madam, it
was naturall enough to take the first occasion to putt itt in force.
"Poor Polley! I pity her too. Don't thinke the worse of her, deare
Madam, so as to turn her away, because it may bee her ruin. I don't
desire too see her. I might have been _drawne_ _in_ to do strange
foolish things, and been ruin'd at the long run; for who knows where
this thing mought have ended? My _unkell_ woulde have never seene
me. My _father_ too (his lordshipp, you have hearde, Madam, is a very
_crosse man_, and never loved _me much_) mought have cutt off the
intaile. My _aunte_ would have dispis'd mee and scorn'd mee. I should
have been her foolishe fellowe in _earneste_, nott in _jeste_, as
now. You woulde have resented itt, and Mr. B. (who knows?) mought have
called me to account.
"Butt cann you forgive me? You see how happy I am in my
disappointment. I did nott think too write so much;--for I don't love
it: but on this occasion, know not how too leave off. I hope you
can read my letter. I know I write a _clumsy_ hand, and _spelle most
lamentabelly_; for I never had a tallent for these things. I was
readier by half to admire the _orcherd robbing picture _in Lillie's
grammar, then any other part of the book.
"But, hey, whether am I running! I never writt to you before, and
never may again, unless you, or Mr. B. command it, for your service.
So pray excuse me, Madam.
"I knowe I neede give no advice to Polley, to take care of _first_
encouragements. Poor girl! she mought have suffer'd sadly, as welle
as I. For iff my father, and my unkell and aunte, had requir'd mee
to turne her off, you know itt woulde have been undutifull to have
refused them, notwithstanding our bargaine. And want of duty to
them woulde have been to have added faulte too faulte: as you once
observed, I remember, that one faulte never comes alone, but drawes
after itt generally five or six, to hide or vindicate itt, and _they_
every one perhapps as many more _eache_.
"I shall never forgett severall of youre wise sayinges. I have been
vex'd, may I be _hang'd_ if I have not, many a time, thatt I coulde
not make such observations as you make; who am so much _older_ too,
and a _man_ besides, and a _peere's son_, and a _peere's nephew!_ but
my tallents lie _another way_; and by that time my father dies, I hope
to improve myselfe, in order to _cutt_ such a figure, as may make me
be no disgrase to my _name_ or _countrey_.
"Well, but whatt is all this to the purpose?--I will keep close to
my text; and that is, to thank you, good Madam, for all the favours I
have received in your house; to thank you for disappointing mee, and
for convincing mee, in so _kinde_, yet so _shameing_ a manner, how
wrong I was in the matter of _that there_ Polley; and for not exposing
my folly to any boddy but _myselfe_ (for I should have been ready
to _hang_ myselfe, if you hadd); and to beg youre pardon for itt,
assuring you, that I will never offerr the like as long as I breathe.
I am, Madam, with the greatest respecte, _youre most obliged, moste
faithful, and most obedient humbell servante_, J.H.
"Pray excuse blotts and blurs."
Well, Miss Darnford, what shall we say to this fine letter?--You'll
allow it to be an original, I hope. Yet, may-be not. For it may be
as well written, and as sensible a letter as this class of people
generally write!
Mr. H. dresses well, is not a contemptible figure of a man, laughs,
talks, where he can be heard, and his aunt is not present; and _cuts_,
to use his own word, a considerable figure in a country town.--But
see--Yet I will not say what I might--He is Lord Davers's nephew; and
if he makes his _observations_, and _forbears_ his _speeches_ (I mean,
can be silent, and only laugh when he sees somebody of more sense
laugh, and never _approve_ or _condemn_ but in _leading-strings_),
he may possibly pass in a crowd of gentlemen. But poor, poor Polly
Barlow! What _can_ I say for Polly Barlow?
I have a time in view, when my papers may fall under the inspection
of a dear gentleman, to whom, next to God, I am accountable for all my
actions and correspondences; so I will either write an account of
the matter, and seal it up separately, for Mr. B., or, at a fit
opportunity, break it to him, and let him know (under secrecy, if
he will promise it) the steps I took in it; lest something arise
hereafter, when I cannot answer for myself, to render any thing dark
or questionable in it. A method, I believe, very proper to be taken by
every married lady; and I presume the rather to say so, having had a
good example for it: for I have often thought of a little sealed up
parcel of papers, my lady made me burn in her presence, about a month
before she died. "They are, Pamela," said she, "such as would not
concern me, let who will see them, could they know the springs and
causes of them; but, for want of a clue, my son might be at a loss
what to think of several of those letters were he to find them, in
looking over my other papers, when I am no more."
Let me add, that nothing could be more endearing than our parting with
our noble guests. My lady repeated her commands for what she often
engaged me to promise, that is to say, to renew the correspondence
begun between us, so much (as she was pleased to say) to her
satisfaction.
I could not help shewing her ladyship, who was always enquiring after
my writing employment, most of what passed between you and me: she
admires you much, and wished Mr. H. had more wit, that was her word:
she should in that case, she said, be very glad to set on foot a
treaty between you and him.
But that, I fancy, can never be tolerable to you; and I only mention
it _en passant_.--There's a French woman for you!
The countess was full of her kind wishes for my happiness; and my Lady
Davers told me, that if I could give her timely notice, she would be
present on a _certain_ occasion.
But, my dear Miss, what could I say?--I know nothing of the
matter!--Only, I am a sad coward, and have a thousand anxieties which
I cannot mention to any body.
But, if I have such in the honourable estate of matrimony, what must
those poor souls have, who are seduced, and have all manner of reason
to apprehend, that the crime shall be followed by a punishment so
_natural_ to it? A punishment _in kind_, as I may say; which if it
only ends in forfeiture of life, following the forfeiture of fame,
must be thought merciful and happy beyond expectation: for how shall
they lay claim to the hope given to persons in their circumstances
that _they shall be saved in child-bearing_, since the condition
is, _if they _CONTINUE _in faith and charity, and _HOLINESS _with_
SOBRIETY.
Now, my honoured mother, and my dear Miss Darnford since I am upon
this affecting subject, does not this text seem to give a comfortable
hope to a good woman, who shall thus die, of being happy in the Divine
mercies? For the Apostle, in the context, says, that _he suffers not
a woman to teach, nor usurp authority over the man, but to be in
silence_.--And what is the reason he gives? Why, a reason that is a
natural consequence of the curse on the first disobedience, that she
shall be in subjection to her husband. "For," says he, "_Adam was_ NOT
_deceived; but the woman, being deceived, was in the transgression._"
As much as to say--Had it not been for the woman, Adam had kept his
integrity, and therefore her punishment shall be, as it is said, "_I
will greatly multiply thy sorrow in thy conception: in sorrow shall
thou bring forth children--and thy husband shall rule over thee_." But
nevertheless, if thou shalt not survive the sharpness of thy sorrow,
thy death shall be deemed to be such an alleviation of thy part of
the entailed transgression, that thou shalt _be saved_, if thou hast
CONTINUED in faith and charity, and HOLINESS with SOBRIETY.
This, my honoured parents, and my dear friend, is _my_ paraphrase; and
I reap no small comfort from it, when I meditate upon it.
But I shall make you as serious as myself; and, my dear friend,
perhaps, frighten you from entering into a state, in which our poor
sex suffer so much, from the bridal morning, let it rise as gaily
as it will upon a thoughtful mind, to that affecting circumstance,
(throughout its whole progression), for which nothing but a tender, a
generous, and a worthy husband can make them any part of amends.
But a word or two more, as to the parting with our honoured company.
I was a little indisposed, and they all would excuse me, against my
will, from attending them in the coach some miles, which their dear
brother did. Both ladies most tenderly saluted me, twice or thrice
a-piece, folding their kind arms about me, and wishing my safety and
health, and charging me to _think_ little, and _hope_ much; for they
saw me thoughtful at times, though I endeavoured to hide it from them.
My Lord Davers said, with a goodness of temper that is peculiar to
him, "My dearest sister,--May God preserve you, and multiply your
comforts! I shall pray for you more than ever I did for myself, though
I have so much more need of it:--I _must_ leave you--But I leave one
whom I love and honour next to Lady Davers, and ever shall."
Mr. H. looked consciously silly. "I can say nothing, Madam, but"
(saluting me) "that I shall never forget your goodness to me."
I had before, in Mrs. Jervis's parlour, taken leave of Mrs. Worden
and Mrs. Lesley, my ladies' women: they each stole a hand of mine, and
kissed it, begging pardon for the freedom. But I answered, taking
each by her hand, and kissing her, "I shall always think of you with
pleasure, my good friends; for you have encouraged me constantly by
your presence in my private duties; and may God bless you, and the
worthy families you so laudably serve, as well for your sakes, as
their own!"
They turned away with tears; and Mrs. Worden would have said something
to me, but could not.--Only both taking Mrs. Jervis by the hand,
"Happy Mrs. Jervis!" said they, almost in a breath. "And happy I too,"
repeated I, "in my Mrs. Jervis, and in such kind well-wishers as
Mrs. Worden and Mrs. Lesley. Wear this, Mrs. Worden;--wear this, Mrs.
Lesley, for my sake:" and to each I gave a ring, with a crystal and
brilliants set about it, which Mr. B. had bought a week before for
this purpose: he has a great opinion of both the good folks, and often
praised their prudence, and quiet and respectful behaviour to every
body, so different from the impertinence (that was his word) of most
ladies' women who are favourites.
Mrs. Jervis said, "I have enjoyed many happy hours in your
conversation, Mrs. Worden and Mrs. Lesley: I shall miss you very
much."
"I must endeavour," said I, taking her hand, "to make it up to you,
my good friend, as well as I can. And of late we have not had so many
opportunities together as I should have wished, had I not been so
agreeably engaged as you know. So we must each try to comfort
the other, when we have lost, I such noble, and you such worthy
companions."
Mrs. Jervis's honest heart, before touched by the parting, shewed
itself at her eyes. "Wonder not," said I, to the two gentlewomen,
wiping with my handkerchief her venerable cheeks, "that I always
thus endeavour to dry up all my good Mrs. Jervis's tears;" and then
I kissed her, thinking of you, my dear mother; and I was forced to
withdraw a little abruptly, lest I should be too much moved myself;
for had our departing company enquired into the occasion, they would
perhaps have thought it derogatory (though I should not) to my present
station, and too much retrospecting to my former.
I could not, in conversation between Mr. B. and myself, when I was
gratefully expatiating upon the amiable characters of our noble
guests, and of their behaviour and kindness to me, help observing,
that I had little expected, from some hints which formerly dropt from
Mr. B., to find my good Lord Davers so polite and so sensible a man.
"He is a very good-natured man," replied Mr. B. "I believe I might
once or twice drop some disrespectful words of him. But it was the
effect of passion at the time, and with a view to two or three points
of his conduct in public life; for which I took the liberty to find
fault with him, and received very unsatisfactory excuses. One of
these, I remember, was in a conference between a committee of each
house of parliament, in which he behaved in a way I could not wish
from a man so nearly allied to me by marriage; for all he could talk
of, was the dignity of their house, when the reason of the thing was
strong with the other; and it fell to my lot to answer what he said;
which I did with some asperity; and this occasioned a coolness between
us for some time.
"But no man makes a better figure in private life than Lord Davers;
especially now that my sister's good sense has got the better of her
passions, and she can behave with tolerable decency towards him. For
once, Pamela, it was not so: the violence of her spirit making him
appear in a light too little advantageous either to his quality or
merit. But now he improves upon me every time I see him.
"You know not, my dear, what a disgrace a haughty and passionate woman
brings upon her husband, and upon herself too, in the eyes of her own
sex, as well as ours. Nay, even those ladies, who would be as glad of
dominion as she, if they might be permitted to exercise it, despise
others who do, and the man _most_ who suffers it.
"And let me tell you," said the dear man, with an air that shewed
he was satisfied with his own conduct in this particular, "that you
cannot imagine how much a woman owes to her husband, as well with
regard to _her own _peace of mind, as to _both_ their reputations
(however it may go against the grain with her sometimes), if he be
a man who has discretion to keep her encroaching passions under a
genteel and reasonable control!"
How do you like this doctrine, Miss?--I'll warrant, you believe,
that I could do no less than drop Mr. B. one of my best curt'sies,
in acknowledgment of my obligation to him, for so considerately
preserving to me _my_ peace of mind, and _my_ reputation, as well as
_his own_, in this case.
But after all, when one duly weighs the matter, what he says may be
right in the main; for I have not been able to contradict him, partial
as I am to my sex, when he has pointed out to me instances in the
behaviour of certain ladies, who, like children, the more they have
been humoured, the more humoursome they have grown; which must have
occasioned as great uneasiness to themselves, as to their husbands.
Will you excuse me, my dear? This is between ourselves; for I did not
own so much to Mr. B. For one should not give up one's sex, you know,
if one can help it: for the men will be as apt to impose, as the women
to encroach, I doubt.
Well, but here, my honest parents, and my dear Miss Darnford, at last,
I end my journal-wise letters, as I may call them; our noble guests
being gone, and our time and employments rolling on in much the same
manner, as in past days, of which I have given an account. I am,
_my dearest father and mother, and best beloved Miss Darnford, your
dutiful and affectionate_
P.B.
LETTER XXXIX
MY DEAR MISS DARNFORD,
I hear that Mrs. Jewkes is in no good state of health. I am very sorry
for it. I pray for her life, that she may be a credit (if it please
God) to the penitence she has so lately assumed.
Do, my dear _good_ Miss, vouchsafe to the poor soul the honour of a
visit: she may be low-spirited.--She may be too much sunk with the
recollection of past things. Comfort, with that sweetness which is so
natural to Miss Darnford, her drooping heart; and let her know, that I
have a true concern for her, and give it her in charge to take care of
herself, and spare nothing that will administer either to her health
or peace of mind.
You'll pardon me that I put you upon an office so unsuitable from a
lady in your station, to a person in hers; but not to your piety and
charity, where a duty so eminent as that of visiting the sick, and
cheering the doubting mind, is in the question.
I know your condescension will give her great comfort; and if she
should be hastening to her account, what a pleasure will it give
such a lady as you, to have illuminated a benighted mind, when it was
tottering on the verge of death!
I know she will want no spiritual help from good Mr. Peters; but then
the kind notice of so generally esteemed a young lady, will raise her
more than can be imagined: for there is a tenderness, a sympathy, in
the good persons of our sex to one another, that (while the best of
the other seem but to act as in office, saying those things, which,
though edifying and convincing, one is not certain proceeds not
rather from the fortitude of their minds, than the tenderness of their
natures) mingles with one's very spirits, thins the animal mass, and
runs through one's heart in the same lify current (I can't clothe my
thought suitably to express what I would), giving assurance, as well
as pleasure, in the most arduous cases, and brightening our misty
prospects, till we see the Sun of Righteousness rising on the hills of
comfort, and dispelling the heavy fogs of doubt and diffidence.
This it is makes me wish and long as I do, for the company of my dear
Miss Darnford. O when shall I see you? When shall I?--To speak to
my present case, it is _all I long for_; and, pardon my freedom of
expression, as well as thought, when I let you know in this instance,
how _early_ I experience the _ardent longings_ of one in the way I am
in.
But I ought not to set my heart upon any thing not in my own power,
and which may be subject to accidents, and the control of others. But
let whatever interventions happen, so I have your _will_ to come, I
must be rejoiced in your kind intention, although your _power_ should
not prove answerable.
But I will say no more, than that I am, my honoured father and
mother, your ever dutiful daughter; and, my dear Miss Darnford, _your
affectionate and obliged_ P.B.
LETTER XL
From Miss Darnford to Mrs. B.
MY DEAR MRS. B.,
We are greatly obliged to you for every particular article in your
entertaining journal, which you have brought, sooner than we wished,
to a conclusion. We cannot express how much we admire you for your
judicious charities, so easy to be practised, yet so uncommon in the
manner, and for your inimitable conduct in the affair of your frail
Polly and the silly Mr. H.
Your account of the visit of the four rakes; of your parting with your
noble guests; Mr. H.'s letter (an original indeed!) have all greatly
entertained us, as your prerogative hints have amused us: but we
defer our opinion of those hints, till we have the case more fully
explained.
But, my dear friend, are you not in danger of falling into a too
thoughtful and gloomy way? By the latter part of your last letter,
we are afraid you are; and my mamma, and Mrs. Jones, and Mrs. Peters,
enjoin me to write, to caution you on that head. But there is the less
need of it, because your prudence will always suggest to you reasons,
as it does in that very letter, that must out-balance your fears.
_Think_ little, and _hope_ much, is a good lesson in your case, and
to a lady of your temper; and I hope Lady Davers will not in vain have
given you that caution. After all, I dare say your thoughtfulness is
but symptomatical, and will go off in proper time.
But to wave this: let me ask you, is Mr. B.'s conduct to you as
_respectful_, I don't mean fond, when you are alone together, as in
company?--Forgive me--But you have hinted two or three times, in your
letters, that he always is most complaisant to you in company; and you
observe, that _wisely_ does he act in this, as he thereby does credit
with every body to his own choice. I make no doubt, that the many
charming scenes which your genius and fine behaviour furnish out to
him, must, as often as they happen, inspire him with joy, and even
rapture: and must make him love you more for your mind than for your
person:--but these rapturous scenes last very little longer than the
present moment. What I want to know is, whether in the _steadier_
parts of life, when you are both nearer the level of us common folks,
he give up any thing of his own will in compliment to yours? Whether
he acts the part of a respectful, polite gentleman, in his behaviour
to you; and breaks not into your retirements, in the dress, and with
the brutal roughness of a fox-hunter?--Making no difference, perhaps,
between the field or his stud (I will not say kennel) and your chamber
or closet?--Policy, for his own credit-sake, as I mentioned, accounts
to me well, for his complaisance to you in public. But his regular and
uniform behaviour to you, in your retirement, when the conversation
between you turns upon usual and common subjects, and you have not
obliged him to rise to admiration of you, by such scenes as those
of your two parsons, Sir Jacob Swynford, and the like: is what would
satisfy my curiosity, if you please to give me an instance or two of
it.
Now, my dearest Mrs. B., if you can give me a case, partly or nearly
thus circumstanced, you will highly oblige me:
First, where he has borne with any infirmity of your own; and I know
of none where you can give him such an opportunity, except you get
into a vapourish habit, by giving way to a temper too thoughtful and
apprehensive:
Next, that, in complaisance to _your_ will, he recedes from his _own_
in any one instance:
Next, whether he breaks not into your retirements unceremoniously, and
without apology or concern, as I hinted above.
You know, my dear Mrs. B., all I mean, by what I have said.; and if
you have any pretty conversation in memory, by the recital of which,
this my bold curiosity may be answered, pray oblige me with it; and we
shall be able to judge by it, not only of the in-born generosity which
all that know Mr. B. have been willing to attribute to him, but of
the likelihood of the continuance of both your felicities, upon terms
suitable to the characters of a fine lady and fine gentleman: and, of
consequence, worthy of the imitation of the most delicate of our own
sex.
Your obliging _longings_, my beloved dear lady, for my company, I
hope, will very soon be answered. My papa was so pleased with your
sweet earnestness on this occasion, that he joined with my mamma; and
both, with equal cheerfulness, said, you should not be many days in
London before me. Murray and his mistress go on swimmingly, and have
not yet had one quarrel. The only person, he, of either sex, that ever
knew Nancy so intimately, and so long, without one!
This is all I have to say, at present, when I have assured you, my
dear Mrs. B., how much I am _your obliged, and affectionate_ POLLY
DARNFORD.
LETTER XLI
My dearest Miss Darnford,
I was afraid I ended my last letter in a gloomy way; and I am obliged
to you for the kind and friendly notice you take of it. It was owing
to a train of thinking which sometimes I get into, of late; I hope
only symptomatically, as you say, and that the cause and effect will
soon vanish together.
But what a task, my dear friend, I'll warrant, you think you have set
me! I thought, in the progress of my journal, and in my letters, I had
given so many instances of Mr. B.'s polite tenderness to me, that no
new ones would be required at my hands; and when I said he was always
_most_ complaisant before company, I little expected, that such an
inference would be drawn from my words, as would tend to question the
uniformity of his behaviour to me, when there were no witnesses to it.
But I am glad of an opportunity to clear up all your doubts on this
subject.
To begin then:
You first desire an instance, where Mr. B. has borne with some
infirmity of mine:
Next, that in complaisance to my will, he has receded from his own:
And lastly, whether he breaks not into my retirements unceremoniously;
and without apology or concern, making no difference between the field
or the stud, and my chamber or closet?
As to the first, his bearing with my infirmities; he is daily giving
instances of his goodness to me on this head; and I am ashamed to say,
that of late I give him so much occasion for them as I do; but he sees
my apprehensiveness, at times, though I endeavour to conceal it; and
no husband was ever so soothing and so indulgent as Mr. B. He gives me
the best advice, as to my malady, if I may call it one: treats me with
redoubled tenderness: talks to me upon the subjects I most delight to
dwell upon: as of my worthy parents; what they are doing at this time,
and at that; of our intended journey to London; of the diversions of
the town; of Miss Darnford's company; and when he goes abroad, sends
up my good Mrs. Jervis to me, because I should not be alone: at
other times, takes me abroad with him, brings this neighbour and that
neighbour to visit; and carries me to visit them; talks of our journey
to Kent, and into Lincolnshire, and to my Lady Davers's, to Bath, to
Tunbridge, and I can't tell whither, when the apprehended time shall
be over.--In fine, my dear Miss Darnford, you cannot imagine one half
of his tender goodness and politeness to me!--Then he hardly ever
goes to any distance, but brings some pretty present he thinks will be
grateful to me. When at home, he is seldom out of my company; delights
to teach me French and Italian, and reads me pieces of manuscript
poetry, in several of the modern tongues (for he speaks them all);
explains to me every thing I understand not; delights to answer all my
questions, and to encourage my inquisitiveness and curiosity, tries
to give me a notion of pictures and medals, and reads me lectures upon
them, for he has a fine collection of both; and every now and
then will have it, that he has been improved by my questions and
observations.
What say you to these things, my dear? Do they come up to your first
question? or do they not? Or is not what I have said, a full answer,
were I to say no more, to _all_ your enquiries?
O my dear, I am thoroughly convinced, that half the misunderstandings,
among married people, are owing to trifles, to petty distinctions,
to mere words, and little captious follies, to over-weenings, or
unguarded petulances: and who would forego the solid satisfaction
of life, for the sake of triumphing in such poor contentions, if one
could triumph?
But you next require of me an instance, where, in complaisance to _my_
will, he has receded from _his own?_ I don't know what to say to
this. When Mr. B. is all tenderness and indulgence, and requires of
me nothing, that I can have a material objection to, ought I _not_
to oblige him? Can I have a will that is not his? Or would it be
excusable if I _had?_ All little matters I cheerfully give up: great
ones have not yet occurred between us, and I hope never will. One
point, indeed, I have some apprehension _may_ happen; and that, to be
plain with you, is, we have had a debate or two on the subject (which
I maintain) of a mother's duty to nurse her own child; and I am sorry
to say it, he seems more determined than I wish he were, against it.
I hope it will not proceed so far as to awaken the sleeping dragon I
mentioned. _Prerogative_ by name; but I doubt I cannot give up this
point very contentedly. But as to lesser points, had I been a duchess
born, I think I would not have contested them with my husband.
I could give you many respectful instances too, of his receding, when
he has desired to see what I have been writing, and I have told him to
whom, and begged to be excused. One such instance I can give since I
began this letter. This is it:
I put it in my bosom, when he came up: he saw me do so:
"Are you writing, my dear, what I must not see?"
"I am writing to Miss Darnford, Sir: and she begged you might not at
present."
"This augments my curiosity, Pamela. What can two such ladies write,
that I may not see?"
"If you won't be displeased, Sir, I had rather you would not, because
she desires you may not see her letter, nor this my answer, till the
letter is in her hands."
"Then I will not," returned Mr. B.
Will this instance, my dear, come up to your demand for one, where he
recedes from his own will, in complaisance to mine?
But now, as to what both our notions and our practice are on the
article of my retirements, and whether he breaks in upon them
unceremoniously, and without apology, let the conversation I promised
inform you, which began on the following occasion.
Mr. B. rode out early one morning, within a few days past, and did not
return till the afternoon; an absence I had not been used to of late;
and breakfasting and dining without him being also a new thing with
me, I had such an impatience to see him, having expected him at
dinner, that I was forced to retire to my closet, to try to divert it,
by writing; and the gloomy conclusion of my last was then the subject.
He returned about four o'clock, and indeed did _not_ tarry to change
his riding-dress, as your politeness, my dear friend, would perhaps
have expected; but came directly up to me, with an impatience to see
me, equal to my own, when he was told, upon enquiry, that I was in my
closet.
I heard his welcome step, as he came up stairs; which generally, after
a longer absence than I expect, has such an effect upon my fond heart,
that it gives a responsive throb for every step he takes towards me,
and beats quicker and faster, as he comes nearer.
I met him at my closet door. "So, my dear love," says he, "how do
you?" folding his kind arms about me, and saluting me with ardour.
"Whenever I have been but a few hours from you, my impatience to
see my beloved, will not permit me to stand upon the formality of a
message to know how you are engaged; but I break in upon you, even in
my riding-dress, as you see."
"Dear Sir, you are very obliging. But I have no notion of _mere_
formalities of this kind"--(How unpolite this, my dear, in your
friend?)--"in a married state, since 'tis impossible a virtuous wife
can be employed about any thing that her husband may not know, and so
need not fear surprises."
"I am glad to hear you say this, my Pamela; for I have always thought
the extraordinary civilities and distances of this kind which I have
observed among several persons of rank, altogether unaccountable. For
if they are exacted by the lady, I should suspect she had reserves,
which she herself believed I could not approve. If not exacted,
but practised of choice by the gentleman, it carries with it, in my
opinion, a false air of politeness, little less than affrontive to
the lady, and dishonourable to himself; for does it not look as if
he supposed, and allowed, that she might be so employed that it was
necessary to apprise her of his visit, lest he should make discoveries
not to her credit or his own?"
"One would not, Sir" (for I thought his conclusion too severe),
"make such a harsh supposition as this neither: for there are little
delicacies and moments of retirement, no doubt, in which a modest lady
would wish to be indulged by the tenderest husband."
"It may be so in an _early_ matrimony, before the lady's confidence in
the honour and discretion of the man she has chosen has disengaged her
from her bridal reserves."
"Bridal reserves, dear Sir! permit me to give it as my humble opinion,
that a wife's behaviour ought to be as pure and circumspect,
in degree, as that of a bride, or even of a maiden lady, be her
confidence in her husband's honour and discretion ever so great. For,
indeed, I think a gross or a careless demeanour little becomes that
modesty which is the peculiar excellency and distinction of our sex."
"You account very well, my dear, by what you now say for your own
over-nice behaviour, as I have sometimes thought it. But are we not
all apt to argue for a practice we make our own, because we _do_ make
it our own, rather than from the reason of the thing?"
"I hope, Sir, that is not the present case with me; for, permit me to
say, that an over-free or negligent behaviour of a lady in the married
state, must be a mark of disrespect to her consort, and would shew as
if she was very little solicitous about what appearance she made in
his eye. And must not this beget in him a slight opinion of her sex
too, as if, supposing the gentleman had been a free liver, she would
convince him there was no other difference in the sex, but as they
were within or without the pale, licensed by the law, or acting in
defiance of it?"
"I understand the force of your argument, Pamela. But you were going
to say something more."
"Only, Sir, permit me to add, that when, in my particular case, you
enjoin me to appear before you always dressed, even in the early part
of the day, it would be wrong, if I was less regardful of my behaviour
and actions, than of my appearance."
"I believe you are right, my dear, if a precise or unnecessary
scrupulousness be avoided, and where all is unaffected, easy, and
natural, as in my Pamela. For I have seen married ladies, both in
England and France, who have kept a husband at a greater distance than
they have exacted from some of his sex, who have been more entitled to
his resentment, than to his wife's intimacies.
"But to wave a subject, in which, as I can with pleasure say, neither
of us have much concern, tell me, my dearest, how you were employed
before I came up? Here are pen and ink: here, too, is paper, but it is
as spotless as your mind. To whom were you directing your favours now?
May I not know your subject?"
Mr. H.'s letter was a part of it; and so I had put it by, at his
approach, and not choosing he should see that--"I am writing," replied
I, "to Miss Darnford: but I think you must not ask me to see what I
have written _this_ time. I put it aside that you should not, when
I heard your welcome step. The subject is our parting with our noble
guests; and a little of my apprehensiveness, on an occasion upon which
our sex may write to one another; but, for some of the reasons we have
been mentioning, gentlemen should not desire to see."
"Then I will not, my dearest love." (So here, my dear, is another
instance--I could give you an hundred such--of his receding from his
own will, in complaisance to mine.) "Only," continued he, "let me warn
you against too much apprehensiveness, for your own sake, as well as
mine; for such a mind as my Pamela's I cannot permit to be
habitually over-clouded. And yet there now hangs upon your brow an
over-thoughtfulness, which you must not indulge."
"Indeed, Sir, I was a little too thoughtful, from my subject, before
you came; but your presence, like the sun, has dissipated the mists
that hung upon my mind. See you not," and I pressed his hand with my
lips, "they are all gone already?" smiling upon him with a delight
unfeigned.
"Not quite, my dearest Pamela; and therefore, if you have no
objection, I will change my dress, and attend you in the chariot for
an hour or two, whither you please, that not one shadow may remain
visible in this dear face;" tenderly saluting me.
"Whithersoever you please, Sir. A little airing with you will be
highly agreeable to me."
The dear obliger went and changed his dress in an instant; and he
led me to the chariot, with his usual tender politeness, and we had a
charming airing of several miles; returning quite happy, cheerful, and
delighted with each other's conversation, without calling in upon any
of our good neighbours: for what need of that, my dear, when we could
be the best company in the world to each other?
Do these instances come up to your questions, my dear? or, do they
not?--If you think not, I could give you our conversation in the
chariot: for I wrote it down at my first leisure, so highly was I
delighted with it; for the subject was my dearest parents; a subject
started by himself, because he knew it would oblige me. But being
tired with writing, I may reserve it, till I have the pleasure of
seeing you, if you think it worth asking for. And so I will hasten to
a conclusion of this long letter.
I have only farther to add, for my comfort, that next Thursday
se'n-night, if nothing hinders, we are to set out for London. And why
do you think I say _for my comfort?_ Only that I shall then soon have
the opportunity, to assure you personally, as you give me hope, how
much I am, my dear Miss Darnford, _your truly affectionate_. P.B.
LETTER XLII
My dear Miss Darnford,
One more letter, and I have done for a great while, because I hope
your presence will put an end to the occasion. I shall now tell you of
my second visit to the dairy-house, where we went to breakfast, in the
chariot and four, because of the distance, which is ten pretty long
miles.
I transcribed for you, from letters written formerly to my dear
parents, an account of my former dairy-house visit, and what the
people were, and whom I saw there; and although I besought you to keep
that affair to yourself, as too much affecting the reputation of my
Mr. B. to be known any farther, and even to destroy that account, when
you had perused it; yet, I make no doubt, you remember the story, and
so I need not repeat any part of it.
When we arrived there, we found at the door, expecting us (for they
heard the chariot-wheels at a distance), my pretty Miss Goodwin,
and two other Misses, who had earned their ride, attended by the
governess's daughter, a discreet young gentlewoman. As soon as I
stepped out, the child ran into my arms with great eagerness, and I
as tenderly embraced her, and leading her into the parlour, asked her
abundance of questions about her work, and her lessons; and among the
rest if she had merited this distinction of the chaise and dairy-house
breakfast, or if it was owing to her uncle's favour, and to that of
her governess? The young gentlewoman assured me it was to both, and
shewed me her needleworks, and penmanship; and the child was highly
pleased with my commendations.
I took a good deal of notice of the other two Misses, for their
school-fellow's sake, and made each of them a present of some little
toys; and my Miss, of a number of pretty trinkets, with which she
was highly delighted; and I told her, that I would wait upon her
governess, when I came from London into the country again, and see in
what order she kept her little matters; for, above all things, I love
pretty house-wifely Misses; and then, I would bring her more.
Mr. B. observed, with no small satisfaction, the child's behaviour,
which is very pretty; and appeared as fond of her, as if he had been
_more_ than her _uncle_, and yet seemed under some restraint, lest it
should be taken, that he _was_ more. Such power has secret guilt, poor
gentleman! to lessen and restrain a pleasure, that would, in a happier
light, have been so laudable to have manifested!
I am going to let you into a charming scene, resulting from this
perplexity of the dear gentleman. A scene that has afforded me high
delight ever since; and always will, when I think of it.
The child was very fond of her uncle, and told him she loved him
dearly, and always would love and honour him, for giving her such a
good aunt. "You talked, Madam," said she, "when I saw you before, that
I should come and live with you--Will you let me, Madam? Indeed I will
be very good, and do every thing you bid me, and mind my book, and my
needle; indeed I will."
"Ask your uncle, my dear," said I; "I should like your pretty company
of all things."
She went to Mr. B. and said, "Shall I, Sir, go and live with my
aunt?--Pray let me, when you come from London again."
"You have a very good governess, child," said he; "and she can't part
with you."
"Yes, but she can. Sir; she has a great many Misses, and can spare me
well enough; and if you please to let me ride in your coach sometimes,
I can go and visit my governess, and beg a holiday for the Misses,
now-and-then, when I am almost a woman, and then all the Misses will
love me."
"Don't the Misses love you now, Miss Goodwin?" said he.
"Yes, they love me well enough, for matter of that; but they'll love
me better, when I can beg them a holiday. Do, dear Sir, let me go home
to my new aunt, next time you come into the country."
I was much pleased with the dear child's earnestness; and permitted her
to have her full argument with her beloved uncle; but was much moved,
and he himself was under some concern, when she said, "But you should,
in pity, let me live with you, Sir, for I have no papa, nor mamma
neither: they are so far off!--But I will love you both as if you were
my own papa and mamma; so, dear now, my good uncle, promise the poor
girl that has never a papa nor mamma!"
I withdrew to the door: "It will rain, I believe," said I, and looked
up. And, indeed, I had almost a shower in my eye: and had I kept my
place, could not have refrained shewing how much I was affected.
Mr. B., as I said, was a little moved; but for fear the young
gentlewoman should take notice of it--"How! my dear," said he, "no
papa and mamma!--Did they not send you a pretty black boy to wait upon
you, a while ago? Have you forgot that?"--"That's true," replied she:
"but what's a black boy to living with my new aunt?--That's better a
great deal than a black boy!"
"Well, your aunt and I will consider of it, when we come from London.
Be a good girl, meantime, and do as your governess would have you, and
then you don't know what we may do for you."
"Well then, Miss," said she to her young governess, "let me be set two
tasks instead of one, and I will learn all I can to deserve to go to
my aunt."
In this manner the little prattler diverted herself. And as we
returned from them, the scene I hinted at, opened as follows:
Mr. B. was pleased to say, "What a poor figure does the proudest man
make, my dear Pamela, under the sense of a concealed guilt, in company
of the innocent who know it, and even of those who do not!--Since the
casual expression of a baby shall overwhelm him with shame, and
make him unable to look up without confusion. I blushed for myself,"
continued he, "to see how you were affected for me, and yet withdrew,
to avoid reproaching me so much as with a look. Surely, Pamela, I
must then make a most contemptible appearance in your eye! Did you not
disdain me at that moment?"
"Dearest Sir! how can you speak such a word? A word I cannot
repeat after you! For at that very time, I beheld you with the more
reverence, for seeing your noble heart touched with a sense of your
error; and it was such an earnest to me of the happiest change I could
ever wish for, and in so young a gentleman, that it was one half
joy for that, and the other half concern at the little charmer's
accidental plea, to her best and nearest friend, for coming home to
her new aunt, that affected me so sensibly as you saw."
"You must not talk to me of the child's coming home, after this visit,
Pamela; for how, at this rate, shall I stand the reproaches of my own
mind, when I see the little prater every day before me, and think of
what her poor mamma has suffered on my account! 'Tis enough, that in
_you_, my dear, I have an hourly reproach before me, for my attempts
on your virtue; and I have nothing to boast of, but that I gave way to
the triumphs of your innocence: and what then is my boast?"
"What is your boast, dearest Sir? You have everything to boast, that
is worthy of being boasted of.
"You are the best of husbands, the best of landlords, the best of
masters, the best of friends; and, with all these excellencies, and
a mind, as I hope, continually improving, and more and more affected
with the sense of its past mistakes, will you ask, dear Sir, what is
your boast?
"O my dearest, dear Mr. B.," and then I pressed his hands with my
lips, "whatever you are to yourself, when you give way to reflections
so hopeful, you are the glory and the boast of your grateful Pamela!
And permit me to add," tears standing in my eyes, and holding his hand
between mine, "that I never beheld you in my life, in a more amiable
light, than when I saw that noble consciousness which you speak of,
manifest itself in your eyes, and your countenance--O Sir! this was a
sight of joy, of true joy! to one who loves you for your dear soul's
sake, as well as for that of your person; and who looks forward to a
companionship with you beyond the term of this transitory life."
Putting my arms round his arms, as I sat, my fearful eye watching his,
"I fear. Sir, I have been too serious! I have, perhaps, broken one
of your injunctions! Have cast a gloominess over your mind! And if I
have, dear Sir, forgive me!"
He clasped his arms around me: "O my beloved Pamela," said he; "thou
dear confirmer of all my better purposes! How shall I acknowledge your
inexpressible goodness to me? I see every day more and more, my dear
love, what confidence I may repose in your generosity and discretion!
You want no forgiveness; and my silence was owing to much better
motives than to those you were apprehensive of."
He saw my grateful transport, and kindly said, "Struggle not, my
beloved Pamela, for words to express sentiments which your eyes and
your countenance much more significantly express than any words _can_
do. Every day produces new instances of your affectionate concern for
my _future_ as well as _present_ happiness: and I will endeavour to
confirm to you all the hopes which the present occasion has given you
of me, and which I see by these transporting effects are so desirable
to you."
The chariot brought us home sooner than I wished, and Mr. B. handed me
into the parlour.
"Here, Mrs. Jervis," said he, meeting her in the passage, "receive
your angelic lady. I must take a little tour without you, Pamela; for
I have had _too much_ of your dear company, and must leave you, to
descend again into myself; for you have raised me to such a height,
that it is with pain I look down from it."
He kissed my hand, and went into his chariot again; for it was but
half an hour after twelve; and said he would be back by two at dinner.
He left Mrs. Jervis wondering at his words, and at the solemn air with
which he uttered them. But when I told that good friend the occasion,
I had a new joy in the pleasure and gratulations of the dear good
woman, on what had passed.
My next letter will be from London, and to you, my honoured parents;
for to you, my dear, I shall not write again, expecting to see
you soon. But I must now write seldomer, because I am to renew my
correspondence with Lady Davers; with whom I cannot be so free, as
I have been with Miss Darnford; and so I doubt, my dear father and
mother, you cannot have the particulars of that correspondence; for I
shall never find time to transcribe.
But every opportunity that offers, you may assure yourselves, shall be
laid hold of by your ever-dutiful daughter.
And now, my dear Miss Darnford, as I inscribed this letter to you, let
me conclude it, with the assurance, that I am, and ever will be _your
most affectionate friend and servant_, P.B.
LETTER XLIII
MY DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
I know you will be pleased to hear that we arrived safely in town last
night. We found a stately, well-furnished, and convenient house; and
I had my closet, or library, and my withdrawing room, all in complete
order, which Mr. B. gave me possession of in the most obliging manner.
I am in a new world, as I may say, and see such vast piles of
building, and such a concourse of people, and hear such a rattling
of coaches in the day, that I hardly know what to make of it, as yet.
Then the nightly watch, going their hourly rounds, disturbed me. But
I shall soon be used to that, and sleep the sounder, perhaps, for the
security it assures to us.
Mr. B. is impatient to shew me what is curious in and about this vast
city, and to hear, as he is pleased to say, my observations upon what
I shall see. He has carried me through several of the fine streets
this day in his chariot; but, at present, I have too confused a notion
of things, to give any account of them: nor shall I trouble you with
descriptions of that kind; for you being within a day's journey of
London, I hope for the pleasure of seeing you oftener than I could
expect before; and shall therefore leave these matters to your own
observations, and what you'll hear from others.
I am impatient for the arrival of my dear Miss Darnford, whose company
and conversation will reconcile me, in a great measure, to this new
world.
Our family at present are Colbrand, Jonathan, and six men servants,
including the coachman. The four maids are also with us.
But my good Mrs. Jervis was indisposed; so came not up with us; but we
expect her and Mr. Longman in a day or two: for Mr. B. has given her
to my wishes; and as Mr. Longman's business will require him to be up
and down frequently, Mrs. Jervis's care will be the better dispensed
with. I long to see the dear good woman, and shall be more in my
element when I do.
Then I have, besides, my penitent Polly Barlow, who has never held
up her head since that deplorable instance of her weakness, which I
mentioned to you and to Miss Darnford, yet am I as kind to her as if
nothing bad happened. I wish, however, some good husband would offer
for her.
Mr. Adams, our worthy chaplain, is now with Mr. Williams. He purposes
to give us his company here till Christmas, when probably matters will
be adjusted for him to take possession of his living. Meantime, not to
let fall a good custom, when perhaps we have most occasion for it, I
make Jonathan, who is reverend by his years and silver hairs, supply
his place, appointing him the prayers he is to read.
God preserve you both in health, and continue to me, I beseech you,
your prayers and blessings, concludes _your ever dutiful daughter_, P.
B.
LETTER XLIV
_From Mrs. B. to Lady Davers._
My Dearest Lady,
I must beg pardon, for having been in this great town more than a
week, and not having found an opportunity to tender my devoirs to your
ladyship. You know, dear Madam, what hurries and fatigues must attend
such a journey, to one in my way, and to an entire new settlement
in which an hundred things must be done, and attended to, with a
preference to other occasions, however delightful. Yet, I must own, we
found a stately, well-ordered, and convenient house: but, although it
is not far from the fields, and has an airy opening to its back part,
and its front to a square, as it is called, yet I am not reconciled to
it, so entirely as to the beloved mansion we left.
My dear Mr. B. has been, and is, busily employed in ordering some few
alterations, to make things still more commodious. He has furnished me
out a pretty library; and has allotted me very convenient apartments
besides: the furniture of every place is rich, as befits the mind and
fortune of the generous owner. But I shall not offer at particulars,
as we hope to have the honour of a visit from my good lord, and your
ladyship, before the winter weather sets in, to make the roads too
dirty and deep: but it is proper to mention, that the house is so
large, that we can make a great number of beds, the more conveniently
to receive the honours of your ladyship, and my lord, and Mr. B.'s
other friends will do us.
I have not yet been at any of the public diversions. Mr. B. has
carried me, by gentle turns, out of his workmen's way, ten miles round
this overgrown capital, and through the principal of its numerous
streets. The villages that lie spangled about this vast circumference,
as well on the other side the noble Thames (which I had before a
notion of, from Sir John Denham's celebrated Cooper's Hill), as on the
Middlesex side, are beautiful, both by buildings and situation, beyond
what I had imagined, and several of them seem larger than many of our
country towns of note. But it would be impertinent to trouble your
ladyship with these matters, who are no stranger to what is worthy
of notice in London. But I was surprised, when Mr. B. observed to me,
that this whole county, and the two cities of London and Westminster,
are represented in parliament by no more than eight members, when so
many borough towns in England are inferior to the meanest villages
about London.
I am in daily expectation of the arrival of Miss Darnford, and then I
shall wish (accompanied by a young lady of so polite a taste) to see
a good play. Mr. B. has already shewn me the opera-house, and the
play-houses, though silent, as I may say; that, as he was pleased to
observe, they should not be new to me, and that the sight might not
take off my attention from the performance, when I went to the play;
so that I can conceive a tolerable notion of every thing, from the
disposition of the seats, the boxes, galleries, pit, the music,
scenes, and the stage; and so shall have no occasion to gaze about me,
like a country novice, whereby I might attract a notice that I would
not wish, either for my own credit, or your dear brother's honour.
I have had a pleasure which I had not in Bedfordshire; and that is,
that on Sunday I was at church, without gaping crowds to attend us,
and blessings too loud for my wishes. Yet I was more gazed at (and
so was Mr. B.) than I expected, considering there were so many
well-dressed gentry, and some nobility there, and _they_ stared as
much as any body, but will not, I hope, when we cease to be a novelty.
We have already had several visitors to welcome Mr. B. to town, and to
congratulate him on his marriage; but some, no doubt, to see, and to
find fault with his rustic; for it is impossible, you know, Madam,
that a gentleman so distinguished by his merit and fortune should have
taken a step of such consequence to himself and family, and not to
have been known by every body so to have done.
Sir Thomas Atkyns is in town, and has taken apartments in Hanover
Square; and he brought with him a younger brother of Mr. Arthur's,
who, it seems, is a merchant.
Lord F. has also been to pay his respects to Mr. B. whose school
fellow he was at Eton, the little time Mr. B. was there. His lordship
promises, that his lady shall make me a visit, and accompany me to the
opera, as soon as we are fully settled.
A gentleman of the Temple, Mr. Turner by name, and Mr. Fanshow of
Gray's Inn, both lawyers, and of Mr. B.'s former acquaintance, very
sprightly and modish gentlemen, have also welcomed us to town, and
made Mr. B. abundance of gay compliments on my account to my face, all
in the common frothy run.
They may be polite gentlemen, but I can't say I over-much like them.
There is something so opiniated, so seemingly insensible of rebuke,
either from _within_ or _without_, and yet not promising to avoid
deserving one occasionally, that I could as _lieve_ wish Mr. B. and
they would not renew their former acquaintance.
I am very bold your ladyship will say--But you command me to write
freely: yet I would not be thought to be uneasy, with regard to your
dear brother's morals, from these gentlemen; for, oh, Madam, I am a
blessed creature, and am hourly happier and happier in the confidence
I have as to that particular: but I imagine they will force
themselves upon him, more than he may wish, or would permit, were the
acquaintance now to begin; for they are not of his turn of mind, as
it seems to me; being, by a sentence or two that dropt from them, very
free, and very frothy in their conversation; and by their laughing at
what they say themselves, taking that for wit which will not stand the
test, if I may be allowed to say so.
But they have heard, no doubt, what a person Mr. B.'s goodness to me
has lifted into notice; and they think themselves warranted to say any
thing before his country girl.
He was pleased to ask me, when they were gone, how I liked his two
lawyers? And said, they were persons of family and fortune.
"I am glad of it, Sir," said I; "for their own sakes."
"Then you don't approve of them, Pamela?"
"They are _your_ friends, Sir; and I cannot have any dislike to them."
"They say good things _sometimes_," returned he.
"I don't doubt it, Sir; but you say good things _always_."
"'Tis happy for me, my dear, you think so. But tell me, what you think
of 'em?"
"I shall be better able, Sir, to answer your questions, if I see them
a second time."
"But we form notions of persons at first sight, sometimes, my dear;
and you are seldom mistaken in yours."
"I only think. Sir, that they have neither of them any diffidence: but
their profession, perhaps, may set them above that."
"They don't _practise_, my dear; their fortunes enable them to live
without it; and they are too studious of their pleasures, to give
themselves any trouble they are not obliged to take."
"They seem to me. Sir, _qualified_ for practice: they would make great
figures at the bar, I fancy."
"Why so?"
"Only, because they seem prepared to think _well_ of what they say
_themselves_; and _lightly_ of what _other people_ say, or may think,
_of them_."
"That, indeed, my dear, is the necessary qualifications of a public
speaker, be he lawyer, or what he will: the man who cannot doubt
_himself_, and can think meanly of his _auditors_, never fails to
speak with _self-applause_ at least."
"But you'll pardon me, good Sir, for speaking my mind so freely, and
so early of these _your friends_."
"I never, my love, ask you a question, I wish you not to answer; and
always expect your answer should be without reserve; for many times
I may ask your opinion, as a corrective or a confirmation of my own
judgment."
How kind, how indulgent was this, my good lady! But you know, how
generously your dear brother treats me, on all occasions; and this
makes me so bold as I often am.
It may be necessary, my dear lady, to give you an account of our
visitors, in order to make the future parts of my writing the more
intelligible; because what I have to write may turn sometimes upon the
company we see: for which reason, I shall also just mention Sir George
Stuart, a Scottish gentleman, with whom Mr. B. became acquainted in
his travels, who seems to be a polite (and Mr. B. says, is a learned)
man, and a virtuoso: he, and a nephew of his, of the same name, a
bashful gentleman, and who, for that reason, I imagine, has a merit
that lies deeper than a first observation can reach, are just gone
from us, and were received with so much civility by Mr. B. as entitles
them to my respectful regard.
Thus, Madam, do I run on, in a manner, without materials; and only
to shew you the pleasure I take in obeying you. I hope my good Lord
Davers enjoys his health, and continues me in his favour; which I
value extremely, as well as your ladyship's. Mr. H., I hope, likewise
enjoys his health. But let me not forget my particular and thankful
respects to the Countess, for her favour and goodness to me, which I
shall ever place next, in my grateful esteem, to the honours I
have received from your ladyship, and which bind me to be, with the
greatest respect, _your faithful and obliged servant_, P.B.
LETTER XLV
MY DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
I write to you both, at this time, for your advice in a particular
dispute, which is the only one I have had, or I hope ever shall have,
with my dear benefactor; and as he is pleased to insist upon his
way, and it is a point of conscience with me, I must resolve to be
determined by your joint advice; for, if my father and mother, and
husband, are of one opinion, I must, I think, yield up my own.
This is the subject:--I think a mother ought, if she can, to be the
nurse to her own children.
Mr. B. says, he will not permit it.
It is the first _will not_ I have heard from him, or given occasion
for: and I tell him, that it is a point of conscience with me, and
I hope he will indulge me: but the dear gentleman has an odd way of
arguing, that sometimes puzzles me. He pretends to answer me from
Scripture; but I have some doubts of _his_ exposition; and he gives me
leave to write to you, though yet he won't promise to be determined by
your opinions if they are not the same with his own; and I say to him,
"Is this fair, my dearest Mr. B.? Is it?"
He has got the dean's opinion with him; for our debate began before we
came to town: and then he would not let me state the case; but did it
himself; and yet 'tis but an half opinion, as I may, neither. For it
is, that if the husband is set upon it, it is a wife's duty to obey.
But I can't see how that is; for if it be the _natural_ duty of a
mother, it is a _divine_ duty; and how can a husband have power to
discharge a divine duty? As great as a wife's obligation is to obey
her husband, which is, I own, one indispensable of the marriage
contract, it ought not to interfere with what one takes to be a
superior duty; and must not one be one's own judge of actions, by
which we must stand or fall?
I'll tell you my plea:
I say, that where a mother is unhealthy; subject to communicative
distempers, as scrophulous or scorbutic, or consumptive disorders,
which have infected the blood or lungs; or where they have not plenty
of nourishment for the child, that in these cases, a dispensation lies
of course.
But where there is good health, free spirits, and plentiful
nourishment, I think it an indispensable duty.
For this was the custom of old, of all the good wives we read of in
Scripture.
Then the nourishment of the mother must be most natural to the child.
These were my pleas, among others: and this is his answer which he
gave to me in writing:
"As to what you allege, my dear, of old customs; times and fashions
are much changed. If you tell me of Sarah's, or Rachel's, or
Rebecca's, or Leah's nursing their children, I can answer, that the
one drew water at a well, for her father's flocks; another kneaded
cakes, and baked them on the hearth; another dressed savoury meat
for her husband; and all of them performed the common offices of the
household: and when our modern ladies shall follow such examples in
_every thing_, their plea ought to be allowed in this.
"Besides, my fondness for your personal graces, and the laudable, and,
I will say, honest pleasure, I take in that easy, genteel form, which
every body admires in you, at first sight, oblige me to declare, that
I can by no means consent to sacrifice these to the carelessness into
which I have seen very nice ladies sink, when they became nurses.
Moreover, my chief delight in you is for the beauties of your mind;
and unequalled as they are, in my opinion, you have still a genius
capable of great improvement; and I shan't care, when I want to hear
my Pamela read her French and Latin lessons, which I take so much
delight to teach her (and to endeavour to improve myself from her
virtue and piety, at the same time), to seek my beloved in the
nursery; or to permit her to be engrossed by those baby offices, which
will better befit weaker minds.
"No, my dear, you must allow me to look upon you as my scholar, in one
sense; as my companion in another; and as my instructress, in a third.
You know I am not governed by the worst motives: I am half overcome by
your virtue: and you must take care, that you leave not your work half
done. But I cannot help looking upon the nurse's office, as an office
beneath Pamela. Let it have your inspection, your direction, and your
sole attention, if you please, when I am abroad: but when I am at
home, even a son and heir, so jealous am I of your affections, shall
not be my rival in them: nor will I have my rest broken in upon, by
your servants bringing to you your dear little one, at times,
perhaps, as unsuitable to my repose and your own, as to the child's
necessities.
"The chief thing with you, my dear, is that you think it unnatural in
a mother not to be a nurse to her own child, if she can; and what is
unnatural, you say, is sin.
"Some men may be fond of having their wives undertake this province,
and good reasons may be assigned for such their fondness; but it
suits not me at all. And yet no man would be thought to have a greater
affection for children than myself, or be more desirous to do them
justice; for I think every one should look forward to posterity with
a preference: but if my Pamela can be _better_ employed; if the office
can be equally well performed; if your direction and superintendence
will be sufficient; and if I cannot look upon you in that way with
equal delight, as if it was otherwise; I insist upon it, my Pamela,
that you acquiesce with my _dispensation_, and don't think to let me
lose my beloved wife, and have a nurse put upon me instead of her.
"As to that (the nearest to me of all) of dangers to your
constitution: there is as much reason to hope it may not be so, as to
fear that it _may_. For children sometimes bring health with them as
well as infirmity; and it is not a little likely, that the _nurse's_
office may affect the health of one I hold most dear, who has no very
robust constitution, and thinks it so much her duty to attend to it,
that she will abridge herself of half the pleasures of life, and on
that account confine herself within doors, or, in the other case, must
take with her her infant and her nursery-maid wherever she goes; and
I shall either have very fine company (shall I not?) or be obliged to
deny myself yours.
"Then, as I propose to give you a smattering of the French and
Italian, I know not but I may take you on a little tour into France
and Italy; at least, to Bath, Tunbridge, Oxford, York, and the
principal places of England. Wherefore, as I love to look upon you as
the companion of my pleasures, I advise you, my dearest love, not to
weaken, or, to speak in a phrase proper to the present subject, _wean_
me from that love _to_ you, and admiration _of_ you, which hitherto
has been rather increasing than otherwise, as your merit, and regard
for me have increased."
These, my dear parents, are charming allurements, almost irresistible
temptations! And what makes me mistrust myself the more, and be the
more diffident; for we are but too apt to be persuaded into any thing,
when the motives are so tempting as the last.
I take it for granted, that many wives will not choose to dispute
this point so earnestly as I have done; for we have had several little
debates about it; and it is the only point I have ever yet debated
with him; but one would not be altogether implicit neither. It is no
compliment to him to be quite passive, and to have no will at all of
one's own: yet would I not dispute one point, but in supposition of
a superior obligation: and this, he says, he can _dispense_ with. But
alas! my dear Mr. B. was never yet thought so entirely fit to fill up
the character of a casuistical divine, as that one may absolutely rely
upon his decisions in these serious points: and you know we must stand
or fall by our own judgments.
Upon condition, therefore, that he requires not to see this my
letter, nor your answer to it, I write for your advice. But this I see
plainly, that he will have his own way; and if I cannot get over my
scruples, what shall I do? For if I think it a _sin_ to submit to the
dispensation he insists upon as in his power to grant, and to submit
to it, what will become of my peace of mind? For it is not in our
power to believe as one will.
As to the liberty he gives me for a month, I should be loath to take
it; for one knows not the inconveniences that may attend a change of
nourishment; or if I did, I should rather--But I know not what I would
say; for I am but a young creature to be in this way, and so very
unequal to it in every respect! So I commit myself to God's direction,
and your advice, as becomes _your ever dutiful daughter_, P.B.
LETTER XLVI
My Dearest Child,
Your mother and I have as well considered the case you put as we are
able; and we think your own reasons very good; and it is a thousand
pities your honoured husband will not allow them, as you, my dear,
make it such a point with you. Very few ladies would give their
spouses, we believe, the trouble of this debate; and few gentlemen are
so very nice as yours in this respect; for I (but what signifies
what such a mean soul as I think, compared to so learned and brave a
gentleman; yet I) always thought your dear mother, and she has been a
pretty woman too, in her time, never looked so lovely, as when I saw
her, like the pelican in the wilderness, feeding her young ones from
her kind breast:--and had I never so noble an estate, I should have
had the same thoughts.
But since the good 'squire cannot take this pleasure; since he so much
values your person; since he gives you warning, that it may estrange
his affections; since he is impatient of denial, and thinks so highly
of his prerogative; since he may, if disobliged, resume some bad
habits, and so you may have all your prayers and hopes in his perfect
reformation frustrated, and find your own power to do good more
narrowed: we think, besides the obedience you have vowed to him, and
is the duty of every good wife, you ought to give up the point, and
acquiesce; for this seemeth to us to be the lesser evil: and God
Almighty, if it should be your duty, will not be less merciful than
men; who, as his honour says, by the laws of the realm, excuses a
wife, when she is faulty by the command of the husband; and we hope,
the fault he is pleased to make you commit (if a fault, for he really
gives very praise-worthy motives for his dispensation) will not be
laid at his own door. So e'en resolve, my dearest child, to submit to
it, and with cheerfulness too.
God send you an happy hour! But who knows, when the time comes,
whether it may not be proper to dispense with this duty, as you
deem it, on other accounts? For every young person is not enabled
to perform it. So, to shew his honour, that you will cheerfully
acquiesce, your dear mother advises you to look out for a wholesome,
good-humoured, honest body, as near your complexion and temper, and
constitution, as may be; and it may not be the worse, she thinks,
if she is twenty, or one--or two-and-twenty; for she will have more
strength and perfection, as one may say, than even you can have at
your tender age: and, above all, for the wise reason you give from
your reading, that she may be brought to-bed much about your time, if
possible. We can look out, about us, for such an one. And, as Mr. B.
is not adverse to have the dear child in the house, you will have as
much delight, and the dear baby may fare as well, under your prudent
and careful eye, as if you were obliged in the way you would choose.
So God direct you, my child, in all your ways, and make you acquiesce
in this point with cheerfulness (although, as you say, one cannot
believe, as one pleases; for we verily are of opinion you safely may,
as matters stand) and continue to you, and your honoured husband,
health, and all manner of happiness, are the prayers of _your most
affectionate father and mother,_
J. _and_ E. ANDREWS.
LETTER XLVII
I thank you, my dearest parents, for your kind letter; it was given to
Mr. B. and he brought it to me himself, and was angry with me: indeed
he was, as you shall hear:
"'Tis from the good couple, my dear, I see. I hope they are of my
opinion--But whether they be or not--But I will leave you; and do you,
Pamela, step down to my closet, when you have perused it."
He was pleased to withdraw; and I read it, and sat down, and
considered it well; but, as you know I made it always my maxim to
do what I could not avoid to do, with as good a grace as possible, I
waited on the dear gentleman.
"Well, Pamela," said he, a little seriously, "what say the worthy
pair?"
"O Sir! they declare for you. They say, it is best for me to yield up
this point."
"They are certainly in the right--But were you not a dear perverse
creature, to give me all this trouble about your saucy scruples?"
"Nay, Sir, don't call them so," said I, little thinking he was
displeased with me. "I still am somewhat wavering; though they advise
me to acquiesce; and, as it is your will, and you have determined, it
is my duty to yield up the point."
"But do you yield it up cheerfully, my dear?"
"I do, Sir; and will never more dispute it, let what will happen. And
I beg pardon for having so often entered into this subject with you.
But you know, Sir, if one's weakness of mind gives one scruples, one
should not yield implicitly, till they are satisfied; for that would
look as if one gave not you the obedience of a free mind."
"You are very obliging, _just now_, my dear; but I can tell you, you
had made me half serious; yet I would not shew it, in compliment
to your present condition; for I did not expect that you would have
thought any appeal necessary, though to your parents, in a point that
I was determined upon, as you must see, every time we talked of it."
This struck me all in a heap. I looked down to the ground: having no
courage to look up to his face, for fear I should behold his aspect as
mortifying to me as his words. But he took both my hands, and drew me
kindly to him, and saluted me, "Excuse me, my dearest love: I am not
angry with you. Why starts this precious pearl?" and kissed my cheek:
"speak to me, Pamela!"
"I will, Sir--I will--as soon as I can:" for this being my first
check, so seriously given, my heart was full. But as I knew he would
be angry, and think me obstinate, if I did not speak, I said, full
of concern, "I wish, Sir--I wish--you had been pleased to spare me a
little longer, for the same kind, very kind, consideration."
"But is it not better, my dear, to tell you I _was_ a little out of
humour with you, than that I _am_?--But you were very earnest with
me on this point more than once; and you put me upon a hated, because
ungenerous, necessity of pleading my prerogative, as I call it; yet
this would not do, but you appealed against me in the point I was
determined upon, for reasons altogether in your favour: and if this
was not like my Pamela, excuse me, that I could not help being a
little unlike myself."
"Ah!" thought I, "this is not so very unlike your dear self, were I to
give the least shadow of an occasion; for it is of a piece with your
lessons formerly."
"I am sure," said I, "I was not in the least aware, that I had
offended. But I was too little circumspect. I had been used to your
goodness for so long a time, that I expected it, it seems; and thought
I was sure of your favourable construction."
"Why, so you may be, my dear, in every thing _almost_. But I don't
love to speak twice my mind on the same subject; you know I don't!
and you have really disputed this point with me five or six times;
insomuch, that I wondered what was come to my dearest."
"I thought, Sir, you would have distinguished between a command where
my _conscience_ was concerned, and a _common_ point: you know. Sir, I
never had any will but yours in _common_ points. But, indeed, you make
me fearful because my task is rendered too difficult for my own weak
judgment."
I was silent, but by my tears.
"Now, I doubt, Pamela, your spirit is high. You won't speak, because
you are out of humour at what I say. I will have no sullen reserves,
my dearest. What means that heaving sob? I know that this is the time
with your sex, when, saddened with your apprehensions, and indulged
because of them, by the fond husband, it is needful, for both their
sakes, to watch over the changes of their temper. For ladies in your
way are often like encroaching subjects; apt to extend what they call
their privileges, on the indulgence shewed them; and the husband never
again recovers the ascendant he had before."
"You know these things better than I, Mr. B. But I had no intention
to invade your province, or to go out of my own. Yet I thought I had a
right to a little free will, on some greater occasions."
"Why, so you have, my dear. But you must not plead in behalf of your
own will, and refuse to give due weight to mine." "Well, Sir, I must
needs say, I have one advantage above others of my sex; for if wives,
in my circumstances, are apt to grow upon indulgence, I am very happy
that your kind and watchful care will hinder me from falling into that
error."
He gave me a gentle tap on the neck: "Let me beat my beloved
sauce-box," said he: "is it thus you rally my watchful care over you
for your own good? But tell me, truly, Pamela, are you not a little
sullen? Look up to me, my dear. Are you not?"
"I believe I am; but 'tis but very little, Sir. It will soon go
off. Please to let me withdraw, that I may take myself to task about
it;-for at present, I know not what to do, because I did not expect
the displeasure I have incurred."
"Is it not the same thing," replied he, "if this our first quarrel end
here, without your withdrawing?--I forgive you heartily, my Pamela;
and give me one kiss, and I will think of your saucy appeal against me
no more."
"I will comply with your condition, Sir; but I have a great mind to be
saucy. I wish you would let me for this once."
"What would you say, my dearest?--Be saucy then, as you call it, as
saucy as you can."
"Why; then I _am_ a little sullen at present, that I am; and I am not
fully convinced, whether it must be I that forgive you, or you me.
For, indeed, if I can recollect, I cannot think my fault so great in
this point, that was a point of conscience to me, as (pardon me Sir),
to stand in need of your forgiveness."
"Well, then, my dearest," said he, "we will forgive one another?
but take this with you, that it is my love to you that makes me more
delicate than otherwise I should be; and you have inured me so much to
a faultless conduct, that I can hardly bear with natural infirmities
from you.--But," giving me another tap, "get you gone; I leave you to
your recollection; and let me know what fruits it produces: for I must
not be put off with a half-compliance; I must have your whole will
with me, if possible."
So I went up, and recollecting every thing, _sacrificed to my sex_,
as Mr. B. calls it, when he talks of a wife's reluctance to yield a
favourite point: for I shed many tears, because my heart was set upon
it.
And so, my dear parents, twenty charming ideas and pleasures I had
formed to myself, are vanished from me, and my measures are quite
broken. But after my heart was relieved by my eye, I was lighter and
easier. And the result is, we have heard of a good sort of woman,
that is to be my poor _baby's mother_, when it comes; so your
kindly-offered enquiries are needless, I believe.
'Tis well for our sex in general, that there are not many husbands who
distinguish thus nicely. For, I doubt, there are but very few so well
entitled to their ladies' observances as Mr. B. is to mine, and who
would act so generously and so tenderly by a wife as he does, in every
material instance on which the happiness of life depends.
But we are quite reconciled; although as I said, upon his own terms:
and so I can still style myself, _my dear honoured parents, your
happy, as well as your dutiful daughter_, P.B.
LETTER XLVIII
_From Lady Davers to Mrs. B._
My Dear Pamela,
I have sent you a present, the completest I could procure, of every
thing that may suit your approaching happy circumstance; as I hope
it will be to you, and to us all: but it is with a hope annexed, that
although both sexes are thought of in it, you will not put us off with
a girl: no, child, we will not permit you, may we have our wills, to
_think_ of giving us a girl, till you have presented us with half a
dozen fine boys. For our line is gone so low, we expect that
human security from you in your first seven years, or we shall be
disappointed.
I will now give you their names, if my brother and you approve of
them: your first shall be BILLY; my Lord Davers, and the Earl of
C----, godfathers; and it must be doubly godmothered too, or I am
afraid the countess and I shall fall out about it. Your second DAVERS;
be sure remember that.--Your third, CHARLEY; your fourth, JEMMY; your
fifth, HARRY; your sixth--DUDLEY, if you will--and your girl, if you
had not rather call it PAMELA, shall be called BARBARA.--The rest name
as you please.--And so, my dear, I wish all seven happily over with
you.
I am glad you got safe to town: and long to hear of Miss Darnford's
arrival, because I know you'll be out of your bias in your new
settlement till then. She is a fine lady, and writes the most to my
taste of any one of her sex that I know, next to you. I wish she'd be
so kind as to correspond with me. But be sure don't omit to give me
the sequel of her sister's and Murray's affair, and what you think
will please me in relation to her.-You do well to save yourself
the trouble of describing the town and the public places. We are no
strangers to them; and they are too much our table talk, when
any country lady has for the first time been carried to town, and
returned: besides, what London affords, is nothing that deserves
mention, compared to what we have seen at Paris and at Versailles, and
other of the French palaces. You exactly, therefore, hit our tastes,
and answer our expectations, when you give us, in your peculiar
manner, sentiments on what we may call the _soul of things_, and such
characters as you draw with a pencil borrowed from the hand of nature,
intermingled with those fine lights and shades of reflections and
observations, that make your pictures glow, and instruct as well as
delight.
There, Pamela, is encouragement for you to proceed in obliging us. We
are all of one mind in this respect; and more than ever, since we have
seen your actions so well answered to your writings; and that theory
and practice, as to every excellence that can adorn a lady, is the
same thing with you.
We are pleased with your lawyers' characters. There are life and
nature in them; but never avoid giving all that occur to you, for that
seems to be one of your talents; and in the ugliest, there will be
matter of instruction; especially as you seem naturally to fall upon
such as are so general, that no one who converses, but must see in
them the picture of one or other he is acquainted with.
By this time, perhaps, Miss Darnford will be with you.--Our respects
to her, if so.--And you will have been at some of the theatrical
entertainments: so will not want subjects to oblige us.--'Twas a good
thought of your dear man's, to carry you to see the several houses,
and to make you a judge, by that means, of the disposition and fashion
of every thing in them.-Tell him, I love him better and better. I
am proud of my brother, and do nothing but talk of what a charming
husband he makes. But then, he gives an example to all who know him,
and his uncontrollable temper (which makes against many of us),
that it is possible for a good wife to make even a bad man a worthy
husband: and this affords an instruction, which may stand all our sex
in good stead.--But then they must have been cautious first, to choose
a man of natural good sense, and good manners, and not a brutal or
abandoned debauchee.
But hark-ye-me, my sweet girl, what have I done, that you won't write
yourself _sister_ to me? I could find in my heart to be angry with
you. Before my last visit, I was scrupulous to subscribe myself so
to _you_. But since I have seen myself so much surpassed in every
excellence, that I would take pleasure in the name, you assume a pride
in your turn, and may think it under-valuing yourself, to call _me_
so--Ay, that's the thing, I doubt--Although I have endeavoured by
several regulations since my return (and the countess, too, keeps
your example in distant view, as well as I), to be more worthy of the
appellation. If, therefore, you would avoid the reproaches of secret
pride, under the shadow of so remarkable an humility, for the future
never omit subscribing as I do, with great pleasure, _your truly
affectionate sister and friend_, B. DAVERS.
I always take it for granted, that my worthy brother sends his
respects to us; as you must, that Lord Davers, the Countess of C. and
Jackey (who, as well as his uncle, talks of nothing else but you),
send theirs; and so unnecessary compliments will be always excluded
our correspondence.
LETTER XLIX
_In answer to the preceding._
How you overwhelm me with your goodness, my dearest lady, in every
word of your last welcome letter, is beyond my power to express I How
nobly has your ladyship contrived, in your ever-valued present, to
encourage a doubting and apprehensive mind! And how does it contribute
to my joy and my glory, that I am deemed by the noble sister of
my best beloved, not wholly unworthy of being the humble means to
continue, and, perhaps, to perpetuate, a family so ancient and so
honourable!
When I contemplate this, and look upon what I was--How shall I express
a sense of the honour done me!--And when, reading over the other
engaging particulars in your ladyship's letter, I come to the last
charming paragraph, I am doubly affected to see myself seemingly
upbraided, but so politely emboldened to assume an appellation, that
otherwise I hardly dared.
I--_humble_ I--who never had a sister before--to find one now in
Lady Davers! O Madam, you, and _only_ you, can teach me words fit to
express the joy and the gratitude that filled my delighted heart!--But
thus much I am taught, that there is some thing more than the low-born
can imagine in birth and education. This is so evident in your
ladyship's actions, words, and manner, that it strikes one with a
becoming reverence; and we look up with awe to a condition we emulate
in vain, when raised by partial favour, like what I have found; and
are confounded when we see grandeur of soul joined with grandeur
of birth and condition; and a noble lady acting thus nobly, as Lady
Davers acts.
My best wishes, and a thousand blessings, attend your ladyship in all
you undertake! And I am persuaded the latter will, and a peace and
satisfaction of mind incomparably to be preferred to whatever else
this world can afford, in the new regulations, which you, and my dear
lady countess, have set on foot in your families: and when I can have
the happiness to know what they are, I shall, I am confident, greatly
improve my own methods by them.
Were we to live for ever in this life, we might be careless and
indifferent about these matters: but when such an uncertainty as to
the time, and such a certainty as to the event is before us, a prudent
mind will be always preparing, till prepared; and what can be a better
preparative, than charitable actions to our fellow-creatures in the
eye of that Majesty, which wants nothing of us himself, but to do just
the merciful things to one another.
Pardon me, my dearest lady, for this my free style. Methinks I am out
of myself! I know not how to descend all at once from the height to
which you have raised me: and you must forgive the reflections to
which you yourself and your own noble actions have given birth.
Here, having taken respite a little, I naturally sink into _body_
again.--And will not your ladyship confine your expectations from
me within narrower limits?--For, O, I cannot even with my wishes,
so swiftly follow your expectations, if such they are! But, however,
leaving futurity to HIM, who only governs futurity, and who conducts
us all, and our affairs, as shall best answer his own divine purposes,
I will proceed as well as I can, to obey you in those articles, which
are, at present, more within my own power.
My dear Miss Darnford, then, let me acquaint your ladyship, arrived on
Thursday last: she had given us notice, by a line, of the day she set
out; and Sir Simon and Lady Darnford saw her ten miles on the way
to the stage coach in Sir Simon's coach, Mr. Murray attending her on
horseback. They parted with her, as was easy to guess from her merit,
with great tenderness; and we are to look upon the visit (as we do) as
a high favour from her papa and mamma; who, however, charge her not to
exceed a month in and out, which I regret much. Mr. B. kindly proposed
to me, as she came in the stage coach, attended with one maid-servant,
to meet her part of the way in his coach and six, if, as he was
pleased to say, it would not be too fatiguing to me; and we would go
so early, as to dine at St. Alban's. I gladly consented, and we got
thither about one o'clock; and while dinner was preparing, he was
pleased to shew me the great church there, and the curious vault of
the good Duke of Gloucester, and also the monument of the great Lord
Chancellor Bacon in St. Michael's church; all which, no doubt, your
ladyship has seen.
There happened to be six passengers in the stage coach, including
Miss Darnford and her maid; she was exceeding glad to be relieved from
them, though the weather was cold enough, two of the passengers being
not very agreeable company, one a rough military man, and the other a
positive humoursome old gentlewoman: and the others two sisters--"who
jangled now and then," said she, "as much as _my_ sister, and my
sister's _sister_."
Judge how joyful this meeting was to us both. Mr. B. was no less
delighted, and said, he was infinitely obliged to Sir Simon for this
precious trust.
"I come with double pleasure," said she, "to see the greatest
curiosity in England, a husband and wife, who have not, in so many
months as you have been married, if I may believe report, and your
letters, Mrs. B., once repented."
"You are severe, Miss Darnford," replied Mr. B., "upon people in the
married state: I hope there are many such instances."
"There might, if there were more such husbands as Mr. B. makes.--I
hated you once, and thought you very wicked; but I revere you now."
"If you will _revere_ any body, my dear Miss Darnford," said he,
"let it be this good girl; for it is all owing to her conduct and
direction, that I make a tolerable husband: were there more such
wives, I am persuaded, there would be more such husbands than there
are."
"You see, my dear," said I, "what it is to be wedded to a generous
man. Mr. B., by his noble treatment of me, creates a merit in me, and
disclaims the natural effects of his own goodness."
"Well, you're a charming couple--person and mind. I know not any
equal either of you have.--But, Mr. B., I will not compliment you too
highly. I may make _you_ proud, for men are saucy creatures; but
I cannot make your _lady_ so: and in this doubt of the one, and
confidence in the other, I must join with you, that her merit is the
greatest.--Since, excuse me, Sir, her example has reformed her rake;
and you have only confirmed in her the virtues you found ready formed
to your hand."
"That distinction," said Mr. B., "is worthy of Miss Darnford's
judgment."
"My dearest Miss Darnford--my dearest Mr. B.," said I, laying my hand
upon the hand of each, "how can you go on thus!--As I look upon every
kind thing, two such dear friends say of me, as incentives for me
to endeavour to deserve it, you must not ask me too high; for then,
instead of encouraging, you'll make me despair."
He led us into the coach; and in a free, easy, joyful manner, not in
the least tired or fatigued, did we reach the town and Mr. B.'s house;
with which and its furniture, and the apartments allotted for her, my
dear friend is highly pleased.
But the dear lady put me into some little confusion, when she saw me
first, taking notice of my _improvements_, as she called them, before
Mr. B. I looked at him and her with a downcast eye. He smiled, and
said, "Would you, my good Miss Darnford, look so silly, after such a
length of time, with a husband you need not be ashamed of?"
"No, indeed, Sir, not I, I'll assure you; nor will I forgive those
maiden airs in a wife so happy as you are."
I said nothing. But I wished myself, in mind and behaviour, to be just
what Miss Darnford is.
But, my dear lady, Miss Darnford has had those early advantages from
conversation, which I had not; and so must never expect to know how to
deport myself with that modest freedom and ease, which I know I want,
and shall always want, although some of my partial favourers think
I do not. For I am every day more and more sensible of the great
difference there is between being used to the politest conversation as
an inferior, and being born to bear a part in it: in the one, all is
set, stiff, awkward, and the person just such an ape of imitation as
poor I; in the other, all is natural ease and sweetness--like Miss
Darnford.
Knowing this, I don't indeed aim at what I am sensible I cannot
attain; and so, I hope, am less exposed to censure than I should be if
I did. For, I have heard Mr. B. observe with regard to gentlemen who
build fine houses, make fine gardens, and open fine prospects, that
art should never take place of, but be subservient to, nature; and a
gentleman, if confined to a situation, had better conform his designs
to that, than to do as at Chatsworth, level a mountain at a monstrous
expense; which, had it been suffered to remain, in so wild and
romantic a scene as Chatsworth affords, might have been made one of
the greatest beauties of the place.
So I think I had better endeavour to make the best of those natural
defects I cannot master, than, by assuming airs and dignities in
appearance, to which I was not born, act neither part tolerably. By
this means, instead of being thought neither gentlewoman nor rustic,
as Sir Jacob hinted (_linsey-wolsey_, I think was his term too), I may
be looked upon as an original in my way; and all originals pass well
enough, you know, Madam, even with judges.
Now I am upon this subject, I can form to myself, if your ladyship
will excuse me, two such polite gentlemen as my lawyers mentioned in
my former, who, with a true London magnanimity and penetration (for,
Madam, I fancy your London critics will be the severest upon the
country girl), will put on mighty significant looks, forgetting, it
may be, that they have any faults themselves, and apprehending that
they have nothing to do, but to sit in judgment upon others, one of
them expressing himself after this manner--"Why, truly, Jack, the girl
is well enough--_considering_--I can't say--" (then a pinch of snuff,
perhaps, adds importance to his air)--"but a man might love her for a
month or two." (These sparks talked thus of other ladies before me.)
"She behaves better than I expected from her--_considering_--" again
will follow.
"So I think," cries the other, and tosses his tie behind him, with an
air partly of contempt, and partly of rakery.
"As you say. Jemmy, I expected to find an awkward country girl, but
she tops her part, I'll assure you!--Nay, for that matter, behaves
very tolerably for _what she was_--And is right, not to seem desirous
to drown the remembrance of her original in her elevation--And, I
can't but say" (for something like it he did say), "is mighty pretty,
and passably genteel." And thus with their poor praise of Mr. B.'s
girl, they think they have made a fine compliment to his judgment.
But for _his_ sake (for as to my own, I am not solicitous about such
gentlemen's good opinions), I owe them a spite; and believe, I shall
find an opportunity to come out of their debt. For I have the vanity
to think, now you have made me proud by your kind encouragements and
approbation, that the country girl will make 'em look about them, with
all their _genteel contempts_, which they miscall _praise_.
But how I run on! Your ladyship expects that I shall write as freely
to you as I used to do to my parents. I have the merit of obeying you,
that I have; but, I doubt, too much to the exercise of your patience.
This (like all mine) is a long letter; and I will only add to it
Miss Darnford's humble respects, and thanks for your ladyship's kind
mention of her, which she receives as no small honour.
And now. Madam, with a greater pleasure than I can express, will I
make use of the liberty you so kindly allow me to take, of subscribing
myself with that profound respect which becomes me, _your ladyship's
most obliged sister, and obedient servant,_ P.B.
Mr. Adams, Mr. Longman, and Mrs. Jervis, are just arrived; and our
household is now complete.
LETTER L
_From Lady Davers to Mrs. B._
MY DEAR PAMELA,
After I have thanked you for your last agreeable letter, which has
added the Earl and Lady Jenny to the number of your admirers (you know
Lady Betty, her sister, was so before), I shall tell you, that I now
write, at their requests, as well as at those of my Lord Davers, the
countess you so dearly love, and Lady Betty, for your decision of
an odd dispute, that, on reading your letter, and talking of your
domestic excellencies, happened among us.
Lady Betty says, that, notwithstanding any awkwardness you attribute
to yourself, she cannot but decide, by all she has seen of your
writings, and heard from us, that yours is the perfectest character
she ever found in the sex.
The countess said, that you wrong yourself in supposing you are not
every thing that is polite and genteel, as well in your behaviour, as
in your person; and that she knows not any lady in England who better
becomes her station than you do.
"Why, then," said Lady Jenny, "Mrs. B. must be quite perfect:
that's certain." So said the earl; so said they all. And Lord Davers
confirmed that you were.
Yet, as we are sure, there cannot be such a character in this life
as has not one fault, although we could not tell where to fix it, the
countess made a whimsical motion: "Lady Davers," said she, "pray do
you write to Mrs. B. and acquaint her with our subject; and as it
is impossible, for one who can act as she does, not to know herself
better than any body else can do, desire her to acquaint us with some
of those secret foibles, that leave room for her to be still more
perfect."
"A good thought," said they all. And this is the present occasion of
my writing; and pray see that you accuse yourself, of no more than you
know yourself guilty: for over-modesty borders nearly on pride, and
too liberal self-accusations are generally but so many traps for
acquittal with applause: so that (whatever other ladies might) you
will not be forgiven, if you deal with us in a way so poorly artful;
let your faults, therefore, be such as you think we can subscribe to,
from what we have _seen_ of _you_ and what we have _read_ of _yours_;
and you must try to extenuate them too, as you give them, lest we
should think you above that nature, which, in the _best_ cases, is
your undoubted talent.
I congratulate you and Miss Damford on her arrival: she is a charming
young lady; but tell her, that we shall not allow her to take you at
your word, and to think that she excels you in any one thing: only,
indeed, we think you nicer in some points than you need be to, as to
your present agreeable circumstance. And yet, let me tell you, that
the easy, unaffected, conjugal purity, in word and behaviour, between
your good man and you, is worthy of imitation, and what the countess
and I have with pleasure contemplated since we left you, an hundred
times, and admire in you both: and it is good policy too, child,
as well as high decorum; for it is what will make you ever new and
respectful to one another.
But _you_ have the honour of it all, whose sweet, natural, and easy
modesty, in person, behaviour, and conversation, forbid indecency,
even in thought, much more in word, to approach you: insomuch that no
rakes can be rakes in your presence, and yet they hardly know to what
they owe their restraint.
However, as people who see you at this time, will take it for granted
that you and Mr. B. have been very intimate together, I should think
you need not be ashamed of your appearance, because, as he rightly
observes, you have no reason to be ashamed of your husband.
Excuse my pleasantry, my dear: and answer our demand upon you, as soon
as you can; which will oblige us all; particularly _your affectionate
sister_,
B. DAVERS.
LETTER LI
MY DEAREST LADY,
What a task have you imposed upon me! And according to the terms you
annex to it, how shall I acquit myself of it, without incurring the
censure of affectation, if I freely accuse myself as I may deserve, or
of vanity, if I do not? Indeed, Madam, I have a great many failings:
and you don't know the pain it costs me to keep them under; not so
much for fear the world should see them, for I bless God, I can hope
they are not capital, as for fear they should become capital, if I
were to let them grow upon me.
And this, surely, I need not have told your ladyship, and the Countess
of C., who have read my papers, and seen my behaviour in the kind
visit you made to your dear brother, and had from _both_ but too much
reason to censure me, did not your generous and partial favour make
you overlook my greater failings, and pass under a kinder name many
of my lesser; for surely, my good ladies, you must both of you have
observed, in what you have read and seen, that I am naturally of a
saucy temper: and with all my appearance of meekness and humility, can
resent, and sting too, when I think myself provoked.
I have also discovered in myself, on many occasions (of some of which
I will by-and-by remind your ladyship), a malignancy of heart, that,
it is true, lasts but a little while--nor had it need--but for which I
have often called myself to account--to very little purpose hitherto.
And, indeed, Madam (now for a little extenuation, as you expect from
me), I have some difficulty, whether I ought to take such pains to
subdue myself in some instances, in the station to which I am raised,
that otherwise it would have become me to attempt to do: for it is
no easy task, for one in my circumstances, to distinguish between the
_ought_ and the _ought_ not; to be humble without meanness, and decent
without arrogance. And if all persons thought as justly as I flatter
myself I do, of the inconveniences, as well as conveniences, which
attend their being raised to a condition above them, they would
not imagine all the world was their own, when they came to be
distinguished as I have been: for, what with the contempts of superior
relations on one side, the envy of the world, and low reflections
arising from it, on the other, from which no one must hope to be
totally exempted, and the awkwardness, besides, with which they
support their elevated condition, if they have sense to judge of
their own imperfections; and if the gentleman be not such an one as
mine--(and where will such another be found?)--On all these accounts, I
say, they will be made sensible, that, whatever they might once think,
happiness and an high estate are two very different things.
But I shall be too grave, when your ladyship, and all my kind and
noble friends, expect, perhaps, I should give the uncommon subject a
pleasanter air: yet what must that mind be, that is not serious, when
obliged to recollect, and give account of its defects?
But I must not only accuse myself, it seems, I must give _proofs_,
such as your ladyship can subscribe to, of my imperfections. There is
so much _real kindness_ in this _seeming hardship_, that I will
obey you. Madam, and produce proofs in a moment, which cannot be
controverted.
As to my _sauciness_, those papers will give an hundred instances
against me, as well to your dear brother, as to others. Indeed, to
extenuate, as you command me, as I go along, these were mostly when I
was apprehensive for my honour, they were.
And then, I have a little tincture of _jealousy_, which sometimes has
made me more uneasy than I ought to be, as the papers you have not
seen would have demonstrated, particularly in Miss Godfrey's case,
and in my conversation with your ladyships, in which I have frequently
betrayed my fears of what might happen when in London: yet, to
extenuate again, I have examined myself very strictly on this head;
and really think, that I can ascribe a great part of this jealousy to
laudable motives; no less than to my concern for your dear brother's
future happiness, in the hope, that I may be a humble means, through
Providence, to induce him to abhor those crimes of which young
gentlemen too often are guilty, and bring him over to the practice of
those virtues, in which he will ever have cause to rejoice.--Yet, my
lady, some other parts of the charge must stand against me; for as
I love his person, as well as his mind, I have pride in my jealousy,
that would not permit me, I verily think, to support myself as I
ought, under trial of a competition, in this very tender point.
And this obliges me to own, that I have a little spark--not a little
one, perhaps of _secret pride_ and _vanity_, that will arise, now and
then, on the honours done me; but which I keep under as much as I
can; and to this pride, let me tell your ladyship, I know no one
contributes, or can contribute, more largely than yourself.
So you see, my dear lady, what a naughty heart I have, and how far
I am from being a faultless creature--I hope I shall be better and
better, however, as I live longer, and have more grace, and more
wit: for here to recapitulate my faults, is in the first place,
_vindictiveness_, I will not call it downright revenge--And how much
room do all these leave for amendment, and greater perfection?
Had your ladyship, and the countess, favoured us longer in your kind
visit, I must have so improved, by your charming conversations, and
by that natural ease and dignity which accompany everything your
ladyships do and say, as to have got over such of these foibles as
are not rooted in nature: till in time I had been able to do more than
emulate those perfections, which at present, I can only at an awful
distance revere; as becomes, _my dear ladies, your most humble
admirer, and obliged servant_,
P.B.
* * * * *
LETTER LII
_From Miss Darnford to her Father and Mother_.
MY EVER-HONOURED PAPA AND MAMMA,
I arrived safely in London on Thursday, after a tolerable journey,
considering Deb and I made six in the coach (two having been taken up
on the way, after you left me), and none of the six highly agreeable.
Mr. B. and his lady, who looks very stately upon us (from the
circumstance of _person_, rather than of _mind_, however), were so
good as to meet me at St. Alban's, in their coach and six. They have a
fine house here, richly furnished in every part, and have allotted me
the best apartment in it.
We are happy beyond expression. Mr. B. is a charming husband; so easy,
so pleased with, and so tender of his lady: and she so much all that
we saw her in the country, as to humility and affability, and improved
in every thing else which we hardly thought possible she could
be--that I never knew so happy a matrimony.--All that _prerogative
sauciness_, which we apprehended would so eminently display itself in
his behaviour to his wife, had she been ever so distinguished by birth
and fortune, is vanished. I did not think it was in the power of an
angel, if our sex could have produced one, to have made so tender and
so fond a husband of Mr. B. as he makes. And should I have the sense
to follow Mrs. B.'s example, if ever I marry, I should not despair of
making myself happy, let it be to whom it would, provided he was not a
brute, nor sordid in his temper; which two characters are too obvious
to be concealed, if persons take due care, and make proper inquiries,
and if they are not led by blind passion. May Mr. Murray and Miss
Nancy make just such a happy pair!
You commanded me, my honoured mamma, to write to you an account of
every thing that pleased me--I said I would: but what a task should
I then have!--I did not think I had undertaken to write volumes.--You
must therefore allow me to be more brief than I had intended.
In the first place, it would take up five or six long letters to do
justice to the economy observed in this happy family. You know that
Mrs. B. has not changed one of her servants, and only added her Polly
to them. This is an unexampled thing, especially as they were her
_fellow-servants_ as we may say: but since they have the sense to
admire so good an example, and are proud to follow it, each to his and
her power, I think it one of her peculiar facilities to have continued
them, and to choose to reform such as were exceptionable rather than
dismiss them.
Their mouths, Deb tells me, are continually full of their lady's
praises, and prayers, and blessings, uttered with such delight and
fervour for the happy pair, that it makes her eyes, she says, ready to
run over to hear them.
Moreover, I think it an extraordinary degree of policy (whether
designed or not) to keep them, as they were all worthy folks; for had
she turned them off, what had she done but made as many enemies as
she had discarded servants; and as many more as those had friends and
acquaintance? And we all know, how much the reputation of families
lies at the mercy of servants; and it is easy to guess to what cause
each would have imputed his or her dismission. And so she has escaped,
as she ought, the censure of pride; and made every one, instead of
reproaching her with her descent, find those graces in her, which turn
that very disadvantage to her glory.
She is exceedingly affable; always speaks to them with a smile;
but yet has such a dignity in her manner, that it secures her their
respect and reverence; and they are ready to fly at a look, and seem
proud to have her commands to execute; insomuch, that the words--"_My
lady commands so, or so,_" from one servant to another, are sure to
meet with an indisputable obedience, be the duty required what it
will.
If any of them are the least indisposed, her care and tenderness for
them engage the veneration and gratitude of all the rest, who see how
kindly they will be treated, should they ail any thing themselves.
And in all this she is very happy in Mrs. Jervis, who is an excellent
second to her admirable lady; and is treated by her with as much
respect and affection, as if she was her mother.
You may remember, Madam, that in the account she gave us of her
_benevolent round_, as Lady Davers calls it, she says, that as she
was going to London, she should instruct Mrs. Jervis about some of
her _clients_, as I find she calls her poor, to avoid a word which
her delicacy accounts harsh with regard to them, and ostentatious
with respect to herself. I asked her, how (since, contrary to her then
expectation, Mrs. Jervis was permitted to be in town with her) she had
provided to answer her intention as to those her clients, whom she had
referred to the care of that good woman?
She said, that Mr. Barlow, her apothecary, was a very worthy man, and
she had given him a plenary power in that particular, and likewise
desired him to recommend any new and worthy case to her that no
deserving person among the destitute sick poor, might be unrelieved by
reason of her absence.
And here in London she has applied herself to Dr.----(her parish
minister, a fine preacher, and sound divine, who promises on all
opportunities to pay his respects to Mr. B.) to recommend to her
any poor housekeepers, who would be glad to accept of some private
benefactions, and yet, having lived creditably, till reduced by
misfortunes, are ashamed to apply for public relief: and she has
several of these already on her _benevolent list_, to some of whom she
sends coals now at the entrance on the wintry season, to some a piece
of Irish or Scottish linen, or so many yards of Norwich stuff, for
gowns and coats for the girls, or Yorkshire cloth for the boys; and
money to some, who she is most assured will lay it out with care. And
she has moreover _mortified_, as the Scots call it, one hundred and
fifty pounds as a fund for loans, without interest, of five, ten,
or fifteen, but not exceeding twenty pounds, to answer some present
exigence in some honest families, who find the best security they can,
to repay it in a given time; and this fund, she purposes, as she grows
richer, she says, to increase; and estimates pleasantly her worth by
this sum, saying sometimes, "Who would ever have thought I should have
been worth one hundred and fifty pounds so soon? I shall be a rich
body in time." But in all these things, she enjoins secresy, which the
doctor has promised.
She told the doctor what Mr. Adams's office is in her family; and
hoped, she said, he would give her his sanction to it; assuring him,
that she thought it her duty to ask it, as she was one of his
flock, and he, on that account, her principal shepherd, which made a
spiritual relation between them, the requisites of which, on her part,
were not to be dispensed with. The good gentleman very cheerfully
and applaudingly gave his consent; and when she told him how well Mr.
Adams was provided for, and that she would apply to him to supply her
with a town chaplain, when she was deprived of him, he wished that the
other duties of his function (for he has a large parish) would permit
him to be the happy person himself, saying, that till she was supplied
to her mind, either he or his curate would take care that so laudable
a method should be kept up.
You will do me the justice, Madam, to believe, that I very cheerfully
join in my dear friend's Sunday duties; and I am not a little edified,
with the good example, and the harmony and good-will that this
excellent method preserves in the family.
I must own I never saw such a family of love in my life: for here,
under the eye of the best of mistresses, they twice every Sunday see
one another all together (as they used to do in the country), superior
as well as inferior servants; and Deb tells me, after Mrs. B. and I
are withdrawn, there are such friendly salutations among them, that
she never heard the like--"Your servant, good Master Longman:"--"Your
servant, Master Colbrand," cries one and another:--"How do you,
John?"--"I'm glad to see you, Abraham!"--"All blessedly met once
more!" cries Jonathan, the venerable butler, with his silver hairs, as
Mrs. B. always distinguishes him:--"Good Madam Jervis," cries another,
"you look purely this blessed day, thank God!" And they return
to their several vocations, so light, so easy, so pleased, so
even-tempered in their minds, as their cheerful countenances, as well
as expressions, testify, that it is a heaven of a house: and being
wound up thus constantly once a week, at least, like a good eight-day
clock, no piece of machinery that ever was made is so regular and
uniform as this family is.
What an example does this dear lady set to all who see her, know her,
and who hear of her; how happy they who have the grace to follow
it! What a public blessing would such a mind as hers be, could it be
vested with the robes of royalty, and adorn the sovereign dignity! But
what are the princes of the earth, look at them in every nation, and
what they have been for ages past, compared to this lady? who acts
from the impulses of her own heart, unaided in most cases, by
any human example. In short, when I contemplate her innumerable
excellencies, and that sweetness of temper, and universal benevolence,
which shine in every thing she says and does, I cannot sometimes help
looking upon her in the light of an angel, dropped down from heaven,
and received into bodily organs, to live among men and women, in order
to shew what the first of the species was designed to be.
And, here, is the admiration, that one sees all these duties performed
in such an easy and pleasant manner, as any body may perform them; for
they interfere not with any parts of the family management; but rather
aid and inspirit every one in the discharge of all their domestic
services; and, moreover, keep their minds in a state of preparation
for the more solemn duties of the day; and all without the least
intermixture of affectation, enthusiasm, or ostentation. O my dear
papa and mamma, permit me but to tarry here till I am perfect in all
these good lessons, and how happy shall I be!
As to the town, and the diversions of it, I shall not trouble you with
any accounts, as, from your former thorough knowledge of both, you
will want no information about them; for, generally speaking, all
who reside constantly in London, allow, that there is little other
difference in the diversions of one winter and another, than such
as are in clothes; a few variations of the fashions only, which are
mostly owing to the ingenious contrivances of persons who are to get
their bread by diversifying them.
Mrs. B. has undertaken to give Lady Davers an account of the matters
as they pass, and her sentiments on what she sees. There must be
something new in her observations, because she is a stranger to these
diversions, and unbiassed entirely by favour or prejudice; and so will
not play the partial critic, but give to a beauty its due praise, and
to a fault its due censure, according to that truth and nature which
are the unerring guides of her actions as well as sentiments. These I
will transcribe for you; and you'll be so good as to return them when
perused, because I will lend them, as I used to do her letters, to her
good parents; and so I shall give her a pleasure at the same time in
the accommodating them with the knowledge of all that passes, which
she makes it a point of duty to do, because they take delight in her
writings.
My papa's observation, that a woman never takes a journey but she
forgets something, is justified by me; for, with all my care, I have
left my diamond buckle, which Miss Nancy will find in the inner till
of my bureau, wrapt up in cotton; and I beg it may be sent me by the
first opportunity. With my humble duty to you both, my dear
indulgent papa and mamma, thanks for the favour I now rejoice in, and
affectionate respects to Miss Nancy (I wish she would love me as
well as I love her), and service to Mr. Murray, and all our good
neighbours, conclude _me your dutiful, and highly-favoured daughter_,
M. DARNFORD.
Mr. B. and Mrs. B, desire their compliments of congratulation to Mr.
and Mrs. Peters, on the marriage of their worthy niece; also to your
honoured selves they desire their kind respects and thanks for the
loan of your worthless daughter. I experience every hour some new
token of their politeness and affection; and I make no scruple
to think I am with such a brother, and such a sister as any happy
creature may rejoice in, and be proud of. Mr. B. I cannot but repeat,
is a charming husband, and a most polite gentleman. His lady is always
accusing herself to me of awkwardness and insufficiency; but not a
soul who sees her can find it out; she is all genteel ease; and the
admiration of every one who beholds her. Only I tell her, with such
happiness in possession, she is a little of the gravest sometimes.
LETTER LIII
_From Mrs. B. to Lady Davers._
MY GOOD LADY,
You command me to acquaint you with the proceedings between Mr. Murray
and Miss Nanny Darnford: and Miss Polly makes it easy for me to obey
you in this particular, and in very few words; for she says, every
thing was adjusted before she came away, and the ceremony, she
believes, may be performed by this time. She rejoices that she was
out of the way of it: for, she says, love is so awkward a thing to
Mr. Murray, and good-humour so uncommon an one to Miss Nancy, that she
hopes she shall never see such another courtship.
We have been at the play-house several time; and, give me leave to
say, Madam, (for I have now read as well as seen several), that I
think the stage, by proper regulations, might be made a profitable
amusement.--But nothing more convinces one of the truth of the common
observation, that the best things, corrupted, prove the worst, than
these representations. The terror and compunction for evil deeds,
the compassion for a just distress, and the general beneficence which
those lively exhibitions are so capable of raising in the human mind,
might be of great service, when directed to right ends, and induced by
proper motives: particularly where the actions which the catastrophe
is designed to punish, are not set in such advantageous lights, as
shall destroy the end of the moral, and make the vice that ought to be
censured, imitable; where instruction is kept in view all the way, and
where vice is punished, and virtue rewarded.
But give me leave to say, that I think there is hardly one play I
have seen, or read hitherto, but has too much of love in it, as that
passion is generally treated. How unnatural in some, how inflaming in
others, are the descriptions of it!--In most, rather rant and fury,
like the loves of the fiercer brute animals, as Virgil, translated
by Dryden, describes them, than the soft, sighing, fearfully hopeful
murmurs, that swell the bosoms of our gentler sex: and the respectful,
timorous, submissive complainings of the other, when the truth of the
passion humanizes, as one may say, their more rugged hearts.
In particular, what strange indelicates do these writers of tragedy
often make of our sex! They don't enter into the passion at all, if I
have any notion of it; but when the authors want to paint it strongly
(at least in those plays I have seen and read) their aim seems to
raise a whirlwind, as I may say, which sweeps down reason, religion,
and decency; and carries every laudable duty away before it; so that
all the examples can serve to shew is, how a disappointed lover may
rage and storm, resent and revenge.
The play I first saw was the tragedy of _The Distressed Mother;_ and a
great many beautiful things I think there are in it: but half of it is
a tempestuous, cruel, ungoverned rant of passion, and ends in
cruelty, bloodshed, and desolation, which the truth of the story
not warranting, as Mr. B. tells me, makes it the more pity, that
the original author (for it is a French play, translated, you know,
Madam), had not conducted it, since it was his choice, with less
terror, and with greater propriety, to the passions intended to be
raised, and actually raised in many places.
But the epilogue spoken after the play, by Mrs. Oldfield, in the
character of Andromache, was more shocking to me, than the most
terrible parts of the play; as by lewd and even senseless _double
entendre_, it could be calculated only to efface all the tender, all
the virtuous sentiments, which the tragedy was designed to raise.
The pleasure this gave the men was equally barbarous and insulting;
all turning to the boxes, pit, and galleries, where ladies were, to
see how they looked, and stood an emphatical and too-well pronounced
ridicule, not only upon the play in general, but upon the part of
Andromache in particular, which had been so well sustained by an
excellent actress; and I was extremely mortified to see my favourite
(and the only perfect) character debased and despoiled, and the widow
of Hector, prince of Troy, talking nastiness to an audience, and
setting it out with all the wicked graces of action, and affected
archness of look, attitude, and emphasis.
I stood up--"Dear Sir!--Dear Miss!" said I.
"What's the matter, my love?" said Mr. B. smiling.
"Why have I wept the distresses of the injured Hermione?" whispered I:
"why have I been moved by the murder of the brave Pyrrhus, and shocked
by the madness of Orestes! Is it for this? See you not Hector's
widow, the noble Andromache, inverting the design of the whole play,
satirizing her own sex, but indeed most of all ridiculing and shaming,
in _my_ mind, that part of the audience, who can be delighted with
this vile epilogue, after such scenes of horror and distress?"
He was pleased to say, smiling, "I expected, my dear, that your
delicacy, and Miss Darnford's too, would be shocked on this
preposterous occasion. I never saw this play, rake as I was, but the
impropriety of the epilogue sent me away dissatisfied with it, and
with human nature too: and you only see, by this one instance, what a
character that of an actor or actress is, and how capable they are to
personate any thing for a sorry subsistence."
"Well, but, Sir," said I, "are there not, think you, extravagant
scenes and characters enough in most plays to justify the censures
of the virtuous upon them, that the wicked friend of the author must
crown the work in an epilogue, for fear the audience should go away
improved by the representation? It is not, I see, always narrowness of
spirit, as I have heard some say, that opens the mouths of good people
against these diversions."
In this wild way talked I; for I was quite out of patience at this
unnatural and unexpected piece of ridicule, tacked to so serious a
play, and coming after such a moral.
Here is a specimen, my dear lady, of my observations on the first
play I saw. How just or how impertinent, I must leave to your better
judgment. I very probably expose my ignorance and folly in them, but I
will not say presumption, because you have put me upon the task, which
otherwise I should hardly have attempted. I have very little reason
therefore to blame myself on this score; but, on the contrary, if I
can escape your ladyship's censure, have cause to pride myself in the
opportunity you have thereby given me to shew my readiness to obey
you; and the rather, since I am sure of your kindest indulgence,
now you have given me leave to style myself _your ladyship's obliged
sister, and humble servant,_
P.B.
LETTER LIV
MY DEAR LADY,
I gave you in my last my bold remarks upon a TRAGEDY-_The Distressed
Mother_. I will now give you my shallow notions of a COMEDY--_The
Tender Husband_.
I liked this part of the title; though I was not pleased with the
other, explanatory of it; _Or--The Accomplished Fools_. But when I
heard it was written by Sir Richard Steele, and that Mr. Addison had
given some hints towards it, if not some characters--"O, dear Sir,"
said I, "give us your company to this play; for the authors of the
Spectator cannot possibly produce a faulty scene."
Mr. B. indeed smiled; for I had not then read the play: and the Earl
of F., his countess, Miss Darnford, Mr. B. and myself, agreed to
meet with a niece of my lord's in the stage-box, which was taken on
purpose.
There seemed to me to be much wit and satire in the play: but, upon my
word, I was grievously disappointed as to the morality of it; nor,
in some places, is--_probability_ preserved; and there are divers
speeches so very free, that I could not have expected to meet with
such, from the names I mentioned.
In short the author seems to have forgotten the moral all the way; and
being put in mind of it by some kind friend (Mr. Addison, perhaps),
was at a loss to draw one from such characters and plots as he had
produced; and so put down what came uppermost, for the sake of custom,
without much regard to propriety. And truly, I should think, that
the play was begun with a design to draw more amiable characters,
answerable to the title of _The Tender Husband_; but that the author,
being carried away by the luxuriancy of a genius, which he had not
the heart to prune, on a general survey of the whole, distrusting
the propriety of that title, added the under one: with an OR, _The
Accomplished Fools_, in justice to his piece, and compliment to his
audience. Had he called it _The Accomplished Knaves_, I would not have
been angry at him, because there would have been more propriety in the
title.
I wish I could, for the sake of the authors, have praised every scene
of this play: I hoped to have reason for it. Judge then, my dear
lady, my mortification, not to be able to say I liked above one,
the _Painter's scene_, which too was out of time, being on the
wedding-day; and am forced to disapprove of every character in it, and
the views of every one. I am, dear Madam, _your most obliged sister
and servant_,
P.B.
LETTER LV
My Dear Lady,
Although I cannot tell how you received my observations on the tragedy
of _The Distressed Mother_, and the comedy of _The Tender Husband_,
yet will I proceed to give your ladyship my opinion of the opera I was
at last night.
But what can I say, after mentioning what you so well know, the fine
scenes, the genteel and splendid company, the charming voices, and
delightful music?
If, Madam, one were all ear, and lost to every sense but that of
harmony, surely the Italian opera would be a transporting thing!--But
when one finds good sense, and instruction, and propriety, sacrificed
to the charms of sound, what an unedifying, what a mere temporary
delight does it afford! For what does one carry home, but the
remembrance of having been pleased so many hours by the mere vibration
of air, which, being but sound, you cannot bring away with you; and
must therefore enter the time passed in such a diversion, into the
account of those blank hours, from which one has not reaped so much as
one improving lesson?
Mr. B. observes, that when once sound is preferred to sense, we shall
depart from all our own worthiness, and, at best, be but the apes,
yea, the dupes, of those whom we may strive to imitate, but never can
reach, much less excel.
Mr. B. says, sometimes, that this taste is almost the only good fruit
our young nobility gather, and bring home from their foreign tours;
and that he found the English nation much ridiculed on this score, by
those very people who are benefited by their depravity. And if this
be the best, what must the other qualifications be, which they bring
home?--Yet every one does not return with so little improvement, it is
to be hoped.
But what can I say of an Italian opera?--For who can describe sound!
Or what words shall be found to embody air? And when we return, and
are asked our opinion of what we have seen or heard, we are only able
to answer, as I hinted above the scenery is fine, the company
splendid and genteel, the music charming for the time, the action
not extraordinary, the language unintelligible, and, for all these
reasons--the instruction none at all.
This is all the thing itself gives me room to say of the Italian
opera; very probably, for want of a polite taste, and a knowledge of
the language.
In my next, I believe, I shall give you, Madam, my opinion of a
diversion, which, I doubt, I shall like still less, and that is a
masquerade; for I fear I shall not be excused going to one, although
I have no manner of liking to it, especially in my present way. I am.
Madam, _your ladyship's most obliged and faithful_ P.B.
I must add another half sheet to this letter on the subject matter
of it, the opera; and am sure you will not be displeased with the
addition.
Mr. B. coming up just as I had concluded my letter, asked me what was
my subject? I told him I was giving your ladyship my notions of the
Italian opera. "Let me see what they are, my dear; for this is a
subject that very few of those who admire these performances, and
fewer still of those who decry them, know any thing of."
He read the above, and was pleased to commend it. "Operas," said he,
"are very sad things in England, to what they are in Italy; and the
translations given of them abominable: and indeed, our language will
not do them justice.
"Every nation, as you say, has its excellencies; and ours should not
quit the manly nervous sense, which is the distinction of the English
drama. One play of our celebrated Shakespeare will give infinitely
more pleasure to a sensible mind than a dozen English-Italian operas.
But, my dear, in Italy, they are quite another thing: and the sense is
not, as here, sacrificed so much to the sound, but that they are both
very compatible."
"Be pleased, Sir, to give me your observations on this head in
writing, and then I shall have something to send worthy of Lady
Davers's acceptance."
"I will, my dear;" and he took a pen, and wrote the inclosed; which
I beg your ladyship to return me; because I will keep it for my
instruction, if I should be led to talk of this subject in company.
"Let my sister know," said he, "that I have given myself no time to
re-peruse what I have written. She will do well, therefore, to correct
it, and return it to you."
"In Italy, judges of operas are so far from thinking the drama or
poetical part of their operas nonsense, as the unskilled in Italian
rashly conclude in England, that if the Libretto, as they call it, is
not approved, the opera, notwithstanding the excellence of the music,
will be condemned. For the Italians justly determine, that the very
music of an opera cannot be complete and pleasing, if the drama be
incongruous, as I may call it, in its composition, because, in order
to please, it must have the necessary contrast of the grave and the
light, that is, the diverting equally blended through the whole. If
there be too much of the first, let the music be composed ever so
masterly in that style, it will become heavy and tiresome; if the
latter prevail, it will surfeit with its levity: wherefore it is the
poet's business to adapt the words for this agreeable mixture: for the
music is but secondary, and subservient to the words; and if there be
an artful contrast in the drama, there will be the same in the music,
supposing the composer to be a skilful master.
"Now, since in England, the practice has been to mutilate, curtail,
and patch up a drama in Italian, in order to introduce favourite airs,
selected from different authors, the contrast has always been broken
thereby, without every one's knowing the reason: and since ignorant
mercenary prompters, though Italians, have been employed in
hotch-potch, and in translating our dramas from Italian into English,
how could such operas appear any other than incongruous nonsense?"
Permit me, dear Madam, to repeat my assurances, that I am, and must
ever be, _your obliged sister and servant_,
P.B.
LETTER LVI
Well, now, my dear lady, I will give you my poor opinion of a
masquerade, to which Mr. B. persuaded me to accompany Miss Darnford;
for, as I hinted in my former, I had a great indifference, or rather
dislike, to go, and Miss therefore wanted so powerful a second, to get
me with her; because I was afraid the freedoms which I had heard were
used there, would not be very agreeable to my apprehensive temper, at
_this_ time especially.
But finding Mr. B. chose to have me go, if, as he was pleased to say,
I had no objection, "I said, I _will_ have none, I _can_ have none,
when you tell me it is your choice; and so send for the habits you
like, and that you would have me appear in, and I will cheerfully
attend you."
The habit Mr. B. pitched upon was that of a Spanish Don, and it well
befitted the majesty of his person and air; and Miss Darnford chose
that of a young Widow; and Mr. B. recommended that of a Quaker for
me. We all admired one another in our dresses; and Mr. B. promising to
have me always in his eye, we went thither.
But I never desire to be present at another. Mr. B. was singled out by
a bold Nun, who talked Italian to him with such free airs, that I did
not much like it, though I knew not what she said; for I thought the
dear gentleman no more kept to his Spanish gravity, than she to the
requisites of the habit she wore: when I had imagined that all that
was tolerable in a masquerade, was the acting up to the character each
person assumed: and this gave me no objection to the Quaker's dress;
for I thought I was prim enough for that naturally.
I said softly, "Dear Miss Darnford" (for Mr. B. and the Nun were
out of sight in a moment), "what is become of that Nun?"--"Rather,"
whispered she, "what is become of the Spaniard?"
A Cardinal attacked me instantly in French; but I answered in English,
not knowing what he said, "Quakers are not fit company for Red-hats."
"They are," said he, in the same language; "for a Quaker and a Jesuit
is the same thing."
Miss Darnford was addressed by the name of the Sprightly Widow:
another asked, how long she intended to wear those weeds? And a
footman, in a rich livery, answered for her eyes, through her mask,
that it would not be a month.
But I was startled when a Presbyterian Parson came up, and bid me look
after my Musidorus--So that I doubted not by this, it must be one who
knew my name to be Pamela; and I soon thought of one of my lawyers,
whose characters I gave before.
Indeed, he needed not to bid me; for I was sorry, on more accounts
than that of my timorousness, to have lost sight of him. "Out upon
these nasty masquerades!" thought I; "I can't abide them already!"
An egregious beauish appearance came up to Miss, and said, "You hang
out a very pretty _sign_, Widow."
"Not," replied she, "to invite such fops as you to my shop."
"Any customer would be welcome," returned he, "in my opinion. I
whisper this as a secret."
"And I whisper another," said she, but not whisperingly, "that no
place warrants ill manners."
"Are you angry, Widow?"
She affected a laugh: "No, indeed, it i'n't worth while."
He turned to me--and I was afraid of some such hit as he gave me. "I
hope, friend, thou art prepared with a father for the light within
thee?"
"Is this wit?" said I, turning to Miss Darnford: "I have enough of
this diversion, where nothing but coarse jests appear _barefac'd_."
At last Mr. B. accosted us, as if he had not known us. "So lovely a
widow, and so sweet a friend! no wonder you do not separate: for I see
not in this various assembly a third person of your sex fit to join
with you."
"Not _one_, Sir!" said I. "Will not a penitent Nun make a good third
with a mournful Widow, and a prim Quaker?"
"Not for more than ten minutes at most."
Instantly the Nun, a fine person of a lady, with a noble air, though I
did not like her, joined us, and spoke in Italian something very free,
as it seemed by her manner, and Mr. B.'s smiling answer; but neither
Miss Darnford nor I understood that language, and Mr. B. would not
explain it to us.
But she gave him a signal to follow her, seeming to be much taken with
his person and air; for though there were three other Spanish habits
there, he was called _The stately Spaniard_ by one, _The handsome
Spaniard_ by another, in our hearing, as he passed with us to the
dessert, where we drank each of us a glass of Champaign, and eat a
few sweetmeats, with a crowd about us; but we appeared not to know
one another: while several odd appearances, as one Indian Prince, one
Chinese Mandarin, several Domino's, of both sexes, a Dutch Skipper,
a Jewish Rabbi, a Greek Monk, a Harlequin, a Turkish Bashaw, and
Capuchin Friar, glided by us, as we returned into company,
signifying that we were strangers to them by squeaking out--"_I know
you!_"--Which is half the wit of the place.
Two ladies, one in a very fantastic party-coloured habit, with a plume
of feathers, the other in a rustic one, with a garland of flowers
round her head, were much taken notice of for their freedom, and
having something to say to every body. They were as seldom separated
as Miss Darnford and I, and were followed by a crowd wherever they
went.
The party-coloured one came up to me: "Friend," said she, "there is
something in thy person that attracts every one's notice: but if a
sack had not been a profane thing, it would have become thee almost as
well."--"I thank thee, friend," said I, "for thy counsel; but if thou
hadst been pleased to look at home, thou wouldst not have taken so
much pains to join such advice, and such an appearance, together, as
thou makest!"
This made every one that heard it laugh.--One said, the butterfly hath
met with her match.
She returned, with an affected laugh, "Smartly said!--But art thou
come hither, friend, to make thy light shine before men or women?"
"Verily, friend, neither," replied I: "but out of mere curiosity, to
look into the _minds_ of both sexes; which I read in their _dresses_."
"A general satire on the assemblee, by the mass!" said a fat Monk.
The Nun whisked to us: "We're all concerned in my friend's remark."--
"And no disgrace to a fair Nun," returned I, "if her behaviour answer
her dress--Nor to a reverend Friar," turning to the Monk, "if his
mind be not a discredit to his appearance--Nor yet to a Country-girl,"
turning to the party-coloured lady's companion, "if she has not weeds
in her heart to disgrace the flowers on her head."
An odd figure, representing a _Merry Andrew_, took my hand, and said,
I had the most piquant wit he had met with that night: "And, friend,"
said he, "let us be better acquainted!"
"Forbear," said I, withdrawing my hand; "not a companion for a
Jack-pudding, neither!"
A Roman Senator just then accosted Miss Darnford; and Mr. B. seeing me
so much engaged, "'Twere hard," said he, "if our nation, in spite
of Cervantes, produced not one cavalier to protect a fair lady thus
surrounded."
"Though surrounded, not distressed, my good knight-errant," said the
Nun: "the fair Quaker will be too hard for half-a-dozen antagonists,
and wants not your protection:--but your poor Nun bespeaks it,"
whispered she, "who has not a word to say for herself." Mr. B.
answered her in Italian (I wish I understood Italian!)--and she had
recourse to her beads.
You can't imagine, Madam, how this Nun haunted him!--I don't like
these masquerades at all. Many ladies, on these occasions, are so
very free, that the censorious will be apt to blame the whole sex for
_their_ conduct, and to say, their hearts are as faulty as those of
the most culpable men, since they scruple not to shew as much, when
they think they cannot be known by their faces. But it is my humble
opinion, that could a standard be fixed, by which one could determine
readily what _is_, and what is _not_ wit, decency would not be so
often wounded by attempts to be witty, as it is. For here every one,
who can say things that shock a modester person, not meeting with due
rebuke, but perhaps a smile, (without considering whether it be of
contempt or approbation) mistakes courage for wit; and every thing
sacred or civil becomes the subject of his frothy jest.
But what a moralizer am I! will your ladyship say: indeed I can't
help it:--and especially on such a subject as a _masquerade_, which I
dislike more than any thing I ever saw. I could say a great deal more
on this occasion; but, upon my word, I am quite out of humour with it:
for I liked my English Mr. B. better than my Spaniard: and the Nun I
approved not by any means; though there were some who observed, that
she was one of the gracefullest figures in the place. And, indeed, in
spite of my own heart, I could not help thinking so too.
Your ladyship knows so well what _masquerades_ are, that I may well be
excused saying any thing further on a subject I am so little pleased
with: for you only desire my notions of those diversions, because I am
a novice in them; and this, I doubt not, will doubly serve to answer
that purpose.
I shall only therefore add, that after an hundred other impertinences
spoken to Miss Darnford and me, and retorted with spirit by her, and
as well as I could by myself, quite sick of the place, I feigned to be
more indisposed than I was, and so got my beloved Spaniard to go off
with us, and reached home by three in the morning. And so much for
_masquerades_. I hope I shall never have occasion to mention them
again to your ladyship. I am, my dearest Madam, _your ever obliged
sister and servant_,
P.B.
LETTER LVII
MY DEAREST LADY,
My mind is so wholly engrossed by thoughts of a very different nature
from those which the diversions of the town and theatres inspire, that
I beg to be excused, if, for the present, I say nothing further of
those lighter matters. But as you do not disapprove of my remarks,
I intend, if God spares my life, to make a little book, which I will
present to your ladyship, of my poor observations on all the dramatic
entertainments I have seen, and shall see, this winter: and for this
purpose I have made brief notes in the margin of the printed plays I
have bought, as I saw them, with a pencil; by referring to which, as
helps to my memory, I shall be able to state what my thoughts were at
the time of seeing them pretty nearly with the same advantage, as if I
had written them at my return from each.
I have obtained Sir Simon, and Lady Darnford's permission for Miss to
stay with me till it shall be seen how it will please God to deal with
me, and I owe this favour partly to a kind letter written in my
behalf to Sir Simon, by Mr. B., and partly to the young lady's
earnest request to her papa, to oblige me; Sir Simon having made some
difficulty to comply, as Mr. Murray and his bride have left them,
saying, he could not live long, if he had not the company of his
beloved daughter.
But what shall I say, when I find my frailty so much increased, that I
cannot, with the same intenseness of devotion I used to be blest with,
apply myself to the throne of Grace, nor, of consequence, find my
invocations answered by that delight and inward satisfaction, with
which I used when the present near prospect was more remote?
I hope I shall not be deserted in the hour of trial, and that this my
weakness of mind will not be punished with a spiritual dereliction,
for suffering myself to be too much attached to those worldly delights
and pleasures, which no mortal ever enjoyed in a more exalted degree
than myself. And I beseech you, my dearest lady, let me be always
remembered in your prayers--_only_ for a resignation to the Divine
will; a _cheerful_ resignation! I presume not to prescribe to his
gracious Providence; for if one has but _that_, one has every thing
that one need to have.
Forgive me, my dearest lady, for being so deeply serious. I have just
been contending with a severe pang, that is now gone off; what effect
its return may have, God only knows. And if this is the last line I
shall ever write, it will be the more satisfactory to me, as (with
my humble respects to my good Lord Davers, and my dear countess, and
praying for the continuance of all your healths and happiness,
both here and hereafter), I am permitted to subscribe myself _your
ladyship's obliged sister and humble servant_,
P.B.
LETTER LVIII
_From Lady Davers to Mr. B._
MY DEAREST BROTHER,
Although I believe it needless to put a man of your generous spirit in
mind of doing a worthy action; yet, as I do not know whether you have
thought of what I am going to hint to you, I cannot forbear a line or
two with regard to the good old couple in Kent.
I am sure, if, for our sins, God Almighty should take from us my
incomparable sister (forgive me, my dear brother, but to intimate what
_may_ be, although I hourly pray, as her trying minute approaches,
that it will not), you will, for her sake, take care that her honest
parents have not the loss of your favour, to deepen the inconsolable
one, they will have, in such a case, of the best of daughters.
I say, I am sure you will do as generously by them as ever: and I dare
say your sweet Pamela doubts it not: yet, as you know how sensible she
is of every favour done them, it is the countess's opinion and mine,
and Lady Betty's too, that you give _her_ this assurance, in some
_legal_ way: for, as she is naturally apprehensive, and thinks more of
her present circumstances, than, for your sake, she chooses to express
to you, it will be like a cordial to her dutiful and grateful heart;
and I do not know, if it will not contribute, more than any _one_
thing, to make her go through her task with ease and safety.
I know how much your heart is wrapped up in the dear creature: and you
are a worthy brother to let it be so! You will excuse me therefore, I
am sure, for this my officiousness.
I have no doubt but God will spare her to us, because, although we may
not be worthy of such excellence, yet we all now unite so gratefully
to thank him, for such a worthy relation, that I hope we shall not be
deprived of an example so necessary to us all.
I can have but one fear, and that is, that, young as she is, she seems
ripened for glory: she seems to have lived long enough for _herself_.
But for _you_, and for _us_, that God will _still_ spare her, shall be
the hourly prayer of, _my dear worthy brother, your ever affectionate
sister_,
B. DAVERS.
Have you got her mother with you? I hope you have. God give you a son
and heir, if it be his blessed will! But, however that be, preserve
your Pamela to you! for you never can have such _another_ wife.
LETTER LIX
_From Mrs. B. to Mr. B._
MY DEAR AND EVER-HONOURED MR. B.,
Since I know not how it may please God Almighty to dispose of me on
the approaching occasion, I should think myself inexcusable, not to
find one or two select hours to dedicate to you, out of the very many,
in the writing way, which your goodness has indulged me, because you
saw I took delight in it.
But yet, think not, O best beloved of my heart! that I have any boon
to beg, any favour to ask, either for myself or for my friends, or so
much as the _continuance_ of your favour, to the one or the other. As
to them, you have prevented and exceeded all my wishes: as to myself,
if it please God to spare me, I know I shall always be rewarded beyond
my desert, let my deservings be what they will. I have only therefore
to acknowledge with the deepest sense of your goodness to me, and with
the most heart-affecting gratitude, that from the happy, the thrice
happy hour, that you so generously made me yours, till _this_ moment,
you have not left one thing, on my own part, to wish for, but the
continuance and increase of your felicity, and that I might be still
worthier of the unexampled goodness, tenderness, and condescension,
wherewith you have always treated me.
No, my dearest, my best beloved master, friend, husband, my _first_,
my _last_, and _only_ love! believe me, I have nothing to wish for but
your honour and felicity, temporal and eternal; and I make no doubt,
that God, in his infinite goodness and mercy, will perfect his own
good work, begun in your dear heart; and, whatever may now happen,
give us a happy meeting, never more to part from one another.
Let me then beg of you, my dearest protector, to pardon all my
imperfections and defects; and if, ever since I have had the honour
to be yours, I have in _looks_, or in _word_, or in _deed_, given you
cause to wish me other than I was, that you will kindly put it to the
score of natural infirmity (for in _thought_ or _intention_, I can
truly boast, I have never wilfully erred). Your tenderness, and
generous politeness to me, always gave me apprehension, that I was not
what you wished me to be, because you would not find fault with me so
often as I fear I deserved: and this makes me beg of you to do, as
I hope God Almighty will, pardon all my involuntary errors and
omissions.
But let me say one word for my dear worthy Mrs. Jervis. Her care and
fidelity will be very necessary for your affairs, dear Sir, while you
remain single, which I hope will not be long. But, whenever you make a
second choice, be pleased to allow her such an annuity as may make
her independent, and pass away the remainder of her life with ease and
comfort. And this I the rather presume to request, as my late honoured
lady once intimated the same thing to you. If I were to name what
that may be, it would not be with the thought of _heightening_, but of
_limiting_ rather, the natural bounty of your heart; and fifty pounds
a-year would be a rich provision, in her opinion, and will entail upon
you, dear Sir, the blessings of one of the faithfullest and worthiest
hearts in the kingdom.
Nor will Christian charity permit me to forget the once wicked, but
now penitent Jewkes. I understand by Miss Darnford, that she begs for
nothing but to have the pleasure of dying in your service, and by
that means to atone for some small slips and mistakes in her accounts,
which she had made formerly, and she accuses herself; for she will
have it, that Mr. Longman has been better to her than she deserved,
in passing one account particularly, to which he had, with too much
reason, objected; do, dear Sir, if your _future_ happy lady has no
great dislike to the poor woman, be pleased to grant her request,
except her own mind should alter, and she desire her dismission.
And now I have to beg of God to shower down his most precious
blessings upon you, my dearest, my _first_, my _last_, and my _only_
love! and to return to you an hundred fold, the benefits which you
have conferred upon me and mine, and upon so many poor souls, as you
have blessed through my hands! And that you may in your next choice be
happy with a lady, who may have every thing I want; and who may love
and honour you, with the same affectionate duty, which has been my
delight and my glory to pay you: for in this I am sure, no one _can_
exceed me!--And after having given you long life, prosperity, and
increase of honour, translate you into a blessed eternity, where,
through the merits of our common Redeemer, I hope I shall be allowed
a place, and be permitted (O let me indulge that pleasing, that
_consolatory_ thought!) to receive and rejoice in my restored spouse,
for ever and ever: are the prayers, the _last_ prayers, if it so
please God! of, my dearest dear Mr. B., _your dutiful and affectionate
wife, and faithful servant_,
P.B.
LETTER LX
_From Miss Darnford to Lady Darnford._
MY HONOURED MAMMA,
You cannot conceive how you and my dear papa have delighted my good
Mrs. B. and obliged her Mr. B. by the permission you have given me to
attend her till the important hour shall be over with her; for she is
exceedingly apprehensive, and one can hardly blame her; since there is
hardly such another happy couple in the world.
I am glad to hear that the ceremony is over, so much to both your
satisfactions: may this matrimony be but a _tenth part_ as happy as
that I am witness to here; and Mr. and Mrs. Murray will have that
to boast of, which few married people have, even among those we call
happy!
For my part, I believe I shall never care to marry at all; for though
I cannot be so deserving as Mrs. B. yet I shall not bear to think of
a husband much less excellent than hers. Nay, by what I see in _her_
apprehensions, and conceive of the condition she hourly expects to be
in, I don't think a lady can be requited with a _less_ worthy one, for
all she is likely to suffer on a husband's account, and for the sake
of _his_ family and name.
Mrs. Andrews, a discreet worthy soul as ever I knew, and who in her
aspect and behaviour is far from being a disgrace even to Mr. B.'s
lady, is with her dear daughter, to her no small satisfaction, as you
may suppose.
Mr. B. asked my advice yesterday, about having in the house a midwife,
to be at hand, at a moment's warning. I said I feared the sight
of such a person would terrify her: and so he instantly started an
expedient, of which her mother, Mrs. Jervis, and myself, approved, and
have put into practice; for this day, Mrs. Harris, a distant relation
of _mine_, though not of yours, Sir and Madam, is arrived from Essex
to make me a visit; and Mr. B. has prevailed upon her, in _compliment
to me_, as he pretended, to accept of her board in his house, while
she stays in town, which she says, will be about a week.
Mrs. Harris being a discreet, modest, matron-like person, Mrs. B. took
a liking to her at first sight, and is already very familiar with her;
and understanding that she was a doctor of physic's lady, and takes
as much delight in administering to the health of her own sex, as her
husband used to do to that of both, Mrs. B. says it is very fortunate,
that she has so experienced a lady to consult, as she is such a novice
in her own case.
Mr. B. however, to carry on the honest imposture the better, just
now, in presence of Mrs. Harris, and Mrs. Andrews, and me, asked the
former, if it was not necessary to have in the house the good woman?
This frighted Mrs. B. who turned pale, and said she could not bear the
thoughts of it. Mrs. Harris said it was highly necessary that Mrs. B.
if she would not permit the gentlewoman to be in the house, should see
her; and that then, she apprehended, there would be no necessity, as
she did not live far off, to have her in the house, since Mrs. B.
was so uneasy upon that account. This pleased Mrs. B. much, and Mrs.
Thomas was admitted to attend her.
Now, you must know, that this is the assistant of my new relation; and
she being apprised of the matter, came; but never did I see so much
shyness and apprehension as Mrs. B. shewed all the time Mrs. Thomas
was with her, holding sometimes her mother, sometimes Mrs. Harris, by
the hand, and being ready to sweat with terror.
Mrs. Harris scraped acquaintance with Mrs. Thomas, who, pretending to
recollect her, gave Mrs. Harris great praises; which increased Mrs.
B.'s confidence in her: and she undertakes to govern the whole so,
that the dreaded Mrs. Thomas need not come till the very moment: which
is no small pleasure to the over-nice lady. And she seems every hour
to be better pleased with Mrs. Harris, who, by her prudent talk, will
more and more familiarize her to the circumstance, unawares to herself
in a manner. But notwithstanding this precaution, of a midwife in
the house, Mr. B. intends to have a gentleman of the profession in
readiness, for fear of the worst.
Mrs. B. has written a letter, with this superscription: "To the
ever-honoured and ever-dear Mr. B., with prayers for his health,
honour, and prosperity in this world, and everlasting felicity in that
to come. P.B." It is sealed with black wax, and she gave it me this
moment, on her being taken ill, to give to Mr. B. if she dies. But
God, of his mercy, avert that! and preserve the dear lady, for
the honour of her sex, and the happiness of all who know her, and
particularly for that of your Polly Darnford; for I cannot have a
greater loss, I am sure, while my honoured papa and mamma are living:
and may that be for many, very many, happy years!
I will not close this letter till all is over: happily, as I hope!--
Mrs. B. is better again, and has, occasionally, made some fine
reflections, directing herself to me, but designed for the benefit of
her Polly, on the subject of the inconsideration of some of our sex,
with regard to the circumstances she is in.
I knew what her design was, and said, "Aye, Polly, let you and I, and
every single young body, bear these reflections in mind, pronounced by
so excellent a lady, in a moment so arduous as these!"
The girl wept, and very movingly fell down by the door, on her knees,
praying to God to preserve her dear lady, and she should be happy for
ever!
Mrs. B. is exceedingly pleased with my new relation Mrs. Harris, as
we call her, who behaves with so much prudence, that she suspects
nothing, and told Mrs. Jervis, she wished nobody else was to come near
her. And as she goes out (being a person of eminence in her way) two
or three times a day, and last night staid out late, Mrs. B. said,
she hoped she would not be abroad, when she should wish her to be at
home--
I have the very great pleasure, my dear papa and mamma, to acquaint
you, and I know you will rejoice with me upon it, that just half an
hour ago, my dear Mrs. B. was brought to-bed of a fine boy.
We are all out of our wits for joy almost. I ran down to Mr. B.
myself, who received me with trembling impatience. "A boy! a fine boy!
dear Mr. B.," said I: "a son and heir, indeed!"
"But how does my Pamela? Is _she_ safe? Is _she_ like to do
well?"--"We hope so," said I: "or I had not come down to you, I'll
assure you." He folded me in his arms, in a joyful rapture: "How happy
you make me, dearest Miss Darnford! If my Pamela is safe, the boy is
welcome, welcome, indeed!--But when may I go up to thank my jewel?"
Mrs. Andrews is so overjoyed, and so thankful, that there is no
getting her from her knees.
A man and horse is dispatched already to Lady Davers, and another
ordered to Kent, to the good old man.
Mrs. Jervis, when I went up, said she must go down and release the
good folks from their knees; for, half an hour before, they declared
they would not stir from that posture till they heard how it went with
their lady; and when the happy news was brought them of her safety,
and of a young master, they were quite ecstatic, she says, in their
joy, and not a dry eye among them, shaking hands, and congratulating
one another, men and maids; which made it one of the most affecting
sights that can be imagined. And Mr. Longman, who had no power to
leave the house for three days past, hasted to congratulate his
worthy principal; and never was so much moving joy seen, as this
honest-hearted steward ran over with.
I did a foolish thing in my joy--I gave Mr. B. the letter designed for
him, had an unhappy event followed; and he won't return it: but says,
he will obtain Mrs. B.'s leave, when she is better, to open it; and
the happier turn will augment his thankfulness to God, and love
to her, when he shall, by this means, be blest with sentiments so
different from what the other case would have afforded.
Mrs. B. had a very sharp time. Never more, my dear papa, talk of a
husband to me. Place all your expectations on Nancy! Not one of these
men that I have yet seen, is worth running these risques for! But Mr.
B.'s endearments and tenderness to his lady, his thankful and manly
gratitude and politeness, when he was admitted to pay his respects to
her, and his behaviour to Mrs. Andrews, and to us all, though but for
a visit of ten minutes, was alone worthy of all her risque.
I would give you a description of it, had I Mrs. B.'s pen, and of
twenty agreeable scenes and conversations besides: but, for want of
that, must conclude, with my humble duty, as becomes, honoured Sir,
and Madam, _your ever grateful_
POLLY DARNFORD.
LETTER LXI
_From the Same._
MY HONOURED PAPA AND MAMMA,
We have nothing but joy and festivity in this house: and it would
be endless to tell you the congratulations the happy family receives
every day, from tenants and friends. Mr. B., you know, was always
deemed one of the kindest landlords in England; and his tenants are
overjoyed at the happy event which has given them a young landlord
of his name: for all those who live in that large part of the estate,
which came by Mrs. B. his mother, were much afraid of having any of
Sir Jacob Swynford's family for their landlord, who, they say, are
all made up of pride and cruelty, and would have racked them to death:
insomuch that they had a voluntary meeting of about twenty of the
principal of them, to rejoice on the occasion; and it was unanimously
agreed to make a present of a piece of gilt plate, to serve as basin
for the christening, to the value of one hundred guineas; on which is
to be engraven the following inscription:
_"In acknowledgment of the humanity and generosity of the best of
landlords, and as a token of his tenants' joy on the birth of a son
and heir, who will, it is hoped, inherit his father's generosity, and
his mother's virtues, this piece of plate is, with all due gratitude,
presented, as a christening basin to all the children that shall
proceed from such worthy parents, and their descendants, to the end of
time._
_"By the obliged and joyful tenants of the maternal estate
in Bedfordshire and Gloucestershire, the initials of whose names are
under engraven, viz._"
Then are to follow the first letters of each person's Christian and
surname.
What an honour is this to a landlord! In my opinion very far
surpassing the _mis-nomer'd_ free gifts which we read of in some
kingdoms on extraordinary occasions, some of them like this! For here
it is all truly spontaneous--A free gift _indeed_! and Mr. B. took it
very kindly, and has put off the christening for a week, to give time
for its being completed and inscribed as above.
The Earl and Countess of C. and Lord and Lady Davers, are here,
to stand in person at the christening; and you cannot conceive how
greatly my Lady Davers is transported with joy, to have a son and heir
to the estate: she is every hour, almost, thanking her dear sister
for him; and reads in the child all the great qualities she forms to
herself in him. 'Tis indeed a charming boy, and has a great deal (if
one may judge of a child so very young) of his father's manly aspect.
The dear lady herself is still but weak; but the joy of all around
her, and her spouse's tenderness and politeness, give her cheerful and
free spirits; and she is all serenity, ease, and thankfulness.
Mrs. B., as soon as the danger was over, asked me for her letter with
the black seal. I had been very earnest to get it from Mr. B. but to
no purpose; so I was forced to tell who had it. She said, but very
composedly, she was sorry for it, and hoped he had not opened it.
He came into her chamber soon after, and I demanded it before her. He
said he had designed to ask her leave to break the seal, which he had
not yet done; nor would without her consent.
"Will you give me leave, my dear," said he, "to break the
seal?"--"If you do, Sir, let it not be in my presence; but it is too
serious."--"Not, my dear, now the apprehension is so happily over: it
may now add to my joy and my thankfulness on that account."--"Then, do
as you please, Sir; but I had rather you would not."
"Then here it is, Miss Darnford: it was put into your hands, and there
I place it again."--"That's something like," said I, "considering the
gentleman. Mrs. B., I hope we shall bring him into good order between
us in time." So I returned it to the dear writer; who put it into her
bosom.
I related to Lady Davers, when she came, this circumstance; and she,
I believe, has leave to take it with her. She is very proud of all
opportunities now of justifying her brother's choice, and doing honour
to his wife, with Lady Betty C., who is her great favourite, and who
delights to read Mrs. B.'s letters.
You desire to know, my honoured papa, how Mr. B. passes his time, and
whether it be in his lady's chamber? No, indeed! Catch gentlemen, the
best of them, in too great a complaisance that way, if you can. "What
then, does he pass his time _with you_, Polly?" you are pleased to
ask. What a disadvantage a man lies under, who has been once a rake!
But I am so generally with Mrs. B. that when I tell you, Sir, his
visits to her are much of the polite form, I believe I answer all you
mean by your questions; and especially when I remind you, Sir,
that Lord and Lady Davers, and the Earl and Countess of C. and your
unworthy daughter, are at dinner and supper-time generally together;
for Mrs. Andrews, who is not yet gone back to Kent, breakfasts, dines,
and sups with her beloved daughter, and is hardly ever out of her
room.
Then, Sir, Mr. B., the Earl, and Lord Davers, give pretty constant
attendance to the business of parliament; and, now and-then, sup
abroad--So, Sir, we are all upon honour; and I could wish (only that
your facetiousness always gives me pleasure, as it is a token that you
have your much-desired health and freedom of spirits), that even in
jest, my mamma's daughter might pass unquestioned.
But I know _why_ you do it: it is only to put me out of heart to
ask to stay longer. Yet I wish--But I know you won't permit me to
go through the whole winter here. Will my dear papa grant it, do you
think, if you were to lay the highest obligation upon your dutiful
daughter, and petition for me? And should you care to try? I dare not
hope it myself: but when one sees a gentleman here, who denies his
lady nothing, it makes one wish, methinks, that Lady Darnford, was as
happy in that particular as Mrs. B.
_Your_ indulgence for this _one_ winter, or, rather this small
_remainder_ of it, I make not so much doubt of, you see, Madam. I
know you'll call me a bold girl; but then you always, when you do,
condescend to grant my request: and I will be as good as ever I can be
afterwards. I will fetch up all the lost time; rise an hour sooner
in the morning, go to bed an hour later at night; flower my papa any
thing he pleases; read him to sleep when he pleases; put his gout into
good-humour, when it will be soothed--And Mrs. B., to crown all,
will come down with me, by permission of her sovereign lord, who will
attend her, you may be sure: and will not _all_ this do, to procure me
a month or two more?--If it won't, why then, I will thank you for your
past goodness to me, and with all duty and cheerfulness, bid adieu to
this dear London, this dearer family, and tend a _still_ dearer papa
and mamma; whose dutiful daughter I will ever be, whilst
POLLY DARNFORD.
LETTER LXII
_To the Same._
MY HONOURED PAPA AND MAMMA,
I have received your joint commands, and intend to set out on
Wednesday, next week. I hope to find my papa in better health than
at present, and in better humour too; for I am sorry he is displeased
with my petitioning for a little longer time in London. It is very
severe to impute to me want of duty and affection, which would, if
deserved, make me most unworthy of your favour.
Mr. B. and his lady are resolved to accompany me in their coach, till
your chariot meets me, if you will be pleased to permit it so to do;
and even set me down at your gate, if it did not; but he vows, that he
will neither alight at your house, nor let his lady. But I say, that
this is a misplaced resentment, because I ought to think it a favour,
that you have indulged me so much as you have done. And yet even this
is likewise a favour on _their_ side, to me, because it is an instance
of their fondness for your unworthy daughter's company.
Mrs. B. is, if possible, more lovely since her lying-in than before.
She has so much delight in her nursery, that I fear it will take her
off from her pen, which will be a great loss to all whom she used to
oblige with her correspondence. Indeed this new object of her care is
a charming child; and she is exceedingly pleased with her nurse;--for
she is not permitted, as she very much desired, to suckle it herself.
She makes a great proficiency in the French and Italian languages; and
well she may; for she has the best schoolmaster in the world, and one
whom she loves better than any lady ever loved a tutor. He is lofty,
and will not be disputed with; but I never saw a more polite and
tender husband, for all that.
We had a splendid christening, exceedingly well ordered, and every
body was delighted at it. The quality gossips went away but on
Tuesday; and my Lady Davers took leave of her charming sister with all
the blessings, and all the kindness, and affectionate fondness, that
could be expressed.
Mr. Andrews, that worthy old man, came up to see his grandson,
yesterday. You would never have forgotten the good man's behaviour
(had you seen it), to his daughter, and to the charming child; I wish
I could describe it to you; but I am apt to think Mrs. B. will notice
it to Lady Davers; and if she enters into the description of it while
I stay, I will beg a copy of it, to bring down with me; because I know
you were pleased with the sensible, plain, good man, and his ways,
when at the Hall in your neighbourhood.
The child is named William, and I should have told you; but I write
without any manner of connection, just as things come uppermost: but
don't, my dear papa, construe this, too, as an instance of disrespect.
I see but one thing that can possibly happen to disturb the felicity
of this charming couple; and that I will mention, in confidence. Mr.
B. and Mrs. B. and myself were at the masquerade, before she lay-in:
there was a lady greatly taken with Mr. B. She was in a nun's habit,
and followed him wherever he went; and Mr. Turner, a gentleman of one
of the inns of court, who visits Mr. B. and is an old acquaintance of
his, tells me, by-the bye, that the lady took an opportunity to unmask
to Mr. B. Mr. Turner has since found she is the young Countess Dowager
of----, a fine lady; but not the most reserved in her conduct of late,
since her widowhood. And he has since discovered, as he says, that a
letter or two, if not more, have passed between Mr. B. and that lady.
Now Mrs. B., with all her perfections, has, as she _owns_, a little
spice of jealousy; and should she be once alarmed, I tremble for the
consequence to both their happiness.
I conceive, that if ever anything makes a misunderstanding between
them, it will be from some such quarter as this. But 'tis a thousand
pities it should. And I hope, as to the actual correspondence begun,
Mr. Turner is mistaken.
But be it as it will, I would not for the world, that the first hints
of this matter should come from me.--Mr. B. is a very enterprising and
gallant man, a fine figure, and I don't wonder a lady may like him.
But he seems so pleased, so satisfied with his wife, and carries it to
her with so much tenderness and affection, that I hope her merit, and
his affection for her, will secure his conjugal fidelity.
If it prove otherwise, and she discovers it, I know not one that would
be more miserable than Mrs. B., as well from motives of piety and
virtue, as from the excessive love she bears him. But I hope for
better things, for both their sakes.
My humble thanks for all your indulgence to me, with hopes, that you
will not, my dear papa and mamma, hold your displeasure against me,
when I throw myself at your feet, as I now soon hope to do. Conclude
me _your dutiful daughter_,
P. DARNFORD.
LETTER LXIII
_From Mrs. B. to Lady Davers_.
MY DEAR LADY,
We are just returned from accompanying the worthy Miss Darnford as far
as Bedford, in her way home, where her papa and mamma met her in their
coach. Sir Simon put on his pleasant airs, and schooled Mr. B. for
persuading his daughter to stay so long from him; _me_ for putting her
upon asking to stay longer; and _she_ for being persuaded by us.
We tarried two days together at Bedford; for we knew not how to part;
and then we took a most affectionate leave of each other.
We struck out of the road a little, to make a visit to the dear house,
where we tarried one night; and next morning before any body could
come to congratulate us (designing to be _incog_.), we proceeded on
our journey to London, and found my dearest, dear boy, in charming
health.
What a new pleasure has God bestowed upon me; which, after every
little absence, rises upon me in a true maternal tenderness, every
step I move toward the dear little blessing! Yet sometimes, I think
your dear brother is not so fond of him as I wish him to be. He says,
"'tis time enough for him to mind him, when he can return his notice,
and be grateful!"--A negligent word isn't it, Madam--considering--
My dear father came to town, to accompany my good mother down to Kent,
and they set out soon after your ladyship left us. It is impossible
to describe the joy with which his worthy heart overflowed, when he
congratulated us on the happy event. And as he had been apprehensive
for his daughter's safety, judge, my lady, what his transports must
be, to see us all safe and well, and happy, and a son given to Mr. B.
by his greatly honoured daughter.
I was in the nursery when he came. So was my mother. Miss Darnford
also was there. And Mr. B., who was in his closet, at his arrival,
after having received his most respectful congratulations himself,
brought him up (though he has not been there since: indeed he ha'n't!)
"Pamela," said the dear gentleman, "see who's here!"
I sprang to him, and kneeled for his blessing: "O my father!" said
I, "see" (pointing to the dear baby at the nurse's breast), "how God
Almighty has answered all our prayers!"
He dropped down on his knees by me, clasping me in his indulgent arms:
"O my daughter!--My blessed daughter!--And do I once more see you! And
see you safe and well!--I do! I do!--Blessed be thy name, O gracious
God, for these thy mercies!"
While we were thus joined, happy father, and happy daughter, in one
thanksgiving, the sweet baby having fallen asleep, the nurse had put
it into the cradle; and when my father rose from me, he went to my
mother, "God bless my dear Betty," said he, "I longed to see you,
after this separation. Here's joy! here's pleasure! O how happy are
we!" And taking her hand, he kneeled down on one side the cradle,
and my mother on the other, both looking at the dear baby, with
eyes running over; and, hand in hand, he prayed, in the most fervent
manner, for a blessing upon the dear infant, and that God Almighty
would make him an honour to his father's family, and to his mother's
virtue; and that, in the words of Scripture, _"he might grow on, and
be in favour both with the Lord, and with man."_
Mr. B. has just put into my hands Mr. Locke's Treatise on Education,
and he commands me to give him my thoughts upon it in writing. He has
a very high regard for this author, and tells me, that my tenderness
for Billy will make me think some of the first advice given in it a
little harsh; but although he has not read it through, only having
dipped into it here and there, he believes from the name of the
author, I cannot have a better directory; and my opinion of it,
after I have well considered it, will inform him, he says, of my own
capacity and prudence, and how far he may rely upon both in the point
of a _first education_.
I asked, if I might not be excused writing, only making my
observations, here and there, to himself, as I found occasion? But he
said, "You will yourself, my dear, better consider the subject, and
be more a mistress of it, and I shall the better attend to your
reasonings, when put into writing: and surely, Pamela, you may, in
such an important point as this, as well oblige _me_ with a little of
your penmanship, as your other dear friends."
After this, your ladyship will judge I had not another word to say. He
cuts one to the heart, when he speaks so seriously.
I have looked a little into it. It is a book quite accommodated to
my case, being written to a gentleman, the author's friend, for the
regulation of his conduct towards his children. But how shall I do,
if in such a famed and renowned author, I see already some few things,
which I think want clearing up. Won't it look like intolerable vanity
in me, to find fault with such a genius as Mr. Locke?
I must, on this occasion, give your ladyship the particulars of
a short conversation between your brother and me; which, however,
perhaps, will not be to my advantage, because it will shew you what a
teazing body I can be, if I am indulged. But Mr. B. will not spoil me
neither in that way, I dare say!--Your ladyship will see this in the
very dialogue I shall give you.
Thus it was. I had been reading in Mr. Locke's book, and Mr. B. asked
me how I liked it?--"Exceedingly well, Sir. But I have a proposal to
make, which, if you will be pleased to comply with, will give me a
charming opportunity of understanding Mr. Locke."
"What is your proposal, my dear? I see it is some very particular one,
by that sweet earnestness in your look."
"Why, so it is, Sir: and I must know, whether you are in high good
humour, before I make it. I think you look grave upon me; and my
proposal will not then do, I'm sure."
"You have all the amusing ways of your sex, my dear Pamela. But tell
me what you would say? You know I don't love suspense."
"May-be you're busy. Sir. Perhaps I break in upon you. I believe you
were going into your closet."
"True woman!--How you love to put one upon the tenters! Yet, my life
for yours, by your parade, what I just now thought important, is some
pretty trifle!--Speak it at once, or I'll be angry with you;" and
tapped my cheek.
"Well, I wish I had not come just now!--I see you are not in a
good humour enough for my proposal.--So, pray, Sir, excuse me till
to-morrow."
He took my hand, and led me to his closet, calling me his pretty
impertinent; and then urging me, I said, "You know, Sir, I have not
been used to the company of children. Your dear Billy will not make me
fit, for a long time, to judge of any part of education. I can learn
of the charming boy nothing but the baby conduct: but now, if I might
take into the house some little Master of three or four years old, or
Miss of five or six, I should watch over all their little ways; and
now reading a chapter in the _child_, and now one in the _book_, I can
look forward, and with advantage, into the subject; and go through all
the parts of education tolerably, for one of my capacity; for, Sir,
I can, by my own defects, and what I have wished to mend, know how
to judge of, and supply that part of life which carries a child up to
eleven or twelve years of age, which was mine, when my lady took me."
"A pretty thought, Pamela! but tell me, who will part with their
child, think you? Would _you_, if it were your case, although ever so
well assured of the advantages your little one would reap by it?--For
don't you consider, that the child ought to be wholly subjected to
your authority? That its father or mother ought seldom to see it;
because it should think itself absolutely dependent upon you?--And
where, my dear, will you meet with parents so resigned?--Besides, one
would have the child descended of genteel parents, and not such as
could do nothing for it; otherwise the turn of mind and education you
would give it, might do it more harm than good."
"All this, Sir, is very true. But have you no other objection, if one
could find a genteely-descended young Master? And would you join to
persuade his papa to give me up his power, only from three months
to three months, as I liked, and the child liked, and as the papa
approved of my proceedings?"
"This is so reasonable, with these last conditions, Pamela, that I
should be pleased with your notion, if it could be put in practice,
because the child would be benefited by your instruction, and you
would be improved in an art, which I could wish to see you an adept
in."
"But, perhaps. Sir, you had rather it were a girl than a boy?"--"I
had, my dear, if a girl could be found, whose parents would give
her up to you; but I suppose you have some boy in your head, by your
putting it upon that sex at first."
"Let me see, Sir, you say you are in a good humour! Let me see if you
be;"--looking boldly in his face.
"What now," with some little impatience, "would the pretty fool be
at?"
"Only, Sir, that you have nothing to do, but to speak the word, and
there is a child, whose papa and mamma too, I am sure, would consent
to give up to me for my own instruction, as well as for her sake;
and if, to speak in the Scripture phrase, I have found _grace in your
sight_, kind Sir, speak this word to the dear child's papa."
"And have you thus come over me, Pamela!--Go, I am half angry with
you, for leading me on in this manner against myself. This looks so
artful, that I won't love you!"--"Dear Sir!"--"And dear Madam too!
Be gone, I say!--You have surprised me by art, when your talent is
nature, and you should keep to that!"
I was sadly baulked, and had neither power to go nor stay! At last,
seeing I had put him into a kind of flutter, as now he had put me, I
moved my unwilling feet towards the door.--He took a turn about the
closet meantime.--"Yet stay," said he, "there is something so generous
in your art, that, on recollection, I cannot part with you."
He took notice of the starting tear--"I am to blame!--You had
surprised me so, that my hasty temper got the better of my
consideration. Let me kiss away this pearly fugitive. Forgive me, my
dearest love! What an inconsiderate brute am I, when compared to such
an angel as my Pamela! I see at once now, all the force, and all the
merit, of your amiable generosity: and to make you amends for this
my hastiness, I will coolly consider of the matter, and will either
satisfy you by my compliance, or by the reasons, which I will give you
for the contrary.
"But, say, my Pamela, can you forgive my harshness?"--"Can I!--Yes,
indeed, Sir," pressing his hand to my lips; "and bid me Go, and Be
gone, twenty times a-day, if I am to be thus kindly called back to
you, thus nobly and condescendingly treated, in the same breath!-I
see, dear Sir," continued I, "that I must be in fault, if ever you are
lastingly displeased with me. For as soon as you turn yourself about,
your anger vanishes, and you make me rich amends for a few harsh
words. Only one thing, dear Sir, let me add; if I have dealt artfully
with you, impute it to my fear of offending you, through the nature
of my petition, and not to design; and that I took the example of the
prophet, to King David, in the parable of the _Ewe-Lamb._"
"I remember it, my dear--and you have well pointed your parable, and
had nothing to do, but to say--'_Thou art the man!'_"
I am called upon by my dear benefactor for a little airing, and he
suffers me only to conclude this long letter. So I am obliged, with
greater abruptness than I had designed, to mention thankfully your
ladyship's goodness to me; particularly in that kind, kind letter,
in behalf of my dear parents, had a certain event taken place. Mr. B.
shewed it to me _this morning_, and not before--I believe, for fear
I should have been so much oppressed by the sense of your unmerited
goodness to me, had he let me known of it before your departure
from us, that I should not have been able to look up at you; heaping
favours and blessings upon me, as you were hourly doing besides. What
a happy creature am I!--But my gratitude runs me into length; and
sorry I am, that I cannot have time just now to indulge it.
Is there nothing, my dear Lord and Lady Davers, my dear Lady Countess,
and my good Lord C., that I can do, to shew at least, that I have a
_will_, and am not an ungrateful, sordid creature?
And yet, if you give me power to do any thing that will have the
_appearance_ of a return, even that _power_ will be laying a fresh
obligation upon me--Which, however, I should be very proud of, because
I should thereby convince you, by more than words, how much I am
(most particularly, my dearest Lady Davers, my sister, my friend, my
patroness), _your most obliged and faithful servant,_ P.B.
Your dear brother joins in respectful thankfulness to his four noble
gossips. And my Billy, by his lips, subscribed his. I hope so to
direct his earliest notions, as to make him sensible of his dutiful
obligation.
LETTER LXIV
_From Lady Davers to Mrs. B._
MY DEAREST PAMELA,
Talk not to us of unreturnable obligations and all that. You do more
for us, in the entertainment you give us all, by your letters, than
we _have_ done, or even _can_ do, for you. And as to me, I know no
greater pleasure in the world than that which my brother's felicity
and yours gives me. God continue this felicity to you both. I am sure
it will be _his_ fault, and not yours, if it be at all diminished.
We have heard some idle rumours here, as if you were a little uneasy
of late; and having not had a letter from you for this fortnight past,
it makes me write, to ask you how you all do? and whether you expected
an answer from me to your last?
I hope you won't be punctilious with me. For we have nothing to write
about, except it be how much we all love and honour you; and that you
believe already, or else you don't do us justice.
I suppose you will be going out of town soon, now the parliament is
rising. My Lord is resolved to put his proxy into another hand, and
intends I believe, to take my brother's advice in it. Both the Earl
and his Lordship are highly pleased with my brother's moderate and
independent principles. He has got great credit among all unprejudiced
men, by the part he acted throughout the last session, in which he has
shown, that he would no more join to distress and clog the wheels of
government, by an unreasonable opposition, than he would do the dirty
work of any administration. As he has so noble a fortune and wants
nothing of any body, he would be doubly to blame, to take any other
part than that of his country, in which he has so great a stake.
May he act _out_ of the house, and _in_ the house with equal honour;
and he will be his country's pride, and your pride, and mine too!
which is the wish of _your affectionate sister_,
B. DAVERS.
LETTER LXV
MY DEAREST LADY,
I have been a little in disorder, that I have. Some few rubs have
happened. I hope they will be happily removed, I am unwilling to
believe all that is said. But this is a wicked town. I wish we were
out of it. Yet I see not when that will be. I wish Mr. B. would permit
me and my Billy to go into Kent. But I don't care to leave him behind
me, neither; and he is not inclined to go. Excuse my brevity, my
dearest lady--But I must break off, with only assuring your ladyship,
that I am, and ever will be, _your obliged and grateful_, P.B.
LETTER LXVI
MY DEAREST PAMELA,
I understand things are not so well as I wish. If you think my coming
up to town, and residing with you, while you stay, will be of service,
or help you to get out of it, I will set out directly. I will pretend
some indisposition, and a desire of consulting the London physicians;
or any thing you shall think fit to be done, by _your affectionate
sister, and faithful friend_, B. DAVERS
LETTER LXVII
MY DEAREST LADY,
A thousand thanks for your goodness to me; but I hope all will be
well. I hope God will enable me to act so prudent a part, as will
touch his generous breast. Be pleased to tell me what your ladyship
has heard; but it becomes not me, I think, till I cannot help it, to
make any appeals; for I know those will not be excused; and I do all I
can to suppress my uneasiness before him. But I pay for it, when I
am alone. My nursery and my reliance on God (I should have said the
latter first), are all my consolation. God preserve and bless you, my
good lady, and my noble lord! (but I am apt to think your ladyship's
presence will not avail), prays _your affectionate and obliged,_ P.B.
LETTER LXVIII
Why does not my sweet girl subscribe _Sister_, as usual? I have done
nothing amiss to you! I love you dearly, and ever will. I can't help
my brother's faults. But I hope he treats you with politeness and
decency. He shall be none of my brother if he don't. I rest a great
deal upon your prudence: and it will be very meritorious, if you can
overcome yourself, so as to act unexceptionably, though it may not be
deserved on this occasion. For in doing so, you'll have a triumph over
nature itself; for, my dear girl, as you have formerly owned, you have
a little touch of jealousy in your composition.
What I have heard, is no secret to any body. The injured party is
generally the last who hears in these cases, and you shall not first
be told anything by me that must _afflict_ you, but cannot _you_, more
than it does _me_. God give you patience and comfort! The wicked lady
has a deal to answer for, to disturb such an uncommon happiness. But
no more, than that I am _your ever-affectionate sister_, B. DAVERS.
I am all impatience to hear how you conduct yourself upon this trying
occasion. Let me know what you have heard, and _how_ you came to hear
it.
LETTER LXIX
Why don't I subscribe Sister? asks my dearest Lady Davers.--I have
not had the courage to do it of late. For my title to that honour
arises from the dear, thrice dear Mr. B. And how long I may be
permitted to call him mine, I cannot say. But since you command it, I
will call your ladyship by that beloved name, let the rest happen as
God shall see fit.
Mr. B. cannot be unpolite, in the main; but he is cold, and a little
cross, and short in his speeches to me. I try to hide my grief
from everybody, and most from him: for neither my parents, nor Miss
Darnford know anything from me. Mrs. Jervis, from whom I seldom hide
any thing, as she is on the spot with me, hears not my complainings,
nor my uneasiness; for I would not lessen the dear man. He may _yet_
see the error of the way he is in. God grant it, for his own sake as
well as mine.--I am even sorry your ladyship is afflicted with the
knowledge of the matter.
The unhappy lady (God forgive her!) is to be pitied: she loves him,
and having strong passions, and being unused to be controlled, is
lost to a sense of honour and justice.--From these wicked masquerades
springs all the unhappiness; my Spaniard was too amiable, and met with
a lady who was no Nun, but in habit. Every one was taken with him in
that habit, so suited to the natural dignity of his person!--O these
wicked masquerades!
I am all patience in appearance, all uneasiness in reality. I did not
think I could, especially in _this_ most _affecting_ point, be such an
hypocrite. Your ladyship knows not what it has cost me, to be able to
assume that character! Yet my eyes are swelled with crying, and look
red, although I am always breathing on my hand, and patting them
with it, and my warm breath, to hide the distress that will, from my
overcharged heart, appear in them.
Then he says, "What's the matter with the little fool! You are always
in this way of late! What ails you, Pamela?"
"Only a little vapourish, Sir!--Don't be angry at me!--Billy, I
thought, was not very well!"
"This boy will spoil your temper: at this rate, what should be your
joy, will become your misfortune. Don't receive me in this manner, I
charge you."
"In what manner. Sir? I always receive you with a grateful heart! If
any thing troubles me, it is in your absence: but see, Sir" (then
I try to smile, and seem pleased), "I am all sunshine, now you are
come!--don't you see I am?"
"Yes, your sunshine of late is all through a cloud! I know not what's
the matter with you. Your temper will alter, and then--"
"It shan't alter, Sir--it shan't--if I can help it." And then I kissed
his hand; that dear hand, that, perhaps, was last about his more
beloved Countess's neck--Distracting reflection!
But come, may-be I think the worst! To be sure I do! For my
apprehensions were ever aforehand with events; and bad must be the
case, if it be worse than I think it.
You command me to let you know _what_ I have heard, and how I
_came_ to hear it. I told your ladyship in one of my former that two
gentlemen brought up to the law, but above the practice of it, though
I doubt, not above practices less honourable, had visited us on coming
to town.
They have been often here since, Mr. Turner particularly: and
sometimes by himself, when Mr. B. has happened to be out: and he it
was, as I guessed, that gave me, at the wicked masquerade, the advice
to look after my _Musidorus_.
I did not like their visits, and _his_ much less: for he seemed to be
a man of intriguing spirit. But about three weeks ago, Mr. B. setting
out upon a party of pleasure to Oxford, he came and pretended great
business with me. I was at breakfast in the parlour, only Polly
attending me, and admitted him, to drink a dish of chocolate with me.
When Polly had stept out, he told me, after many apologies, that he
had discovered who the nun was at the masquerade, that had engaged Mr.
B.
I said it was very indifferent to me who the lady was.
He replied (making still more apologies, and pretending great
reluctance to speak out), that it was no less a lady than the young
Countess Dowager of----, a lady noted for her wit and beauty, but of a
gay disposition, though he believed not yet culpable.
I was alarmed; but would not let him see it; and told Mr. Turner,
that I was so well satisfied in Mr. B.'s affection for me, and his
well-known honour, that I could not think myself obliged to any
gentleman who should endeavour to give me a less opinion of either
than I ought to have.
He then bluntly told me, that the very party Mr. B. was upon, was with
the Countess for one, and Lord----, who had married her sister.
I said, I was glad he was in such good company, and wished him every
pleasure in it.
He hoped, he said, he might trust to my discretion, that I would not
let Mr. B. know from whom I had the information: that, indeed, his
motive in mentioning it was self-interest; having presumed to make
some overture of an honourable nature to the Countess, in his own
behalf; which had been rejected since that masquerade night: and he
hoped the prudent use I would make of the intimation, might somehow be
a means to break off that correspondence, before it was attended with
bad consequences.
I told him coldly, though it stung me to the heart, that I was fully
assured of Mr. B.'s honour; and was sorry he, Mr. Turner, had so bad
an opinion of a lady to whom he professed so high a consideration. And
rising up--"Will you excuse me, Sir, that I cannot attend at all to
such a subject as this? I think I ought not: and so must withdraw."
"Only, Madam, one word." He offered to take my hand, but I would not
permit it. He then swore a great oath, that he had told me his true
and only motive; that letters had passed between the Countess and Mr.
B., adding, "But I beg you'll keep it within your own breast; else,
from two such hasty spirits as his and mine, it might be attended with
still worse consequences."
"I will never. Sir, enter into a subject that is not proper to be
communicated every tittle of it to Mr. B.; and this must be my excuse
for withdrawing." And away I went from him.
Your ladyship will judge with how uneasy a heart; which became more
so, when I sat down to reflect upon what he had told me. But I was
resolved to give it as little credit as I could, or that any thing
would come of it, till Mr. B.'s own behaviour should convince me, to
my affliction, that I had some reason to be alarmed: so I opened not
my lips about it, not even to Mrs. Jervis.
At Mr. B.'s return, I received him in my usual affectionate and
unreserved manner: and he behaved himself to me with his accustomed
goodness and kindness: or, at least, with so little difference, that
had not Mr. Turner's officiousness made me more watchful, I should not
have perceived it.
But next day a letter was brought by a footman for Mr. B. He was out:
so John gave it to me. The superscription was a lady's writing:
the seal, the Dowager Lady's, with a coronet. This gave me great
uneasiness; and when Mr. B. came in, I said, "Here is a letter for
you. Sir; and from a lady too!"
"What then," said he, with quickness.
I was baulked, and withdrew. For I saw him turn the seal about and
about, as if he would see whether I had endeavoured to look into it.
He needed not to have been so afraid; for I would not have done such a
thing had I known my life was to depend upon it. I went up, and could
not help weeping at his quick answer; yet I did my endeavour to hide
it, when he came up.
"Was not my girl a little inquisitive upon me just now?"
"I spoke pleasantly. Sir--But you were very quick on your girl."
"'Tis my temper, my dear--You know I mean nothing. You should not mind
it."
"I should not, Sir, if I had been _used_ to it."
He looked at me with sternness, "Do you doubt my honour, Madam?"
"_Madam!_ I did you say. Sir?--I won't take that word!--Dear Sir,
call it back--I won't be called _Madam!_--Call me your girl, your
rustic, your Pamela--call me any thing but _Madam!_"
"My charmer, then, my life, my soul: will any of those do?" and
saluted me: "but whatever you do, let me not see that you have any
doubts of my honour to you."
"The very mention of the word, dear Sir, is a security to me; I want
no other; I cannot doubt: but if you speak short to me, how shall I
bear that?"
He withdrew, speaking nothing of the contents of his letter; as I dare
say he would, had the subject been such as he chose to mention to me.
We being alone, after supper, I took the liberty to ask him, who was
of his party to Oxford? He named the Viscountess---, and her lord,
Mr. Howard, and his daughter, Mr. Herbert and his lady: "And I had a
partner too, my dear, to represent you."
"I am much obliged to the lady, Sir, be she who she would."
"Why, my dear, you are so engaged in your nursery! Then this was a
sudden thing; as you know I told you."
"Nay, Sir, as long as it was agreeable to you, I had nothing to do,
but to be pleased with it."
He watched my eyes, and the turn of my countenance--"You look, Pamela,
as if you'd be glad to return the lady thanks in person. Shall I
engage her to visit you? She longs to see you."
"Sir--Sir," hesitated I, "as you please--I can't--I can't be
displeased--"
"_Displeased?_" interrupted he: "why that word? and why that
hesitation in your answer? You speak very volubly, my dear, when
you're not moved."
"Dear Sir," said I, almost as quick as he was, "why should I be moved?
What occasion is there for it? I hope you have a better opinion of me
than--"
"Than what, Pamela?--What would you say? I know you are a little
jealous rogue, I know you are."
"But, dear Sir, why do you impute jealousy to me on _this_
score?--What a creature must I be, if you could not be abroad with a
lady, but I must be jealous of you?--No, Sir, I have reason to rely
upon your honour; and I _do_ rely upon it; and----"
"And what? Why, my dear, you are giving me assurances, as if you
thought the case required it!"
"Ah!" thought I, "so it does, I see too plainly, or apprehend I do;
but I durst not say so, nor give him any hint about my informant;
though now confirmed of the truth of what Mr. Turner had said."
Yet I resolved, if possible, not to alter my conduct. But my frequent
weepings, when by myself, could not be hid as I wished; my eyes not
keeping my heart's counsel.
And this gives occasion to some of the stern words which I have
mentioned above.
All that he further said at this time was, with a negligent, yet a
determined air--"Well, Pamela, don't be doubtful of my honour. You
know how much I love you. But, one day or other I shall gratify this
lady's curiosity, and bring her to pay you a visit, and you shall see
you need not be ashamed of her acquaintance."--"Whenever you please,
Sir," was all I cared to say farther; for I saw he was upon the catch,
and looked steadfastly upon me whenever I moved my lips; and I am not
a finished hypocrite, and he can read the lines of one's face, and the
motions of one's heart, I think.
I am sure mine is a very uneasy one. But till I reflected, and weighed
well the matter, it was worse; and my natural imperfection of this
sort made me see a necessity to be more watchful over myself, and to
doubt my own prudence. And thus I reasoned when he withdrew:
"Here," thought I, "I have had a greater proportion of happiness
without alloy, fallen to my share, than any of my sex; and I ought to
be prepared for some trials.
"'Tis true, this is of the sorest kind: 'tis worse than death itself
to me, who had an opinion of the dear man's reformation, and prided
myself not a little on that account. So that the blow is full upon my
sore place. 'Tis on the side I could be the most easily penetrated.
But Achilles could be touched only in his heel; and if he was to die
by an enemy's hands, must not the arrow find out that only vulnerable
place? My jealousy is that place with me, as your ladyship observes;
but it is seated deeper than the heel: it is in my heart. The barbed
dart has found that out, and there it sticks up to the very feathers.
"Yet," thought I, "I will take care, that I do not exasperate him
by upbraidings, when I should try to move him by patience and
forbearance. For the breach of his duty cannot warrant the neglect of
_mine_. My business is to reclaim, and not to provoke. And when, if it
please God, this storm shall be over-blown, let me not, by my present
behaviour, leave any room for heart-burnings; but, like a skilful
surgeon, so heal the wound to the bottom, though the operation be
painful, that it may not fester, and break out again with fresh
violence, on future misunderstandings, if any shall happen.
"Well, but," thought I, "let the worst come to the worst, he perhaps
may be so good as to permit me to pass the remainder of my days with
my dear Billy, in Kent, with my father and mother; and so, when
I cannot rejoice in possession of a virtuous husband, I shall be
employed in praying for him, and enjoy a two-fold happiness, that of
doing my own duty to my dear baby--a pleasing entertainment this! and
that of comforting my worthy parents, and being comforted by them--a
no small consolation! And who knows, but I may be permitted to steal
a visit now-and-then to dear Lady Davers, and be called Sister, and be
deemed a _faultless_ sister too?" But remember, my dear lady, that if
ever it comes to this, I will not bear, that, for my sake, you shall,
with too much asperity, blame your brother; for I will be ingenious to
find excuses or extenuations for him; and I will now-and-then, in
some disguised habit, steal the pleasure of seeing him and his happier
Countess; and give him, with a silent tear, my blessing for the good I
and mine have reaped at his hands.
But oh! if he takes from me my Billy, who must, after all, be his
heir, and gives him to the cruel Countess, he will at once burst
asunder the strings of my heart! For, oh, my happy rivaless! if you
tear from me my husband, he is in his own disposal, and I cannot help
it: nor can I indeed, if he will give you my Billy. But this I am sure
of, that my child and my life must go together!
Your ladyship will think I rave. Indeed I am almost crazed at times.
For the dear man is so negligent, so cold, so haughty, that I cannot
bear it. He says, just now, "You are quite altered, Pamela." I believe
I am. Madam. But what can I do? He knows not that I know so much. I
dare not tell him. For he will have me then reveal my intelligencer:
and what may be the case between them?
I weep in the night, when he is asleep; and in the day when he is
absent: and I am happy when I can, unobserved, steal this poor relief.
I believe already I have shed as many tears as would drown my baby.
How many more I may have to shed, God only knows! For, O Madam, after
all my fortitude, and my recollection, to fall from so much happiness,
and so soon, is a trying thing!
But I will still hope the best, and should this matter blow over, I
shall be ashamed of my weakness, and the trouble I must give to your
generous heart, for one so undeservedly favoured by you, as _your
obliged sister, and most humble servant,_ P.B.
Dear Madam, let no soul see any part of this our present
correspondence, for your brother's sake, and your sake, and my sake.
LETTER LXX
MY DEAREST PAMELA,
You need not be afraid of any body's knowing what passes between us
on this cutting subject. Though I hear of it from every mouth, yet
I pretend 'tis all falsehood and malice. Yet Lady Betty will have it
that there is more in it than I will own; and that I know my brother's
wickedness by my pensive looks. She will make a vow, she says, never
to marry any man living.
I am greatly moved by your affecting periods. Charming Pamela! what a
tempest do you raise in one's mind, when you please, and lay it
too, at your own will! Your colourings are strong; but, I hope, your
imagination carries you much farther than it is possible he should go.
I am pleased with your prudent reasonings, and your wise resolutions.
I see nobody can advise or help you. God only can! And his direction
you beg _so_ hourly, that I make no doubt you will have it.
What vexes me is, that when the noble uncle of this vile lady--(why
don't you call her so as well as I?)--expostulated with her on the
scandals she brought upon her character and family, she pretended to
argue (foolish creature!) to polygamy: and said, she had rather be a
certain gentleman's second wife, than the first to the greatest man in
England.
I leave you to your own workings; but if I find your prudence
unrewarded by the wretch, the storm you saw raised at the Hall, shall
be nothing to the hurricane I will excite, to tear up by the roots all
the happiness the two wretches propose to themselves.
Don't let my intelligence, which is undoubted, grieve you over-much.
Try some way to move the wretch. It must be done by touching his
generosity: he has that in some perfection. But how in _this_ case to
move it, is beyond my power or skill to prescribe. God bless you, my
dearest Pamela! You shall be my _only_ sister. And I will never own my
brother, if he be so base to your superlative merit. Adieu once more,
_from your sister and friend,_ B. DAVERS.
LETTER LXXI
MY DEAREST LADY,
A thousand thanks for your kind, your truly sisterly letter and
advice. Mr. B. is just returned from a tour to Portsmouth, with the
Countess, I believe, but am not sure.
Here I am forced to leave off.
Let me scratch through this last surmise. It seems she was not with
him. This is some comfort.
He is very kind: and Billy not being well when he came in, my grief
passed off without blame. He had said many tender things to me; but
added, that if I gave myself so much uneasiness every time the child
ailed any thing, he would hire the nurse to overlay him. Bless me.
Madam! what hard-hearted shocking things are these men capable of
saying!--The farthest from their hearts, indeed; so they had need--For
he was as glad of the child's being better as I could be.
In the morning he went out in the chariot for about an hour, and
returned in a good humour, saying twenty agreeable things to me, which
makes me _so_ proud, and _so_ pleased!
He is gone out again.
Could I but find this matter happily conquered, for his own soul's
sake!--But he seems, by what your ladyship mentions, to have carried
this polygamy point with the lady.
Can I live with him. Madam--_ought_ I--if this be the case? I have it
under his hand, that the laws of his country were sufficient to deter
him from that practice. But alas! he knew not this countess then!
But here I must break off.
He is returned, and coming up. "Go into my bosom for the present,
O letter dedicated to dear Lady Davers--Come to my hand the play
employment, so unsuited to my present afflicted mind!"--Here he comes!
O, Madam! my heart is almost broken!--Just now Mr. B. tells me, that
the Countess Dowager and the Viscountess, her sister, are to be here
to see my Billy, and to drink tea with me, this very afternoon!
I was all confusion when he told me this. I looked around and around,
and upon every thing but him.
"Will not my friends be welcome, Pamela?" said he sternly.
"O yes, very welcome! But I have these wretched vapours so, that I
wish I might be excused--I wish I might be allowed to take an airing
in the chariot for two or three hours; for I shall not be fit to be
seen by such--ladies," said I, half out of breath.
"You'll be fit to be seen by nobody, my dear, if you go on thus. But,
do as you please."
He was going, and I took his hand: "Stay, dear Sir, let me know what
you would have me do. If you would have me stay, I will."
"To be sure I would."
"Well, Sir, then I will. For it is hard," thought I, "if an innocent
person cannot look up in her own house too, as it now is, as I may
say, to a guilty one! Guilty in her heart, at least!--Though, poor
lady, I hope she is not so in fact; and, if God hears my prayers,
never will, for all three of our sakes."
But, Madam, think of me, what a task I have!--How my heart throbs in
my bosom! How I tremble! how I struggle with myself! What rules I form
for my behaviour to this naughty lady! How they are dashed in pieces
as soon as formed, and new ones taken up! And yet I doubt myself when
I come to the test.
But one thing will help me. I _pity_ the poor lady; and as she comes
with the heart of a robber, to invade me in my lawful right, I pride
myself in a superiority over this countess; and will endeavour to shew
her the country girl in a light which would better become _her_ to
appear in.
I must be forced to leave off here; for Mr. B. is just come in
to receive his guests; and I am in a sad flutter upon it. All my
resolution fails me; what shall I do? O that this countess was come
and gone!
I have one comfort, however, in the midst of all my griefs; and that
is in your ladyship's goodness, which gives me leave to assume the
honoured title, that let what may happen, will always give me equal
pride and pleasure, in subscribing myself, _your ladyship's most
obliged sister, and humble servant_,
P.B.
LETTER LXXII
MY DEAR LADY,
I will now pursue my last affecting subject; for the visit is over;
but a sad situation I am in with Mr. B. for all that: but, bad as it
is, I'll try to forget it, till I come to it in course.
At four in the afternoon Mr. B. came in to receive his guests, whom he
expected at five. He came up to me. I had just closed my last letter;
but put it up, and set before me your ladyship's play subjects.
"So, Pamela!--How do you do now?"
Your ladyship may guess, by what I wrote before, that I could not
give any extraordinary account of myself--"As well--as well, Sir, as
possible;" half out of breath.
"You give yourself strange melancholy airs of late, my dear. All that
cheerfulness, which used to delight me whenever I saw you, I am
sorry for it, is quite vanished. You and I must shortly have a little
serious talk together."
"When you please. Sir. I believe it is only being used to this smoky
thick air of London!--I shall be better when you carry me into the
country. I dare say I shall. But I never was in London so long before,
you know, Sir."
"All in good time, Pamela!--But is this the best appearance you choose
to make, to receive such guests?"
"If it displeases you. Sir, I will dress otherwise in a minute."
"You look well in any thing. But I thought you'd have been better
dressed. Yet it would never have less become you; for of late your
eyes have lost that brilliancy that used to strike me with a lustre,
much surpassing that of the finest diamonds."
"I am sorry for it, Sir. But as I never could pride myself in
deserving such a kind of compliment, I should be too happy, forgive
me, my dearest Mr. B., if the failure be not rather in your eyes, than
in _mine_."
He looked at me steadfastly. "I fear, Pamela--But don't be a fool."
"You are angry with me. Sir?"
"No, not I."
"Would you have me dress better?"
"No, not I. If your eyes looked a little more brilliant, you want no
addition." Down he went.
Strange short speeches, these, my lady, to what you have heard from
his dear mouth!--"Yet they shall not rob me of the merit of a patient
sufferer, I am resolved," thought I.
Now, my lady, as I doubted not my rival would come adorned with every
outward ornament, I put on only a white damask gown, having no desire
to vie with her in appearance; for a virtuous and honest heart is my
glory, I bless God! I wish the countess had the same to boast of!
About five, their ladyships came in the countess's new chariot: for
she has not been long out of her transitory mourning, and dressed as
rich as jewels, and a profusion of expense, could make her.
I saw them from the window alight. O how my heart throbbed!--"Lie
still," said I, "busy thing! why all this emotion?--Those shining
ornaments cover not such a guileless flatterer as thou. Why then all
this emotion?"
Polly Barlow came up instantly from Mr. B.
I hastened down; tremble, tremble, tremble, went my feet, in spite
of all the resolution I had been endeavouring so long to collect
together.
Mr. B. presented the countess to me, both of us covered with blushes;
but from very different motives, as I imagine.
"The Countess of---, my dear."
She saluted me, and looked, as I thought, half with envy, half with
shame: but one is apt to form people's countenances by what one judges
of their hearts.
"O too lovely, too charming rival!" thought I--"Would to heaven I saw
less attraction in you!"--For indeed she is a charming lady; yet she
could not help calling me Mrs. B., that was some pride to me: every
little distinction is a pride to me now--and said, she hoped I would
excuse the liberty she had taken: but the character given of me by Mr.
B. made her desirous of paying her respects to me.
"O these villainous masquerades," thought I!--"You would never have
wanted to see me, but for them, poor naughty Nun, that was!"
Mr. B. presented also the Viscountess to me; I saluted her ladyship;
her _sister_ saluted _me_.
She is a graceful lady; better, as I hope, in heart, but not equal in
person to her sister.
"You have a charming boy, I am told, Madam; but no wonder from such a
pair!"
"O dear heart," thought I, "i'n't it so!" Your ladyship may guess what
I thought farther.
"Will your ladyship see him now?" said Mr. B.
He did not look down; no, not one bit!--though the Countess played
with her fan, and looked at him, and at me, and then down by turns,
a little consciously: while I wrapped up myself in my innocence, my
first flutters being over, and thought I was superior, by reason of
that, even to a Countess.
With all her heart, she said.
I rang. "Polly, bid nurse bring _my_ Billy down."--_My_, said I, with
an emphasis.
I met the nurse at the stairs' foot, and brought in my dear baby in my
arms: "Such a child, and such a mamma!" said the Viscountess.
"Will you give Master to my arms, one moment, Madam?" said the
Countess.
"Yes," thought I, "much rather than my dear naughty gentleman should
any other."
I _yielded_, it to her: I thought she would have stifled it with her
warm kisses. "Sweet boy I charming creature," and pressed it to her
too lovely bosom, with such emotion, looking on the child, and on Mr.
B., that I liked it not by any means.
"Go, you naughty lady," thought I: But I durst not say so. "And go,
naughty man, too!" thought I: "for you seem to look too much gratified
in your pride, by her fondness for your boy. I wish I did not love you
so well as I do!" But neither, your ladyship may believe, did I say
this.
Mr. B. looked at me, but with a bravery, I thought, too like what I
had been witness to, in some former scenes, in as bad a cause. "But,"
thought I, "God delivered me _then_; I will confide in him. He will
now, I doubt not, restore thy heart to my prayers; untainted, I hope,
for thy own dear sake as well as mine."
The Viscountess took the child from her sister, and kissed him with
great pleasure. She is a married lady. Would to God, the Countess was
so too! for Mr. B. never corresponded, as I told your ladyship once,
with married ladies: so I was not afraid of _her_ love to my Billy.
"But let me," said she, "have the pleasure of restoring Master to his
charming mamma. I thought," added she, "I never saw a lovelier sight
in my life, than when in his mamma's arms."
"Why, I _can't_ say," said the Countess, "but Master and his mamma do
credit to one another. Dear Madam, let us have the pleasure of seeing
him still on your lap, while he is so good."
I wondered the dear baby was so quiet; though, indeed, he is generally
so: but _he_ might surely, if but by sympathy, have complained for his
poor mamma, though she durst not for herself.
How apt one is to engage every thing in one's distress, when it is
deep! and one wonders too, that things animate and inanimate look
with the same face, when we are greatly moved by any extraordinary and
interesting event.
I sat down with my baby on my lap, looking, I believe, with a
righteous boldness (I will call it so; for well says the text, _"The
righteous is as bold as a lion_,") now on my Billy, now on his papa,
and now on the Countess, with such a _triumph_ in my heart; for I saw
her blush, and look down, and the dear gentleman seemed to eye me with
a kind of conscious tenderness, as I thought.
A silence of five minutes, I believe, succeeded, we all four looking
upon one another; and the little dear was awake, and stared full upon
me, with such innocent smiles, as if he promised to love me, and make
me amends for all.
I kissed him, and took his pretty little hand in mine--"You are very
good, my charmer, in this company!" said I.
I remembered a scene, which made greatly for me in the papers you have
seen, when, instead of recriminating, as I might have done, before Mr.
Longman for harsh usage (for, O my lady, your dear brother has a hard
heart indeed when he pleases), I only prayed for him on my knees.
And I hope I was not now too mean; for I had dignity and a proud
superiority in my vain heart, over them all. Then it was not my part
to be upon defiances, where I loved, and where I hoped to reclaim.
Besides, what had I done by that, but justified, seemingly, by after
acts in a passionate resentment, to their minds, at least, their too
wicked treatment of me?--Moreover, your ladyship will remember, that
Mr. B. knew not that I was acquainted with his intrigue: for I must
call it so. If he had, he is too noble to insult me by such a visit;
and he had told me, I should see the lady he was at Oxford with.
And this, breaking silence, he mentioned; saying, "I gave you hope, my
dear, that I should procure you the honour of a visit from a lady who
put herself under my care at Oxford."
I bowed my head to the Countess; but my tears being ready to start,
I kissed my Billy: "Dearest baby," said I, "you are not going to cry,
are you?"--I would have had him just then to cry, instead of me.
The tea equipage was brought in. "Polly, carry the child to nurse." I
gave it another kiss, and the Countess desired another. I grudged it,
to think her naughty lips should so closely follow mine. Her sister
kissed it also, and carried him to Mr. B. "Take him away," said he, "I
owe him my blessing."
"O these young gentlemen papas!" said the Countess--"They are like
young unbroken horses, just put into the traces!"
--"Are they so?" thought I. "Matrimony must not expect your good word,
I doubt."
Mr. B. after tea, at which I was far from being talkative (for I could
not tell what to say, though I tried, as much as I could not to
appear sullen), desired the Countess to play one tune upon the
harpsichord.--She did, and sung, at his request, an Italian song to it
very prettily; too prettily, I thought. I wanted to find some faults,
some great faults in her: but, O Madam, she has too many outward
excellencies!--pity she wants a good heart.
He could ask nothing, that she was not ready to oblige him; indeed he
could not.
She desired me to touch the keys. I would have been excused; but could
not. And the ladies commended my performance; but neither my heart
to play, nor my fingers in playing, deserved their praises. Mr. B.
_said_, indeed--"You play better sometimes, my dear."--"Do I, Sir?"
was all the answer I made.
The Countess hoped, she said, I would return her visit; and so said
the Viscountess.
I replied, Mr. B. would command me whenever he pleased.
She said, she hoped to be better acquainted--("I hope not," thought
I)--and that I would give her my company, for a week or so, upon the
Forest: it seems she has a seat upon Windsor Forest.
"Mr. B. says," added she, "you can't ride a single horse; but we'll
teach you there. 'Tis a sweet place for that purpose."
"How came Mr. B.," thought I, "to tell _you_ that, Madam? I suppose
you know more of me than I do myself." Indeed, my lady, this may be
too true; for she may know what is to become of me!
I told her, I was very much obliged to her ladyship; and that Mr. B.
directed all my motions.
"What say _you_, Sir?" said the Countess.
"I can't promise that. Madam: for Mrs. B. wants to go down to Kent,
before we go to Bedfordshire, and I am afraid I can't give her my
company thither."
"Then, Sir, I shan't choose to go without you."
"I suppose not, my dear. But if you are disposed to oblige the
Countess for a week, as you never were at Windsor--"
"I believe, Sir," interrupted I, "what with my little nursery, and
_one_ thing or _another_, I must deny myself that honour, for this
season."
"Well, Madam, then I'll expect you in Pall Mall."
I bowed my head, and said, Mr. B. would command me.
They took leave with a politeness natural to them. Mr. B., as he
handed them to the chariot, said something in Italian to the Countess:
the word Pamela was in what he said: she answered him with a downcast
look, in the same language, half-pleased, half-serious, and the
chariot drove away.
"I would give," said I, "a good deal, Sir, to know what her ladyship
said to you; she looked with so particular a meaning, if I may say
so."
"I'll tell you, truly, Pamela: I said to her, 'Well, now your ladyship
has seen my Pamela--Is she not the charmingest girl in the world?'
"She answered--'Mrs. B. is very grave, for so young a lady; but I must
needs say she is a lovely creature.'"
"And did you say so. Sir? And did her ladyship so answer?" And my
heart was ready to leap out of my bosom for joy.
But my folly spoiled all again; for, to my own surprise, and
great regret, I burst out into tears; though I even sobbed to have
suppressed them, but could not; and so I lost a fine opportunity to
have talked to him while he was so kind; for he was more angry with me
than ever.
What made me such a fool, I wonder? But I had so long struggled with
myself; and not expecting so kind a question from the dear gentleman,
or such a favourable answer from the Countess, I had no longer any
command of myself.
"What ails the little fool?" said he, with a wrathful countenance.
This made me worse, and he added, "Take care, take care,
Pamela!--You'll drive me from you, in spite of my own heart."
So he went into the best parlour, and put on his sword, and took his
hat. I followed him--"Sir, Sir!" with my arms expanded, was all I
could say; but he avoided me, putting on his hat with an air; and out
he went, bidding Abraham follow him.
This is the dilemma into which, as I hinted at the beginning of this
letter, I have brought myself with Mr. B. How strong, how prevalent is
the passion of jealousy; and thus it will shew itself uppermost, when
it _is_ uppermost, in spite of one's most watchful regards!
My mind is so perplexed, that I must lay down my pen: and, indeed,
your ladyship will wonder, all things considered, that I could write
the above account as I have done, in this cruel suspense, and with
such apprehensions. But writing is all the diversion I have, when my
mind is oppressed.
PAST TEN O'CLOCK AT NIGHT.
I have only time to tell your ladyship (for the postman waits) that
Mr. B. is just come in. He is gone into his closet, and has shut the
door, and taken the key on the inside; so I dare not go to him there.
In this uncertainty and suspense, pity and pray for _your ladyship's
afflicted sister and servant_,
P.B.
LETTER LXXIII
MY DEAR LADY,
I will now proceed with my melancholy account. Not knowing what to
do, and Mr. B. not coming near me, and the clock striking twelve, I
ventured to send this billet to him, by Polly.
"DEAR SIR,
"I know you choose not to be invaded, when retired to your closet;
yet, being very uneasy, on account of your abrupt departure, and heavy
displeasure, I take the liberty to write these few lines.
"I own, Sir, that the sudden flow of tears which involuntarily burst
from me, at your kind expressions to the Countess in my favour, when
I had thought for more than a month past, you were angry with me,
and which had distressed my weak mind beyond expression, might appear
unaccountable to you. But had you kindly waited but one moment till
this fit, which was rather owing to my gratitude than to perverseness,
had been over (and I knew the time when you would have generously
soothed it), I should have had the happiness of a more serene and
favourable parting.
"Will you suffer me, Sir, to attend you? (Polly shall wait your
answer). I dare not come _without_ your permission; for should you be
as angry as you were, I know not how I shall bear it. But if you say I
may come down, I hope to satisfy you, that I intended not any offence.
Do, dear Sir, permit me to attend you, I can say no more, than that I
am _your ever dutiful_,
"P.B."
Polly returned with the following. "So," thought I, "a letter!--I
could have spared that, I am sure." I expected no favour from it. So
tremblingly, opened it.
"MY DEAR,
"I would not have you sit up for me. We are getting apace into
the matrimonial recriminations. _You knew the time!_--So did I, my
dear!--But it seems that the time is over with both; and I have
had the mortification, for some past weeks, to come home to a very
different Pamela, than I used to leave all company and all pleasure
for.--I hope we shall better understand one another. But you cannot
see me at present with any advantage to yourself; and I would not,
that any thing farther should pass, to add to the regrets of both. I
wish you good rest. I will give your cause a fair hearing, when I
am more fit to hear all your pleas, and your excuses. I cannot be
insensible, that the reason for the concern you have lately shewn,
must lie deeper than, perhaps, you'll now own. As soon as you are
prepared to speak all that is upon your mind, and I to hear it with
temper, then we may come to an eclaircissement. Till when I am _your
affectionate_, &c."
My busy apprehension immediately suggested to me, that I was to be
terrified, with a high hand, into a compliance with some new scheme or
other that was projecting; and it being near one, and hearing nothing
from Mr. B., I bid Polly go to bed, thinking she would wonder at our
intercourse by letter, if I should send again.
So down I ventured, my feet, however, trembling all the way, and
tapped at the door of his closet.
"Who's that?"
"I, Sir: one word, if you please. Don't be more angry, however, Sir."
He opened the door: "Thus poor Hester, to her royal husband, ventured
her life, to break in upon him unbidden. But that eastern monarch,
great as he was, extended to the fainting suppliant the golden
sceptre!"
He took my hand: "I hope, my dear, by this tragedy speech, we are not
to expect any sad catastrophe to our present misunderstanding."
"I hope not, Sir. But 'tis all as God and you shall please. I am
resolved to do my duty, Sir, if possible. But, indeed, I cannot bear
this cruel suspense! Let me know what is to become of me. Let me
know but what is designed for me, and you shall be sure of all the
acquiescence that my duty and conscience can give to your pleasure."
"What _means_ the dear creature? What _means my_ Pamela? Surely, your
head, child, is a little affected!"
"I can't tell, Sir, but it may!--But let me have my trial, that you
write about. Appoint my day of hearing, and speedily too; for I would
not bear such another month, as the last has been, for the world."
"Come, my dear," said he, "let me attend you to your chamber. But your
mind has taken much too solemn a turn, to enter further now upon this
subject. Think as well of me as I do of you, and I shall be as happy
as ever."
I wept, "Be not angry, dear Sir: your kind words have just the same
effect upon me now, as in the afternoon."
"Your apprehensions, my dear, must be very strong, that a kind word,
as you call it, has such an effect upon you! But let us wave the
subject for a few days, because I am to set out on a little journey at
four, and had not intended to go to bed, for so few hours."
When we came up, I said, "I was very bold. Sir, to break in upon you;
but I could not help it, if my life had been the forfeit; and you
received me with more goodness than I could have expected. But will
you pardon me, if I ask, whither you go so soon? And if you had
intended to have gone without taking leave of me?"
"I go to Tunbridge, my dear. I should have stept up and taken leave of
you before I went."
"Well, Sir, I will not ask you, who is of your party: I will not--No,"
(putting my hand to his lips) "don't tell me. Sir: it mayn't be
proper."
"Don't fear, my dear; I won't tell you: nor am I certain whether it
be _proper_ or not, till we are come to a better understanding. Only,
once more, think as well of me as I do of you."
"Would to Heaven," thought I, "there was the same reason for the one
as for the other!"
I intended (for my heart was full) to enter further into this subject,
so fatal to my repose: but the dear gentleman had no sooner laid his
head on the pillow, but he fell asleep, or feigned to do so, and that
was as prohibitory to my talking as if he had. So I had all my own
entertaining reflections to myself; which gave me not one wink of
sleep; but made me of so much service, as to tell him, when the clock
struck four, that he should not (though I did not say so, you may
think, Madam) make my ready rivaless (for I doubted not her being one
of the party) wait for him.
He arose, and was dressed instantly; and saluting me, bid me be easy
and happy, while it was _yet_ in my own power.
He said, he should be back on Saturday night, as he believed. And I
wished him, most fervently, I am sure, health, pleasure, and safety.
Here, Madam, must I end this letter. My next, will, perhaps contain my
trial, and my sentence: God give me but patience and resignation, and
then whatever occurs, I shall not be unhappy: especially while I
can have, in the last resource, the pleasure of calling myself _your
ladyship's most obliged sister and servant_,
P.B.
* * * * *
LETTER LXXIV
My dear Lady,
I will be preparing to write to you, as I have opportunity,
not doubting but this must be a long letter; and having some
apprehensions, that, as things may fall out, I may want either head
or heart to write to your ladyship, were I to defer it till the
catastrophe of this cruel suspense.
O what a happiness am I sunk from!--And in so few days too! O the
wicked masquerades!
The following letter, in a woman's hand, and signed, as you'll see, by
a woman's name, and spelt as I spell it, will account to your ladyship
for my beginning so heavily. It came by the penny-post.
"Madame,
"I ame unknowne to yowe; but yowe are not so altogathar to mee, becaus
I haue bene edefy'd by yowre pius behafiorr att church, whir I see
yowe with playsir everie Sabbaoth day. I ame welle acquaintid with the
famely of the Coumptesse of---; and yowe maie passiblie haue hard what
you wished not to haue hard concerninge hir. Butt this verie
morninge, I can assur yowe, hir ladishippe is gon with yowre spowse to
Tonbrigge; and theire they are to take lodgings, or a hous; and Mr. B.
is after to come to town, and settel matters to go downe to hir, where
they are to liue as man and wiffe. Make what use yowe pleas of thiss
informasion: and belieue me to haue no other motife, than to serue
yowe, becavs of yowre vartues, whiche make yowe deserue a better
retorne, I am, thof I shall not set my trewe name, _yowre grete
admirer and seruant_,
"THOMASINE FULLER.
"Wednesday morninge,
"9 o'clock."
Just above I called my state, a state of _cruel suspense_. But I
recall the words: for now it is no longer suspense; since, if this
letter says truth, I know the worst: and there is too much appearance
that it does, let the writer be who he will, or his or her motive what
it will: for, after all, I am apt to fancy this a contrivance of Mr.
Turner's, though, for fear of ill consequences, I will not say so.
And now, Madam, I am endeavouring, by the help of religion, and cool
reflection, to bring my mind to bear this heavy evil, and to recollect
what I _was_, and how much more honourable an estate I _am in_, than
I could ever have expected to be in; that my virtue and good name are
secured; and I can return innocent to my dear parents: and these were
once the only pride of my heart.
In addition to what I was then (and yet I pleased myself with my
prospects, poor as they were), I have honest parents, bountifully
provided for, thank God and your ever-dear brother for this
blessing!--and not only provided for--but made useful to him, to the
amount of their provision, well-nigh! There is a pride, my lady!
Then I shall have better conditions from his generosity to support
myself, than I can wish for, or make use of.
Then I have my dear Billy-O be contented, too charming, and too happy
rival, with my husband; and tear not from me my dearest baby, the
pledge, the beloved pledge, of our happier affections, and the dear
remembrance of what I once was!--A thousand pleasing prospects, that
had begun to dawn on my mind, I can bear to have dissipated! But I
cannot, indeed I cannot! permit my dear Mr. B.'s son and heir to be
torn from me.
But I am running on in a strain that shews my impatience, rather than
my resignation; yet some struggles must be allowed me: I could not
have loved, as I love, if I could easily part with my interest in so
beloved a husband.--For my interest I _will_ part with, and sooner
die, than live with a gentleman who has another wife, though I was
the first. Let countesses, if they can, and ladies of birth, choose to
humble themselves to this baseness. The low-born Pamela cannot stoop
to it. Pardon me; you know I only write this with a view to this poor
lady's answer to her noble uncle, of which you wrote me word.
FRIDAY
Is now concluding. I hope I am much calmer. For, being disappointed,
in all likelihood, in twenty agreeable schemes and projects, I am now
forming new ones, with as much pleasure to myself as I may.
I am thinking to try to get good Mrs. Jervis with me. You must not,
Madam, be too much concerned for me. After a while, I shall be no
unhappy person; for though I was thankful for my splendid fortunes,
and should have been glad, to be sure I should, of continuing in them,
with so dear a gentleman; yet a high estate had never such dazzling
charms with me as it has with some: if it had, I could not have
resisted so many temptations, possibly, as God enabled me to resist.
SATURDAY NIGHT
Is now come. 'Tis nine, and no Mr. B.--"O why," as Deborah makes the
mother of Sisera say, "is his chariot so long in coming? Why tarry the
wheels of his chariot?"
I have this note now at eleven o'clock:
"MY DEAREST PAMELA,
"I dispatch the messenger, lest, expecting me this night, you should
be uneasy. I shall not be with you till Monday, when I hope to dine
with my dearest life. _Ever affectionately yours_."
So I'll go up and pray for him, and then to bed.--Yet 'tis a sad
thing!--I have had but poor rest for a great while; nor shall have
any till my fate is decided.--Hard-hearted man, he knows under what
uneasiness he left me!
MONDAY, ELEVEN.
If God Almighty hears my yesterday's, and indeed my hourly, prayers,
the dear man will be good still; but my aching heart, every time I
think what company he is in (for I find the Countess is _certainly_
one of the party), bodes me little satisfaction.
He's come! He's come! now, just now, come! I will have my trial over
before this night be past, if possible. I'll go down and meet him with
love unfeigned, and a duty equal to my love, although he may forget
his to me. If I conquer myself on this occasion, I conquer nature,
as your ladyship says: and then, by God's grace, I can conquer every
thing. They have taken their house, I suppose: but what need they,
when they'll have one in Bedfordshire, and one in Lincolnshire? But
they know best. God bless him, and reform her! That's all the harm I
wish them, or will wish them!
My dear Mr. B. has received me with great affection and tenderness.
Sure he cannot be so bad!--Sure he cannot!
"I know, my dear," said he, "I left you in great anxiety; but 'tis an
anxiety you have brought upon yourself; and I have not been easy ever
since I parted from you."
"I am sorry for it, Sir."
"Why, my dear love, there is still a melancholy air in your
countenance: indeed, it seems mingled with a kind of joy; I hope at
my return to you. But 'tis easy to see which of the two is the most
natural."
"You should see nothing. Sir, that you would not wish to see, if I
could help it."
"I am sorry you cannot. But I am come home to hear all your
grievances, and to redress them, if in my power."
"When, Sir, am I to come upon my trial? I have much to say. I will
tell you everything I think. And, as it may be the last _grievances_,
as you are pleased to call them, I may ever trouble you with, you must
promise to answer me not one word till I have done. For, if it does
but hold, I have great courage, indeed I you don't know half the
sauciness that is in your girl yet; but when I come upon my trial,
you'll wonder at my boldness."
"What means my dearest?" taking me into his arms. "You alarm me
exceedingly, by this moving sedateness."
"Don't let it alarm you. Sir! I mean nothing but good!--But I have
been preparing myself to tell you all my mind. And as an instance of
what you may expect from me, sometimes, Sir, I will be your judge,
and put home questions to you; and sometimes you shall be mine, and at
last pronounce sentence upon me; or, if you won't, I will upon myself;
a severe one to me, it shall be, but an agreeable one, perhaps, to
you!--When comes on the trial. Sir?"
He looked steadily upon me, but was silent. And I said, "But don't
be afraid, Sir, that I will invade your province; for though I shall
count myself your judge, in some cases, you shall be judge paramount
still."
"Dear charmer of my heart," said he, and clasped me to his bosom,
"what a _new_ PAMELA have I in my arms! A mysterious charmer! Let us
instantly go to my closet, or yours, and come upon our mutual trial;
for you have fired my soul with impatience!"
"No, Sir, if you please, we will dine first. I have hardly eaten any
thing these four days; and your company may give me an appetite. I
shall be pleased to sit down at table with you. Sir," taking his hand,
and trying to smile upon him; "for the moments I have of your company,
may be, some time hence, very precious to my remembrance."
I was then forced to turn my head, to hide from him my eyes, brimful
as they were of tears.
He took me again into his arms:--"My dearest Pamela, if you love me,
distract not my soul thus, by your dark and mysterious speeches. You
are displeased with _me_, and I thought I had reason, of late, to take
something amiss in _your_ conduct; but, instead of your suffering by
my anger, you have words and an air that penetrate my very soul."
"O Sir, Sir, treat me not thus kindly! Put on an angrier brow, or how
shall I retain my purpose? How shall I!"
"Dear, dear creature! make not use of _all_ your power to melt me!
_Half_ of it is enough. For there is eloquence in your eyes I cannot
resist; but in your present solemn air, and affecting sentences, you
mould me to every purpose of your heart; so that I am a mere machine,
a passive instrument, to be played upon at your pleasure."
"Dear, kind Sir, how you revive my heart, by your goodness! Perhaps
I have only been in a frightful dream, and am but just now
awakened.--But we will not anticipate our trial. Only, Sir, give
orders, that you are not to be spoken with by any body, when we have
dined; for I must have you all to myself, without interruption."
Just as I had said this, a gentleman calling, I retired to my chamber,
and wrote to this place.
Mr. B. dismissed his friend, without asking him to dine; so I had
him all to myself at dinner--But we said little, and sat not above a
quarter of an hour; looking at each other: he, with impatience, and
some seeming uneasiness; I with more steadiness, I believe, but now
and then a tear starting.
I eat but little, though I tried all I could, and especially as he
helped me, and courted me with tenderness and sweetness--O why were
ever such things as _masquerades_ permitted in a Christian nation!
I chose to go into _my_ closet rather than into _his_; and here I
sit, waiting the dear gentleman's coming up to me. If I keep but my
courage, I shall be pleased. I know the worst, and that will help
me; for he is too noble to use me roughly, when he sees I mean not to
provoke him by upbraidings, any more than I will act, in this case,
beneath the character I ought to assume as his wife.
Mr. B. came up, with great impatience in his looks. I met him at the
chamber door, with a very sedate countenance, and my heart was
high with my purpose, and supported me better than I could have
expected.--Yet, on recollection, now I impute to myself something
of that kind of magnanimity, that was wont to inspire the innocent
sufferers of old, for a still worthier cause than mine; though their
motives could hardly be more pure, in that one hope I had, to be an
humble means of saving the man I love and honour, from errors that
might be fatal to his soul.
I took his hand with boldness:--"Dear Sir," leading him to my closet,
"here is the bar at which I am to take my trial," pointing to the
backs of three chairs, which I had placed in a joined row, leaving
just room to go by on each side. "You must give me, Sir, all my own
way; this is the first, and perhaps the last time, that I shall desire
it.--Nay, dear Sir," turning my face from him, "look not upon me with
an eye of tenderness: if you do I may lose my purposes, important to
me as they are; and however fantastic my behaviour may seem to you,
I want not to move your passions (for the good impressions made upon
them may be too easily dissipated by the winds of _sense_,) but
_your reason_; and if that can be done, I am safe, and shall fear no
relapse."
"What means all this parade, my dear? Let me perish," that was his
word, "if I know how to account for _you_, or your _humour_."
"You _will_, presently. Sir. But give me all my ways--I pray you
do--This one time only!"
"Well, so, this is your bar, is it? There's an elbow-chair, I see;
take your place in it, Pamela, and here I'll stand to answer all your
questions."
"No, Sir, that must not be." So I boldly led him to the elbow-chair.
"You are the judge, Sir; it is I that am to be tried. Yet I will not
say I am a criminal. I know I am not. But that must be proved, Sir,
you know."
"Well, take your way; but I fear for your head, my dear, in all this."
"I fear only my heart, Sir, that's all! but there you must sit--So
here," (retiring to the three chairs, and leaning on the backs,) "here
I stand."
"And now, my dearest Mr. B., you must begin first; you must be my
accuser, as well as my judge."
"I have nothing to accuse you of, my dear, if I _must_ give in to your
moving whimsy. You are everything I wish you to be. But for the last
month you have seemed to be uneasy, and have not done me the justice
to acquaint me with your reasons for it."
"I was in hopes my reasons might have proved to be no reasons; and I
would not trouble you with my ungrounded apprehensions. But now, Sir,
we are come directly to the point; and methinks I stand here as Paul
did before Felix; and like that poor prisoner, if I, Sir, reason of
_righteousness, temperance_, and _judgment to come_, even to make you,
as the great Felix did, tremble, don't put me off to _another day_,
to a _more convenient season_, as that governor did Paul; for you must
bear patiently with all that I have to say."
"Strange, uncommon girl I how unaccountable is all this!--Pr'ythee,
my dear," and he pulled a chair by him, "come and sit down by me, and
without these romantic airs let me hear all you have to say; and teaze
me not with this parade."
"No, Sir, let me stand, if you please, while I can stand; when weary I
will sit down at my bar.
"Now, Sir, since you are so good as to say, you have nothing but
change of temper to accuse me of, I am to answer to that, and assign a
cause; and I will do it without evasion or reserve; but I beseech you
say not one word but Yes or No, to my questions, till I have said
all I have to say, and then you shall find me all silence and
resignation."
"Well, my strange dear!--But sure your head is a little turned!--What
is your question?"
"Whether, Sir, the Nun--I speak boldly; the cause requires it--who
followed you at the Masquerade every where, is not the Countess of--?"
"What then, my dear:" (speaking with quickness,)--"I _thought_ the
occasion of your sullenness and reserve was this!--But, Pamela--"
"Nay, Sir," interrupted I, "only Yes, or No, if you please: I will be
all silence by-and-by."
"Yes, then."--"Well, Sir, then let me tell you, for I _ask_ you not
(it may be too bold in me to multiply questions,) that she _loves_
you; that you correspond by letters with her--Yes, Sir, _before_ that
letter from her ladyship came, which you received from my hand in
so short and angry a manner, for fear of my curiosity to see its
contents, which would have been inexcusable in me, I own, if I had.
You have talked over to her all your polygamy notions, and she seems
so well convinced of them, as to declare to her noble uncle (who
expostulated with her on the occasions she gave for talk,) that she
had rather be a certain gentleman's second wife, than the first to the
greatest man in England: and you are but just returned from a journey
to Tunbridge, in which that lady was a party; and the motive for it, I
am acquainted with, by this letter."
He was displeased, and frowned: I looked down, being resolved not to
be terrified, if I could help it.
"I have cautioned you, Pamela----"
"I know you have, Sir," interrupted I; "but be pleased to answer me.
Has not the Countess taken a house or lodgings at Tunbridge?"
"She has; and what then?"
"And is her ladyship there, or in town?"
"_There_--and what then?"
"Are you to go to Tunbridge, Sir, soon, or not?--Be pleased to answer
but that one question."
"I _will_ know," rising up in anger, "your informants, Pamela."
"Dear Sir, so you shall, in proper time: you shall know all, when I am
convinced, that your wrath will not be attended with bad consequences
to yourself and others. That is wholly the cause of my reserve in this
point; for I have not had a thought, since I have been yours, that I
wished to be concealed from you.--But your knowledge of the informants
makes nothing at all as to the truth of the information--Nor will I
press you too home. I doubt not, you are soon to return to Tunbridge?"
"I _am_, and what then?--Must the consequence be crime enough to
warrant your jealousy?"
"Dear Sir, don't be so angry," still looking down; for I durst not
trust myself to look up. "I don't do this, as your letter charged me,
in a spirit of matrimonial recrimination: if you don't _tell_ me, that
you see the Countess with pleasure, I _ask_ it not of you; nor have I
anything to say by way of upbraiding. 'Tis my misfortune, that she is
too lovely, and too attractive: and it is the less wonder, that a fine
young gentleman as you are, and a fine young lady as she is, should
engage one another's affections.
"I knew every thing, except what this letter which you shall read
presently, communicates, when you brought the two noble sisters to
visit me: hence proceeded my grief; and should I, Sir, have deserved
to be what I am, if I was _not_ grieved? Religion has helped me, and
God has answered my supplications, and enabled me to act this new
uncommon part before you at this imaginary bar. You shall see, Sir,
that as, on one hand, I want not, as I said before, to move your
passions in my favour; so, on the other, I shall not be terrified by
your displeasure, dreaded by me as it used to be, and as it will be
again, the moment that my raised spirits sink down to their usual
level, or are diverted from this my long meditated purpose, to tell
you all my mind.
"I repeat, then, Sir, that I knew all this, when the two noble sisters
came to visit your poor girl, and to see your Billy. Yet, _grave_ as
the Countess called me, (dear Sir! might I not well be grave, knowing
what I knew?) did I betray any impatience of speech or action, or any
discomposure?
"No, Sir," putting my hand on my breast, "_here_ all my discomposure
lay, vehemently struggling, now and then, and wanting that vent of my
eyes, which it seems (overcome by my joy, to hear myself favourably
spoken of by you and the lady,) it _too soon_ made itself. But I could
not help it--You might have seen. Sir, I could not!
"But I want neither to recriminate nor expostulate; nor yet, Sir, to
form excuses for my general conduct; for that you accuse not in the
main--but be pleased, Sir, to read this letter. It was brought by the
penny-post, as you'll see by the mark. Who the writer is, I know not.
And did _you_, Sir, that knowledge, and your resentment upon it, will
not alter the fact, or give it a more favourable appearance."
I stepped to him, and giving him the letter, came back to my bar, and
sat down on one of the chairs while he read it, drying my eyes; for
they would overflow as I talked, do what I could.
He was much moved at the contents of this letter; called it malice,
and hoped he might find out the author of it, saying, he would
advertise 500 guineas reward for the discoverer.
He put the letter in his pocket, "Well, Pamela, you believe all you
have said, no doubt: and this matter has a black appearance, indeed,
if you do. But who was your _first_ informant?--Was that by letter or
personally? That Turner, I doubt not, is at the bottom of all this.
The vain coxcomb has had the insolence to imagine the Countess would
favour an address of his; and is enraged to meet with a repulse; and
has taken liberties upon it, that have given birth to all the scandals
scattered about on this occasion. Nor do I doubt but he has been the
Serpent at the ear of my Eve."
I stood up at the bar, and said, "Don't be too hasty, Sir, in your
judgment--You _may_ be mistaken."
"But _am_ I mistaken, Pamela?--You never told me an untruth in cases
the most important to you to conceal. _Am_ I mistaken?"
"Dear Sir, if I should tell you it is _not_ Mr. Turner, you'll guess
at somebody else: and what avails all this to the matter in hand? You
are your own master, and must stand or fall by your own conscience.
God grant that _that_ may acquit you!--But my intention is not either
to accuse or upbraid you."
"But, my dear, to the fact then:--This is a malicious and a villainous
piece of intelligence, given you, perhaps, for the sake of designs and
views, that may not yet be proper to be avowed."
"By God's grace, Sir, I defy all designs and views of any one, upon my
honour!"
"But, my dear, the charge is basely false: we have not agreed upon any
such way of life."
"Well, Sir, all this only proves, that the intelligence may be a
little premature. But now let me, Sir, sit down one minute, to recover
my failing spirits, and then I'll tell you all I purpose to do, and
all I have to say, and that with as much brevity as I can, for fear
neither my head nor my heart should perform the part I have been so
long in endeavouring to prevail upon them to perform."
I sat down then, he taking out the letter, and reading it again with
much vexation and anger in his countenance; and after a few tears
and sobs, that would needs be so officious as to offer their service,
unbidden, and undesired, to introduce what I had to say; I rose up, my
feet trembling, as well as my knees; which, however, leaning against
the seats of the chairs, that made my bar, as my hand held by the
back, tolerably supported me, I cleared my voice, wiped my eyes, and
said:
"You have all the excuse, dear Mr. B., that a gentleman can have in
the object of your present passion."
"Present passion, Pamela!"
"Dear Sir, hear me without interruption.
"The Countess is a charming lady. She excels your poor girl in all
those outward graces of form, which your kind fancy (more valued by me
than the opinion of all the world besides) had made you attribute
to me. And she has all those additional advantages, as nobleness of
birth, of alliance, and deportment, which I want. (Happy for you, Sir,
that you had known her ladyship some months ago, before you disgraced
yourself by the honours you have done me!) This therefore frees you
from the aggravated crime of those, who prefer, to their own ladies,
less amiable and less deserving persons; and I have not the sting
which those must have, who are contemned and ill-treated for the sake
of their inferiors. Yet cannot the Countess love you better than your
girl loves you, not even for your person, which must, I doubt, be
_her_ principal attachment! when I can truly say, all noble
and attracting to the outward eye as it is, that is the least
consideration by far with me: no, Sir, your generous and beneficent
mind, is the principal object of my affection; and my pride in hoping
to be an humble means, in the hands of Providence, to bless you
_hereafter_ as well as _here_, gave me more pleasure than all the
blessings I reaped from your name or your fortune. Judge then, my
dearest Mr. B., my grief and disappointment.
"But I will not expostulate: I _will not_, because it _must_ be to no
purpose; for could my fondness, and my watchful duty to you, have kept
you steady, I should not now appear before you in this solemn manner:
and I know the charms of my rival are too powerful for me to contend
with. Nothing but divine grace can touch your heart: and that I expect
not, from the nature of the case, should be instantaneous.
"I will therefore. Sir, dear as you are to me--(Don't look with such
tender surprise upon me!) give up your person to the happier, to my
_worthier_ rival. For since such is your will, and seem to be your
engagements, what avails it to me to oppose them?
"I have only to beg, that you will be so good as to permit me to
go down to Kent, to my dear parents, who, with many more, are daily
rejoicing in your favour and bounty. I will there" (holding up my
folded hands) "pray for you every hour of my life; and for every one
who shall be dear to you, not excepting the charming Countess.
"I will never take your name into my lips, nor suffer any other in
my hearing, but with reverence and gratitude, for the good I and mine
_have_ reaped at your hands: nor wish to be freed from my obligations
to you, except you shall choose to be divorced from me; and if so
I will give your wishes all the forwardness I honourably can, with
regard to my own character and yours, and that of your beloved baby.
"But you must give me something worth living for along with you; your
Billy and mine!--Unless it is your desire to kill me quite! and then
'tis done, and nothing will stand in your happy Countess's way, if
you tear from my arms my _second_ earthly good, after I am deprived of
you, my first.
"I will there, Sir, dedicate all my time to my first duties; happier
far, than once I could have hoped to be! And if, by any accident, and
misunderstanding between you, you should part by consent, and you
will have it so, my heart shall be ever yours, and my hopes shall be
resumed of being an instrument still for your future good, and I will
receive your returning ever-valued heart, as if nothing had happened,
the moment I can be sure it will be wholly mine.
"For, think not, dear Sir, whatever be your notions of polygamy,
that I will, were my life to depend upon it, consent to live with a
gentleman, dear as, God is my witness," (lifting up my tearful eyes)
"you are to me, who lives in what I cannot but think open sin with
another! You _know_, Sir, and I appeal to you for the purity, and I
will aver piety of my motives, when I say this, that I _would not_;
and as you do know this, I cannot doubt but nay proposal will be
agreeable to you both. And I beg of you, dear Sir, to take me at my
word; and don't let me be tortured, as I have been so many weeks, with
such anguish of mind, that nothing but religious considerations can
make supportable to me."
"And are you in earnest, Pamela?" coming to me, and folding me in his
arms over the chair's back, the seat of which supported my trembling
knees, "Can you so easily part with me?"
"I can, Sir, and I will!--rather than divide my interest in you,
knowingly, with any lady upon earth. But say not, can I part with you.
Sir; it is you that part with me: and tell me, Sir, tell me but what
you had intended should become of me?"
"You talk to me, my dearest life, as if all you had heard against
me was true; and you would have me answer you, (would you?) as if it
was."
"I want nothing to convince me, Sir, that the Countess loves you:
you know the rest of my information: judge for me, what I can, what I
ought to believe!--You know the rumours of the world concerning you:
Even I, who stay so much at home, and have not taken the least pains
to find out my wretchedness, nor to confirm it, since I knew it, have
come to the hearing of it; and if you know the licence taken with both
your characters, and yet correspond so openly, must it not look to me
that you value not your honour in the world's eye, nor my lady hers? I
told you, Sir, the answer she made to her uncle."
"You told me, my dear, as you were told. Be tender of a lady's
reputation--for your own sake. No one is exempted from calumny; and
even words said, and the occasion of saying them not known, may bear
a very different construction from 'what they would have done, had the
occasion been told."
"This may be all true. Sir: I wish the lady would be as tender of her
reputation as I would be, let her injure me in your affections as she
will. But can you say, Sir, that there is nothing between you, that
should _not_ be, according to _my_ notions of virtue and honour, and
according to your _own_, which I took pride in, before that fatal
masquerade?
"You answer me not," continued I; "and may I not fairly presume you
cannot as I wish to be answered? But come, dearest Sir," (and I put
my arms around his neck) "let me not urge you too boldly. I will never
forget your benefits, and your past kindnesses to me. I have been a
happy creature: no one, till within these few weeks, was ever so happy
as I. I will love you still with a passion as ardent as ever I loved
you. Absence cannot lessen such a love as mine: I am sure it cannot.
"I see your difficulties. You have gone too far to recede. If you can
make it easy to your conscience, I will wait with patience my happier
destiny; and I will wish to live (if I can be convinced you wish me
not to die) in order to pray for you, and to be a directress to the
first education of my dearest baby.
"You sigh, dear Sir; repose your beloved face next to my fond heart.
'Tis all your own: and ever shall be, let it, or let it not, be worthy
of the honour in your estimation.
"But yet, my dear Mr. B., if one could as easily, in the prime of
sensual youth, look twenty years backward, what an empty vanity, what
a mere nothing, will be all those grosser satisfactions, that now give
wings of desire to our debased appetites!
"Motives of religion will have their due force upon _your_ mind one
day, I hope; as, blessed be God, they have enabled _me_ to talk to you
on such a touching point (after infinite struggles, I own,) with so
much temper and resignation; and then, my dearest Mr. B., when we come
to that last bed, from which the piety of our friends shall lift us,
but from which we shall never be able to raise ourselves; for, dear
Sir, your Countess, and you, and your poor Pamela, must all come to
this!--we shall find what it is will give us true joy, and enable us
to support the pangs of the dying hour. Think you, my dearest Sir,"
(and I pressed my lips to his forehead, as his head was reclined on
my throbbing bosom,) "that _then_, in that important moment, what
now gives us the greatest pleasure, will have any part in our
consideration, but as it may give us woe or comfort in the reflection?
"But I will not, O best beloved of my soul, afflict you farther. Why
should I thus sadden all your gaudy prospects? I have said enough to
such a heart as yours, if Divine grace touches it. And if not, all I
can say will be of no avail!--I will leave you therefore to that, and
to your own reflections. And after giving you ten thousand thanks for
your indulgent patience with me, I will only beg, that I may set out
in a week for Kent, with my dear Billy; that you will receive one
letter at least, from me, of gratitude and blessings; it shall not be
of upbraidings and exclamations.
"But my child you must not deny me; for I shall haunt, like his
shadow, every place wherein you shall put my Billy, if you should be
so unkind to deny him to me!--And if you will permit me to have the
dear Miss Goodwin with me, as you had almost led me to hope, I will
read over all the books of education, and digest them, as well as I am
able, in order to send you my scheme, and to show you how fit, I hope
your _indulgence_, at least, will make you think me, of having two
such precious trusts reposed in me!"
I was silent, waiting in tears his answer. But his generous heart was
touched, and seemed to labour within him for expression.
He came round to me at last, and took me in his arms; "Exalted
creature!" said he: "noble-minded Pamela! Let no bar be put between
us henceforth! No wonder, when one looks back to your first promising
dawn of excellence, that your fuller day should thus irresistibly
dazzle such weak eyes as mine. Whatever it costs me, and I have been
inconsiderately led on by blind passion for an object too charming,
but which I never thought equal to my Pamela, I will (for it is yet,
I bless God, in my power), restore to your virtue a husband all your
own."
"O Sir, Sir," (and I should have sunk with joy, had not his kind arms
supported me,) "what have you said?--Can I be so happy as to behold
you innocent as to deed! God, of his infinite goodness, continue you
both so!--And, Oh! that the dear lady would make me as truly love her,
for the graces of her mind, as I admire her for the advantages of her
person!"
"You are virtue itself, my dearest life; and from this moment I will
reverence you as my tutelary angel. I shall behold you with awe, and
implicitly give up myself to all your dictates: for what you _say_,
and what you _do_, must be ever right. But I will not, my dearest
life, too lavishly promise, lest you should think it the sudden
effects of passions thus movingly touched, and which may subside
again, when the soul, as you observed in your own case, sinks to its
former level: but this I promise (and I hope you believe me, and will
pardon the pain I have given you, which made me fear more than once,
that your head was affected, so _uncommon_, yet so like _yourself_,
has been the manner of your acting,) that I will break off a
correspondence that has given you so much uneasiness: and my Pamela
may believe, that if I can be as good as my word in this point, she
will never more be in danger of any rival whatever.
"But say, my dear love," added he, "say you forgive me; and resume but
your former cheerfulness, and affectionate regards to me, else I shall
suspect the sincerity of your forgiveness: and you shall indeed go to
Kent, but not without me, nor your boy neither; and if you insist upon
it, the poor child you have wished so often and so generously to have,
shall be given up absolutely to your disposal."
Do you think. Madam, I could speak any one distinct sentence? No
indeed I could not. I was just choked with my joy; I never was so
before. And my eyes were in a manner fixed, as he told me afterwards;
and that he was a little startled, seeing nothing but the whites; for
the sight was out of its orbits, in a manner lifted up to heaven--in
ecstasy for a turn so sudden, and so unexpected!
We were forced to separate soon after; for there was no bearing each
other, so excessive was my Joy, and his goodness. He left me, and went
down to his own closet.
Judge my employment you will, I am sure, my dear lady. I had new
ecstasy to be blest with, in a thankfulness so exalted, that it left
me all light and pleasant, as if I had shook off body, and trod in
air; so much heaviness had I lost, and so much joy had I received.
From two such extremes, how was it possible I could presently hit the
medium? For when I had given up my beloved husband, as lost to me, and
had dreaded the consequences to his future state: to find him not only
untainted as to deed, but, in all probability, mine upon better and
surer terms than ever--O, Madam! must not this give a joy beyond all
joy, and surpassing all expression!
About eight o'clock Mr. B. sent me up these lines from his closet,
which will explain what I meant, as to the papers I must beg your
ladyship to return me.
"My dear Pamela,
"I have so much real concern at the anguish I have given you, and am
so much affected with the recollection of the uncommon scenes which
passed between us, just now, that I write, because I know not how
to look so excellent a creature in the face--You must therefore sup
without me, and take your Mrs. Jervis to bed with you; who, I doubt
not, knows all this affair; and you may tell her the happy event.
"You must not interfere with me just now, while writing upon a subject
which takes up all my attention; and which, requiring great delicacy,
I may, possibly, be all night before I can please myself in it.
"I am determined to make good my promise to you. But if you have
written to your mother, Miss Darnford, or to Lady Davers, anything of
this affair, you must shew me the copies, and let me into every tittle
how you came by your information. I solemnly promise you, on my honour
(that has not yet been violated to you, and I hope never will), that
not a soul shall know or suffer by the communication, not even Turner;
for I am confident he has had some hand in it. This request you must
comply with, if you can confide in me; for I shall make some use of it
(as prudent a one as I am able), for the sake of every one concerned,
in the conclusion of the correspondence between the lady and myself.
Whatever you may have said in the bitterness of your heart, in the
letters I require to see, or whatever any of those, to whom they
are directed, shall say, on the bad prospect, shall be forgiven, and
looked upon as deserved, by your _ever-obliged and faithful_, &c."
I returned the following:
"Dearest, dear Sir,
"I will not break in upon you, while you are so importantly employed.
Mrs. Jervis has indeed seen my concern for some time past, and has
heard rumours, as I know by hints she has given me; but her prudence,
and my reserves, have kept us from saying anything to one another of
it. Neither my mother nor Miss Darnford know a tittle of it from me.
I have received a letter of civility from Miss, and have answered it,
taking and giving thanks for the pleasure of each other's company, and
best respects from her, and the Lincolnshire families, to your dear
self. These, my copy, and her original, you shall see when you please.
But, in truth, all that has passed, is between Lady Davers and me, and
I have not kept copies of mine; but I will dispatch a messenger to her
ladyship for them, if you please, in the morning, before it is light,
not doubting your kind promise of excusing everything and everybody.
"I beg, dear Sir, you will take care your health suffers not by your
sitting up; for the nights are cold and damp.
"I will, now you have given me the liberty, let Mrs. Jervis know how
happy you have made me, by dissipating my fears, and the idle rumours,
as I shall call them to her, of calumniators.
"God bless you, dear Sir, for your goodness and favour to _your
ever-dutiful_
P.B."
He was pleased to return me this:
"MY DEAR LIFE,
"You need not be in such haste to send. If you write to Lady Davers
how the matter has ended, let me see the copy of it: and be very
particular in your, or rather, my trial. It shall be a standing lesson
to me for my future instruction; as it will be a fresh demonstration
of your excellence, which every hour I more and more admire. I am glad
Lady Davers only knows the matter. I think I ought to avoid seeing
you, till I can assure you, that every thing is accommodated to your
desire. Longman has sent me some advices, which will make it proper
for me to meet him at Bedford or Gloucester. I will not go to
Tunbridge, till I have all your papers; and so you'll have three
days to procure them. Your boy, and your penmanship, will find you
no disagreeable employment till I return. Nevertheless, on second
thoughts, I will do myself the pleasure of breakfasting with you in
the morning, to re-assure you of my unalterable purpose to approve
myself, _my dearest life, ever faithfully yours."_
Thus, I hope, is happily ended this dreadful affair. My next shall
give the particulars of our breakfast conversation. But I would not
slip this post, without acquainting you with this blessed turn; and to
beg the favour of you to send me back my letters; which will lay a
new obligation upon, _dear Madam, your obliged sister, and humble
servant,_ P.B.
LETTER LXXV
MY DEAREST LADY,
Your joyful correspondent has obtained leave to get every thing: ready
to quit London by Friday next, when your kind brother promises to
carry me down to Kent, and allows me to take my charmer with me.
There's happiness for you, Madam! To see, as I hope I shall see, upon
one blessed spot, a dear faithful husband, a beloved child, and a
father and mother, whom I so much love and honour!
Mr. B. told me this voluntarily, this morning at breakfast; and then,
in the kindest manner, took leave of me, and set out for Bedfordshire.
But I should, according to my promise, give you a few particulars of
our breakfast conference.
I bid Polly withdraw, when her master came up to breakfast; and I ran
to the door to meet him, and threw myself on my knees: "O forgive
me, dearest, dear Sir, all my boldness of yesterday!--My heart was
strangely affected--or I could not have acted as I did. But never
fear, my dearest Mr. B., that my future conduct shall be different
from what it used to be, or that I shall keep up to a spirit, which
you hardly thought had place in the heart of your dutiful Pamela, till
she was thus severely tried."--"I have weighed well your conduct, my
dear life," raising me to his bosom; "and I find an uniformity in it,
that is surprisingly just."
He led me to the tea-table, and sat down close by me. Polly came in.
"If every thing," said he, "be here, that your lady wants, you may
withdraw; and let Colbrand and Abraham know I shall be with them
presently. Nobody shall wait upon me but you, my dear." Polly
withdrew.
"I always _loved_ you, my dearest," added he, "and that with a
passionate fondness, which has not, I dare say, many examples in the
married life: but I _revere_ you now. And so great is my reverence for
your virtue, that I chose to sit up all night, to leave you for a few
days, until, by disengaging myself from all intercourses that have
given you uneasiness, I can convince you, that I have rendered myself
as worthy as I can be, of you upon your own terms. I will account to
you for every step I _shall_ take, and will reveal to you every step
I have taken: for this I _can_ do, because the lady's honour is
untainted, and wicked rumour has treated her worse than she could
deserve."
I told him, that since _he_ had named the lady, I would take the
liberty to say, I was glad, for her own sake, to hear that. Changing
the subject a little precipitately, as if it gave him pain, he told
me, as above, that I might prepare on Friday for Kent; and I parted
with him with greater pleasure than ever I did in my life. So
necessary sometimes are afflictions, not only to teach one how to
subdue one's passions, and to make us, in our happiest states, know
we are still on earth, but even when they are overblown to augment and
redouble our joys!
I am now giving orders for my journey, and quitting this undelightful
town, as it has been, and is, to me. My next will be from Kent, I
hope; and I may then have an opportunity to acquaint your ladyship
with the particulars, and (if God answers my prayers), the conclusion
of the affair, which has given me so much uneasiness.
Meantime, I am, with the greatest gratitude, for the kind share you
have taken in my past afflictions, my good lady, _your ladyship's most
obliged sister and servant_,
P.B.
LETTER LXXVI
My dearest Pamela,
Inclosed are all the letters you send for. I rejoice with you upon
the turn this afflicting affair has taken, through your inimitable
prudence, and a courage I thought not in you. A wretch!--to give you
so much discomposure!--But I will not, if he be good now, rave against
him, as I was going to do. I am impatient to hear what account he
gives of the matter. I hope he will be able to abandon this--I won't
call her names; for she loves the wretch; and that, if he be just to
_you_, will be her punishment.
What care ought these young widows to take of their reputation?--And
how watchful ought they to be over themselves!--She was hardly out of
her weeds, and yet must go to a masquerade, and tempt her fate, with
all her passions about her, with an independence, and an affluence of
fortune, that made her able to think of nothing but gratifying them.
She has good qualities--is generous--is noble--but has strong
passions, and is thoughtless and precipitant.
My lord came home last Tuesday, with a long story of my brother and
her: for I had kept the matter as secret as I could, for his sake and
yours. It seems he had it from Sir John----, uncle to the young Lord
C., who is very earnest to bring on a treaty of marriage between
her and his nephew, who is in love with her, and is a fine young
gentleman; but has held back, on the liberties she has lately given
herself with my brother.
I hope she is innocent, as to fact; but I know not what to say to it.
He ought to be hanged, if he did not say she was. Yet I have great
opinion of his veracity: and yet he is so bold a wretch!--And her
inconsideration is so great!
But lest I should alarm your fears, I will wait till I have the
account he gives you of this dark affair; till when, I congratulate
you upon the leave you have obtained to quit the town, and on your
setting out for a place so much nearer to Tunbridge. Forgive me,
Pamela; but he is an intriguing wretch, and I would not have you to be
too secure, lest the disappointment should be worse for you, than
what you knew before: but assure yourself, that I am in all cases and
events, _your affectionate sister and admirer_,
B. DAVERS.
LETTER LXXVII
_From Mrs. B. to Lady Davers._
MY DEAREST LADY,
Mr. B. came back from Bedfordshire to his time. Every thing being in
readiness, we set out with my baby, and his nurse. Mrs. Jervis,
when every thing in London is settled by her direction, goes to
Bedfordshire.
We were met by my father and mother in a chaise and pair, which your
kind brother had presented to them unknown to me, that they might
often take the air together, and go to church in it (which is at some
distance) on Sundays. The driver is clothed in a good brown cloth
suit, but no livery; for that my parents could not have borne, as Mr.
B.'s goodness made him consider.
Your ladyship must needs think, how we were all overjoyed at this
meeting: for my own part I cannot express how much I was transported
when we arrived at the farm-house, to see all I delighted in, upon one
happy spot together.
Mr. B. is much pleased with the alterations here: and it is a sweet,
rural, and convenient place.
We were welcomed into these parts by the bells, and by the minister,
and people of most note; and were at church together on Sunday.
Mr. B. is to set out on Tuesday for Tunbridge, with my papers. A happy
issue, attend that affair, I pray God! He has given me the following
particulars of it, to the time of my trial, beginning at the
masquerade.
He says, that at the masquerade, when, pleased with the fair Nun's
shape, air and voice, he had followed her to a corner most unobserved,
she said in Italian, "Why are my retirements invaded, audacious
Spaniard?"--"Because, my dear Nun, I hope you would have it so."
"I can no otherwise," returned she, "strike dead thy bold presumption,
than to shew thee my scorn and anger thus!"--"And she unmasking
surprised me," said Mr. B., "with a face as beautiful, but not so
soft as my Pamela's."--"And I," said Mr. B., "to shew I can defy
your resentment, will shew you a countenance as intrepid as yours is
lovely." And so he drew aside his mask too.
He says, he observed his fair Nun to be followed wherever she went, by
a mask habited like Testimony in Sir Courtly Nice, whose attention was
fixed upon her and him; and he doubted not, that it was Mr. Turner.
So he and the fair Nun took different ways, and he joined me and Miss
Darnford, and found me engaged as I before related to your ladyship,
and his Nun at his elbow unexpected.
That afterwards as he was engaged in French with a lady who had the
dress of an Indian Princess, and the mask of an Ethiopian, his fair
Nun said, in broken Spanish, "Art thou at all complexions?--By St.
Ignatius, I believe thou'rt a rover!"
"I am trying," replied he in Italian, "whether I can meet with any
lady comparable to my lovely Nun."
"And what is the result?"--"Not one: no not one."--"I wish you could
not help being in earnest," said she; and slid from him.
He engaged her next at the sideboard, drinking under her veil a glass
of Champaign. "You know, Pamela," said he, "there never was a sweeter
mouth in the world than the Countess's except your own." She drew away
the glass, as if unobserved by any body, to shew me the lower part of
her face.
"I cannot say, but I was struck with her charming manner, and an
unreservedness of air and behaviour, that I had not before seen so
becoming. The place, and the freedom of conversation and deportment
allowed there, gave her great advantages in my eye, although her habit
required, as I thought, a little more gravity and circumspection: and
I could not tell how to resist a secret pride and vanity, which is but
too natural to both sexes, when they are taken notice of by persons so
worthy of regard.
"Naturally fond of every thing that carried the face of an intrigue, I
longed to know who this charming Nun was. And next time I engaged
her, 'My good sister,' said I, 'how happy should I be, if I might be
admitted to a conversation with you at your grate!'
"'Answer me,' said she, 'thou bold Spaniard,' (for that was a name
she seemed fond of, which gave me to imagine, that boldness was a
qualification she was not displeased with. 'Tis not unusual
with our vain sex," observed he, "to construe even reproaches
to our advantage,") 'is the lady here, whose shackles thou
wearest?'--'Do I look like a man shackled, my fairest Nun?'--'No--no!
not much like such an one. But I fancy thy wife is either a _Widow_
or a _Quaker_.'--'Neither,' replied I, taking, by equivocation, her
question literally.
"'And art thou not a married wretch? Answer me quickly!--We are
observed.'--'No,' said I.--'Swear to me, thou art not.'--'By St.
Ignatius, then;' for, my dear, I was no _wretch_, you know.--'Enough!'
said she, and slid away; and the Fanatic would fain have engaged her,
but she avoided him as industriously.
"Before I was aware, she was at my elbow, and, in Italian, said, 'That
fair Quaker, yonder, is the wit of the assemblee; her eyes seem always
directed to thy motions; and her person shews some intimacies have
passed with somebody; is it with thee?'--'It would be my glory if
it was,' said I, 'were her face answerable to her person.'--'Is
it not?'--'I long to know,'" replied Mr. B.--"I am glad thou dost
not."--"I am glad to hear my fair Nun say that."--"Dost thou," said
she, "hate shackles? Or is it, that thy hour is not yet come?"
"I wish," replied he, "this be not the hour, the very hour!"
pretending (naughty gentleman!--What ways these men have!) to sigh.
She went again to the side-board, and put her handkerchief upon it.
Mr. B. followed, and observed all her motions. She drank a glass of
lemonade, as he of Burgundy; and a person in a domino, supposed to be
the King, passing by, took up every one's attention but Mr. B.'s who
eyed her handkerchief, not doubting but she laid it there on purpose
to forget to take it up. Accordingly she left it there; and slipping
by him, he, unobserved, as he believes, put it in his pocket, and at
the corner found the cover of a letter--"To the Right Honourable the
Countess Dowager of ----"
That after this, the fair Nun was so shy, so reserved, and seemed
so studiously to avoid him, that he had no opportunity to return her
handkerchief; and the Fanatic observing how she shunned him, said, in
French, "What, Monsieur, have you done to your Nun?"
"I found her to be a very coquette; and told her so; and she is
offended."
"How could you affront a lady," replied he, "with such a _charming
face?_
"By that I had reason to think," said Mr. B., "that he had seen her
unmask; and I said, 'It becomes not any character, but that you
wear, to pry into the secrets of others, in order to make ill-natured
remarks, and perhaps to take ungentlemanlike advantages.'"
"No man should make that observation," returned he, "whose views would
bear prying into."
"I was nettled," said Mr. B., "at this warm retort, and drew aside my
mask: 'Nor would any man, who wore not a mask, tell me so!'
"He took not the challenge, and slid from me, and I saw him no more
that night."
"So!" thought I, "another instance this might have been of the
glorious consequences of masquerading." O my lady, these masquerades
are abominable things!
The King, they said, met with a free speaker that night: in truth,
I was not very sorry for it; for if monarchs will lay aside their
sovereign distinctions, and mingle thus in masquerade with the worst
as well as the highest (I cannot say _best_) of their subjects, let
'em take the consequence. Perhaps they might have a chance to hear
more truth here than in their palaces--the only good that possibly can
accrue from them--that is to say, if they made a good use of it when
they heard it. For you see, my monarch, though he told the truth,
as it happened, received the hint with more resentment than
thankfulness!--So, 'tis too likely did the monarch of us both.
And now, my lady, you need not doubt, that so polite a gentleman would
find an opportunity to return the Nun her handkerchief!--To be sure
he would: for what man of honour would rob a lady of any part of her
apparel? And should he, that wanted to steal a heart content himself
with a handkerchief?--No no, that was not to be expected. So, what
does he do, but resolve, the very next day, after dinner, to pursue
this affair: accordingly, the poor Quaker little thinking of the
matter, away goes her naughty Spaniard, to find out his Nun at her
grate, or in her parlour rather.
He asks for the Countess. Is admitted into the outward parlour--her
woman comes down; requires his name and business. His name he
mentioned not. His business was, to restore into her lady's own hands,
something she had dropt the night before.--Was desired to wait.
I should have said, that he was dressed very richly--having no
design at all to make conquests; no, not he!--O this wicked love
of intrigue!--A kind of olive-coloured velvet, and fine brocaded
waistcoat. I said, when he took leave of me, "You're a charming Mr.
B.," and saluted him, more pressingly than he returned it; but little
did I think, when I plaited so smooth his rich laced ruffles, and
bosom, where he was going, or what he had in his plotting heart. He
went in his own chariot, that he did: so that he had no design to
conceal who he was--But intrigue, a new conquest, vanity, pride!--O
these men!--They had need talk of ladies!--But it is half our own
fault, indeed it is, to encourage their vanity.
Well, Madam, he waited till his stateliness was moved to send up
again, that he would wait on her ladyship some other time. So down she
came, dressed most richly, jewels in her breast, and in her hair,
and ears--But with a very reserved and stately air. He approached
her--Methinks I see him, dear saucy gentleman. You know, Madam, what a
noble manner of address he has.
He took the handkerchief from his bosom with an air; and kissing it,
presented it to her, saying, "This happy estray, thus restored, begs
leave, by me, to acknowledge its lovely owner!"
"What mean you, Sir?--Who are you, Sir?--What mean you?"
"Your ladyship will excuse me: but I am incapable of meaning any thing
but what is honourable."--(_No, to be sure_)--"This, Madam, you left
last night, when the domino took up every one's attention but mine,
which was much better engaged; and I take the liberty to restore it to
you."
She turned to the mark; a coronet at one corner, "'Tis true, Sir, I
see now it is one of mine: but such a trifle was not worthy of being
brought by such a gentleman as you seem to be; nor of my trouble to
receive it in person. Your servant, Sir, might have delivered the
bagatelle to mine."--"Nothing should be called so that belongs to
the Countess of ----"--"She was no Countess, Sir, that _dropt_
that handkerchief, and a gentleman would not attempt to penetrate,
_unbecomingly_, through the disguises a lady thinks proper to assume;
especially at such a place where every enquiry should begin and end."
This, Madam, from a lady, who had unmasked--because _she would not
be known_!--Very pretty, indeed!--Oh! these slight cobweb airs of
modesty! so easily seen through. Hence such advantages against us are
taken by the men. She had looked out of her window, and seen no arms
quartered with his own; for you know, my lady, I would never permit
any to be procured for me: so, she doubted not, it seems, but he was
an unmarried gentleman, as he had intimated to her the night before.
He told her it was impossible, after having seen the finest lady in
the world, not to wish to see her again; and that he hoped he did not,
_unbecomingly_, break through her ladyship's reserves: nor had he made
any enquiries, either on the spot, or off it; having had a much better
direction by accident.
"As how, Sir?" said she, as he told me, with so bewitching an air,
between attentive and pleasant, that, bold gentleman, forgetting
all manner of distance, so early too! he clasped his arms around her
waist, and saluted her, struggling with anger and indignation, he
says; but I think little of that!
"Whence this insolence? How, now, Sir! Begone!" were her words, and
she rung the bell; but he set his back against the door--(I never
heard such boldness in my life, Madam!)--till she would forgive him.
And, it is plain, she was not so angry as she pretended: for her woman
coming, she was calmer;--"Nelthorpe," said she, "fetch my snuff box,
with the lavender in it."
Her woman went; and then she said, "You told me, Sir, last night, of
your intrepidness: I think you are the boldest man I ever met with:
but, Sir, surely you ought to know, that you are not now in the
Haymarket."
I think, truly, Madam, the lady might have saved herself that speech:
for, upon my word, they neither of them wore masks--Though they ought
to have put on one of blushes--I am sure I do for them, while I am
writing. Her irresistible loveliness served for an excuse, that
she could not disapprove from a man she disliked not: and his
irresistible--may I say, assurance, Madam?--found too ready an excuse.
"Well, but, Sir," said I, "pray, when her ladyship was made acquainted
that you were a married gentleman, how then?--Pray, did _she_ find it
out, or did _you_ tell her?"--"Patience, my dear!"--"Well pray, Sir,
go on.--What was next?"
"Why, next, I put on a more respectful and tender air: I would have
taken her hand indeed, but she would not permit it; and when she saw I
would not go till her lavender snuff came down (for so I told her, and
her woman was not in haste), she seated herself, and I sat by her,
and began to talk about a charming lady I saw the night before, after
parting with her ladyship, but not equal by any means to her: and I
was confident this would engage her attention; for I never knew the
lady who thought herself handsome, that was not taken by this topic.
Flattery and admiration, Pamela, are the two principal engines by
which our sex make their first approaches to yours; and if you listen
to us, we are sure, either by the sap or the mine, to succeed, and
blow you up when ever we please, if we do but take care to suit
ourselves to your particular foibles; or, to carry on the metaphor,
point our batteries to your weak side--for the strongest fortresses,
my dear, are weaker in one place than another."--"A fine thing, Sir,"
said I, "to be so learned a gentleman!"--"I wish, however," thought I,
"you had always come honestly by your knowledge."
"When the lavender snuff came down, we were engaged in an agreeable
disputation, which I had raised on purpose to excite her opposition,
she having all the advantage in it; and in order to my giving it up,
when she was intent upon it, as a mark of my consideration for her."
"I the less wonder, Sir," said I, "at your boldness (pardon the word!)
with such a lady, in your first visit, because of her freedoms, when
masked, her unmasking, and her handkerchief, and letter cover. To
be sure, the lady, when she saw, next day, such a fine gentleman and
handsome equipage, had little reason, after her other freedoms, to
be so very nice with you as to decline an ensnaring conversation,
calculated on purpose to engage her attention, and to lengthen out
your visit. But did she not ask you who you were?"
"Her servants did of mine. And her woman (for I knew all afterwards,
when we were better acquainted), whispered her lady, that I was Mr. B.
of Bedfordshire; and had an immense estate, to which they were so kind
as to add two or three thousand pounds a year, out of pure good will
to me: I thank them."
"But pray, dear Sir, what had you in view in all this? Did you intend
to carry this matter, at first, as far as ever you could?"--"I had, at
first, my dear, no view, but such as pride and vanity suggested to
me. I was carried away by inconsideration, and the love of intrigue,
without even thinking about the consequences. The lady, I observed,
had abundance of fine qualities. I thought I could converse with her,
on a very agreeable foot, and her honour I knew, at any time, would
preserve me mine, if ever I should find it in danger; and, in my soul,
I preferred my Pamela to all the ladies on earth, and questioned not,
but that, and your virtue, would be another barrier to my fidelity.
"In a word, therefore, pride, vanity, thoughtlessness, were my
misguiders, as I said. The Countess's honour and character, and
your virtue and merit, my dear, and my obligations to you, were my
defences: but I find one should avoid the first appearances of evil.
One knows not one's own strength. 'Tis presumptuous to depend upon it,
where wit and beauty are in the way on one side, and youth and strong
passions on the other."
"You certainly, Sir, say right. But be pleased to tell me what her
ladyship said when she knew you were married."--"The Countess's woman
was in my interest, and let me into some of her lady's secrets, having
a great share in her confidence; and particularly acquainted me,
how loth her lady was to believe I was married. I had paid her three
visits in town, and one to her seat upon the Forest, before she heard
that I was. But when she was assured of it, and directed her Nelthorpe
to ask me about it, and I readily owned it, she was greatly incensed,
though nothing but general civilities, and intimacies not inconsistent
with honourable friendship, had passed between us. The consequence
was, she forbad my ever seeing her again, and set out with her sister
and the Viscount for Tunbridge, where she staid about three weeks.
"I thought I had already gone too far, and blamed myself for
permitting her so long to believe me single; and here the matter had
dropped, in all probability, had not a ball, given by my Lord ----, to
which, unknown to each other, we were both, as also the Viscountess,
invited, brought us again together. The lady soon withdrew, with
her sister, to another apartment; and being resolved upon personal
recrimination (which is what a lady, who is resolved to break with a
favoured object, should never trust herself with,) sent for me, and
reproached me on my conduct, in which her sister joined.
"I owned frankly, that gaiety, rather than design, made me give cause,
at the masquerade, for her ladyship to think I was not married; for
that I had a wife, with a thousand excellencies, who was my pride,
and my boast: that I held it very possible for a gentleman and lady to
carry on an innocent and honourable friendship, in a _family_ way; and
I was sure, when she and her sister saw my spouse, they would not be
displeased with her acquaintance; all that I had to reproach myself
with, was, that after having, at the masquerade, given reason to
think I was not married, I had been both, _officiously_, to say I was,
although I never intended to conceal it. In short, I acquitted myself
so well with both ladies, that a family intimacy was consented to.
I renewed my visits; and we accounted to one another's honour, by
entering upon a kind of Platonic system, in which sex was to have no
manner of concern.
"But, my dear Pamela, I must own myself extremely blameable, because I
knew the world and human nature, I will say, better than the lady,
who never before had been trusted into it upon her own feet: and who,
notwithstanding that wit and vivacity which every one admires in her,
gave herself little time for consideration. I ought, therefore, to
have more carefully guarded against inconveniencies, which I knew were
so likely to arise from such intimacies; and the rather, as I hinted,
because the lady had no apprehension at all of any: so that, my dear,
if I have no excuse from human frailty, from youth, and the charms of
the object, I am entirely destitute of any."
"I see, Mr. B.," said I, "there is a great deal to be said for the
lady. I wish I could say there was for the gentleman. But such a fine
lady had been safe, with all her inconsideration; and so (forgive me.
Sir,) would the gentleman, with all his intriguing spirit, had it not
been for these vile masquerades. Never, dear Sir, think of going to
another."--"Why, my dear, those are least of all to be trusted at
these diversions, who are most desirous to go to them.--Of this I am
now fully convinced."--"Well, Sir, I long to hear more particulars of
this story: for this generous openness, now the affair is over, cannot
but be grateful to me, as it shews me you have no reserve, and tends
to convince me, that the lady was less blameable than I apprehended:
for I love, for the honour of my sex, to find ladies of birth and
quality innocent, who have so many opportunities of knowing and
practising their duties, above what meaner persons can have."
"Well observed, my dear: this is like your generous and deep way of
thinking."
"But, dear Sir, proceed--Your reconciliation is now effected; a
friendship quadripartite is commenced. And the Viscountess and I are
to find cement for the erecting of an edifice, that is to be devoted
to Platonic love. What, may I ask, came next? And what did you design
should come of it?"
"The Oxford journey, my dear, followed next; and it was my fault
you were not a party in it, both ladies being very desirous of your
company: but it was the time you were not going abroad, after your
lying-in, so I excused you to them. Yet they both longed to see you:
especially as by this time, you may believe, they knew all your story:
and besides, whenever you were mentioned, I did justice, as well to
your mind, as to your person."
"Well, Sir, to be sure this was very kind; and little was I disposed
(knowing what I did,) to pass so favourable a construction in your
generosity to me."
"My question to her ladyship at going away, whether you were not the
charmingest girl in the world, which seeing you both together, rich
as she was drest, and plain as you, gave me the double pleasure
(a pleasure she said afterwards I exulted in,) of deciding in your
favour; my readiness to explain to you what we both said, and her not
ungenerous answer, I thought entitled me to a better return than a
flood of tears; which confirmed me that your past uneasiness was a
jealousy I was not willing to allow in you: though I should have been
more indulgent to it had I known the grounds you thought you had for
it: and for this reason I left you so abruptly as I did."
Here, Madam, Mr. B. broke off, referring to another time the
conclusion of his narrative. I will here close this letter (though
possibly I may not send it, till I send the conclusion of this story
in my next,) with the assurance that I am _your ladyship's obliged
sister and servant_,
P.B.
LETTER LXXVIII
My dear lady,
Now I will proceed with my former subject: and with the greater
pleasure, as what follows makes still more in favour of the Countess's
character, than what went before, although that set it in a better
light than it had once appeared to me in. I began as follows:
"Will you be pleased, Sir, to favour me with the continuation of
our last subject?"--"I will, my dear."--"You left off, Sir, with
acquitting me for breaking out into that flood of tears, which
occasioned your abrupt departure. But, dear Sir, will you be pleased,
to satisfy me about that affecting information, of your intention and
my lady's to live at Tunbridge together?"
"'Tis absolute malice and falsehood. Our intimacy had not proceeded
so far; and, thoughtless as my sister's letters suppose the lady, she
would have spurned at such a proposal, I dare say."
"Well, but then, Sir, as to the expression to her uncle, that she had
rather have been a certain gentleman's second wife?"
"I believe she might, in a passion, say something like it to him: he
had been teazing her (from the time that I held an argument in favour
of that foolish topic _polygamy_, in his company and his niece's,
and in that of her sister and the Viscount,) with cautions against
conversing with a man, who, having, as he was pleased to say behind my
back, married beneath him, wanted to engage the affections of a lady
of birth, in order to recover, by doubling that fault upon her, his
lost reputation.
"She despised his insinuation enough to answer him, that she thought
my arguments in behalf of _polygamy_ were convincing. This set him a
raving, and he threw some coarse reflections upon her, which could not
be repeated, if one may guess at them, by her being unable to tell
me them; and then to vex him more, and to revenge herself, she said
something like what was reported: which was handle enough for her
uncle; who took care to propagate it with an indiscretion peculiar to
himself; for I heard it in three different companies, before I knew
any thing of it from herself; and when I did, it was so repeated, as
you, my dear, would hardly have censured her for it, the provocation
considered."
"Well, but then, dear Sir, there is nothing at all amiss, at this
rate, in the correspondence between my lady and you?"
"Not on her side, I dare say, if her ladyship can be excused to
punctilio, and for having a greater esteem for a married man, than
he can deserve, or than may be strictly defended to a person of your
purity and niceness."
"Well, Sir, this is very noble in you. I love to hear the gentlemen
generous in points where the honour of our sex is concerned. But pray.
Sir, what then was there on _your_ side, in that matter, that made you
give me so patient and so kind a hearing?"
"Now, my dear, you come to the point: at first it was nothing in me
but vanity, pride, and love of intrigue, to try my strength, where
I had met with some encouragement, as I thought, at the masquerade;
where the lady went farther, too, than she would have done, had she
not thought I was a single man. For, by what I have told you, Pamela,
you will observe, that she tried to satisfy herself on that head, as
soon as she well could. Mrs. Nelthorpe acquainted me afterwards, when
better known to each other, that her lady was so partial in my favour,
(who can always govern their fancies, my dear?) as to think, so early
as at the masquerade, that if every thing answered appearances,
and that I were a single man, she, who has a noble and independent
fortune, might possibly be induced to make me happy in her choice.
"Supposing, then, that I was unmarried, she left a signal for me in
her handkerchief. I visited her; had the honour, after the customary
first shyness, of being well received; and continued my visits, till,
perhaps, she would have been glad I had not been married, but on
finding I was, she avoided me, as I have told you, till the accident
I mentioned threw us again upon each other: which renewed our intimacy
upon terms you would think too inconsiderable on one side, and too
designing on the other.
"For myself, what can I say? only that you gave me great disgusts
(without cause, as I thought,) by your unwonted reception of me, ever
in tears and grief; the Countess ever cheerful and lively; and fearing
that your temper was entirely changing, I believe I had no bad excuse
to try to make myself easy and cheerful abroad, since my home became
more irksome to me than ever I believed it could be. Then, as we
naturally love those who love us, I had vanity, and some reason for my
vanity (indeed all vain men believe they have,) to think the Countess
had more than an indifference for me. She was so exasperated by the
wrong methods taken with an independent lady of her generous spirit,
to break off our acquaintance, that, in revenge, she denied me less
than ever opportunities of her company. The pleasure we took in each
other's conversation was reciprocal. The world's reports had united us
in one common cause: and you, as I said, had made home less delightful
to me than it used to be: what might not then have been apprehended
from so many circumstances concurring with the lady's beauty and my
frailty?
"I waited on her to Tunbridge. She took a house there. Where people's
tongues will take so much liberty, without any foundation, and where
the utmost circumspection is used, what will they not say, where so
little of the latter is observed? No wonder, then, that terms were
said to be agreed upon between us: from her uncle's story, of polygamy
proposed by me, and seemingly agreed to by her, no wonder that all
your Thomasine Fuller's information was surmised. Thus stood the
matter, when I was determined to give your cause for uneasiness a
hearing, and to take my measures according to what should result from
that hearing."
"From this account, dear Sir," said I, "it will not be so
difficult, as I feared, to end this affair even to her _ladyship's_
satisfaction."--"I hope not, my dear."--"But if, now, Sir, the
Countess should still be desirous not to break with you; from so
charming a lady, who knows what may happen!"
"Very true, Pamela; but to make you still easier, I will tell you
that her ladyship has a first cousin married to a person going with
a public character to several of the Italian courts, and, had it not
been for my persuasions, she would have accepted of their earnest
invitations, and passed a year or two in Italy, where she once resided
for three years together, which makes her so perfect a mistress of
Italian.
"Now I will let her know, additionally to what I have written to her,
the uneasiness I have given you, and, so far as it is proper, what is
come to your ears, and your generous account of her, and the charms
of her person, of which she will not be a little proud; for she has
really noble and generous sentiments, and thinks well (though her
sister, in pleasantry, will have it a little enviously,) of you; and
when I shall endeavour to persuade her to go, for the sake of her own
character, to a place and country of which she was always fond, I am
apt to think she will come into it; for she has a greater opinion
of my judgment than it deserves: and I know a young lord, who may be
easily persuaded to follow her thither, and bring her back his lady,
if he can obtain her consent: and what say you, Pamela, to this?"
"O, Sir! I believe I shall begin to love the lady dearly, and that is
what I never thought I should. I hope this will be brought about.
"But I see, give me leave to say, Sir, how dangerously you might
both have gone on, under the notion of this Platonic love, till
two precious souls had been lost: and this shews one, as well in
spirituals as temporals, from what slight beginnings the greatest
mischiefs sometimes spring; and how easily at first a breach may be
stopped, that, when neglected, the waves of passion will widen till
they bear down all before them."
"Your observation, my dear, is just," replied Mr. B., "and though, I
am confident the lady was more in earnest than myself in the notion of
Platonic love, yet I am convinced, and always was, that Platonic love
is Platonic nonsense: 'tis the fly buzzing about the blaze, till its
wings are scorched; or, to speak still stronger, it is a bait of the
devil to catch the unexperienced, and thoughtless: nor ought such
notions to be pretended to, till the parties are five or ten years
on the other side of their grand climateric: for age, old age, and
nothing else, must establish the barriers to Platonic love. But this
was my comparative consolation, though a very bad one, that had I
swerved, I should not have given the only instance, where persons more
scrupulous than I pretended to be, have begun friendships even with
spiritual views, and ended them as grossly as I could have done, were
the lady to have been as frail as her tempter."
Here Mr. B. finished his narrative. He is now set out for Tunbridge
with all my papers. I have no doubt in his honour and kind assurances,
and hope my next will be a joyful letter; and that I shall inform
you in it, that the affair which went so near my heart, is absolutely
concluded to my satisfaction, to Mr. B.'s and the Countess's; for if
it be so to all three, my happiness, I doubt not, will be founded on
a permanent basis. Meantime I am, my dear good lady, _your most
affectionate, and obliged sister and servant_,
P.B.
LETTER LXXIX
A new misfortune, my dear lady!--But this is of God Almighty's
sending; so I must bear it patiently. My dear baby is taken with the
small-pox!--To how many troubles are the happiest of us subjected
in this life! One need not multiply them by one's own wilful
mismanagements!--I am able to mind nothing else!
I had so much joy (as I told your ladyship in the beginning of my last
letter but one) to see, on our arrival at the farm-house, my dearest
Mr. B., my beloved baby, and my good parents, all upon one happy spot,
that I fear I was too proud--Yet I was truly thankful, I am sure!--But
I had, notwithstanding too much pride, and too much pleasure, on this
happy occasion.
I said, in my last, that your dear brother set out on Tuesday morning
for Tunbridge with my papers; and I longed to know the result, hoping
that every thing would be concluded to the satisfaction of all three:
"For," thought I, "if this be so, my happiness must be permanent:" but
alas! there is nothing permanent in this life. I feel it by experience
now!--I knew it before by theory: but that was not so near and
interesting by half.
For, with all my pleasures and hopes; in the midst of my dear parents'
joy and congratulations on our arrival, and on what had passed so
happily since we were last here together, (in the birth of the dear
child, and my safety, for which they had been so apprehensive,) the
poor baby was taken ill. It was on that very Tuesday his papa set
out for Tunbridge; but we knew not it would be the small-pox till
Thursday. O Madam! how are all the pleasures I had formed to myself
sickened now upon me! for my Billy is very bad.
They talk of a kind sort: but alas: they talk at random: for they come
not out at all!--I fear the nurse's constitution is too hale and too
rich for the dear baby!--Had _I_ been permitted--But hush, all my
repining _ifs!_--except one _if_; and that is, _if_ it be got happily
over, it will be best he had it so young, and while at the breast!--
Oh! Madam, Madam! the small appearance that there was is gone in
again: and my child, my dear baby, will die! The doctors seem to think
so.
They wanted to send for Mr. B. to keep me from him!--But I forbid
it!--For what signifies life, or any thing, if I cannot see my baby,
while he is so dangerously ill!
My father and mother are, for the first time, quite cruel to me; they
have forbid me, and I never was so desirous of disobeying them before,
to attend the darling of my heart: and why?--For fear of this poor
face!--For fear I should get it myself!--But I am living very low, and
have taken proper precautions by bleeding, and the like, to lessen
the distemper's fury, if I should have it; and the rest I leave to
Providence. And if Mr. B.'s value is confined so much to this poor
transitory sightliness, he must not break with his Countess, I think;
and if I am ever so deformed in person, my poor intellects, I hope
will not be impaired, and I shall, if God spare my Billy, be useful
in his first education, and be helpful to dear Miss Goodwin--or to any
babies--with all my heart--he may make me an humble nurse too!--How
peevish, sinfully so, I doubt, does this accident, and their
affectionate contradiction, make one!
I have this moment received the following from Mr. B.
_Maidstone_.
"My dearest love,
"I am greatly touched with the dear boy's malady, of which I have
this moment heard. I desire you instantly to come to me hither, in the
chariot with the bearer, Colbrand. I know what your grief must be: but
as you can do the child no good, I beg you'll oblige me. Everything
is in a happy train; but I can think only of you, and (for your sake
principally, but not a little for _my own_) my boy. I will set out
to meet you; for I choose not to come myself, lest you should try to
persuade me to permit your tarrying about him; and I should be sorry
to deny you any thing. I have taken handsome apartments for you, till
the event, which I pray God may be happy, shall better determinate me
what to do. I will be ever _your affectionate and faithful_."
Maidstone indeed is not so very far off, but one may hear every day,
once or twice, by a man and horse; so I will go, to shew my obedience,
since Mr. B. is so intent upon it--But I cannot live, if I am not
permitted to come back--Oh! let me be enabled, gracious Father! to
close this letter more happily than I have begun it!
I have been so dreadfully uneasy at Maidstone, that Mr. B. has been
so good as to return with me hither; and I find my baby's case not yet
quite desperate--I am easier now I see him, in presence of his beloved
papa who lets me have all my way, and approves of my preparative
method for myself; and he tells me that since I will have it so,
he will indulge me in my attendance on the child, and endeavour to
imitate my reliance on God--that is his kind expression--and leave
the issue to him. And on my telling him, that I feared nothing in
the distemper, but the loss of his love, he said, in presence of the
doctors, and my father and mother, pressing my hand to his lips--"My
dearest life, make yourself easy under this affliction, and apprehend
nothing for yourself: I love you more, for your mind than for your
face. That and your person will be the same; and were that sweet face
to be covered with seams and scars, I will value you the more for the
misfortune: and glad I am, that I had your picture so well drawn in
town, to satisfy those who have heard of your loveliness, what you
were, and hitherto are. For myself, my admiration lies deeper;" and,
drawing me to the other end of the room, whisperingly he said, "The
last uneasiness between us, I now begin to think, was necessary,
because it has turned all my delight in you, more than ever, to the
perfections of your mind: and so God preserves to me the life of my
Pamela, I care not for my own part, what ravages the distemper makes
here," and tapped my cheek.--How generous, how noble, how comforting
was this!
When I went from my apartment, to go to my child, my dear Mr. B. met
me at the nursery door, and led me back again. "You must not go in
again, my dearest. They have just been giving the child other things
to try to drive out the malady; and some pustules seem to promise on
his breast." I made no doubt, my baby was then in extremity; and I
would have given the world to have shed a few tears, but I could not.
With the most soothing goodness he led me to my desk, and withdrew to
attend the dear baby himself--to see his last gaspings, poor little
lamb, I make no doubt!
In this suspense, my own strange hardness of heart would not give
up one tear, for the passage from _that_ to my _eyes_ seemed quite
choaked up, which used to be so open and ready on other occasions,
affecting ones too.
Two days have passed, dreadful days of suspense: and now, blessed be
God! who has given me hope that our prayers are heard, the pustules
come kindly out, very thick in his breast, and on his face: but of
a good sort, they tell me.--They won't let me see him; indeed they
won't!--What cruel kindness is this! One must believe all they tell
one!
But, my dear lady, my spirits are so weak; I have such a violent
headache, and have such a strange shivering disorder all running
down my back, and I was so hot just now, and am so cold at this
present--aguishly inclined--I don't know how! that I must leave off,
the post going away, with the assurance, that I am, and will be, to
the last hour of my life, _your ladyship's grateful and obliged sister
and servant_,
P.B.
LETTER LXXX
_From Mr. B. to Lady Davers._
MY DEAR SISTER,
I take very kindly your solicitude for the health of my beloved
Pamela. The last line she wrote was to you, for she took to her bed
the moment she laid down her pen.
I told her your kind message, and wishes for her safety, by my lord's
gentleman; and she begged I would write a line to thank you in her
name for your affectionate regards to her.
She is in a fine way to do well: for with her accustomed prudence, she
had begun to prepare herself by a proper regimen, the moment she knew
the child's illness was the small-pox.
The worst is over with the boy, which keeps up her spirits; and her
mother is so excellent a nurse to both, and we are so happy likewise
in the care of a skilful physician, Dr. M. (who directs and approves
of every thing the good dame does,) that it is a singular providence
this malady seized them here; and affords no small comfort to the dear
creature herself.
When I tell you, that, to all appearance, her charming face will not
receive any disfigurement by this cruel enemy to beauty, I am sure you
will congratulate me upon a felicity so desirable: but were it to be
otherwise, if I were capable of slighting a person, whose principal
beauties are much deeper than the skin, I should deserve to be thought
the most unworthy and superficial of husbands.
Whatever your notions have been, my ever-ready censuring Lady Davers,
of your brother, on a certain affair, I do assure you, that I never
did, and never can, love any woman as I love my Pamela.
It is indeed impossible I can ever love her better than I do; and her
outward beauties are far from being indifferent to me; yet, if I know
myself, I am sure I have justice enough to love her _equally_, and
generosity enough to be _more tender_ of her, were she to suffer by
this distemper. But, as her humility, and her affection to me, would
induce her to think herself under greater obligation to me, for such
my tenderness to her, were she to lose any the _least_ valuable of her
perfections, I rejoice that she will have no reason for mortification
on that score.
My respects to Lord Davers, and your noble neighbours. I am, _your
affectionate brother, and humble servant_.
LETTER LXXXI
_From Lady Davers, in answer to the preceding_.
MY DEAR BROTHER,
I do most heartily congratulate you on the recovery of Master Billy,
and the good way my sister is in. I am the more rejoiced, as her sweet
face is not like to suffer by the malady; for, be the beauties of the
mind what they will, those of the person are no small recommendation,
with some folks, I am sure; and I began to be afraid, that when it was
hardly possible for _both conjoined_ to keep a roving mind constant,
that _one only_ would not be sufficient.
This news gives me more pleasure, because I am well informed, that a
certain gay lady was pleased to give herself airs upon learning of my
sister's illness, as, That she would not be sorry for it; for now she
should look upon herself as the prettiest woman in England.--She meant
only, I suppose, as to _outward_ prettiness, brother!
You give me the name of a _ready censurer_. I own, I think myself to
be not a little interested in all that regards my brother, and his
honour. But when some people are not readier to _censure_, than others
to _trespass_, I know not whether they can with justice be styled
censorious.
But however that be, the rod seems to have been held up, as a
warning--and that the blow, in the irreparable deprivation, is not
given, is a mercy, which I hope will be deserved; though you never can
those very signal ones you receive at the Divine hands, beyond any man
I know. For even (if I shall not be deemed censorious again) your
very vices have been turned to your felicity, as if God would try the
nobleness of the heart he has given you, by overcoming you (in answer
to my sister's constant prayers, as well as mine) by mercies rather
than by judgments.
I might give instances of the truth of this observation, in almost
all the actions and attempts of your past life; and take care (if you
_are_ displeased, I _will_ speak it), take care, thou bold wretch,
that if this method be ungratefully slighted, the uplifted arm fall
not down with double weight on thy devoted head!
I must always love and honour my brother, but cannot help speaking my
mind: which, after all, is the natural result of that very love and
honour, and which obliges me to style myself _your truly affectionate
sister_,
B. Davers.
LETTER LXXXII
_From Mrs. B. to Lady Davers_.
MY DEAREST LADY,
My first letter, and my first devoirs, after those of thankfulness to
that gracious God, who has so happily conducted me through two such
heavy trials, as my child's and my own illness, must be directed to
you, with all due acknowledgment of your generous and affectionate
concern for me.
We are now preparing for our journey to Bedfordshire; and there, to my
great satisfaction, I am to be favoured with the care of Miss Goodwin.
After tarrying about a month there, Mr. B. will make a tour with me
through several counties (taking the Hall in the way) for about a
fortnight, and shew me what is remarkable, every where as we pass; for
this, he thinks, will better contribute to my health, than any
other method. The distemper has left upon me a kind of weariness and
listlessness; and he proposes to be out with me till the Bath season
begins; and by the aid of those healing and balsamic waters, he hopes,
I shall be quite established. Afterwards to return to Bedfordshire
for a little while; then to London; and then to Kent; and, if nothing
hinders, has a great mind to carry me over to Paris.
Thus most kindly does he amuse and divert me with his agreeable
proposals. But I have made one amendment to them; and that is, that I
must not be denied to pay my respects to your ladyship, at your seat,
and to my good Lady Countess in the same neighbourhood, and this will
be far from being the least of my pleasures.
I have had congratulations without number upon my recovery; but one,
among the rest, I did not expect; from the Countess Dowager (could you
think it, Madam?) who sent me by her gentleman the following letter
from Tunbridge.
"MADAM,
"I hope, among the congratulations of your numerous admirers, on your
happy recovery, my very sincere ones will not be unacceptable. I have
no other motive for making you my compliments on this occasion, on
so slender an acquaintance, than the pleasure it gives me, that the
public, as well as your private friends, have not been deprived of a
lady whose example, in every duty of life, is of so much concern
to both.--May you, Madam, long rejoice in an uninterrupted state of
happiness, answerable to your merits, and to your own wishes, are
those of _your most obedient humble servant_."
To this kind letter I returned the following:
"MADAM,
"I am under the highest obligation to your generous favour, in your
kind compliments of congratulation on my recovery. There is something
so noble and so condescending in the honour you have done me, on
so slender an acquaintance, that it bespeaks the exalted mind and
character of a lady, who, in the principles of generosity, and in true
nobleness of nature, has no example. May God Almighty bless you, my
dear lady, with all the good you wish me, and with increase of honour
and glory, both here and hereafter, prays, and will always pray, _your
ladyship's most obliged and obedient servant_, P.B."
This leads me to mention, what my illness would not permit me to do
before, that Mr. B. met with such a reception and audience from the
Countess, when he attended her, in all he had to offer and propose to
her, and in her patient hearing of what he thought fit to read
her, from your ladyship's letters and mine, that he said, "Don't be
jealous, my dear Pamela; but I must admire her as long as I live."
He gave me the particulars, so much to her ladyship's honour, that I
told him, he should not only be welcome to admire her ladyship, but
that I would admire her too.
They parted very good friends, and with great professions of esteem
for each other.--And as Mr. B. had undertaken to inspect into some
exceptionable accounts and managements of her ladyship's bailiff,
one of her servants brought a letter for him on Monday last, wholly
written on that subject. But she was so considerate, as to send
it unsealed, in a cover directed to me. When I opened it, I was
frightened to see it begin to Mr. B. and I hastened to find him--"Dear
Sir--Here's some mistake--You see the direction is to Mrs. B.--'Tis
very plain--But, upon my word, I have not read it."--"Don't be
uneasy, my love.--I know what the subject must be; but I dare swear
there is nothing, nor will there ever be, but what you or any body may
see."
He read it, and giving it to me, said, "Answer yourself the
postscript, my dear." That was--"If, Sir, the trouble I give you, is
likely to subject you or your lady to uneasiness or apprehensions, I
beg you will not be concerned in it. I will then set about the matter
myself; for my uncle I will not trouble; yet women enter into these
particulars with as little advantage to themselves as inclination."
I told him, I was entirely easy and unapprehensive; and, after all
his goodness to me, should be so, if he saw the Countess every day.
"That's kindly said, my dear; but I will not trust myself to see
her every day, or at all, for the present. But I shall be obliged to
correspond with her for a month or so, on this occasion; unless you
prohibit it; and it shall be in your power to do so."
I said, with my whole heart, he might; and I should be quite easy in
both their honours.
"Yet I will not," said he, "unless you see our letters: for I know she
will always, now she has begun, send in a cover to you, what she will
write to me, unsealed; and whether I am at home or abroad, I shall
take it unkindly, if you do not read them."
He went in, and wrote an answer, which he sent by the messenger; but
would make me, whether I would or not, read it, and seal it up with
his seal. But all this needed not to me now, who think so much better
of the lady than I did before; and am so well satisfied in his own
honour and generous affection for me; for you saw, Madam, in what I
wrote before, that he always loved me, though he was angry at times,
at my change of temper, as he feared, not knowing that I was apprised
of what had passed between him and the Countess.
I really am better pleased with his correspondence, than I should have
been, had it not been carried on; because the servants, on both sides,
will see, by my deportment on the occasion (and I will officiously,
with a smiling countenance, throw myself in their observation), that
it is quite innocent; and this may help to silence the mouths of those
who have so freely censured their conduct.
Indeed, Madam, I think I have received no small good myself by that
affair, which once lay so heavy upon me: for I don't believe I shall
be ever jealous again; indeed I don't think I shall. And won't that
be an ugly foible overcome? I see what may be done, in cases not
favourable to our wishes, by the aid of proper reflection; and that
the bee is not the only creature that may make honey out of the bitter
flowers as well as the sweet.
My most grateful respects and thanks to my good Lord Davers; to the
Earl, and his excellent Countess; and most particularly to Lady Betty
(with whose kind compliments your ladyship acquaints me), and to
Mr. H. for all your united congratulations on my recovery. What
obligations do I lie under to such noble and generous well-wishers!--I
can make no return but by my prayers, that God, by his goodness, will
supply all my defects. And these will always attend you, from, my
dearest lady, _your ever obliged sister, and humble servant_,
P.B.
Mr. H. is just arrived. He says, he comes a special messenger, to make
a report how my face has come off. He makes me many compliments
upon it. How kind your ladyship is, to enter so favourably into the
minutest concerns, which you think, may any way affect my future
happiness in your dear brother's opinion!--I want to pour out all my
joy and my thankfulness to God, before you, and the good Countess of
C----! For I am a happy, yea, a blessed creature! Mr. B.'s boy, your
ladyship's boy, and my boy, is charmingly well; quite strong, and very
forward, for his months; and his papa is delighted with him more and
more.
LETTER LXXXIII
MY DEAR MISS DARNFORD,
I hope you are happy and well. You kindly say you can't be so, till
you hear of my perfect recovery. And this, blessed be God! you have
heard already from Mr. B.
As to your intimation of the fair Nun, 'tis all happily over. Blessed
be God for that too! And I have a better and more endearing husband
than ever. Did you think that could be?
My Billy too improves daily, and my dear parents seem to have their
youth renewed like the eagle's. How many blessings have I to be
thankful for!
We are about to turn travellers, to the northern counties. I think
quite to the borders: and afterwards to the western, to Bath, Bristol,
and I know not whither myself: but among the rest, to Lincolnshire,
that you may be sure of. Then how happy shall I be in my dear Miss
Darnford!
I long to hear whether poor Mrs. Jewkes is better or worse for the
advice of the doctor, whom I ordered to attend her from Stamford, and
in what frame her mind is. Do vouchsafe her a visit in my name; tell
her, if she be low spirited, what God hath done for me, as to _my_
recovery, and comfort her all you can; and bid her spare neither
expence nor attendance, nor any thing her heart can wish for; nor the
company of any relations or friends she may desire to be with her.
If she is in her _last stage_, poor soul! how noble will it be in you
to give her comfort and consolation in her dying hours! Although we
can merit nothing at the hand of God, yet I have a notion, that
we cannot deserve more of one another, and in some sense, for that
reason, of him, than in our charities on so trying an exigence! When
the poor soul stands shivering, as it were, on the verge of death,
and has nothing strong, but its fears and doubts; then a little balm
poured into the wounds of the mind, a little comforting advice to rely
on God's mercies, from a good person, how consolatory must it be!
And how, like morning mists before the sun, must all diffidences and
gloomy doubts, be chased away by it!
But, my dear, the great occasion of my writing to you just now, is by
Lady Davers's desire, on a quite different subject. She knows how
we love one another. And she has sent me the following lines by her
kinsman, who came to Kent, purposely to enquire how my face fared in
the small-pox; and accompanied us hither, [_i.e._ to Bedfordshire,]
and sets out to-morrow for Lord Davers's.
"MY DEAR PAMELA,
"Jackey will tell you the reason of his journey, my curiosity on
your own account; and I send this letter by him, but he knows not the
contents. My good Lord Davers wants to have his nephew married, and
settled in the world: and his noble father leaves the whole matter
to my lord, as to the person, settlements, &c. Now I, as well as he,
think so highly of the prudence, the person, and family of your Miss
Darnford, that we shall be obliged to you, to sound the young lady on
this score.
"I know Mr. H. would wish for no greater happiness. But if she is
engaged, or cannot love my nephew, I don't care, nor would my lord,
that such a proposal should be received with undue slight. His birth,
and the title and estate he is heir to, are advantages that require a
lady's consideration. He has not so much wit as Miss, but enough for
a lord, whose friends are born before him, as the phrase is; is very
good-humoured, no tool, no sot, no debauchee: and, let me tell you,
this is not to be met with every day in a young man of quality.
"As to settlements, fortunes, &c. I fancy there would be no great
difficulties. The business is, if Miss Darnford could love him well
enough for a husband? _That_ we leave you to sound the young lady; and
if she thinks she can, we will directly begin a treaty with Sir Simon.
I am, my dearest Pamela, _your ever affectionate sister_, B. Davers."
Now, my dear friend, as my lady has so well stated the case, I beg
you to enable me to return an answer. I will not say one word _pro_ or
_con_. till I know your mind--Only, that I think he is good-humoured
and might be easily persuaded to any thing a lady should think
reasonable.
I must tell you another piece of news in the matrimonial way. Mr.
Williams has been here to congratulate us on our multiplied blessings;
and he acquainted Mr. B. that an overture has been made him by his
new patron, of a kinswoman of his lordship's, a person of virtue and
merit, and a fortune of three thousand pounds, to make him amends,
as the earl tell him, for quitting a better living to oblige him; and
that he is in great hope of obtaining the lady's consent, which is all
that is wanting. Mr. B. is much pleased with so good a prospect in Mr.
Williams's favour, and was in the lady's company formerly at a ball,
at Gloucester; he says, she is prudent and deserving; and offers to
make a journey on purpose to forward it, if he can be of service to
him.
I suppose you know that all is adjusted, according to the scheme I
formerly acquainted you with, between Mr. Adams and that gentleman;
and both are settled in their respective livings. But I ought to have
told you, that Mr. Williams, upon mature deliberation, declined the
stipulated eighty pounds _per annum_ from Mr. Adams, as he thought it
would have a simoniacal appearance.
But now my hand's in, let me tell you of a third matrimonial
proposition, which gives me more puzzle and dislike a great deal. And
that is, Mr. Adams has, with great reluctance, and after abundance of
bashful apologies, asked me, if I have any objection to his making
his addresses to Polly Barlow? which, however, he told me, he had not
mentioned to her, nor to any body living, because he would first know
whether I should take it amiss, as her service was so immediately
about my person.
This unexpected motion much perplexed me. Mr. Adams is a worthy man.
He has now a very good living; yet just entered upon it; and, I think,
according to his accustomed prudence in other respects, had better
have turned himself about first.
But that is not the point with me neither. I have a great regard to
the function. I think it is as necessary, in order to preserve the
respect due to the clergy, that their wives should be nearly, if not
quite as unblemished, and as circumspect, as themselves; and this for
the gentleman's own sake, as well as in the eye of the world: for how
shall he pursue his studies with comfort to himself, if made uneasy at
home! or how shall he expect his female parishioners will regard
his _public_ preaching, if he cannot have a due influence over the
_private_ conduct of his wife?
I can't say, excepting in the instance of Mr. H. but Polly is a good
sort of body enough so far as I know; but that is such a blot in the
poor girl's escutcheon, a thing not _accidental_, nor _surprised_
into, not owing to _inattention_, but to cool _premeditation_, that, I
think, I could wish Mr. Adams a wife more unexceptionable.
'Tis true, Mr. Adams knows not this, but _that_ is one of my
difficulties. If I acquaint him with it, I shall hurt the poor girl
irreparably, and deprive her of a husband, to whom she may possibly
make a good wife--For she is not very meanly descended--much better
than myself, as the world would say were a judgment to be made from
my father's low estate, when I was exalted--I never, my dear, shall be
ashamed of these retrospections! She is genteel, has a very innocent
look, a good face, is neat in her person, and not addicted to any
excess that I know of. But _still_, that one _premeditated_ fault, is
so sad a one, though she might make a good wife for any middling man
of business, yet she wants, methinks, that discretion, that purity,
which I would always have in the wife of a good clergyman.
Then, she has not applied her thoughts to that sort of economy, which
the wife of a country clergyman ought to know something of; and has
such a turn to dress and appearance, that I can see, if indulged,
she would not be one that would help to remove the scandal which some
severe remarkers are apt to throw upon the wives of _parsons_, as they
call them.
The maiden, I believe, likes Mr. Adams not a little. She is very
courteous to every body, but most to him of any body, and never has
missed being present at our Sunday's duties; and five or six times,
Mrs. Jervis tells me, she has found her desirous to have Mr. Adams
expound this text, and that difficulty; and the good man is taken with
her piety, which, and her reformation, I hope, is sincere; but she
is very sly, very subtle, as I have found in several instances, as
foolish as she was in the affair I hint at.
"So," sometimes I say to myself, "the girl may love Mr. Adams."--"Ay,"
but then I answer, "so she did Mr. H. and on his own very bad terms
too."--In short--but I won't be too censorious neither.
So I'll say no more, than that I was perplexed; and yet should be very
glad to have Polly well married; for, since _that_ time, I have always
had some diffidences about her--Because, you know, Miss--her fault
was so enormous, and, as I have said, so premeditated. I wanted you to
advise with.--But this was the method I took.--I appointed Mr. Adams
to drink a dish of tea with me. Polly attended, as usual; for I can't
say I love men attendants in these womanly offices. A tea-kettle in a
man's hand, that would, if there was no better employment for him, be
fitter to hold a plough, or handle a flail, or a scythe, has such
a look with it!--This is like my low breeding, some would say,
perhaps,--but I cannot call things polite, that I think unseemly; and,
moreover. Lady Davers keeps me in countenance in this my notion; and
who doubts her politeness?
Well, but Polly attended, as I said; and there were strange
simperings, and bowing, and curt'sying, between them; the honest
gentleman seeming not to know how to let his mistress wait upon him;
while she behaved with as much respect and officiousness, as if she
could not do too much for him.
"Very well," thought I, "I have such an opinion of your veracity, Mr.
Adams, that I dare say you have not mentioned the matter to Polly;
but between her officiousness, and your mutual simperings and
complaisance, I see you have found a language between you, that is
full as significant as plain English words. Polly," thought I, "sees
no difficulty in _this_ text; nor need you, Mr. Adams, have much
trouble to make her understand you, when you come to expound upon
_this_ subject."
I was forced, in short, to put on a statelier and more reserved
appearance than usual, to make them avoid acts of complaisance for one
another, that might not be proper to be shewn before me, for one who
sat as my companion, to my servant.
When she withdrew, the modest gentleman hemmed, and looked on one
side, and turned to the right and left, as if his seat was uneasy to
him, and, I saw, knew not how to speak; so I began in mere compassion
to him, and said--"Mr. Adams, I have been thinking of what you
mentioned to me, as to Polly Barlow."
"Hem! hem!" said he; and pulled out his handkerchief, and wiped his
mouth--"Very well. Madam; I hope no offence, Madam!"
"No, Sir, none at all. But I am at a loss how to distinguish in this
case; whether it may not be from a motive of too humble gratitude,
that you don't think yourself above matching with Polly, as you may
suppose her a favourite of mine; or whether it be your value for her
person and qualities, that makes her more agreeable in your eyes, than
any other person would be."
"Madam--Madam," said the bashful gentleman, hesitatingly--"I do--I
must needs say--I can't but own--that--Mrs. Mary--is a person-whom I
think very agreeable; and no less modest and virtuous."
"You know, Sir, your own circumstances. To be sure you have a very
pretty house, and a good living, to carry a wife to. And a gentleman
of your prudence and discretion wants not any advice; but you have
reaped no benefits by your living. It has been an expence to you
rather, which you will not presently get up: do you propose an early
marriage, Sir? Or were it not better to suspend your intentions of
that sort for a year or two more?"--"Madam, if your ladyship choose
not to part with--"--"Nay, Mr. Adams," interrupted I, "I say not any
thing for my own sake in this point: that is out of the question with
me. I can very willingly part with Polly, were it to-morrow, for her
good and yours."--"Madam, I humbly beg pardon;--but--but--delays may
breed dangers."--"Oh I very well," thought I; "if the artful girl has
not let him know, by some means or other, that she has another humble
servant."
And so, Miss, it has proved--For, dismissing my gentleman, with
assuring him, that I had no objection at all to the matter, or to
parting with Polly, as soon as it suited with their conveniency--I
sounded her, and asked, if she thought Mr. Adams had any affection for
her?--She said he was a very good gentleman.
"I know it, Polly; and are you not of opinion he loves you a
little?"--"Dear Ma'am--love me--I don't know what such a gentleman as
Mr. Adams should see in me, to love me!"--"Oh!" thought I, "does the
doubt lie on _that_ side then?--I see 'tis not of _thine_."
"Well, but, Polly, if you have _another_ sweetheart, you should do the
fair thing; it would be wrong, if you encourage any body else, if
you thought of Mr. Adams."--"Indeed, Ma'am, I had a letter sent me--a
letter that I received--from--from a young man in Bedford; but I never
answered it."
"Oh!" thought I, "then thou wouldst not encourage _two at once_;" and
this was as plain a declaration as I wanted, that she had thoughts of
Mr. Adams.
"But how came Mr. Adams, Polly, to know of this letter?"--"How came
he to know of it, Ma'am!"--repeated she--half surprised--"Why,
I don't know, I can't tell how it was--but I dropped it near his
desk--pulling out my handkerchief, I believe, Ma'am, and he brought
it, and gave it me again."--"Well," thought I, "thou'rt an intriguing
slut, I doubt, Polly."--"_Delays may breed dangers_," quoth the poor
gentleman!--"Ah! girl, girl!" thought I, but did not say so, "thou
deservest to have thy plot spoiled, that thou dost--But if thy
forwardness should expose thee afterwards to evils which thou mayest
avoid if thy schemes take place, I should very much blame myself. And
I see he loves thee--So let the matter take its course; I will trouble
myself no more about it. I only wish, that thou wilt make Mr. Adams as
good a wife as he deserves."
And so I dismissed her, telling her, that whoever thought of being a
clergyman's wife, should resolve to be as good as himself; to set an
example to all her sex in the parish, and shew how much his doctrines
had weight with her; should be humble, circumspect, gentle in her
temper and manners, frugal, not proud, nor vying in dress with the
ladies of the laity; should resolve to sweeten his labour, and to be
obliging in her deportment to poor as well as rich, that her husband
get no discredit through her means, which would weaken his influence
upon his auditors; and that she must be most of all obliging to him,
and study his temper, that his mind might be more disengaged, in order
to pursue his studies with the better effect.
And so much for _your_ humble servant; and for Mr. Williams's and Mr.
Adams's matrimonial prospect;--and don't think me so disrespectful,
that I have mentioned my Polly's affair in the same letter with yours.
For in high and low (I forget the Latin phrase--I have not had a
lesson a long, long while, from my dear tutor) love is in all the
same!--But whether you'll like Mr. H. as well as Polly does Mr.
Adams, that's the question. But, leaving that to your own decision,
I conclude with one observation; that, although I thought our's was a
house of as little intriguing as any body's, since the dear master of
it has left off that practice, yet I cannot see, that any family can
be clear of some of it long together, where there are men and women
worth plotting for, as husbands and wives.
My best wishes and respects attend all your worthy neighbours. I hope
ere long, to assure them, severally (to wit, Sir Simon, my lady, Mrs.
Jones, Mr. Peters, and his lady and niece, whose kind congratulations
make me very proud, and very thankful) how much I am obliged to them;
and particularly, my dear, how much I am _your ever affectionate and
faithful friend and servant_, P. B,
LETTER LXXXIV
_From Miss Darnford, in answer to the preceding._
MY DEAR MRS. B.,
I have been several times (in company with Mr. Peters) to see Mrs.
Jewkes. The poor woman is very bad, and cannot live many days. We
comfort her all we can; but she often accuses herself of her past
behaviour to so excellent a lady; and with blessings upon blessings,
heaped upon you, and her master, and your charming little boy, is
continually declaring how much your goodness to her aggravates her
former faults to her own conscience.
She has a sister-in-law and her niece with her, and has settled all
her affairs, and thinks she is not long for this world.--Her distemper
is an inward decay, all at once as it were, from a constitution that
seemed like one of iron; and she is a mere skeleton: you would not
know her, I dare say.
I will see her every day; and she has given me up all her keys, and
accounts, to give to Mr. Longman, who is daily expected, and I hope
will be here soon; for her sister-in-law, she says herself, is a woman
of _this world_, as _she_ has been.
Mr. Peters calling upon me to go with him to visit her, I will break
off here.
Mrs. Jewkes is much as she was; but your faithful steward is come. I
am glad of it--and so is she--Nevertheless I will go every day, and
do all the good I can for the poor woman, according to your charitable
desires.
I thank you for your communication of Lady Davers's letter, I am much
obliged to my lord, and her ladyship; and should have been proud of an
alliance with that noble family, but with all Mr. H.'s good qualities,
as my lady paints them out, and his other advantages, I could not, for
the world, make him my husband. I'll tell you one of my objections, in
confidence, however, (for you are only to _sound_ me, you know:) and
I would not have it mentioned that I have taken any thought about the
matter, because a stronger reason may be given, such a one as my
lord and lady will both allow; which I will communicate to you by and
bye.--My objection arises even from what you intimate, of Mr. H.'s
good humour, and his persuadableness, if I may so call it. Now, were I
of a boisterous temper, and high spirit, such an one as required great
patience in a husband to bear with me, then Mr. H.'s good humour might
have been a consideration with me. But when I have (I pride myself in
the thought) a temper not wholly unlike your own, and such an one as
would not want to contend for superiority with a husband, it is no
recommendation to me, that Mr. H. is a good-humoured gentleman, and
will bear with faults I design not to be guilty of.
But, my dear Mrs. B., my husband must be a man of sense, and give me
reason to think he has a superior judgment to my own, or I shall be
unhappy. He will otherwise do wrong-headed things: I shall be forced
to oppose him in them: he will be tenacious and obstinate, be taught
to talk of prerogative, and to call himself a _man_, without knowing
how to behave as one, and I to despise him, of course; so be deemed
a bad wife, when, I hope, I have qualities that would make me a
tolerable good one, with a man of sense for my husband.
Now you must not think I would dispense with real good-humour in
a man. No, I make it one of my _indispensables_ in a husband. A
good-natured man will put the best constructions on what happens;
but he must have sense to _distinguish_ the best. He will be kind to
little, unwilful, undesigned failings: but he must have judgment to
distinguish what _are_ or are _not so_. But Mr. H.'s good-humour is
softness, as I may call it; and my husband must be such an one, in
short, as I need not be ashamed to be seen with in company; one who,
being my head, must not be beneath all the gentlemen he may happen
to fall in with, and who, every time he is adjusting his mouth for
speech, will give me pain at my heart, and blushes in my face, even
before he speaks.
I could not bear, therefore, that every one we encountered should be
prepared, whenever he offered to open his lips, by their contemptuous
smiles, to expect some weak and silly things from him; and when he
_had_ spoken, that he should, with a booby grin, seem pleased that he
had not disappointed them.
The only recommendatory point in Mr. H. is, that he dresses
exceedingly smart, and is no contemptible figure of a man. But, dear
Madam, you know, that's so much the worse, _when_ the man's talent
is not taciturnity, except before his aunt, or before Mr. B. or you;
_when_ he is not conscious of internal defect, and values himself upon
outward appearance.
As to his attempts upon your Polly, though I don't like him the better
for it, yet it is a fault so wickedly common among men, that when a
woman resolves never to marry, till a quite virtuous man addresses
her, it is, in other words, resolving to die single; so that I
make not this the _chief_ objection; and yet, I would abate in my
expectations of half a dozen other good qualities, rather than that
one of virtue in a husband--But when I reflect upon the figure Mr. H.
made in that affair, I cannot bear him; and, if I may judge of other
coxcombs by him, what wretches are these smart, well-dressing querpo
fellows, many of whom you and I have seen admiring themselves at the
plays and operas!
This is one of my infallible rules, and I know it is yours too; that
he who is taken up with the admiration of his own person, will never
admire a wife's. His delights are centred in himself, and he will not
wish to get out of that exceeding narrow circle; and, in my opinion,
should keep no company but that of taylors, wig-puffers, and
milliners.
But I will run on no further upon this subject; but will tell you a
reason, which you _may_ give to Lady Davers, why her kind intentions
to me cannot be answered; and which she'll take better than what I
_have said_, were she to know it, as I hope you won't let her: and
this is, my papa has had a proposal made to him from a gentleman
you have seen, and have thought polite. It is from Sir W.G. of this
county, who is one of your great admirers, and Mr. B.'s too; and that,
you must suppose, makes me have never the worse opinion of him, or
of his understanding; although it requires no great sagacity or
penetration to see how much you adorn our sex, and human nature too.
Every thing was adjusted between my papa and mamma, and Sir William,
on condition we approved of each other, before I came down; which
I knew not, till I had seen him here four times; and then my papa
surprised me into half an approbation of him: and this, it seems, was
one of the reasons why I was so hurried down from you. I can't say,
but I like the man as well as most I have seen; he is a man of sense
and sobriety, to give him his due, in very easy circumstances, and
much respected by all who know him; which is no bad earnest in a
marriage prospect. But, hitherto, he seems to like me better than I do
him. I don't know how it is; but I often observe, that when any thing
is in our power, we are not half so much taken with it, as we should
be, perhaps, if we were kept in suspense! Why should this be?--But
this I am convinced of, there is no comparison between Sir William and
Mr. Murray.
Now I have named this brother-in-law of mine; what do you think?--Why,
that good couple have had their house on fire three times already.
Once it was put out by Mr. Murray's mother, who lives near them; and
twice Sir Simon has been forced to carry water to extinguish it; for,
truly, Mrs. Murray would go home again to her papa; she would not
live with such a surly wretch: and it was with all his heart; a fair
riddance! for there was no bearing the house with such an ill-natured
wife:--her sister Polly was worth a thousand of her!--I am heartily
sorry for their unhappiness. But could she think every body must bear
with her, and her fretful ways?--They'll jangle on, I reckon, till
they are better used to one another; and when he sees she can't
help it, why he'll bear with her, as husbands generally do with
ill-tempered wives; he'll try to make himself happy abroad, and leave
her to quarrel with her maids, instead of him; for she must have
somebody to vent her spleen upon--poor Nancy!--I am glad to hear of
Mr. Williams's good fortune.
As Mr. Adams knows not Polly's fault, and it was prevented in time,
they may be happy enough. She is a _sly_ girl. I always thought her
so: something so innocent, and yet so artful in her very looks: she is
an odd compound. But these worthy and piously turned young gentlemen,
who have but just quitted the college, are mere novices, as to the
world: indeed they are _above_ it, while _in_ it; they therefore
give themselves little trouble to study it, and so, depending on the
goodness of their own hearts, are more liable to be imposed upon than
people of half their understanding.
I think, since he seems to love her, you do right not to hinder the
girl's fortune. But I wish she may take your advice, in her behaviour
to _him_, at least: for as to her carriage to her neighbours, I
doubt she'll be one of the heads of the parish, presently, in her own
estimation.
'Tis pity, methinks, any worthy man of the cloth should have a wife,
who, by her bad example, should pull down, as fast as he, by a good
one, can build up. This is not the case of Mrs. Peters, however; whose
example I wish was more generally followed by gentlewomen, who are
made so by marrying good clergymen, if they were not so before.
Don't be surprised, if you should hear that poor Jewkes is given
over!--She made a very exemplary--Full of blessings--And more easy
and resigned, than I apprehended she would be. I know you'll shed
a tear for the poor woman:--I can't help it myself. But you will be
pleased that she had so much time given her, and made so good use of
it.
Mr. Peters has been every thing that one would wish one of his
function to be, in his attendance and advice to the poor woman. Mr.
Longman will take proper care of every thing. So, I will only add,
that I am, with the sincerest respect, in hopes to see you soon (for I
have a multitude of things to talk to you about), dear Mrs. B., _your
ever faithful and affectionate_ POLLY DARNFORD.
LETTER LXXXV
_From Mrs. B. to Lady Davers._
MY DEAR LADY DAVERS,
I understand from Miss Darnford, that before she went down from us,
her papa had encouraged a proposal made by Sir W.G. whom you saw,
when your ladyship was a kind visitor in Bedfordshire. We all agreed,
if you remember, that he was a polite and sensible gentleman, and I
find it is countenanced on all hands. Poor Mrs. Jewkes, Madam, as
Miss informs me, has paid her last debt. I hope, through mercy, she
is happy!--Poor, poor woman! But why say I so!--Since, in _that_ case,
she will be richer than an earthly monarch!
Your ladyship was once mentioning a sister of Mrs. Worden's whom you
wished to recommend to some worthy family. Shall I beg of you. Madam,
to oblige Mr. B.'s in this particular? I am sure she must have merit
if your ladyship thinks well of her; and your commands in this, as
well as in every other particular in my power, shall have their due
weight with _your ladyship's obliged sister and humble servant_, P.B.
Just now, dear Madam, Mr. B. tells me I shall have Miss Goodwill
brought me hither to-morrow.
LETTER LXXXVI
_From Lady Davers to Mrs. B. in answer to the preceding._
MY DEAR PAMELA,
I am glad Miss Darnford is likely to be so happy in a husband, as Sir
W.G. will certainly make her. I was afraid that my proposal would not
do with her, had she not had so good a tender. I want _too_, to have
the foolish fellow married--for several reasons; one of which is, he
is continually teasing us to permit him to go up to town, and reside
there for some months, in order that he may _see the world_, as he
calls it. But we are convinced he would _feel_ it, as well as _see_
it, if we give way to his request: for in understanding, dress, and
inconsiderate vanity, he is so exactly cut out and sized for a town
fop, coxcomb, or pretty fellow, that he will undoubtedly fall into all
the vices of those people; and, perhaps, having such expectations as
he has, will be made the property of rakes and sharpers. He
complains that we use him like a child in a go-cart, or a baby with
leading-strings, and that he must not be trusted out of our sight.
'Tis a sad thing, that these _bodies_ will grow up to the stature
of men, when the _minds_ improve not at all with them, but are still
those of boys and children. Yet, he would certainly make a
fond husband: for he has no very bad qualities. But is such a
Narcissus!--But this between ourselves, for his uncle is wrapt up in
the fellow--And why? Because he is good-humoured, that's all. He has
vexed me lately, which makes me write so angrily about him--But 'tis
not worth troubling you with the particulars. I hope Mrs. Jewkes is
happy, as you say!--Poor woman! she seemed to promise for a longer
life! But what shall we say?
Your compliment to me, about my Beck's sister, is a very kind one.
Mrs. Oldham is a sober, grave widow, a little aforehand, in the
world, but not much; has lived well; understands house-hold management
thoroughly; is diligent; and has a turn to serious things, which will
make you like her the better. I'll order Beck and her to wait on you,
and she will satisfy you in every thing as to what you may, or may not
expect of her.
You can't think how kindly I take this motion from you. You forget
nothing that can oblige your friends. Little did I think you would
remember me of (what I had forgotten in a manner) my favourable
opinion and wishes for her expressed so long ago.--But you are what
you are--a dear obliging creature.
Beck is all joy and gratitude upon it, and her sister had rather serve
you than the princess. You need be under no difficulties about terms:
she would serve you for nothing, if you would accept of her service.
I am glad, because it pleases you so much, that Miss Goodwin will be
soon put into your care. It will be happy for the child, and I hope
she will be so dutiful as to give you no pain for your generous
goodness to her. Her mamma has sent me a present of some choice
products of that climate, with acknowledgments of my kindness to Miss.
I will send part of it to you by your new servant; for so I presume to
call her already.
What a naughty sister are you, however, to be so far advanced again as
to be obliged to shorten your intended excursions, and yet not to send
me word of it yourself? Don't you know how much I interest myself in
every thing that makes for my brother's happiness and your's? more
especially in so material a point as is the increase of a family
that it is my boast to be sprung from. Yet I must find this out by
accident, and by other hands!--Is not this very slighting!--But never
do so again, and I'll forgive you now because of the joy it gives me;
who am _your truly affectionate and obliged sister_, B. DAVERS.
I thank you for your book upon the plays you saw. Inclosed is a list
of some others, which I desire you to read, and to oblige me with your
remarks upon them at your leisure; though you may not, perhaps, have
seen them by the time you will favour me with your observations.
LETTER LXXXVII
_From Mrs. B. to Lady Davers_.
MY DEAR LADY DAVERS,
I have a valuable present made me by the same lady; and therefore hope
you will not take it amiss, that, with abundance of thanks, I return
your's by Mrs. Worden, whose sister I much approve of, and thank your
ladyship for your kind recommendation of so worthy a person. We begin
with so much good liking to one another, that I doubt not we shall be
very happy together.
A moving letter, much more valuable to me than the handsome present,
was put into my hands, at the same time with that; of which the
following is a copy:
_From Mrs. Wrightson (formerly Miss Sally Godfrey) to Mrs. B._
"HAPPY, DESERVEDLY HAPPY, DEAR LADY,
"Permit these lines to kiss your hands from one, who, though she is
a stranger to your person, is not so to your character: _that_ has
reached us here, in this remote part of the world, where you have as
many admirers as have heard of you. But I more particularly am bound
to be so, by an obligation which I can never discharge, but by my
daily prayers for you, and the blessings I continually implore upon
you and yours.
"I can write my whole mind _to_ you, though I cannot, from the most
deplorable infelicity, receive _from_ you the wished-for favour of a
few lines in return, written with the same unreservedness: so unhappy
am I, from the effects of an inconsideration and weakness on one hand,
and temptation on the other, which you, at a tender age, most nobly,
for your own honour, and that of your sex, have escaped: whilst I--but
let my tears in these blots speak the rest--as my heart bleeds, and
has constantly bled ever since, at the grievous remembrance--but
believe, however, dear Madam, that 'tis shame and sorrow, and not
pride and impenitence, that make me both to speak out, to so much
purity of life and manners, my own odious weakness.
"Nevertheless, I ought, and I _will_ accuse myself by name. Imagine
then, illustrious lady, truly illustrious for virtues, infinitely
superior to all the advantages of birth and fortune!--Imagine, I
say, that in this letter, you see before you the _once_ guilty,
and therefore, I doubt, _always_ guilty, but _ever penitent_, Sarah
Godfrey; the unhappy, though fond and tender mother of the poor
infant, to whom your generous goodness has, I hear, extended itself,
so as to make you desirous of taking her under your worthy protection:
God for ever bless you for it! prays an indulgent mother, who admires
at an awful distance, that virtue in you, which she could not practise
herself.
"And will you, dearest lady, take under your own immediate protection,
the poor unguilty infant? will you love her, for the sake of her
suffering mamma, whom you know not; for the sake of the gentleman, now
so dear to you, and so worthy of you, as I hear, with pleasure, he
is? And will you, by the best example in the world, give me a moral
assurance, that she will never sink into the fault, the weakness,
the crime (I ought not to scruple to call it so) of her poor
inconsiderate-But you are her mamma _now_: I will not think of a
_guilty_ one therefore. What a joy is it to me, in the midst of my
heavy reflections on my past misconduct, that my beloved Sally can
boast a _virtuous_ and _innocent mamma_, who has withstood the snares
and temptations, that have been so fatal--elsewhere!--and whose
example, and instructions, next to God's grace, will be the strongest
fences to her honour!--Once more I say, and on my knees I write it,
God for ever bless you here, and augment your joys hereafter, for your
generous goodness to my poor, and, till now, _motherless_ infant.
"I hope she, by her duty and obligingness, will do all in her little
power to make you amends, and never give you cause to repent of this
your _unexampled_ kindness to her and to _me_. She cannot, I hope
(except her mother's crime has had an influence upon her, too much
like that of an original stain), be of a sordid, or an ungrateful
nature. And, O my poor Sally! if you _are_, and if ever you fail in
your duty to your new mamma, to whose care and authority I transfer
my _whole_ right in you, remember that you have no more a mamma in me,
nor can you be entitled to my blessing, or my prayers, which I make
now, on that _only_ condition, your implicit obedience to all your new
mamma's commands and directions.
"You may have the curiosity, Madam, to wish to know how I live: for no
doubt you have heard all my sad, sad story!--Know, then, that I am
as happy, as a poor creature can be, who has once so deplorably, so
inexcusably fallen. I have a worthy gentleman for my husband, who
married me as a widow, whose only child by my former was the care of
her papa's friends, particularly of good Lacy Davers and her brother.
Poor unhappy I! to be under such a sad necessity to disguise the
truth!--Mr. Wrightson (whose name I am unworthily honoured by) has
often entreated me to send for the poor child, and to let her be
joined as his--killing thought, that it cannot be!--with two children
I have by him!--Judge, my good lady, how that very generosity, which,
had I been guiltless, would have added to my joys, must wound me
deeper than even ungenerous or unkind usage from him could do! and how
heavy that crime must lie upon me, which turns my very pleasures to
misery, and fixes all the joy I _can_ know, in repentance for my past
misdeeds!--How happy are YOU, Madam, on the contrary; YOU, who have
nothing of this sort to pall, nothing to mingle with your felicities!
who, blessed in an honour untainted, and a conscience that cannot
reproach you, are enabled to enjoy every well deserved comfort, as it
offers itself; and can _improve_ it too, by reflection on _your_ past
conduct! While _mine_, alas! like a winter frost, nips in the bud
every rising satisfaction.
"My husband is rich as well as generous, and very tender of me--Happy,
if I could think _myself_ as deserving as _he_ thinks me!--My
principal comfort, as I hinted, is in my penitence for my past faults;
and that I have a merciful God for my judge, who knows that penitence
to be sincere!
"You may guess, Madam, from what I have said, in what light I _must_
appear here; and if you would favour me with a line or two, in
answer to the letter you have now in your hand, it will be one of the
greatest pleasures I_ can_ receive: a pleasure next to that which I
_have_ received in knowing, that the gentleman you love best, has had
the grace to repent of all his evils; has early seen his errors; and
has thereby, I hope, freed_ two_ persons from being, one day, mutual
accusers of each other; for now I please myself to think, that the
crimes of both may be washed away in the blood of that Saviour God,
whom both have so grievously offended!
"May that God, who has not suffered me to be abandoned entirely to
my own shame, as I deserved, continue to shower down upon you those
blessings, which a virtue like yours may expect from his mercy! May
you long be happy in the possession of all you wish! and late, very
late (for the good of thousands, I wish this!) may you receive the
reward of your piety, your generosity, and your filial, your social,
and conjugal virtues! are the prayers of _your most unworthy admirer,
and obliged humble servant_,
"SARAH WRIGHTSON.
"Mr. Wrightson begs your acceptance of a small present, part of which
can have no value, but what its excelling qualities, for what it is,
will give it at so great a distance as that dear England, which I
once left with so much shame and regret; but with a laudable purpose,
_however_, because I would not incur still _greater_ shame, and of
consequence give cause for still _greater_ regret!"
To this letter, my dear Lady Davers, I have written the following
answer, which Mr. B. will take care to have conveyed to her.
"DEAREST MADAM,
"I embrace with great pleasure the opportunity you have so kindly
given me, of writing to a lady whose person though I have not the
honour to know, yet whose character, and noble qualities, I truly
revere.
"I am infinitely obliged to you. Madam, for the precious trust
you have reposed in me, and the right you make over to me, of your
maternal interest in a child, on whom I set my heart, the moment I saw
her.
"Lady Davers, whose love and tenderness for Miss, as well for her
mamma's sake, as your late worthy spouse's, had, from her kind opinion
of me, consented to grant me this favour: and I was, by Mr. B.'s
leave, in actual possession of my pretty ward about a week before your
kind letter came to my hands.
"As I had been long very solicitous for this favour, judge how welcome
your kind concurrence was: and the rather, as, had I known, that a
letter from you was on the way to me, I should have feared you would
insist upon depriving the surviving friends of her dear papa, of the
pleasure they take in the dear child. Indeed, Madam, I believe we
should one and all have joined to disobey you, had _that_ been the
case; and it is a great satisfaction to us, that we are not under so
hard a necessity, as to dispute with a tender mamma the possession of
her own child.
"Assure yourself, worthiest Madam, of a care and tenderness in me to
the dear child truly maternal, and answerable, as much as in my power,
to the trust you repose in me. The little boy, that God has given me,
shall not be more dear to me than my sweet Miss Goodwin shall be; and
my care, by God's grace, shall extend to her _future_ as well as to
her _present_ prospects, that she may be worthy of that piety, and
_truly_ religious excellence, which I admire in your character.
"We all rejoice, dear Madam, in the account you give of your present
happiness. It was impossible that God Almighty should desert a lady
so exemplarily deserving; and he certainly conducted you in your
resolutions to abandon every thing that you loved in England, after
the loss of your dear spouse, because it seems to have been his
intention that you should reward the merit of Mr. Wrightson, and meet
with your own reward in so doing.
"Miss is very fond of my little Billy: she is a charming child, is
easy and genteel in her shape, and very pretty; she dances finely,
has a sweet air, and is improving every day in music; works with her
needle, and reads admirably for her years; and takes a delight in
both, which gives me no small pleasure. But she is not very forward in
her penmanship, as you will see by what follows: the inditing too is
her own; but in that, and the writing, she took a good deal of time,
on a separate paper.
"DEAREST DEAR MAMMA,
"Your Sally is full of joy, to have any commands from her honoured
mamma. I promise to follow all your directions. Indeed, and upon my
word, I will. You please me mightily in giving me so dear a new mamma
here. Now I know indeed I have a mamma, and I will love and obey her,
as if she was you your own self. Indeed I will. You must always bless
me, because I will be always good. I hope you will believe me, because
I am above telling fibs. I am, my honoured mamma on the other side
of the water, and ever will be, as if you was here, _your dutiful
daughter_,
"SALLY GOODWIN."
"Miss (permit me, dear Madam, to subjoin) is a very good tempered
child, easy to be persuaded, and I hope loves me dearly; and I will
endeavour to make her love me better and better; for on that love will
depend the regard which, I hope, she will pay to all I shall say and
do for her good.
"Repeating my acknowledgements for the kind trust you repose in me,
and with thanks for the valuable present you have sent me, we all here
join in respects to worthy Mr. Wrightson, and in wishing you. Madam,
a continuance and increase of worldly felicity; and I particularly
beg leave to assure you, that I am, and ever will be, with the highest
respect and gratitude, though personally unknown, dearest Madam, _the
affectionate admirer of your piety, and your obliged humble servant_,
"P.B."
Your ladyship will see how I was circumscribed and limited; otherwise
I would have said (what I have mentioned more than once), how I admire
and honour her for her penitence, and for that noble resolution, which
enabled her to do what thousands could not have had the heart to do,
abandon her country, her relations, friends, baby, and all that was
dear to her, as well as the seducer, whom she too well loved, and
hazard the sea, the dangers of pirates, and possibly of other wicked
attempters of the mischievous sex, in a world she knew nothing
of, among strangers; and all to avoid repeating a sin she had been
unhappily drawn into; and for which she still abhors herself.
Must not such a lady as this, dear Madam, have as much merit as many
even of those, who, having not had her temptations, have not fallen?
This, at least, one may aver, that next to not committing an error, is
the resolution to retrieve it all that one may, to repent of it, and
studiously to avoid the repetition. But who, besides this excellent
Mrs. Wrightson, having so fallen, and being still so ardently
solicited and pursued, (and flattered, perhaps, by fond hopes, that
her spoiler would one day do her all the justice he _could_--for
who can do complete justice to a woman he has robbed of her
honour?)--could resolve as she resolved, and act as she acted? Miss
Goodwin is a sweet child; but, permit me to say, has a little of
her papa's spirit; hasty, yet generous and acknowledging when she is
convinced of her fault; a little haughtier and prouder than I wish her
to be; but in every thing else deserves the character I give of her to
her mamma.
She is very fond of fine clothes, is a little too lively to the
servants.--Told me once, when I took notice that softness and mildness
of speech became a young lady, that they were _but_ servants! and she
could say no more than, "Pray," and "I desire," and "I wish you'd be
so kind," to her uncle or to me.
I told her, that good servants deserved any civil distinctions; and
that so long as they were ready to oblige in every thing, by a kind
word, it would be very wrong to give them imperative ones, which could
serve for no other end but to convince observers of the haughtiness
of one's own temper; and looked, as if one would question their
compliance with our wills, unless we would exact it with an high hand;
which might cast a slur upon the command we gave, as if we thought it
was hardly so reasonable as otherwise to obtain their observation of
it.
"Besides, my dear," said I, "you don't consider, that if you speak
as haughtily and commandingly to them on common, as on extraordinary
occasions, you weaken your own authority, if even you should be
permitted to have any, and they'll regard you no more in the one case
than in the other."
She takes great notice of what I say, and when her little proud heart
is subdued by reasonings she cannot answer, she will sit as if she
were studying what to say, to come off as flying as she can, and as
the case requires, I let her go off easily, or push the little dear to
her last refuge, and make her quit her post, and yield up her spirit a
captive to Reason and Discretion: two excellent commanders, with whom,
I tell her, I must bring her to be intimately acquainted.
Yet, after all, till I can be sure that I can inspire her with the
love of virtue, for its _own_ sake, I will rather try to conduct her
spirit to proper ends, than endeavour totally to subdue it; being
sensible that our passions are given us for excellent ends, and that
they may, by a proper direction, be made subservient to the noblest
purposes.
I tell her sometimes, there may be a decent pride in humility, and
that it is very possible for a young lady to behave with so much
_true_ dignity, as shall command respect by the turn of her eye,
sooner than by asperity of speech; that she may depend upon it, the
person, who is always finding faults, frequently causes them; and that
it is no glory to be better born than servants, if she is not better
behaved too.
Besides, I tell her humility is a grace that shines in a _high_
condition, but cannot equally in a _low_ one; because that is already
too much humbled, perhaps: and that, though there is a censure lies
against being _poor and proud_, yet I would rather forgive pride in a
poor body, than in a rich: for in the rich it is insult and arrogance,
proceeding from their high condition; but in the poor it may be a
defensative against dishonesty, and may shew a natural bravery
of mind, perhaps, if properly directed, and manifested on right
occasions, that the frowns of fortune cannot depress.
She says she hears every day things from me, which her governess never
taught her.
That may very well be, I tell her, because her governess has _many_
young ladies to take care of: I but _one_; and that I want to make her
wise and prudent betimes, that she may be an example to other Misses;
and that governesses and mammas shall say to their Misses, "When will
you be like Miss Goodwin? Do you ever hear Miss Goodwin say a naughty
word? Would Miss Goodwin, think you, have done so or so?"
She threw her arms about my neck, on one such occasion as this; "Oh,"
said she, "what a charming mamma have I got! I will be in every thing
as like you, as ever I can!--and then you will love me, and so will my
uncle, and so will every body else."
Mr. B. whom now-and-then, she says, she loves as well as if he was her
own papa, sees with pleasure how we go on. But she tells me, I must
not have any daughter but her, and is very jealous on the occasion
about which your ladyship so kindly reproaches me.
There is a pride, you know, Madam, in some of our sex, that serves to
useful purposes, is a good defence against improper matches, and mean
actions; and is not wholly to be subdued, for that reason; for, though
it is not _virtue_, yet, if it can be virtue's _substitute_, in high,
rash, and inconsiderate minds, it; may turn to good account. So I
will not quite discourage my dear pupil neither, till I see what
discretion, and riper years, may add to her distinguishing faculty.
For, as some have no notion of pride, separate from imperiousness and
arrogance, so others know no difference between humility and meanness.
There is a golden mean in every thing; and if it please God to spare
us both, I will endeavour to point her passions, and such even of
those foibles, which seem too deeply rooted to be soon eradicated,
to useful purposes; choosing to imitate physicians, who, in certain
chronical illnesses, as I have read in Lord Bacon, rather proceed by
palliatives, than by harsh extirpatives, which, through the resistance
given to them by the constitution, may create such ferments in it, as
may destroy that health it was their intention to establish.
But whither am I running?--Your ladyship, I hope, will excuse this
parading freedom of my pen: for though these notions are well enough
with regard to Miss Goodwin, they must be very impertinent to a
lady, who can so much better instruct Miss's tutoress than that vain
tutoress can her pupil. And, therefore, with my humblest respects to
my good Lord Davers, and your noble neighbours, and to Mr. H. I hasten
to conclude myself _your ladyship's obliged sister, and obedient
servant_,
P.B.
Your Billy, Madam, is a charming dear!--I long to have you see him.
He sends you a kiss upon this paper. You'll see it stained, just here.
The charmer has cut two teeth, and is about more: so you'll excuse the
dear, pretty, slabbering boy. Miss Goodwin is ready to eat him
with love: and Mr. B. is fonder and fonder of us all: and then your
ladyship, and my good Lord Davers love us too. O, Madam, what a
blessed creature am I!
Miss Goodwin begs I'll send her duty to her _noble_ uncle and aunt;
that's her just distinction always, when she speaks of you both. She
asked me, pretty dear, just now, If I think there is such a happy girl
in the world as she is? I tell her, God always blesses good Misses,
and makes them happier and happier.
LETTER LXXXVIII
MY DEAR LADY DAVERS,
I have three marriages to acquaint you with, in one letter. In the
first place, Sir W.G. has sent, by the particular desire of my dear
friend, that he was made one of the happiest men in England, on the
18th past; and so I have no longer my Miss Darnford to boast of. I
have a very good opinion of the gentleman; but if he be but half so
good a husband as she will make a wife, they will be exceedingly happy
in one another.
Mr. Williams's marriage to a kinswoman of his noble patron (as you
have heard was in treaty) is the next; and there is great reason to
believe, from the character of both, that they will likewise do credit
to the state.
The third is Mr. Adams and Polly Barlow; and I wish them, for both
their sakes, as happy as either of the former. They are set out to his
living, highly pleased with one another; and I hope will have reason
to continue so to be.
As to the first, I did not indeed think the affair would have been so
soon concluded; and Miss kept it off so long, as I understood, that
her papa was angry with her: and, indeed, as the gentleman's family,
circumstances, and character, were such, that there could lie no
objection against him, I think it would have been wrong to have
delayed it.
I should have written to your ladyship before; but have been favoured
with Mr. B.'s company into Kent, on a visit to my good mother, who was
indisposed. We tarried there a week, and left both my dear parents, to
my thankful satisfaction, in as good health as ever they were in their
lives.
Mrs. Judy Swynford, or Miss Swynford (as she refuses not being called,
now and then), has been with us for this week past; and she expects
her brother, Sir Jacob, to fetch her away in about a week hence.
It does not become me to write the least word that may appear
disrespectful of any person related to your ladyship and Mr. B.
Otherwise I should say, that the B----s and the S----s are directly
the opposites of one another. But yet, as she never saw your ladyship
but once, you will forgive me to mention a word or two about her,
because she is a character that is in a manner new to me.
She is a maiden lady, as you know, and though she will not part with
the green leaf from her hand, one sees by the grey-goose down on her
brows and her head, that she cannot be less than fifty-five. But so
much pains does she take, by powder, to have never a dark hair in her
head, because she has one half of them white, that I am sorry to see,
what is a subject for reverence, should be deemed, by the good lady,
matter of concealment.
She is often seemingly reproaching herself, that she is an _old maid_,
and an _old woman_; but it is very discernible, that she expects
a compliment, that she is _not so_, every time she is so free with
herself: and if nobody makes her one, she will say something of that
sort in her own behalf.
She takes particular care, that of all the public transactions which
happen to be talked of, her memory will never carry her back above
thirty years! and then it is--"About thirty years ago; when I was a
girl," or "when I was in hanging sleeves;" and so she makes herself,
for twenty years of her life, a very useless and insignificant person.
If her teeth, which, for her age, are very good, though not over white
(and which, by her care of them, she seems to look upon as the last
remains of her better days), would but fail, it might help her to a
conviction, that would set her ten years forwarder at least. But, poor
lady, she is so _young_, in spite of her wrinkles, that I am really
concerned for her affectation; because it exposes her to the remarks
and ridicule of the gentlemen, and gives one pain for her.
Surely, these ladies don't act prudently at all; since, for every year
Mrs. Judy would take from her age, her censurers add two to it; and,
behind her back, make her going on towards seventy; whereas, if she
would lay claim to her _reverentials_, as I may say, and not try to
conceal her age, she would have many compliments for looking so well
at her years.--And many a young body would hope to be the better for
her advice and experience, who now are afraid of affronting her, if
they suppose she has lived much longer in the world than themselves.
Then she looks back to the years she owns, when more flippant ladies,
at the laughing time of her life, delight to be frolic: she tries to
sing too, although, if ever she had a voice, she has outlived it; and
her songs are of so antique a date, that they would betray her; only,
as she says, they were learnt her by her grandmother, who was a fine
lady at the Restoration. She will join in a dance; and though her
limbs move not so pliantly as might be expected of a lady no older
than she would be thought, and whose dancing-days are not entirely
over, yet that was owing to a fall from her horse some years ago,
which, she doubts, she shall never recover, though she finds she grows
better and better, _every year_.
Thus she loses the respect, the reverence, she might receive, were it
not for this miserable affectation; takes pains, by aping youth, to
make herself unworthy of her years, and is content to be thought less
discreet than she might otherwise be deemed, for fear she should be
imagined older if she appeared wiser.
What a sad thing is this, Madam!--What a mistaken conduct! We pray to
live to old age; and it is promised as a blessing, and as a reward for
the performance of certain duties; and yet, when we come to it, we had
rather be thought as foolish as youth, than to be deemed wise, and in
possession of it. And so we shew how little we deserve what we have
been so long coveting; and yet covet on: for what? Why, to be more and
more ashamed, and more and more unworthy of that we covet!
How fantastic a character is this!-Well may irreverent, unthinking
youth despise, instead of revere, the hoary head which the wearer is
so much ashamed of. The lady boasts a relationship to you, and Mr.
B. and, I think, I am very bold. But my reverence for years, and the
disgust I have to see anybody behave unworthy of them, makes me take
the greater liberty: which, however, I shall wish I had not taken, if
it meets not with that allowance, which I have always had from your
ladyship in what I write.
God knows whether ever I may enjoy the blessing I so much revere in
others. For now my heavy time approaches. But I was so apprehensive
before, and so troublesome to my best friends, with my vapourish
fears, that now (with a perfect resignation to the Divine Will) I will
only add, that I am _your ladyship's most obliged sister and servant_,
P.B.
My dear Billy, and Miss Goodwin, improve every day, and are all I can
desire or expect them to be. Could Miss's poor mamma be here with a
wish, and back again, how much would she be delighted with one of our
afternoon conferences; our Sunday employments especially!--And let
me add, that I am very happy in another young gentleman of the dean's
recommending, instead of Mr. Adams.
LETTER LXXXIX
MY DEAREST LADY,
I am once more, blessed be God for all his mercies to me! enabled,
on my upsitting, to thank you, and my noble lord, for all your kind
solicitudes for my welfare. Billy every day improves. Miss is all I
wish her to be, and my second dear boy continues to be as lovely and
as fine a baby as your ladyship was pleased to think him; and their
papa, the best of husbands!
I am glad to hear Lady Betty is likely to be so happy. Mr. B. says,
her noble admirer is as worthy a gentleman as any in the peerage; and
I beg of you to congratulate the dear lady, and her noble parents,
in my name, if I should be at a distance, when the nuptials are
celebrated.
I have had the honour of a visit from my lady, the Countess Dowager,
on occasion of her leaving the kingdom for a year or two, for which
space she designs to reside in Italy, principally at Naples or
Florence; a design she took up some time ago, but which it seems she
could not conveniently put into execution till now.
Mr. B. was abroad when her ladyship came, and I expected him not till
the next day. She sent her gentleman, the preceding evening, to let me
know that business had brought her as far as Wooburn; and if it would
not be unacceptable, she would pay her respects to me at breakfast,
the next morning, being speedily to leave England. I returned, that I
should be very proud of that honour. And about ten her ladyship came.
She was exceedingly fond of my two boys, the little man, and the
pretty baby, as she called them; and I had very different emotions
from the expression of her love to Billy, and her visit to me, from
what I had once before. She was sorry, she said, Mr. B. was abroad;
though her business was principally with me. "For, Mrs. B.," said she,
"I come to tell you all that passed between Mr. B. and myself, that
you may not think worse of either of us, than we deserve; and I could
not leave England till I had waited on you for this purpose; and yet,
perhaps, from the distance of time, you'll think it needless now.
And, indeed, I should have waited on you before, to have cleared up my
character with you, had I thought I should have been so long kept on
this side of the water."--I said, I was very sorry I had ever been
uneasy, when I had two persons of so much honour--"Nay," said she,
interrupting me, "you have no need to apologize; things looked bad
enough, as they were presented to you, to justify greater uneasiness
than you expressed."
She asked me, who that pretty genteel Miss was?--I said, a relation of
Lord Davers, who was entrusted lately to my care. "Then, Miss," said
her ladyship, and kissed her, "you are very happy."
Believing the Countess was desirous of being alone with me, I said,
"My dear Miss Goodwin, won't you go to your little nursery, my love?"
for so she calls my last blessing--"You'd be sorry the baby should cry
for you." For she was so taken with the charming lady, that she was
loth to leave us--But, on my saying this, withdrew.
When we were alone, the Countess began her story, with a sweet
confusion, which added to her loveliness. She said she would be
brief, because she should exact all my attention, and not suffer me
to interrupt her till she had done. She began with acknowledging, that
she thought, when she first saw Mr. B. at the masquerade, that he was
the finest gentleman she had ever seen; that the allowed freedoms of
the place had made her take liberties in following him, and engaging
him wherever he went. She blamed him very freely for passing for a
single man; for that, she said, since she had so splendid a fortune
of her own, was all she was solicitous about; having never, as she
confessed, seen a man she could like so well; her former marriage
having been in some sort forced upon her, at an age when she knew not
how to distinguish; and that she was very loth to believe him married,
even when she had no reason to doubt it. "Yet this I must say," said
she, "I never heard a man, when he owned he was married, express
himself with more affectionate regard and fondness than he did of
you; which made me long to see you; for I had a great opinion of those
personal advantages which every one flattered me with; and was very
unwilling to yield the palm of beauty to you.
"I believe you will censure me, Mrs. B., for permitting his visits
after I knew he was married. To be sure, that was a thoughtless, and
a faulty part of my conduct. But the world's saucy censures, and
my friends' indiscreet interposals, incensed me; and, knowing the
uprightness of my own heart, I was resolved to disgrace both, when I
found they could not think worse of me than they did.
"I am naturally of a high spirit, impatient of contradiction, always
gave myself freedoms, for which, satisfied with my own innocence, I
thought myself above being accountable to any body--And then Mr. B.
has such noble sentiments, a courage and fearlessness, which I saw
on more occasions than one, that all ladies who know the weakness of
their own sex, and how much they want the protection of the brave,
are taken with. Then his personal address was so peculiarly
distinguishing, that having an opinion of his honour, I was
embarrassed greatly how to deny myself his conversation; although,
you'll pardon me, Mrs. B., I began to be afraid that my reputation
might suffer in the world's opinion for the indulgence.
"Then, when I had resolved, as I did several times, to see him no
more, some unforeseen accident threw him in my way again, at one
entertainment or other; for I love balls and concerts, and public
diversions, perhaps, better than I ought; and then I had all my
resolves to begin again. Yet this I can truly say, whatever his views
were, I never heard from him the least indecent expression, nor saw in
his behaviour to me much to apprehend; saving, I began to fear, that
by his insinuating address, and noble manner, I should be too much in
his power, and too little in my own, if I went on so little doubting,
and so little alarmed, if ever he should avow dishonourable designs.
"I had often lamented, that our sex were prohibited, by the designs
of the other upon their honour, and by the world's censures, from
conversing with the same ease and freedom with gentlemen, as with one
another. And when once I asked myself, to what this conversation
might tend at last? and where the pleasure each seemed to take in the
other's, might possibly end? I resolved to break it off; and told
him my resolution next time I saw him. But he stopped my mouth with a
romantic notion, as I since think it, (though a sorry plea will have
weight in favour of a proposal, to which one has no aversion) of
Platonic love; and we had an intercourse by letters, to the number of
six or eight, I believe, on that and other subjects.
"Yet all this time, I was the less apprehensive, because he always
spoke so tenderly, and even with delight, whenever he mentioned
his lady; and I could not find, that you were at all alarmed at our
acquaintance: for I never scrupled to send my letters, by my own
livery, to your house, sealed with my own seal. At last, indeed, he
began to tell me, that from the sweetest and evenest temper in the
world, you seemed to be leaning towards melancholy, were always in
tears, or shewed you had been weeping, when he came home; and that you
did not make his return to you so agreeable as he used to find it.
"I asked if it were not owing to some alteration in his own temper?
If you might not be uneasy at our acquaintance, and at his frequent
absence from you, and the like? He answered, No; that you were above
disguises, were of a noble and frank nature, and would have hinted it
to him, if you had. This, however, when I began to think seriously of
the matter, gave me but little satisfaction; and I was more and
more convinced, that my honour required it of me, to break off this
intimacy.
"And although I permitted Mr. B. to go with me to Tunbridge, when I
went to take a house there, yet I was uneasy, as he saw. And, indeed,
so was he, though he tarried a day or two longer than he designed, on
account of a little excursion my sister and her lord, and he and I,
made into Sussex, to see an estate I thought of purchasing; for he was
so good as to look into my affairs, and has put them upon an admirable
establishment.
"His uneasiness, I found, was upon your account, and he sent you a
letter to excuse himself for not waiting on you on Saturday, and to
say, he would dine with you on Monday. And I remember when I
said, 'Mr. B., you seem to be chagrined at something; you are more
thoughtful than usual: 'his answer was, 'Madam, you are right, Mrs.
B. and I have had a little misunderstanding. She is so solemn, and so
melancholy of late, I fear it will be no difficult matter to put her
out of her right mind: and I love her so well, that then I should
hardly keep my own.'
"'Is there no reason, think you,' said I, 'to imagine that your
acquaintance with me gives her uneasiness? You know, Mr. B., how that
villain T.' (a man," said she, "whose insolent address I rejected with
the contempt it deserved) 'has slandered us. How know you, but he has
found a way to your wife's ear, as he has done to my uncle's, and to
all my friends'? And if so, it is best for us both to discontinue a
friendship, that may be attended with disagreeable consequences.'
"He said, he should find it out on his return. 'And will you,' said I,
'ingenuously acquaint me with the issue of your inquiries? for,' added
I, 'I never beheld a countenance, in so young a lady, that seemed to
mean more than Mrs. B.'s, when I saw her in town; and notwithstanding
her prudence I could see a reserve and thoughtfulness in it, that, if
it was not natural to it, must indicate too much.'
"He wrote to me, in a very moving letter, the issue of your
conference, and referred to some papers of your's, that he would shew
me, as soon as he could procure them, they being of your own hands;
and let me know that T. was the accuser, as I had suspected.
"In brief, Madam, when you went down into Kent, he read to me
some part of your account to Lady Davers, of your informant and
information; your apprehensions; your prudence; your affection for
him; the reason of your melancholy; and, to all appearance, reason
enough you had, especially from the letter of Thomasine Fuller,
which was one of T.'s vile forgeries: for though we had often, for
argument's sake, talked of polygamy (he arguing for it, I against it),
yet had not Mr. B. dared, nor was he inclined, I verily believe, to
propose any such thing to me: no, Madam, I was not so much abandoned
to a sense of honour, as to give reason for any one, but my
impertinent and foolish uncle, to impute such a folly to me; and he
had so behaved to me, that I cared not what _he_ thought.
"Then, what he read to me, here and there, as he pleased, gave me
reason to admire you for your generous opinion of one you had so much
seeming cause to be afraid of: he told me his apprehensions, from your
uncommon manner, that your mind was in some degree affected, and your
strange proposal of parting with a husband every one knows you so
dearly love: and we agreed to forbear seeing each other, and all
manner of correspondence, except by letter, for one month, till some
of my affairs were settled, which had been in great disorder, and were
in his kind management then; and I had not one relation, whom I cared
to trouble with them, because of their treatment of me on Mr. B.'s
account. And this, I told him, should not be neither, but through your
hands, and with your consent.
"And thus, Madam," said her ladyship, "have I told you the naked truth
of the whole affair. I have seen Mr. B. very seldom since: and when
I have, it has been either at a horse-race, in the open field, or at
some public diversion, by accident, where only distant civilities have
passed between us.
"I respect him greatly; you must allow me to say that. Except in the
article of permitting me to believe, for some time, that he was a
single gentleman, a fault he cannot be excused for, and which made me
heartily quarrel with him, when I first knew it, he has behaved to
me with so much generosity and honour, that I could have wished I
had been of his sex, since he had a lady so much more deserving than
myself; and then, had he had the same esteem for me, there never would
have been a more perfect friendship. I am now going," continued she,
"to embark for France, and shall pass a year or two in Italy; and then
I shall, I hope, return as solid, as grave, as circumspect, though not
so wise, as Mrs. B."
Thus the Countess concluded her narrative: I said, I was greatly
obliged to her for the honour of this visit, and the kind and
considerate occasion of it: but that Mr. B. had made me entirely happy
in every particular, and had done her ladyship the justice she so well
deserved, having taken upon himself the blame of passing as a single
man at his first acquaintance with her.
I added, that I could hope her ladyship might be prevented, by some
happy man, from leaving a kingdom, to which she was so great an
ornament, as well by her birth, her quality and fortune, as by her
perfections of person and mind.
She said, she had not been the happiest of her sex in her former
marriage: although nobody, her youth considered, thought her a bad
wife; and her lord's goodness to her, at his death, had demonstrated
his own favourable opinion of her by deeds, as he had done by words
upon all occasions: but that she was yet young; a little too gay and
unsettled: and had her head turned towards France and Italy, having
passed some time in those countries, which she thought of with
pleasure, though then only twelve or thirteen: that for this reason,
and having been on a late occasion still more unsettled (looking down
with blushes, which often overspread her face, as she talked), she had
refused some offers, not despicable: that indeed Lord C. threatened to
follow her to Italy, in hopes of meeting better success there, than
he had met with here: but if he did, though she would make no
resolutions, she might be too much offended with him, to give him
reason to boast of his journey; and this the rather, as she believed
he had once entertained no very honourable notions of her friendship
for Mr. B.
She wished to see Mr. B. and to take leave of him, but not out of my
company, she was pleased to say.--"Your ladyship's consideration for
me," replied I, "lays me under high obligation; but indeed, Madam,
there is no occasion for it, from any diffidences I have in your's or
Mr. B.'s honour. And if you will give me the pleasure of knowing when
it will be most acceptable, I will beg of Mr. B. to oblige me with his
company to return this favour, the first visit I make abroad."
"You are very kind, Mrs. B.," said she: "but I think to go to
Tunbridge for a fortnight, when I have disposed of every thing for
my embarkation, and so set out from thence. And if you should then be
both in Kent, I should be glad to take you at your word."
To be sure, I said, Mr. B. at least, would attend her ladyship there,
if any thing should happen to deprive me of that honour.
"You are very obliging," said she, "I take great concern to myself,
for having caused you a moment's uneasiness formerly: but I must now
try to be circumspect, in order to retrieve my character, which has
been so basely traduced by that presumptuous fellow Turner, who hoped,
I suppose, by that means, to bring me down to his level."
Her ladyship would not be prevailed upon to stay dinner; and, saying
she would be at Wooburn all the next day, took a very tender leave of
me, wishing me all manner of happiness, as I did her.
Mr. B. came home in the evening, and next morning rode to Wooburn, to
pay his respects to the Countess, and came back in the evening.
Thus happily, and to the satisfaction of all three, as I hope, ended
this perplexing affair.
Mr. B. asks me how I relish Mr. Locke's _Treatise on Education_?
which he put into my hands some time since, as I told your ladyship. I
answered, Very well; and I thought it an excellent piece in the main.
"I'll tell you," said he, "what you shall do. You have not shewed me
any thing you have written for a good while. I could wish you to fill
up your leisure-time with your observations on that treatise, that I
may know what you can object to it; for you say _in the main_, which
shews, that you do not entirely approve of every part of it."
"But will not that be presumptuous, Sir?"
"I admire Mr. Locke," replied he; "and I admire my Pamela. I have
no doubt of his excellencies, but I want to know the sentiments of a
young mother, as well as of a learned gentleman, upon the subject of
education; because I have heard several ladies censure some part of
his regimen, when I am convinced, that the fault lies in their own
over-great fondness for their children."
"As to myself, Sir, who, in the early part of my life, have not been
brought up too tenderly, you will hardly meet with any objection to
the part which I imagine you have heard most objected to by ladies who
have been more indulgently treated in their first stage. But there
are a few other things that want clearing up to my understanding; but,
which, however, may be the fault of that."
"Then, my dear," said he, "suppose me at a distance from you, cannot
you give me your remarks in the same manner, as if you were writing to
Lady Davers, or to Miss Darnford, that was?"
"Yes, Sir, depending on your kind favour to me, I believe I could."
"Do then; and the less restraint you write with, the more I shall be
pleased with it. But I confine you not to time or place. We will make
our excursions as I once proposed; and do you write to me now-and-then
upon the subject; for the places and remarkables you will see, will be
new only to yourself; nor will either of those ladies expect from
you an itinerary, or a particular description of countries, which are
better described by authors who have made it their business to treat
upon those subjects. By this means, you will be usefully employed in
your own way, which may turn to good account to us both, and to the
dear children, which it may please God to bestow upon us."
"You don't expect, Sir, any thing regular, or digested from me."
"I don't, my dear. Let your fancy and your judgment be both employed,
and I require no method; for I know, in your easy, natural way, that
would be a confinement, which would cramp your genius, and give what
you write a stiff, formal air, that I might expect in a pedagogue, but
not in my Pamela."
"Well, but, Sir, although I may write nothing to the purpose, yet if
Lady Davers desires it, you will allow me to transmit what I shall
write to her, when you have perused it yourself? For your good sister
is so indulgent to my scribble, she will expect to be always hearing
from me; and this way I shall oblige her ladyship while I obey her
brother."
"With all my heart," he was pleased to say.
So, my lady, I shall now-and-then pay my respects to you in the
writing way, though I must address myself, it seems, to my dearest Mr.
B.; and I hope to be received on these my own terms, since they are
your brother's also, and, at the same time, such as will convince you,
how much I wish to approve myself, to the best of my poor ability,
_your ladyship's most obliged sister, and humble servant_,
P.B.
LETTER XC
My dearest Mr. B.,
I have been considering of your commands, in relation to Mr. Locke's
book, and since you are pleased to give me time to acquit myself
of the task, I shall beg to include in a little book my humble
sentiments, as I did to Lady Davers, in that I shewed you in relation
to the plays I had seen. And since you confine me not to time or
place, I may be three or four years in completing it, because I shall
reserve some subjects to my further experience in children's ways and
tempers, and in order to benefit myself by the good instructions I
shall receive from your delightful conversation, in that compass of
time, if God spare us to one another: and then it will, moreover, be
still worthier of the perusal of the most honoured and best beloved of
all my correspondents, much honoured and beloved as they all are.
I must needs say, my dear Mr. B., that this is a subject to which
I was always particularly attentive; and among the charities your
bountiful heart permits me to dispense to the poor and indigent,
I have had always a watchful eye upon the children of such, and
endeavoured, by questions put to them, as well as to their parents,
to inform myself of their little ways and tempers, and how nature
delights to work in different minds, and how it might be pointed to
their good, according to their respective capacities; and I have for
this purpose erected, with your approbation, a little school of seven
or eight children, among which is four in the earliest stages, when
they can but just speak, and call for what they want and love: and I
am not a little pleased to observe, when I visit them in their school
time that principles of goodness and virtue may be instilled into
their little hearts much earlier than is usually imagined. And why
should it not be so? for may not the child, that can tell its wants,
and make known its inclination, be easily made sensible of _yours_,
and what you expect from it, provided you take a proper method? For,
sometimes, signs and tokens (and even looks), uniformly practised,
will do as well as words; as we see in such of the young of the brute
creation as we are disposed to domesticate, and to teach to practise
those little tricks, of which the aptness or docility of their natures
makes them capable.
But yet, dearest Sir, I know not enough of the next stage, the
_maturer_ part of life, to touch upon that as I wish to do: and yet
there is a natural connection and progression from the one to the
other: and I would not be thought a vain creature, who believes
herself equal to _every_ subject, because she is indulged with the
good opinion of her friends, in a _few_, which are supposed to be
within her own capacity.
For, I humbly conceive, that it is no small point of wisdom to know,
and not to mistake, one's own talents: and for this reason, permit
me, Sir, to suspend, till I am better qualified for it, even my own
proposal of beginning my little book; and, in the mean time, to touch
upon a few places of the admirable author, that seem to me to warrant
another way of thinking, than that which he prescribes.
But, dear Sir, let me premise, that all that your dear babies can
demand of my attention for some time to come, is their health; and God
has blessed them with such sound limbs, and, to all appearances, good
constitutions, that I have very little to do, but to pray for them
every time I pray for their dear papa; and that is hourly; and yet
not so often as you confer upon me benefits and favours, and new
obligations, even to the prevention of all my wishes, were I to sit
down and study for what must be the next.
As to this point of _health_, Mr. Locke gives these plain and easy to
be observed rules.
He prescribes first, _plenty of open air_. That this is right, the
infant will inform one, who, though it cannot speak, will make signs
to be carried abroad, and is never so well pleased, as when enjoying
the open and free air; for which reason I conclude, that this is one
of those natural pointings, as I may say, that are implanted in every
creature, teaching it to choose its good, and to avoid its evil.
_Sleep_ is the next, which he enjoins to be indulged to its utmost
extent: an admirable rule, as I humbly conceive; since sound sleep is
one of the greatest nourishers of nature, both to the once young
and to the _twice_ young, if I may use the phrase. And I the rather
approve of this rule, because it keeps the nurse unemployed, who
otherwise may be doing it the greatest mischief, by cramming and
stuffing its little bowels, till ready to burst. And, if I am right,
what an inconsiderate and foolish, as well as pernicious practice it
is, for a nurse to _waken_ the child from its nourishing sleep, for
fear it should suffer by hunger, and instantly pop the breast into
its pretty mouth, or provoke it to feed, when it has no inclination to
either, and for want of digestion, must have its nutriment turned to
repletion, and bad humours!
Excuse me, dear Sir, these lesser particulars. Mr. Locke begins with
them; and surely they may be allowed in a young _mamma_, writing
(however it be to a gentleman of genius and learning) to a _papa_, on
a subject, that in its lowest beginnings ought not to be unattended to
by either. I will therefore pursue my excellent author without farther
apology, since you have put his work into my hands.
The next thing, then, which he prescribes, is _plain diet_. This
speaks for itself, for the baby can have no corrupt taste to gratify:
all is pure, as out of the hand of Nature; and what is not plain and
natural, must vitiate and offend.
Then, _no wine_, or _strong drink_. Equally just; and for the same
reasons.
_Little_ or _no physic_. Undoubtedly right. For the _use_ of
physic, without necessity, or by way of _precaution_, as some call
it, begets the _necessity_ of physic; and the very _word_ supposes
_distemper_ or _disorder_; and where there is none, would a parent
beget one; or, by frequent use, render the salutary force of medicine
ineffectual, when it was wanted?
Next, he forbids _too warm_ and _too strait clothing_. This is just as
I wish it. How often has my heart ached, when I have seen poor babies
rolled and swathed, ten or a dozen times round; then blanket upon
blanket, mantle upon that; its little neck pinned down to one posture;
its head, more than it frequently needs, triple-crowned like a young
pope, with covering upon covering; its legs and arms, as if to prevent
that kindly stretching, which we rather ought to promote, when it is
in health, and which is only aiming at growth and enlargement, the
former bundled up, the latter pinned down; and how the poor thing lies
on the nurse's lap, a miserable little pinioned captive, goggling
and staring with its eyes, the only organ it has at liberty, as if
supplicating for freedom to its fettered limbs! Nor has it any comfort
at all, till with a sigh or two, like a dying deer, it drops asleep;
and happy then will it be till the officious nurse's care shall awaken
it for its undesired food, as if resolved to try its constitution, and
willing to see how many difficulties it could overcome.
Then he advises, that the head and feet should be kept cold; and the
latter often used to cold water, and exposed to wet, in order to lay
the foundation, as he says, of an healthy and hardy constitution.
Now, Sir, what a pleasure it is to your Pamela, that her notions, and
her practice too, fall in so exactly with this learned gentleman's
advice that, excepting one article, which is, that your Billy has not
yet been accustomed to be _wet-shod_, every other particular has
been observed! And don't you see what a charming, charming baby he
is?--Nay, and so is your little Davers, for his age--pretty soul!
Perhaps some, were they to see this, would not be so ready, as I know
_you_ will be, to excuse me; and would be apt to say, "What nursery
impertinences are these to trouble a man with!"--But with all their
wisdom, they would be mistaken; for if a child has not good health,
(and are not these rules the moral foundation, as I may say, of that
blessing?) its animal organs will play but poorly in a weak or crazy
case. These, therefore, are necessary rules to be observed for the
first two or three years: for then the little buds of their minds
will begin to open, and their watchful mamma will be employed like
a skilful gardener, in assisting and encouraging the charming flower
through its several hopeful stages to perfection, when it shall become
one of the principal ornaments of that delicate garden, your honoured
family. Pardon me, Sir, if in the above paragraph I am too figurative.
I begin to be afraid I am out of my sphere, writing to your dear self,
on these important subjects.
But be that as it may, I will here put an end to this my first letter
(on the earliest part of my subject), rejoicing in the opportunity
you have given me of producing a fresh instance of that duty and
affection, wherewith I am, and shall ever be, my dearest Mr. B., _your
grateful, happy_,
P.B.
LETTER XCI
I will now, my dearest, my best beloved correspondent of all, begin,
since the tender age of my dear babies will not permit me to have
an eye yet to their _better_ part, to tell you what are the little
matters to which I am not quite so well reconciled in Mr. Locke: and
this I shall be better enabled to do, by my observations upon the
temper and natural bent of my dear Miss Goodwin, as well as by those
which my visits to the bigger children of my little school, and those
at the cottages adjacent, have enabled me to make; for human
nature, Sir, you are not to be told, is human nature, whether in the
high-born, or in the low.
This excellent author (Section 52), having justly disallowed of
slavish and corporal punishments in the education of those we would
have to be wise, good, and ingenuous men, adds, "On the other side, to
flatter children by rewards of things that are pleasant to them, is
as carefully to be avoided. He that will give his son apples, or
sugar-plums, or what else of this kind he is most delighted with, to
make him learn his book, does but authorize his love of pleasure, and
cockers up that dangerous propensity, which he ought, by all means,
to subdue and stifle in him. You can never hope to teach him to master
it, whilst you compound for the check you give his inclination in one
place, by the satisfaction you propose to it in another. To make a
good, a wise, and a virtuous man, 'tis fit he should learn to cross
his appetite, and deny his inclination to riches, finery, or pleasing
his palate, &c."
This, Sir, is well said; but is it not a little too philosophical and
abstracted, not only for the generality of children, but for the age
he supposes them to be of, if one may guess by the apples and the
sugar-plums proposed for the rewards of their well-doing?--Would not
this require that memory or reflection in children, which, in another
place, is called the concomitant of prudence and age, and not of
childhood?
It is undoubtedly very right, to check an unreasonable appetite, and
that at its first appearance. But if so small and so reasonable an
inducement will prevail, surely, Sir, it might be complied with.
A generous mind takes delight to win over others by good usage and
mildness, rather than by severity; and it must be a great pain to
such an one, to be always inculcating, on his children or pupils, the
doctrine of self-denial, by methods quite grievous to his own nature.
What I would then humbly propose, is, that the encouragements offered
to youth, should, indeed, be innocent ones, as the gentleman enjoins,
and not such as would lead to luxury, either of food or apparel; but
I humbly think it necessary, that rewards, proper rewards, should
be proposed as incentives to laudable actions: for is it not by this
method that the whole world is influenced and governed? Does not God
himself, by rewards and punishments, make it our interest, as well
as our duty, to obey him? And can we propose ourselves, for the
government of our children, a better example than that of the Creator?
This fine author seems to think he had been a little of the strictest,
and liable to some exception. "I say not this," proceeds he, (Section
53) "that I would have children kept from the conveniences or
pleasures of life, that are not injurious to their health or virtue.
On the contrary, I would have their lives made as pleasant and as
agreeable to them as may be, in a plentiful enjoyment of whatsoever
might innocently delight them."-And yet he immediately subjoins a very
hard and difficult proviso to this indulgence.--"Provided," says he,
"it be with this caution, that they have those enjoyments only as the
consequences of the state of esteem and acceptation they are in with
their parents and governors."
I doubt, my dear Mr. B., this is expecting such a distinction and
discretion in children, as they seldom have in their tender years, and
requiring capacities not commonly to be met with; so that it is not
prescribing to the _generality_, as this excellent author intended.
'Tis, I humbly conceive, next to impossible that their tender minds
should distinguish beyond facts; they covet this or that play-thing,
and the parent, or governor, takes advantage of its desires, and
annexes to the indulgence such or such a task or duty, as a condition;
and shews himself pleased with its compliance with it: so the child
wins its plaything, and receives the commendation so necessary to lead
on young minds to laudable pursuits. But shall it not be suffered
to enjoy the innocent reward of its compliance, unless it can give
satisfaction, that its greatest delight is not in having the thing
coveted, but in performing the task, or obeying the injunctions
imposed upon it as a condition of its being obliged? I doubt, Sir,
this is a little too strict, and not to be expected from children. A
servant, full-grown, would not be able to shew, that, on condition he
complied with such and such terms (which, it is to be supposed by the
offer, he would not have complied with, but for that inducement), he
should have such and such a reward;
I say, he would hardly be able to shew, that he preferred the pleasure
of performing the requisite conditions to the stipulated reward. Nor
is it necessary he should: for he is not the less a good servant, or
a virtuous man, if he own the conditions painful, and the reward
necessary to his low state in the world, and that otherwise he would
not undergo any service at all.--Why then should this be exacted from
a child?
Let, therefore, innocent rewards be proposed, and let us be contented
to lead on the ductile minds of children to a love of their duty, by
obliging them with such: we may tell them what we expect in this case;
but we ought not, I humbly conceive, to be too rigorous in exacting
it; for, after all, the inducement will naturally be the uppermost
consideration with the child: not, as I hinted, had it been offered to
it, if the parent himself had not thought so. And, therefore, we can
only let the child know his duty in this respect, and that he _ought_
to give a preference to that; and then rest ourselves contented,
although we should discern, that the reward is the chief incentive,
of it. For this, from whatever motive inculcated, may beget a habit
in the child of doing it: and then, as it improves in years, one may
hope, that reason will take place, and enable him, from the most solid
and durable motives, to give a preference to the duty.
Upon the whole, then, can we insist upon it, that the child should
so nicely distinguish away its little _innate_ passions, as if we
expected it to be born a philosopher? Self-denial is, indeed, a most
excellent doctrine to be inculcated into children, and it must be done
_early_: but we must not be too severe in our exacting it; for a duty
too rigidly insisted upon, will make it odious. This Mr. Locke, too,
observes in another place, on the head of too great severity; which he
illustrates by a familiar comparison: "Offensive circumstances," says
he, "ordinarily infect innocent things which they are joined with. And
the very sight of a cup, wherein any one uses to take nauseous physic,
turns his stomach; so that nothing will relish well out of it,
though the cup be never so clean and well-shaped, and of the richest
materials."
Permit me to add, that Mr. Locke writes still more rigorously on the
subject of rewards; which I quote, to shew I have not misunderstood
him: "But these enjoyments," says he, "should _never_ be offered
or bestowed on children, as the rewards of this or that particular
performance that they shew an aversion to, or to which they would not
have applied themselves without that temptation." If, dear Sir,
the minds of children can be led on by innocent inducements to the
performance of a duty, of which they are capable, what I have humbly
offered, is enough, I presume, to convince one, that it _may_ be done.
But if ever a particular study be proposed to be mastered, or a bias
to be overcome (that is not an _indispensable_ requisite to his future
life of morals) to which the child shews an aversion, I would not,
methinks, have him be too much tempted or compelled to conquer or
subdue it, especially if it appear to be a _natural_ or rivetted
aversion. For, permit me to observe, that the education and studies of
children ought, as much as possible, to be suited to their capacities
and inclination, and, by these means, we may expect to have always
_useful_ and often _great_ men, in different professions; for that
genius which does not prompt to the prosecution of one study, may
shine in another no less necessary part of science. But, if the
promise of innocent rewards _would_ conquer this aversion, yet they
should not be applied with this view; for the best consequences that
can be hoped for, will be tolerable skill in one thing, instead of
most excellent in another.
Nevertheless, I must repeat, that if, as the child grows up, and is
capable of so much reason, that, from the love of the _inducement_,
one can raise his mind to the love of the _duty_, it should be done
by all means. But, my dear Mr. B., I am afraid that _that_ parent
or tutor will meet with but little success, who, in a child's tender
years, shall refuse to comply with its foibles, till he sees it value
its duty, and the pleasure of obeying his commands, beyond the little
enjoyment on which his heart is fixed. For, as I humbly conceive, that
mind which can be brought to prefer its duty to its appetites, will
want little of the perfection of the wisest philosophers.
Besides, Sir, permit to me say, that I am afraid this perpetual
opposition between the passions of the child and the duty to be
enforced, especially when it sees how other children are indulged (for
if this regimen could be observed by _any_, it would be impossible it
should become _general_, while the fond and the inconsiderate parents
are so large a part of mankind), will cow and dispirit a child, and
will, perhaps produce, a necessity of making use of severity, to
subdue him to this temper of self-denial; for if the child refuses,
the parent must insist; and what will be the consequence? must it not
introduce a harsher discipline than this gentleman allows of?--and
which, I presume to say, did never yet do good to any but to slavish
and base spirits, if to them; a discipline which Mr. Locke every where
justly condemns.
See here, dear Sir, a specimen of the presumption of your girl: "What
will she come to in time!" you will perhaps say, "Her next step will
be to arraign myself." No, no, dear Sir, don't think so: for my duty,
my love, and my reverence, shall be your guards, and defend you from
every thing saucy in me, but the bold approaches of my gratitude,
winch shall always testify for me, how much I am _your obliged and
dutiful servant_,
P.B.
LETTER XCII
MY DEAREST MR. B.,
I will continue my subject, although I have not had an opportunity
to know whether you approve of my notions or not by reason of the
excursions you have been pleased to allow me to make in your beloved
company to the sea-ports of this kingdom, and to the more noted inland
towns of Essex, Kent, Sussex, Hampshire, and Dorsetshire, which have
given me infinite delight and pleasure, and enlarged my notions of the
wealth and power of the kingdom, in which God's goodness has given you
so considerable a stake.
My next topic will be upon a _home_ education, which Mr. Locke
prefers, for several weighty reasons, to a _school_ one, provided
such a tutor can be procured, as he makes next to an impossibility to
procure. The gentleman has set forth the inconveniencies of both, and
was himself so discouraged, on a review of them, that he was ready, as
he says, to throw up his pen. My chief cares, dear Sir, on this head,
are three: 1st, The difficulty which, as I said, Mr. Locke makes
almost insuperable, to find a qualified tutor. 2ndly, The necessity
there is, according to Mr. Locke, of keeping the youth out of the
company of the meaner servants, who may set him bad examples. And,
3rdly, Those still greater difficulties which will arise from the
example of his parents, if they are not very discreet and circumspect.
As to the qualifications of the tutor, Mr. Locke supposes, that he is
to be so learned, so discreet, so wise, in short, so _perfect_ a man,
that I doubt, and so does Mr. Locke, such an one can hardly be met
with for this _humble_ and _slavish_ employment. I presume, Sir, to
call it so, because of the too little regard that is generally paid
to these useful men in the families of the great, where they are
frequently put upon a foot with the uppermost servants, and the
rather, if they happen to be men of modesty.
"I would," says he, "from children's first beginning to talk, have
some discreet, sober, nay, _wise_ person about them, whose care
it should be to fashion them right, and to keep them from all ill;
especially the infection of bad company. I think this province
requires great sobriety, temperance, tenderness, diligence, and
discretion; qualities hardly to be found united in persons that are to
be had for ordinary salaries, nor easily to be found any where."
If this, Sir, be the case, does not this excellent author recommend
a scheme that is rendered in a manner impracticable from this
difficulty?
As to these qualities being more rarely to be met with in persons that
are to be had for _ordinary salaries_, I cannot help being of opinion
(although, with Mr. Locke, I think no expence should be spared, if
that _would_ do) that there is as good a chance for finding a proper
person among the needy scholars (if not of a low and sordid turn of
mind) as among the more affluent: because the narrow circumstances of
the former (which probably became a spur to his own improvement) will,
it is likely, at first setting out in the world, make him be glad to
embrace such an offer in a family which has interest enough to prefer
him, and will quicken his diligence to make him _deserve_ preferment;
and if such an one wanted any of that requisite politeness, which some
would naturally expect from scholars of better fortune, might not that
be supplied to the youth by the conversation of parents, relations,
and visitors, in conjunction with those other helps which young men of
family and large expectations constantly have, and which few learned
tutors can give him?
I say not this to countenance the wretched niggardliness (which
this gentleman justly censures) of those who grudge a handsome
consideration to so necessary and painful a labour as that of a tutor,
which, where a deserving man can be met with, cannot be too genteelly
rewarded, nor himself too respectfully treated. I only beg to deliver
my opinion, that a low condition is as likely as any other, with a
mind not ungenerous, to produce a man who has these good qualities,
as well for the reasons I have hinted at, as for others which might be
mentioned.
But Mr. Locke thus proceeds: "To form a young gentleman as he should
be, 'tis fit his governor should be well bred, understand the ways of
carriage, and measures of civility, in all the variety of _persons_,
_times_, and _places_ and keep his pupil, as far as his age requires,
constantly to the observation of them. This is an art not to be
learnt or taught by books.--Nothing can give it but good company and
observation joined together."
And in another place says, "Besides being well-bred, the tutor should
know the world well; the ways, the humours, the follies, the cheats,
the faults of the age he has fallen into, and particularly of the
country he lives in: these he should be able to shew to his pupil, as
he finds him capable; teach him skill in men and their manners; pull
off the mask which their several callings and pretences cover them
with; and make his pupil discern what lies at the bottom, under such
appearances, that he may not, as unexperienced young men are apt to
do, if they are unwarned, take one thing for another, judge by the
outside, and give himself up to show, and the insinuations of a fair
carriage, or an obliging application; teach him to guess at, and
beware of, the designs of men he hath to do with, neither with too
much suspicion, nor too much confidence."
This, dear Sir, is excellently said: 'tis noble _theory_; and if
the tutor be a man void of resentment and caprice, and will not be
governed by partial considerations, in his own judgment of persons and
things, all will be well: but if otherwise, may he not take advantage
of the confidence placed in him, to the injury of some worthy person,
and by degrees monopolize the young gentleman to himself, and govern
his passions as absolutely, as I have heard some first ministers have
done those of their prince, equally to his own personal disreputation,
and to the disadvantage of his people? But all this, and much more,
according to Mr. Locke, is the duty of a tutor: and on the finding out
such an one, depends his scheme of a home education. No wonder, then,
that he himself says, "When I consider the scruples and cautions
I here lay in your way, methinks it looks as if I advised you to
something which I would have offered at, but in effect not done,"
&c.--Permit me, dear Sir, in this place to express my fear that it
is hardly possible for any one, with talents inferior to those of
Mr. Locke himself, to come up to the rules he has laid down upon this
subject; and 'tis to be questioned, whether even _he_, with all that
vast stock of natural reason and solid sense, for which, as you tell
me, Sir, he was so famous, had attained to these perfections, at his
first setting out into life.
Now, therefore, dear Sir, you can't imagine how these difficulties
perplex me, as to my knowing how to judge which is best, a _home_ or
a _school_ education. For hear what this excellent author justly
observes on the latter, among other things, no less to the purpose:
"I am sure, he who is able to be at the charge of a tutor at home, may
there give his son a more genteel carriage, more manly thoughts, and
a sense of what is worthy and becoming, with a greater proficiency in
learning, into the bargain, and ripen him up sooner into a man, than
any school can do. Not that I blame the schoolmaster in this," says
he, "or think it to be laid to his charge. The difference is great
between two or three pupils in the same house, and three or four score
boys lodged up and down; for, let the master's industry and skill be
never so great, it is impossible he should have fifty or an hundred
scholars under his eye any longer than they are in the school
together." But then, Sir, if there be such a difficulty as Mr. Locke
says, to meet with a proper tutor for the home education, which he
thus prefers, what a perplexing thing is this. But still, according to
this gentleman, another difficulty attends a home education; and that
is, what I hinted at before, in my second article, the necessity of
keeping the youth out of the company of the meaner servants, who
may set him bad examples. For thus he says, "Here is another great
inconvenience, which children receive from the ill examples which they
meet with from the meaner servants. They are _wholly_, if possible,
to be kept from such conversation: for the contagion of these ill
precedents, both in civility and virtue, horribly infects children, as
often as they come within the reach of it. They frequently learn from
unbred or debauched servants, such language, untowardly tricks and
vices, as otherwise they would be ignorant of all their lives. 'Tis a
hard matter wholly to prevent this mischief," continues he; "you will
have very good luck, if you never have a clownish or vicious servant,
and if from them your children never get any infection."
Then, Sir, my third point (which I mentioned in the beginning of this
letter) makes a still stronger objection, as it may happen, against a
home education; to wit, the example of the parents themselves, if they
be not very circumspect and discreet.
All these difficulties being put together, let me, dear Sir, humbly
propose it, as a matter for your consideration and determination,
whether there be not a middle way to be found out in a school
education, that may remedy some of these inconveniencies? For suppose
you cannot get a tutor so qualified as Mr. Locke thinks he ought to
be, for your Billy as he grows up. Suppose there is danger from your
meaner servants; or we his parents should not be able to lay ourselves
under the requisite restraints, in order to form his mind by our
own examples, which I hope, by God's grace, however, will not be the
case--Cannot some master be found, who shall be so well rewarded for
his care of a _few_ young gentlemen, as to make it worth his while to
be contented with those _few?_--suppose from five to eight at most;
whose morals and breeding he may attend to, as well as to their
learning? The farther this master lives from the young gentleman's
friends, the better it may be. We will hope, that he is a man of a
mild disposition, but strict in his discipline, and who shall make it
a rule not to give correction for small faults, or till every other
method has been tried; who carries such a just dignity in his manner,
without the appearance of tyranny, that his looks may be of greater
force than the blows of others; and who will rather endeavour to shame
than terrify, a youth out of his faults. Then, suppose this gentleman
was to allot a particular portion of time for the _more learned_
studies; and before the youth was tired with _them_, suppose another
portion was allotted for the _writing_ and _arithmetic_; and then to
relieve his mind from both, suppose the _dancing-master_ should take
his part; and innocent exercises of mere diversion, to fill up the
rest, at his own choice, in which, diverted by such a rotation
of employments (all thus rendered delightful by their successive
variety), he would hardly wish to pass much time. For the dancing of
itself, with the dancing-master's instruction, if a well-bred man,
will answer both parts, that of breeding and that of exercise: and
thus different studies at once be mastered.
Moreover, the emulation which will be inspired, where there are
several young gentlemen, will be of inconceivable use both to tutor
and pupil, in lessening the trouble of the one, and advancing the
learning of the other, which cannot be expected where there is but a
single youth to be taken care of.
Such a master will know it to be his interest, as well as duty, to
have a watchful eye over the conduct and behaviour of his servants.
His assistants, in the different branches of science and education,
will be persons of approved prudence, for whom he will think himself
answerable, since his own _reputation_, as well as _livelihood_, will
depend upon their behaviour. The youths will have young gentlemen for
their companions, all under the influence of the same precepts and
directions; and if some chosen period were fixed, as a reward for some
excellence, where, at a little desk, raised a step or two above the
other seats, the excelling youth should be set to read, under the
master's direction, a little portion from the best translations of the
Greek and Roman historians, and even from the best English authors;
this might, in a very engaging manner, initiate them into the
knowledge of the history of past times, and of their own country, and
give them a curiosity to pass some of their vacant hours in the same
laudable pursuit: for, dear Sir, I must still insist that rewards, and
innocent gratifications, as also little honours and distinctions, must
needs be very attractive to the minds of youth.
For, is not the pretty ride, and dairy house breakfasting, by which
Miss Goodwin's governess distinguishes the little ladies who excel
in their allotted tasks, a fine encouragement to their ductile
minds?--Yes, it is, to be sure!--And I have often thought of it with
pleasure, and partaken of the delight with which I have supposed their
pretty hearts must be filled with on that occasion. And why may not
such little triumphs be, in proportion, as incentives, to children,
to make them try to master laudable tasks; as the Roman triumphs, of
different kinds, and their mural and civic crowns, all which I have
heard you speak of, were to their heroes and warriors of old? For Mr.
Dryden well observes, that--
"Men are but children of a larger growth;
Our appetites are apt to change as theirs,
And full as craving too, and full as vain."
Permit me. Sir, to transcribe four or five lines more, for the
beauty of the thought:
"And yet the soul, shut up in her dark room,
Viewing so clear abroad, at home sees nothing:
But like a mole in earth, busy and blind,
Works all her folly up, and casts it outward
To the world's open view--"
Improving the thought: methinks I can see the dear little Miss, who
has, in some eminent task, borne away the palm, make her public entry,
as I may call it, after her dairy breakfast and pretty airing, into
the governess's court-yard, through a row of her school-fellows, drawn
out on each side to admire her; her governess and assistants receiving
her at the porch, their little capitol, and lifting her out with
applauses and encomiums, with a _Thus shall it be done to the Miss,
whom her governess delighteth to honour!_ I see not why the dear Miss
in this case, as she moves through her admiring school-fellows, may
not have her little heart beat with as much delight, be as gloriously
elated, proportionably, as that of the greatest hero in his triumphal
car, who has returned from exploits, perhaps, much less laudable.
But how I ramble!--Yet surely, Sir, you don't expect method or
connection from your girl. The education of our sex will not permit
that, where it is best. We are forced to struggle for knowledge, like
the poor feeble infant in the month, who is pinned and fettered down
upon the nurse's lap; and who, if its little arms happen, by chance,
to escape its nurse's observation, and offer but to expand themselves,
are immediately taken into custody, and pinioned down to their passive
behaviour. So, when a poor girl, in spite of her narrow education,
breaks out into notice, her genius is immediately tamed by trifling
employments, lest, perhaps, she should become the envy of one sex, and
the equal of the other. But you. Sir, act more nobly with your Pamela;
for you throw in her way all opportunities of improvement; and she
has only to regret, that she cannot make a better use of them, and, of
consequence, render herself more worthy of your generous indulgence.
I know not how, Sir, to recover my thread; and so must break off with
that delight which I always take when I come near the bottom of my
letters to your dear self; because then I can boast of the honour
which I have in being _your ever dutiful_,
P.B.
LETTER XCIII
Well, but, my dear Mr. B., you will perhaps think, from my last
rambling letter, that I am most inclined to a _school_ education for
your Billy, and some years hence, if it should please God to spare him
to us. Yet I cannot say that I am; I only lay several things together
in my usual indigested way, to take your opinion upon, which, as it
ought, will be always decisive with me. And indeed I am so thoroughly
convinced by Mr. Locke's reasons, where the behaviour of servants
can be so well answered for, as that of yours can be, and where
the example of the parents will be, as I hope, rather edifying
than otherwise, that without being swayed, as I think, by maternal
fondness, in this case, I must needs give a preference to the home
education; and the little scheme I presumed to form in my last, was
only on a supposition, that those necessary points could not be so
well secured.
In my observations on this head, I shall take the liberty, in one
or two particulars, a little to differ from an author, that I admire
exceedingly; and that is the present design of my writing these
letters; for I shall hereafter, if God spare my life, in my little
book (when you have kindly decided upon the points in which I presume
to differ) shew you, Sir, my great reverence and esteem for him; and
can then let you know all my sentiments on this important subject, and
that more undoubtedly, as I shall be more improved by years and your
conversation; especially, Sir, if I have the honour and happiness of
a foreign tour with you, of which you give me hope; so much are you
pleased with the delight I take in these improving excursions, which
you have now favoured me with, at different times, through more than
half the kingdom.
Well then, Sir, I will proceed to consider a little more particularly
the subject of a home education, with an eye to those difficulties,
of which Mr. Locke takes notice, as I mentioned in my last. As to the
first, that of finding a qualified tutor; we must not expect so much
perfection, I doubt, as he lays down as necessary. What, therefore, I
humbly conceive is best to be done, will be to avoid choosing a man
of bigoted and narrow principles; who yet shall not be tainted with
sceptical or heterodox notions, nor a mere scholar or pedant; who has
travelled, and yet preserved his moral character untainted; and whose
behaviour and carriage is easy, unaffected, unformal, and genteel,
as well acquiredly as naturally so, if possible; who shall not be
dogmatical, positive, overbearing, on one hand; nor too yielding,
suppliant, fawning, on the other; who shall study the child's natural
bent, in order to direct his studies to the point he is most likely
to excel in; and to preserve the respect due to his own character from
every one, he must not be a busy body in the family, a whisperer,
a tale-bearer, but of a benevolent turn of mind, ready to compose
differences; who shall avoid, of all things, that foppishness of dress
and appearance, which distinguishes the _petit-maitres_, and French
ushers (that I have seen at some boarding schools), for coxcombs
rather than guides of education: for, as I have heard you, my best
tutor, often observe, the peculiarities of habit, where a person aims
at something fantastic, or out of character, are an undoubted sign of
a wrong head; for such a one is so kind as always to hang out on
his sign what sort of furniture he has in his shop, to save you the
trouble of asking questions about him; so that one may as easily know
by his outward appearance what he _is_, as one can know a widow by her
weeds.
Such a person as I have thus negatively described, may be found
without very much difficulty, perhaps, because some of these
requisites are personal, and others are such as are obvious at first
sight, to a common penetration; or, where not so, may be found out, by
inquiry into his general character and behaviour: and to the care of
such a one, dear Sir, let me suppose your Billy is committed: and so
we acquit ourselves of the first difficulty, as well as we can, that
of the tutor; who, to become more perfect, may form himself, as to
what he wants, by Mr. Locke's excellent rules on that head.
But before I quit this subject, I beg to remind you of your opinion
upon it, in a conversation with Sir George Stuart, and his nephew,
in London; in which you seemed to prefer a Scottish gentleman for a
tutor, to those of your own nation, and still more than to those of
France? Don't you remember it, dear Sir? And how much those gentlemen
were pleased with your facetious freedom with their country, and said,
you made them amends for that, in your preference to their learned and
travelled youth? If you have forgot it, I will here transcribe it from
my _records_, as I call my book of memorandums; for every time I am
pleased with a conversation, and have leisure, before it quits my
memory, I enter it down in as near the very words as I can; and now
you have made me your correspondent, I shall sometimes, perhaps, give
you back some valuables from your own treasure.--Miss Darnford, and
Mr. Turner, and Mr. Fanshaw, were present, I well remember. These were
your words:
"Since the union of the two kingdoms, we have many persons of
condition, who have taken their tutors for their sons from Scotland;
which practice, to speak impartially, has been attended with some
advantageous circumstances, that should not be overlooked. For, Sir
George, it must be confessed that, notwithstanding your narrow and
stiff manner of education in Scotland, a spirit of manly learning, a
kind of poetic liberty, as I may call it, has begun to exert itself
in that part of the island. The blustering north--forgive me,
gentlemen--seems to have hardened the foreheads of her hungry sons;
and the keenness with which they set out for preferment in the
kindlier south, has taught them to know a good deal of the world
betimes. Through the easy terms on which learning is generally
attained there, as it is earlier inculcated, so it may, probably,
take deeper root: and since 'tis hardly possible--forgive me, dear
Sirs--they can go to a worse country on this side Greenland, than some
of the northern parts of Scotland; so their education, with a view to
travel, and to better themselves by settlements in other countries,
may, perhaps, be so many reasons to take greater pains to qualify
themselves for this employment, and may make them succeed better in
it; especially when they have been able to shake off the fetters which
are rivetted upon them under the narrow influence of a too tyrannical
kirk discipline, which you, Sir George, have just now so freely
censured.
"To these considerations, when we add the necessity, which these
remote tutors lie under, of behaving well; first, because they seldom
wish to return to their own country; and next, because _that_ cannot
prefer them, if it would; and thirdly, because it would not, if it
could, if the gentleman be of an enlarged genius, and generous way
of thinking; I say, when we add to the premises these considerations,
they all make a kind of security for their good behaviour: while those
of our own country have often friends or acquaintances on whose favour
they are apt to depend, and for that reason give less attention to the
duties requisite for this important office.
"Besides, as their kind friend AEolus, who is accustomed to spread and
strengthen the bold muscles of the strong-featured Scot, has generally
blown away that inauspicious bashfulness, which hangs a much longer
time, commonly, on the faces of the southern students; such a one (if
he fall not too egregiously into the contrary extreme, so as to become
insufferable) may still be the more eligible person for a tutor, as he
may teach a young gentleman, betimes, that necessary presence of mind,
which those who are confined to a private education sometimes want.
"But, after all, if a gentleman of this nation be chosen for this
employment, it may be necessary that he should be one who has had as
genteel and free an education himself, as his country will afford;
and the native roughness of his climate filed off by travel and
conversation; who has made, at least, the tour of France and Italy,
and has a taste for the politeness of the former nation: but from the
boisterousness of a North Britain, and the fantastic politeness of
a Frenchman, if happily blended, such a mixture may result, as will
furnish out a more complete tutor, than either of the two nations,
singly, may be able to produce. But it ought to be remembered that
this person must have conquered his native brogue, as I may call
it, and be a master of the English pronunciation; otherwise his
conversation will be disagreeable to an English ear.
"And permit me to add, that, as an acquaintance with the Muses
contributes not a little to soften the manners, and give a graceful
and delicate turn to the imagination, and a kind of polish to severer
studies, it would not be amiss that he should have a taste of
poetry, although perhaps it were not to be wished he had such strong
inclinations that way, as to make that lively and delectable amusement
his predominant passion: for we see very few poets, whose warm
imaginations do not run away with their judgments. And yet, in order
to learn the dead languages in their purity, it will be necessary
to inculcate both the love and the study of the ancient poets, which
cannot fail of giving the youth a taste for poetry, in general."
Permit me, dear Sir, to ask you, whether you advanced this for
argument sake, as sometimes you love to amuse and entertain your
friends in an uncommon way? For I should imagine, that our two
universities, which you have shewn me, and for which I have ever since
had a greater reverence than I had before, are capable of furnishing
as good tutors as any nation in the world: for here the young
gentlemen seem to me to live both in the _world_ and in the
_university_; and we saw several gentlemen who had not only fine
parts, but polite behaviour, and deep learning, as you assured me;
some of whom you entertained, and were entertained by, in so elegant
a manner, that no travelled gentleman, if I may be allowed to judge,
could excel them! And besides, my dear Mr. B., I know who is reckoned
one of the politest and best-bred gentlemen in England by every body,
and learned as well as polite, and yet had his education in one of
those celebrated seats of learning. I wish your Billy may never fall
short of the gentleman I mean, in all these acquirements; and he will
be a very happy creature, I am sure.
But how I wander again from my subject. I have no other way to recover
myself, when I thus ramble, but by returning to that one delightful
point of reflection, that I have the honour to be, dearest Sir, _your
ever dutiful and obliged_,
P.B.
LETTER XCIV
DEAREST SIR,
I now resume my subject. I had gone through the article of the tutor,
as well as I could; and will now observe upon what Mr. Locke
says, That children are wholly, if possible, to be kept from the
conversation of the meaner servants; whom he supposes to be, as too
frequently they are, _unbred_ and _debauched_, to use his own words.
Now, Sir, I think it is very difficult to keep children from
the conversation of servants at all times. The care of personal
attendance, especially in the child's early age, must fall upon
servants of one denomination or other, who, little or much, must be
conversant with the inferior servants, and so be liable to be tainted
by their conversation; and it will be difficult in this case to
prevent the taint being communicated to the child. Wherefore it will
be a _surer_, as well as a more _laudable_ method, to insist upon the
regular behaviour of the whole family, than to expect the child, and
its immediate attendant or tutor, should be the only good ones in it.
Nor is this so difficult to effect, as may be imagined. Your family
affords an eminent instance of it: the good have been confirmed, the
remiss have been reformed, the passionate have been tamed; and there
is not a family in the kingdom, I will venture to say, to the honour
of every individual in it, more uniform, more regular, and freer from
evil, and more regardful of what they say and do, than yours. And you
will allow, that though always honest, yet they were not always so
laudable, so exemplarily virtuous, as of late: which I mention only to
shew the practicableness of a reformation, even where bad habits have
taken place--For your Pamela, Sir, arrogates not to herself the honour
of this change: 'tis owing to the Divine grace shining upon hearts
naturally good; for else an example so easy, so plain, so simple,
from so young a mistress, who moreover had been exalted from their own
station, could not have been attended with such happy effects.
You see, dear Sir, what a master and mistress's example could do, with
a poor soul so far gone as Mrs. Jewkes. And I dare be confident, that
if, on the hiring of a new servant, sobriety of manners and a virtuous
conversation were insisted upon, and a general inoffensiveness in
words as well as actions was required from them, as indispensable
conditions of their service: and that a breach of that kind would be
no more passed over, than a wilful fraud, or an act of dishonesty; and
if, added to these requisites, their principals take care to support
these injunctions by their own example; I say, then, I dare be
confident, that if such a service did not _find_ them good, it would
_make_ them so.
And why should we not think this a very practicable scheme,
considering the servants we take are at years of discretion, and have
the strong ties of _interest_ superadded to the obligations we require
of them? and which, they must needs know (let 'em have what bad habits
they will) are right for _themselves_ to discharge, as well as for
_us_ to exact.
We all know of how much force the example of superiors is to
inferiors. It is too justly said, that the courts of princes abound
with the most profligate of men, insomuch that a man cannot well have
a more significantly bad title, than that of COURTIER: yet even among
these, one shall see the force of _example_, as I have heard you, Sir,
frequently observe: for, let but the land be blest with a pious and
religious prince, who makes it a rule with him to countenance and
promote men of virtue and probity; and to put the case still stronger,
let such a one even succeed to the most libertine reign, wherein the
manners of the people are wholly depraved: yet a wonderful change will
be immediately effected. The flagitious livers will be chased away, or
reformed; or at least will think it their duty, or their _interest_,
which is a stronger tie with such, to _appear_ reformed; and not a man
will seek for the favour or countenance of his prince, but by laudable
pretences, or by worthy actions.
In the reign of King Richard III, as I have read, deformity of body
was the fashion, and the nobility and gentry of the court thought it
an indispensable requisite of a graceful form to pad for themselves a
round shoulder, because the king was crooked. And can we think human
nature so absurdly wicked, that it would not much rather have tried
to imitate a personal perfection, than a deformity so shocking in its
appearance, in people who were naturally straight?
'Tis melancholy to reflect, that of all professions of men, the
mariners, who most behold the wonders of Almighty power displayed in
the great deep (a sight that has struck me with awe and reverence only
from a coast prospect), and who every moment, while at sea, have but
one frail plank betwixt themselves and inevitable destruction, are
yet, generally speaking, said to be the most abandoned invokers and
blasphemers of the name of that God, whose mercies they every moment
unthankfully, although so visibly, experience. Yet, as I once heard at
your table, Sir, on a particular occasion, we have now a commander
in the British navy, who, to his honour, has shewn the force of an
excellent example supporting the best precepts: for, on board of his
ship, not an oath or curse was to be heard; while volleys of
both (issued from impious mouths in the same squadron, out of his
knowledge) seemed to fill the sails of other ships with guilty breath,
calling aloud for that perdition to overtake them, which perhaps his
worthy injunctions and example, in his own, might be of weight to
suspend.
If such then, dear Sir, be the force of a good example, what have
parents to do, who would bring up a child at home under their own eye,
according to Mr. Locke's advice, but, first, to have a strict regard
to _their_ conduct! This will not want its due influence on the
servants; especially if a proper enquiry be first made into their
characters, and a watchful eye had over them, to keep them up to those
characters afterwards. And when they know they must forfeit the favour
of a worthy master, and their places too (which may be thought to
be the best of places, because an _uniform_ character must make all
around it easy and happy), they will readily observe such rules and
directions, as shall be prescribed to them--Rules and directions,
which their own consciences will tell them are _right_ to be
prescribed; and even right for them to follow, were they not insisted
upon by their superiors: and this conviction must go a great way
towards their _thorough_ reformation: for a person wholly convinced is
half reformed. And thus the hazard a child will run of being corrupted
by conversing with the servants, will be removed, and all Mr. Locke's
other rules be better enforced.
I have the boldness, Sir, to make another objection; and that is, to
the distance which Mr. Locke prescribes to be kept between children
and servants: for may not this be a means to fill the minds of the
former with a contempt of those below them, and an arrogance that is
not warranted by any rank or condition, to their inferiors of the same
species?
I have before transcribed what Mr. Locke has enjoined in relation to
this distance, where he says, that the children are by all means to
be kept _wholly_ from the conversation of the meaner servants. But
how much better advice does the same author give for the behaviour of
children to servants in the following words which, I humbly think, are
not so entirely consistent with the former, as might be expected from
so admirable an author.
"Another way," says he (Section 111), "to instil sentiments of
humanity, and to keep them lively in young folks, will be, to accustom
them to civility in their language and deportment towards their
inferiors, and meaner sort of people, particularly servants. It is
not unusual to observe the children in gentlemen's families treat the
servants of the house with domineering words, names of contempt, and
an imperious carriage, as if they were of another race, or species
beneath them. Whether ill example, the advantage of fortune or their
natural vanity, inspire this haughtiness, it should be prevented or
weeded out; and a gentle, courteous, affable carriage towards
the lower ranks of men placed in the room of it. No part of their
superiority will be hereby lost, but the distinction increased, and
their authority strengthened, when love in inferiors is joined to
outward respect, and the esteem of the person has a share in their
submission: and domestics will pay a more ready and cheerful service,
when they find themselves not spurned, because fortune has laid them
below the level of others at their master's feet."
These, dear Sir, are certainly the sentiments of a generous and
enlarged spirit: but I hope, I may observe, that the great distance
Mr. Locke before enjoins to be kept between children and servants, is
not very consistent with the above-cited paragraph: for if we would
prevent this undue contempt of inferiors in the temper of children,
the best way, as I humbly presume to think, is not to make it so
unpardonable a fault for them, especially in their early years, to
be in their company. For can one make the children shun the
servants without rendering them odious or contemptible to them, and
representing them to the child in such disadvantageous light, as must
needs make the servants vile in their eyes, and themselves lofty
and exalted in their own? and thereby cause them to treat them with
"domineering words, and an imperious carriage, as if they were of
another race or species beneath them; and so," as Mr. Locke says,
"nurse up their natural pride into an habitual contempt of those
beneath them; and then," as he adds, "where will that probably end,
but in oppression and cruelty?" But this matter, dear Sir, I presume
to think, will all be happily accommodated and reconciled, when the
servants' good behaviour is secured by the example and injunctions of
the principals.
Upon the whole, then, of what Mr. Locke has enjoined, and what I have
taken the liberty to suggest on this head, it shall be my endeavour,
in that early part of your dear Billy's education, which you will
intrust to me, to inculcate betimes in his mind the principles of
universal benevolence and kindness to others, especially to inferiors.
Nor shall I fear, that the little dear will be wanting to himself
in assuming, as he grows up, an air of superiority and distance of
behaviour equal to his condition, or that he will descend too low for
his station. For, Sir, there is a pride and self-love natural to human
minds, that will seldom be kept so low, as to make them humbler than
they ought to be.
I have observed, before now, instances of this, in some of the
families we visit, between the young Masters or Misses, and those
children of lower degree, who have been brought to play with them, or
divert them. On the Masters' and Misses' side I have always seen, they
lead the play and prescribe the laws of it, be the diversion what it
will; while, on the other hand, their lower-rank play-fellows have
generally given into their little humours, though ever so contrary to
their own; and the difference of dress and appearance, and the
notion they have of the more eminent condition of their play-fellows'
parents, have begot in them a kind of awe and respect, that perhaps
more than sufficiently secures the superiority of the one, and the
subordination of the other.
The advantage of this universal benevolence to a young gentleman, as
he grows up, will be, as I humbly conceive, so to diffuse itself over
his mind, as to influence all his actions, and give a grace to every
thing he does or says, and make him admired and respected from the
best and most durable motives; and will be of greater advantage to him
for his attaining a handsome address and behaviour (for it will make
him conscious that he _merits_ the distinction he will meet with, and
encourage him still _more_ to merit it), than the best rules that can
be given him for that purpose.
I will therefore teach the little dear courteousness and affability,
from the properest motives I am able to think of; and will instruct
him in only one piece of pride, that of being above doing a mean or
low action. I will caution him not to behave in a lordly or insolent
manner, even to the lowest servants. I will tell him that that
superiority is the most commendable, and will be the best maintained,
which is owing to humanity and kindness, and grounded on the
perfections of the _mind_, rather than on the _accidental_ advantage
of _fortune_ and _condition_: that if his conduct be such as it ought
to be, there will be no occasion to tell a servant, that he will
be observed and respected: that _humility_, as I once told my Miss
Goodwin, is a charming grace, and most conspicuously charming in
persons of distinction; for that the poor, who are humbled by their
condition, cannot glory in it, as the rich may; and that it makes
the lower ranks of people love and admire the high-born, who can so
condescend: whereas _pride_, in such, is meanness and insult, as it
owes its boast and its being to accidental advantages; which, at the
same time, are seldom of _his_ procuring, who can be so mean as to be
proud: that even I would sooner forget pride in a low degree than in
a high; for it may be a security in the first against doing a base
thing: but in the rich, it is a base thing itself, and an impolitic
one too; for the more distinction a proud mind grasps at, the less it
will have; and every poor despised person can whisper such a one in
the ear, when surrounded with, and adorned by, all his glittering
splendours, that he _was_ born, and _must_ die, in the _same manner_
with those whom he despises.
Thus will the doctrine of benevolence and affability, implanted early
in the mind of a young gentleman, and duly cultivated as he grows
up, inspire him with the requisite conduct to command respect from
_proper_ motives; and while it will make the servants observe a
decorum towards him, it will oblige them to have a guard upon their
words and actions in presence of one, whose manner of education and
training-up would be so great a reproach to them, if they were grossly
faulty: so thus, I conceive, a mutual benefit will flow to the manners
of each; and _his_ good behaviour will render him, in some measure, an
instructive monitor to the whole family.
But permit me, Sir, to enlarge on the hint I have already given, in
relation to the example of parents, in case a preference be given
to the home education. For if this point cannot be secured, I should
always imagine it were best to put the child to such a school, as I
formerly mentioned. But yet the subject might be spared by me in this
case, as I write with a view only to your family; though you will
remember, that while I follow Mr. Locke, whose work is public, I must
be considered as directing myself to the generality of the world: for,
Sir, I have the pleasure to say, that your conduct in your family is
unexceptionable; and the pride to think that mine is no disgrace to
it. No one hears a word from your mouth unbecoming the character of a
polite gentleman; and I shall always be very regardful of what falls
from mine. Your temper, Sir, is equal and kind to all your servants,
and they love you, as well as awfully respect you: and well does your
beautiful and considerate mind, deserve it of them all: and they,
seeing I am watchful over my own conduct, so as not to behave unworthy
of your kind example, regard me as much as I could wish they should;
for well do they know, that their beloved master will have it so, and
greatly honours and esteems me himself. Your table-talk is such
as persons of the strictest principles may hear, and join in: your
guests, and your friends are, generally speaking, persons of the
genteelest life, and of the best manners. So that Mr. Locke would have
advised _you_, of all gentlemen, had he been living, and known you,
to give your children a home education, and assign these, and still
stronger reasons for it.
But were we to speak to the generality of parents, I fear this would
be an almost insuperable objection to a home education. For (I am
sorry to say it) when one turns one's eyes to the bad precedents given
by the heads of some families, it is hardly to be wondered at, that
there is so little virtue and religion among men. For can those
parents be surprised at the ungraciousness of their _children_,
who hardly ever shew them, that their _own_ actions are governed
by reasonable or moral motives? Can the gluttonous father expect a
self-denying son? With how ill a grace must a man who will often be
disguised in liquor, preach sobriety? a passionate man, patience?
an irreligious man, piety? How will a parent, whose hands are seldom
without cards, or dice in them, be observed in lessons against the
pernicious vice of gaming? Can the profuse father, who is squandering
away the fortunes of his children, expect to be regarded in a lesson
of frugality? 'Tis impossible he should, except it were that the
youth, seeing how pernicious his father's example is, should have the
grace to make a proper use of it, and look upon it as a sea-mark, as
it were, to enable him to shun the dangerous rocks, on which he
sees his father splitting. And even in this _best_ case, let it be
considered, how much shame and disgrace his thoughtless parent ought
to take to himself, who can admonish his child by nothing but the
_odiousness_ of his own vice; and how little it is owing to him, that
his guilt is not _doubled_, by his son's treading in his steps! Let
such an unhappy parent duly weigh this, and think how likely he is to
be, by his bad example, the cause of his child's perdition, as well as
his own, and stand unshocked and unamended, if he can!
It is then of no avail to wish for discreet servants, if the conduct
of the parents is faulty. If the fountain-head be polluted, how shall
the under-currents run clear? That master and mistress, who would
exact from their servants a behaviour which they themselves don't
practice, will be but ill observed. And that child, who discovers
excesses and errors in his parents, will be found to be less profited
by their good precepts, than prejudiced by bad examples. Excessive
fondness this hour; violent passions and perhaps execrations, the
next; unguarded jests, and admiration of fashionable vanities, rash
censures, are perhaps the best, that the child sees in, or hears from
those, who are most concerned to inculcate good precepts into his
mind. And where it is so, a home education must not surely be chosen.
Having thus, as well as my slender abilities will permit, presumed to
deliver my opinion upon three great points, _viz_. the qualifications
of a tutor; the necessity of having an eye to the morals of servants;
and the example of parents (all which, being taken care of, will give
a preference, as I imagine, to a home education); permit me, dear
Sir, to speak a little further to a point, that I have already touched
upon.
It is that of _emulation_; which I humbly conceive to be of great
efficacy to lead children on in their duties and studies. And how,
dear Sir, shall this advantage be procured for a young master, who has
no school-fellows and who has no example to follow, but that of
his tutor, whom he cannot, from the disparity of years, and other
circumstances, without pain (because of this disparity), think of
emulating? And this, I conceive, is a very great advantage to such a
school education, as I mentioned in my former letter, where there are
no more scholars taken in, than the master can with ease and pleasure
instruct.
But one way, in my humble opinion, is left to answer this objection,
and still preserve the reason for the preference which Mr. Locke gives
to a home education; and that is, what I formerly hinted, to take
into your family the child of some honest neighbour of but middling
circumstances, and like age of your own, but who should give apparent
indications of his natural promptitude, ingenuous temper, obliging
behaviour and good manners; and to let him go hand-in-hand with yours
in his several studies and lessons under the same tutor.
The child would be sensible of the benefit, as well as of the
distinction, he received, and consequently of what was expected from
him, and would double his diligence, and exert all his good qualities,
which would inspire the young gentleman with the wished-for emulation,
and, as I imagine, would be so promotive of his learning, that it
would greatly compensate the tutor for his pains with the additional
scholar; for the young gentleman would be ashamed to be outdone by one
of like years and stature with himself. And little rewards might
be proposed to the greatest proficient, in order to heighten the
emulation.
Then, Sir, the _generosity_ of such a method, to a gentleman of your
fortune, and beneficent mind, would be its own reward, were there no
other benefit to be received from it.
Moreover, such an ingenious youth might, by his good morals and
industry, hereafter be of service, in some place of trust in the
family; or it would be easy for a gentleman of your interest in the
world, if such a thing offered not, to provide for the youth in the
navy, in some of the public offices, or among your private friends.
If he proved faulty in his morals, his dismission would be in your own
power, and would be punishment enough.
But, if on the other hand, he proved a sober and hopeful youth, he
would make an excellent companion for your Billy in riper years; as
he would be, in a manner, a corroborator of his morals; for, as his
circumstances would not support him in any extravagance, so they would
be a check upon his inclination; and this being seconded by the hopes
of future preferment from your favour and interest, which he could not
expect but upon the terms of his perseverance in virtue, he would find
himself under a necessity of setting such an example, as might be of
great benefit to his companion, who should be watched, as he grew up,
that he did not (if his ample fortune became dangerous to his virtue)
contribute out of his affluence to draw the other after him into
extravagance. And to this end, as I humbly conceive, the noble
doctrine of _independence_ should be early instilled into both their
minds, and upon all occasions, inculcated and inforced; which would be
an inducement for the one to endeavour to _improve_ his fortune by his
honest industry, lest he never be enabled to rise out of a state of
dependence; and to the other, to _keep,_ if not to _improve,_ his
own, lest he ever fall into such a servile state, and thereby lose the
glorious power of conferring happiness on the deserving, one of the
highest pleasures that a generous mind can know; a pleasure, Sir,
which you have oftener experienced than thousands of gentlemen:
and which may you still continue to experience for a long and happy
succession of years, is the prayer of one, the most obliged of all
others in her own person, as well as in the persons of her dearest
relations, and who owes to this glorious beneficence the honour she
boasts, of being _your ever affectionate and grateful_ P.B.
LETTER XCV
But now, my dear Mr. B., if you will indulge me in a letter or two
more, preparative to my little book, I will take the liberty to touch
upon one or two other places, wherein I differ from this learned
gentleman. But first, permit me to observe, that if parents are, above
all things, to avoid giving bad examples to their children, they
will be no less careful to shun the practice of such fond fathers and
mothers, as are wont to indulge their children in bad habits, and give
them their head, at a time when, like wax, their tender minds may
be moulded into what shape they please. This is a point that, if it
please God, I will carefully attend to, because it is the foundation
on which the superstructure of the whole future man is to be erected.
For, according as he is indulged or checked in his childish follies,
a ground is laid for his future happiness or misery; and if once they
are suffered to become habitual to him, it cannot but be expected,
that they will grow up with him, and that they will hardly ever be
eradicated. "Try it," says Mr. Locke, speaking to this very point, "in
a dog, or a horse, or any other creature, and see whether the ill and
resty tricks they have learned when young, are easily to be mended,
when they are knit; and yet none of these creatures are half so wilful
and proud, or half so desirous to be masters of themselves, as men."
And this brings me, dear Sir, to the head of _punishments_, in which,
as well as in the article of _rewards_, which I have touched upon, I
have a little objection to what Mr. Locke advances.
But permit me, however, to premise, that I am exceedingly pleased with
the method laid down by this excellent writer, rather to shame the
child out of his fault, than beat him; which latter serves generally
for nothing but to harden his mind.
_Obstinacy_, and telling a _lie_, and committing a _wilful_ fault,
and then persisting in it, are, I agree with this gentleman, the only
causes for which the child should be punished with stripes: and
I admire the reasons he gives against a too rigorous and severe
treatment of children.
But I will give Mr. Locke's words, to which I have some objection.
"It may be doubted," says he, "concerning whipping, when, as the
_last_ remedy, it comes to be necessary, at _what time_, and by whom,
it should be done; whether presently, upon the committing the
fault, whilst it is yet fresh and hot. I think it should not be done
presently," adds he, "lest passion mingle with it; and so, though it
exceed the just proportion, yet it lose of its due weight. For even
children discern whenever we do things in a passion."
I must beg leave, dear Sir, to differ from Mr. Locke in this point;
for I think it ought rather to be a rule with parents, who shall
chastise their children, to conquer what would be extreme in _their
own_ passion on this occasion (for those who cannot do it, are very
unfit to be the punishers of the wayward passions of their children),
than to _defer_ the punishment, especially if the child knows its
fault has reached its parent's ear. It is otherwise, methinks, giving
the child, if of an obstinate disposition, so much more time to harden
its mind, and bid defiance to its punishment.
Just now, dear Sir, your Billy is brought into my presence, all
smiling, crowing to come to me, and full of heart-cheering promises;
and the subject I am upon goes to my heart. Surely I can never beat
your Billy!--Dear little life of my life! how can I think thou canst
ever deserve it, or that I can ever inflict it?--No, my baby, that
shall be thy papa's task, if ever thou art so heinously naughty; and
whatever _he_ does, must be right. Pardon my foolish fondness, dear
Sir!--I will proceed.
If, then, the fault be so atrocious as to deserve whipping, and the
parent be resolved on this exemplary punishment, the child ought not,
as I imagine, to come into one's presence without meeting with it:
or else, a fondness too natural to be resisted, will probably get the
upper hand of one's resentment, and how shall one be able to whip the
dear creature one had ceased to be angry with? Then after he has once
seen one without meeting his punishment, will he not be inclined to
hope for connivance at his fault, unless it should be repeated? And
may he not be apt (for children's resentments are strong) to impute
to cruelty a correction (when he thought the fault had been forgotten)
that should always appear to be inflicted with reluctance, and through
motives of love?
If, from anger at his fault, one should go _above the due proportion_,
(I am sure I might be trusted for this!) let it take its course!--How
barbarously, methinks, I speak!--He ought to _feel_ the lash, first,
because he _deserves_ it, poor little soul? Next, because it is
_proposed_ to be exemplary. And, lastly, because it is not intended to
be _often_ used: and the very passion or displeasure one expresses (if
it be not enormous) will shew one is in earnest, and create in him a
necessary awe, and fear to offend again. The _end_ of the correction
is to shew him the difference between right and wrong. And as it
is proper to take him at his first offer of a full submission and
repentance (and not before), and instantly dispassionate one's self,
and shew him the difference by acts of pardon and kindness (which
will let him see that one punishes him out of necessity rather than
choice), so one would not be afraid to make him smart so sufficiently,
that he should not soon forget the severity of the discipline, nor
the disgrace of it. There's a cruel mamma for you, Mr. B.! What my
_practice_ may be, I cannot tell; but this _theory_, I presume to
think, is right.
As to the _act_ itself, I much approve Mr. Locke's advice, to do it
by pauses, mingling stripes and expostulations together, to shame and
terrify the more; and the rather, as the parent, by this slow manner
of inflicting the punishment, will less need to be afraid of giving
too violent a correction; for those pauses will afford _him_, as well
as the _child_, opportunities for consideration and reflection.
But as to the _person_, by whom the discipline should be performed,
I humbly conceive, that this excellent author is here also to be
objected to.
"If you have a discreet servant," says he, "capable of it, and has the
place of governing your child (for if you have a tutor, there is no
doubt), I think it is best the smart should come immediately from
another's hand, though by the parent's order, who should see it done,
whereby the parent's authority will be preserved, and the child's
aversion for the pain it suffers, rather be turned on the person that
immediately inflicts it. For I would have a father seldom strike a
child, but upon very urgent necessity, and as the last remedy."
'Tis in such an urgent case that we are supposing that it should be
done at all. If there be not a reason strong enough for the father's
whipping the child himself, there cannot be one for his ordering
another to do it, and standing by to see it done. But I humbly think,
that if there be a necessity, no one can be so fit as the father
himself to do it. The child cannot dispute his authority to punish,
from whom he receives and expects all the good things of his life: he
cannot question _his_ love to him, and after the smart is over, and
his obedience secured, must believe that so tender, so indulgent a
father could have no other end in whipping him, but his good. Against
_him_, he knows he has no remedy, but must passively submit; and when
he is convinced he _must_, he will in time conclude that he _ought_.
But to have this severe office performed by a servant, though at the
father's command, and that professedly, that the aversion of the child
for the pain it suffers should be turned on the person who immediately
inflicts it, is, I humbly think, the _reverse_ of what ought to be
done. And _more_ so, if this servant has any direction of the child's
education; and still much _more_ so, if it be his tutor, though Mr.
Locke says, there is no doubt, if there be a tutor, that it should be
done by him.
For, dear Sir, is there no doubt, that the tutor should lay himself
open to the aversion of the child, whose manners he is to form? Is not
the best method a tutor can take, in order to enforce the lessons he
would inculcate, to try to attract the love and attention of his pupil
by the most winning ways he can possibly think of? And yet is _he_,
this very tutor _out of all doubt_, to be the instrument of doing an
harsh and disgraceful thing, and that in the last resort, when all
other methods are found ineffectual; and that too, because he ought to
incur the child's resentment and aversion, rather than the father? No,
surely, Sir, it is not reasonable it should be so: quite contrary,
in my humble notion, there can be no doubt, but that it should be
_otherwise_.
It should, methinks, be enough for a tutor, in case of a fault in the
child, to threaten to complain to his father; but yet not to make
such a complaint, without the child obstinately persists in his error,
which, too, should be of a nature to merit such an appeal: and this
might highly contribute to preserve the parent's authority; who, on
this occasion, should never fail of extorting a promise of amendment,
or of instantly punishing him with his own hands. And, to soften the
distaste he might conceive in resentment of too rigid complainings, it
might not be amiss, that his interposition in the child's favour, were
the fault not too flagrant, should be permitted to save him once or
twice from the impending discipline.
'Tis certain that the passions, if I may so call them, of affection
and aversion, are very early discoverable in children; insomuch
that they will, even before they can speak, afford us marks for the
detection of an hypocritical appearance of love to it before the
parents' faces. For the fondness or averseness of the child to some
servants, will at any time let one know, whether their love to the
baby is uniform and the same, when one is absent, as present. In one
case the child will reject with sullenness all the little sycophancies
made to it in one's sight; while on the other, its fondness of the
person, who generally obliges it, is an infallible rule to judge of
such an one's sincerity behind one's back. This little observation
shews the strength of a child's resentments, and its sagacity, at the
earliest age, in discovering who obliges, and who disobliges it: and
hence one may infer, how improper a person _he_ is, whom we would have
a child to love and respect, or by whose precepts we would have it
directed, to be the punisher of its faults, or to do any harsh or
disagreeable office to it.
For my own part, I beg to declare, that if the parent were not to
inflict the punishment himself, I think it much better it should be
given him, in the parent's presence, by the servant of the lowest
consideration in the family, and whose manners and example one would
be the least willing of any other he should follow. Just as the common
executioner, who is the lowest and most flagitious officer of the
commonwealth, and who frequently deserves, as much as the criminal,
the punishment he is chosen to inflict, is pitched upon to perform,
as a mark of greater ignominy, sentences intended as examples to deter
others from the commission of heinous crimes. The Almighty took this
method when he was disposed to correct severely his chosen people;
for, in that case, he generally did it by the hands of the most
profligate nations around them, as we read in many places of the Old
Testament.
But the following rule I admire in Mr. Locke: "When," says he (for any
misdemeanour), "the father or mother looks sour on the child, every
one else should put on the same coldness to him, and nobody give him
countenance till forgiveness is asked, and a reformation of his fault
has set him right again, and restored him to his former credit. If
this were constantly observed," adds he, "I guess there would be
little need of blows or chiding: their own ease or satisfaction would
quickly teach children to court commendation, and avoid doing that
which they found every body condemned, and they were sure to suffer
for, without being chid or beaten. This would teach them modesty and
shame, and they would quickly come to have a natural abhorrence for
that which they found made them slighted and neglected by every body."
This affords me a pretty hint; for if ever your charming Billy shall
be naughty, I will proclaim throughout your worthy family, that the
little dear is in disgrace! And one shall shun him, another decline
answering him, a third say, "No, master, I cannot obey you, till your
mamma is pleased with you"; a fourth, "Who shall mind what little
masters bid them do, when they won't mind what their mammas say to
them?" And when the dear little soul finds this, he will come in my
way, (and I see, pardon me, my dear Mr. B., he has some of his papa's
spirit, already, indeed he has!) and I will direct myself with double
kindness to your beloved Davers, and to my Miss Goodwin, and not
notice the dear creature, if I can help it, till I can see his _papa_
(forgive my boldness) banished from his little sullen brow, and all
his _mamma_ rise to his eyes. And when his musical tongue shall be
unlocked to own his fault, and promise amendment--O then! how shall I
clasp him to my bosom! and tears of joy, I know, will meet his tears
of penitence!
How these flights, dear Sir, please a body!-What delights have those
mammas (which some fashionable dear ladies are quite unacquainted
with) who can make their babies, and their first educations, their
entertainment and diversion! To watch the dawnings of reason in them,
to direct their little passions, as they shew themselves, to this
or that particular point of benefit or use; and to prepare the sweet
virgin soil of their minds to receive the seeds of virtue and goodness
so early, that, as they grow up, one need only now a little pruning,
and now a little water, to make them the ornaments and delights of
the garden of this life! And then their pretty ways, their fond
and grateful endearments, some new beauty every day rising to
observation--O my dearest Mr. B., whose enjoyments and pleasures are
so great, as those of such mothers as can bend their minds two or
three hours every day to the duties of the nursery?
I have a few other things to observe upon Mr. Locke's treatise, which,
when I have done, I shall read, admire, and improve by the rest, as my
years and experience advance; of which, in my proposed little book,
I shall give you better proofs than I am able to do at present; raw,
crude, and indigested as the notions of so young a mamma must needs
be.
But these shall be the subjects of another letter; for now I am come
to the pride and the pleasure I always have, when I subscribe myself,
dearest Sir, _your ever dutiful and grateful_
P.B.
LETTER XCVI
DEAR SIR,
Mr. Locke gives a great many very pretty instructions relating to the
play-games of children: but I humbly presume to object to what he says
in one or two places.
He would not indulge them in any playthings, but what they make
themselves, or endeavour to make. "A smooth pebble, a piece of paper,
the mother's bunch of keys, or any thing they cannot hurt themselves
with," he rightly says, "serve as much to divert little children,
as those more chargeable and curious toys from the shops, which are
presently put out of order, and broken."
These playthings may certainly do for little ones: but methinks, to a
person of easy circumstances, since the making these toys employs
the industrious poor, the buying them for the child might be complied
with, though they _were_ easily broken; and especially as they are of
all prices, and some less costly, and more durable than others.
"Tops, gigs, battledores," Mr. Locke observes, "which are to be used
with labour, should indeed be procured them--not for variety, but
exercise; but if they had a top, the scourge-stick and leather strap
should be left to their own making and fitting."
But I may presume to say, that whatever be the good Mr. Locke proposes
by this, it cannot be equal to the mischief children may do themselves
in making these playthings! For must they not have implements to work
with? and is not a knife, or other edged tool, without which it is
impossible they can make or shape a scourge-stick, or _any_ of their
playthings, a fine instrument in a child's hands! This advice is
the reverse of the caution warranted from all antiquity, _That it is
dangerous to meddle with edged tools!_ and I am afraid, the tutor must
often act the surgeon, and follow the indulgence with a styptic and
plaister; and the young gentleman's hands might be so often bound up
as to be one way to cure him of his earnest desire to play; but I
can hardly imagine any other good that it can do him; for I doubt the
excellent consequences proposed by our author from this doctrine,
such as to teach the child moderation in his desires, application,
industry, thought, contrivance, and good husbandry, qualities that, as
he says, will be useful to him when he is a man, are too remote to be
ingrafted upon such beginnings; although it must be confessed, that,
as Mr. Locke wisely observes, good habits and industry cannot be too
early inculcated.
But then, Sir, may I ask, Are not the very plays and sports, to which
children accustom themselves, whether they make their own playthings
or not, equivalent to the work or labour of grown persons! Yes, Sir,
I will venture to say, they are, and more than equivalent to the
exercises and labour of many.
Mr. Locke advises, that the child's playthings should be as few as
possible, which I entirely approve: that they should be in his tutor's
power, who is to give him but one at once. But since it is the nature
of the human mind to court most what is prohibited, and to set light
by what is in its own power; I am half doubtful (only that Mr. Locke
says it, and it may not be so very important as other points, in which
I have ventured to differ from that gentleman), whether the child's
absolute possession of his own playthings in some little repository,
of which he may be permitted to keep the key, especially if he makes
no bad use of the privilege, would not make him more indifferent to
them: while the contrary conduct might possibly enhance his value of
them. And if, when he had done with any plaything, he were obliged to
put it into its allotted place, and were accustomed to keep account of
the number and places of them severally; this would teach him order,
and at the same time instruct him to keep a proper account of them,
and to avoid being a squanderer or waster: and if he should omit to
put his playthings in their places, or be careless of them, the taking
them away for a time, or threatening to give them to others, would
make him the more heedful.
Mr. Locke says, that he has known a child so distracted with the
number and variety of his playthings, that he tired his maid every day
to look them over: and was so accustomed to abundance, that he never
thought he had enough, but was always asking, "What more? What new
thing shall I have?"--"A good introduction," adds he, ironically, "to
moderate desires, and the ready way to make a contented happy man."
All that I shall offer to this, is, that few _men_ are so
philosophical as one would wish them to be, much less _children_. But,
no doubt, this variety engaged the child's activity; which, of the two
might be turned to better purposes than sloth or indolence; and if the
maid was tired, it might be, because she was not so much _alive_ as
the child; and perhaps this part of the grievance might not be so
great, because if she was his attendant, 'tis probable she had nothing
else to do.
However, in the main, as Mr. Locke says, it is no matter how few
playthings the child is indulged with; but yet I can hardly persuade
myself, that plenty of them can have such bad consequences as he
apprehends; and the rather, because they will excite his attention,
and promote his industry and activity. His enquiry after new things,
let him have few or many, is to be expected as a consequence to
those natural desires which are implanted in him, and will every day
increase: but this may be observed, that as he grows in years, he will
be above some playthings, and so the number of the old ones will be
always reducible, perhaps in a greater proportion, than the new ones
will increase.
On the head of good-breeding, he observes, that, "there are two sorts
of ill-breeding; the one a sheepish bashfulness, and the other a
misbecoming negligence and disrespect in our carriage; both which,"
says he, "are avoided by duly observing this one rule, not to think
meanly of ourselves, and not to think meanly of others." I think, as
Mr. Locke explains this rule, it is an excellent one. But I would beg
to observe upon it, that however discommendable a bashful temper is,
in some instances, where it must be deemed a weakness of the mind,
yet, in my humble opinion, it is generally the mark of an ingenuous
one, and is always to be preferred to an undistinguishing and hardy
confidence, which, as it seems to me, is the genuine production of
invincible ignorance.
What is faulty in it, which he calls _sheepishness_, should indeed be
shaken off as soon as possible, because it is an enemy to merit in its
advancement in the world: but, Sir, were I to choose a companion for
your Billy, as he grows up, I should not think the worse of the youth,
who, not having had the opportunities of knowing men, or seeing the
world, had this defect. On the contrary, I should be apt to look upon
it as an outward fence or inclosure to his virtue, which might keep
off the lighter attacks of immorality, the _Hussars_ of vice, as I may
say, who are not able to carry on a formal siege against his morals;
and I should expect such a one to be docile, humane, good-humoured,
diffident of himself, and therefore most likely to improve as well in
mind as behaviour: while a hardened mind, that never doubts itself,
must be a stranger to its own infirmities, and suspecting none, is
impetuous, over-bearing, incorrigible; and, if rich, a tyrant; if not,
possibly an invader of other men's properties; or at least, such a one
as allows itself to walk so near the borders of injustice, that where
_self_ is concerned, it hardly ever does right things.
Mr. Locke proposes (Section 148) a very pretty method to cheat
children, as it were, into learning: but then he adds, "There may be
dice and playthings, with the letters on them, to teach children the
alphabet by playing." And (Section 151) "I know a person of great
quality, who, by pasting on the six vowels (for in our language _y_ is
one) on the six sides of a dice, and the remaining eighteen consonants
on the sides of three other dice, has made this a play for his
children, that _he_ shall win, who at one cast throws most words on
these four dice; whereby his eldest son, yet in coats, has _played_
himself _into spelling_ with great eagerness, and without once having
been chid for it, or forced to it."
But I had rather your Billy should be a twelvemonth backwarder for
want of this method, than forwarded by it. For what may not be feared
from so early inculcating the use of dice and gaming, upon the minds
of children? Let Mr. Locke himself speak to this in his Section
208, and I wish I could reconcile the two passages in this excellent
author. "As to cards and dice," says he, "I think the safest and best
way is, never to learn any play upon them, and so to be incapacitated
for these dangerous temptations, and encroaching wasters of useful
time." And, he might have added, of the noblest estates and fortunes;
while sharpers and scoundrels have been lifted into distinction upon
their ruins. Yet, in Sec. 153, Mr. Locke proceeds to give directions in
relation to the dice he recommends.
But after all, if some innocent plays were fixed upon to cheat
children into reading, that, as he says, should look as little like
a task as possible, it must needs be of use for that purpose. But let
every gentleman, who has a fortune to lose, and who, if he games, is
on a foot with the vilest company, who generally have nothing at all
to risque, tremble at the thoughts of teaching his son, though for the
most laudable purposes, the early use of dice and gaming.
But how much I am charmed with a hint in Mr. Locke, which makes your
Pamela hope, she may be of greater use to your children, even as they
_grow up_, than she could ever have flattered herself to be. 'Tis a
charming paragraph; I must not skip one word of it. Thus it begins,
and I will observe upon it as I go along. Sec. 177: "But under whose care
soever a child is put to be taught, during the tender and flexible
years of his life, this is certain, it should be one who thinks Latin
and language the least part of education."
How agreeable is this to my notions; which I durst not have avowed,
but after so excellent a scholar! For I have long had the thought,
that much time is wasted to little purpose in the attaining of Latin.
Mr. H., I think, says he was ten years in endeavouring to learn
it, and, as far as I can find, knows nothing at all of the matter
neither!--Indeed he lays that to the wicked picture in his grammar,
which he took for granted (as he has often said, as well as once
written) was put there to teach boys to rob orchards, instead of
improving their minds in learning, or common honesty.
But (for this is too light an instance for the subject) Mr. Locke
proceeds--"One who knowing how much virtue and a well-tempered soul is
to be preferred to any sort of _learning or language_," [_What a noble
writer is this!_] "makes it his chief business to form the mind of his
scholars, and give that a right disposition:" [_Ay, there, dear Sir,
is the thing!_] "which, if once got, though all the rest should be
neglected," [_charmingly observed!_] "would, in _due time_," [_without
wicked dice, I hope!_] "produce all the rest; and which, if it be not
got and settled, so to keep out ill and vicious habits, _languages_
and _sciences_, and all the other accomplishments of education, will
be to no purpose, but to make the worse or more dangerous man." [_Now
comes the place I am so much delighted with!_] "And indeed, whatever
stir there is made about getting of Latin, as the great and difficult
business, his mother" [_thank you, dear Sir, for putting this
excellent author into my hands!_] "may teach it him herself, if she
will but spend two or three hours in a day with him," [_If she will!
Never fear, but I will, with the highest pleasure in the world!_] "and
make him read the Evangelists in Latin to her." [_How I long to be
five or six years older, as well as my dearest babies, that I may
enter upon this charming scheme!_] "For she need but buy a Latin
Testament, and having got somebody to mark the last syllable but one,
where it is long, in words above two syllables (which is enough to
regulate her pronunciation and accenting the words), read daily in the
Gospels, and then let her avoid understanding them in Latin, if she
can."
Why, dear Sir, you have taught me almost all this already; and you,
my beloved tutor, have told me often, I read and pronounce Latin more
than tolerably, though I don't understand it: but this method will
teach _me_, as well as your dear _children_--But thus the good
gentleman proceeds--"And when she understands the Evangelists in
Latin, let her in the same manner read Aesop's Fables, and so proceed
on to Eutropius, Justin, and such other books. I do not mention this,"
adds Mr. Locke, "as an imagination of what I fancy _may_ do, but as
of a thing I have known done, and the Latin tongue got with ease this
way."
He then mentions other advantages, which the child may receive from
his mother's instruction, which I will try more and more to qualify
myself for: particularly, after he has intimated, that "at the same
time that the child is learning French and Latin, he may be entered
also in arithmetic, geography, chronology, history, and geometry too;
for if," says he, "these be taught him in French or Latin, when he
begins once to understand either of these tongues, he will get a
knowledge of these sciences, and the language to boot." He then
proceeds: "Geography, I think, should be begun with: for the learning
of the figure of the globe, the situation and boundaries of the four
parts of the world, and that of particular kingdoms and countries,
being only an exercise of the eyes and memory, a child with pleasure
will learn and retain them. And this is so certain, that I now live in
a house with a child, whom his MOTHER has so well instructed this way
in geography," [_But_ _had she not, do you think, dear Sir, some of
this good gentleman's kind assistance?_] "that he knew the limits of
the four parts of the world; would readily point, being asked, to any
country upon the globe, or any county in the map of England; knew all
the great rivers, promontories, streights, and bays in the world, and
could find the longitude and latitude of any place, before he was six
years old."
There's for you, dear Sir!--See what a mother can do if she pleases!
I remember, Sir, formerly, in that sweet chariot conference, at
the dawning of my hopes, when all my dangers were happily over (a
conference I shall always think of with pleasure), that you asked me,
how I would bestow my time, supposing the neighbouring ladies would
be above being seen in my company; when I should have no visits to
receive or return; no parties of pleasure to join in; no card-tables
to employ my winter evenings?
I then, Sir, transported with my opening prospects, prattled to you,
how well I would try to pass my time, in the family management and
accounts, in visits now and then to the indigent and worthy poor; in
music sometimes; in reading, in writing, in my superior duties--And I
hope I have not behaved quite unworthily of my promise.
But I also remember, what once you said on a certain occasion, which
_now_, since the fair prospect is no longer distant, and that I have
been so long your happy wife, I may repeat without those blushes which
then covered my face; thus then, with a _modest_ grace, and with that
_virtuous_ endearment that is so _beautiful_ in _your_ sex, as well
as in _ours_, whether in the character of lover or husband, maiden
or wife, you were pleased to say--"And I hope, my Pamela, to have
superadded to all these, such an employment as--" in short, Sir, I am
now blessed with, and writing of; no less than the useful part I may
be able to take in the first education of your beloved babies!
And now I must add, that this pleasing hope sets me above all other
diversions: I wish for no parties of pleasure but with you, my dearest
Mr. B., and these are parties that will improve me, and make me more
capable of the other, and more worthy of your conversation, and of
the time you pass (beyond what I could ever have promised to my utmost
wishes) in such poor company as mine, for no other reason but because
I love to be instructed, and take my lessons well, as you are pleased
to say; and indeed I must be a sad dunce, if I did not, from so
skilful and so beloved a master. I want no card-table amusements; for
I hope, in a few years (and a proud hope it is), to be able to teach
your dear little ones the first rudiments, as Mr. Locke points the
way, of Latin, of French, and of geography, and arithmetic.
O, my dear Mr. B., by your help and countenance, what may I not
be able to teach them, and how may I prepare the way for a tutor's
instructions, and give him up minds half cultivated to his hands!--And
all this time improve myself too, not only in science, but in nature,
by tracing in the little babes what all mankind are, and have been,
from infancy to riper years, and watching the sweet dawnings of
reason, and delighting in every bright emanation of that ray of
divinity, lent to the human mind, for great and happy purposes, when
rightly pointed and directed.
There is no going farther after these charming recollections and
hopes, for they bring me to that grateful remembrance, to whom, under
God, I owe them all, and also what I have been for so happy a period,
and what I am, which will ever be my pride and my glory; and well it
may, when I look back to my beginning with humble acknowledgment, and
can call myself, dearest Mr. B., _your honoured and honouring, and, I
hope to say, in time, useful wife_, P.B.
LETTER XCVII
MY DEAREST MR. B.,
Having in my former letters said as much as is necessary to let you
into my notion of the excellent book you put into my hands, and
having touched those points in which the children of both sexes may be
concerned (with some _art_ in my intention, I own), in hope that they
would not be so much out of the way, as to make you repent of the
honour you have done me, in committing the dear Miss Goodwin to my
care; I shall now very quickly set myself about the proposed little
book.
You have been so good as to tell me (at the same time that you
disapprove not these my specimen letters as I may call them), that you
will kindly accept of my intended present, and encourage me to proceed
in it; and as I shall leave one side of the leaf blank for your
corrections and alterations, those corrections will be a fine help and
instruction to me in the pleasing task which I propose to myself, of
assisting in the early education of your dear children. And as I
may be years in writing it, as the dear babies improve, as I myself
improve, by the opportunities which their advances in years will give
me, and the experience I shall gain, I may then venture to give my
notions on the more material and nobler parts of education, as well
as the inferior: for (but that I think the subjects above my present
abilities) Mr. Locke's book would lead me into several remarks, that
might not be unuseful, and which appear to me entirely new; though
that may be owing to my slender reading and opportunities, perhaps.
But what I would now touch upon, is a word or two still more
particularly upon the education of my own sex; a topic which naturally
arises to me from the subject of my last letter. For there, dear Sir,
we saw, that the mothers might teach the child _this_ part of science,
and _that_ part of instruction; and who, I pray, as our sex is
generally educated, shall teach the _mothers_? How, in a word, shall
_they_ come by their knowledge?
I know you'll be apt to say, that Miss Goodwin gives all the promises
of becoming a fine young lady, and takes her learning, loves reading,
and makes very pretty reflections upon all she reads, and asks very
pertinent questions, and is as knowing, at her years, as most young
ladies. This is very true, Sir; but it is not every one that can boast
of Miss Goodwin's capacity, and goodness of temper, which have enabled
her to get up a good deal of _lost_ time, as I must call it; for her
first four years were a perfect blank, as far as I can find, just as
if the pretty dear was born the day she was four years old; for what
she had to _unlearn_ as to temper, and will, and such things, set
against what little improvements she had made, might very fairly be
compounded for, as a blank.
I would indeed have a girl brought up to her needle, but I would not
have _all_ her time employed in samplers, and learning to mark, and
do those unnecessary things, which she will never, probably, be called
upon to practise.
And why, pray, are not girls entitled to the same _first_ education,
though not to the same plays and diversions, as boys; so far, at
least, as is supposed by Mr. Locke a mother can instruct them?
Would not this lay a foundation for their future improvement, and
direct their inclinations to useful subjects, such as would make them
above the imputations of some unkind gentlemen, who allot to their
part common tea-table prattle, while they do all they can to make them
fit for nothing else, and then upbraid them for it? And would not the
men find us better and more suitable companions and assistants to them
in every useful purpose of life?--O that your lordly sex were all like
my dear Mr. B.--I don't mean that they should all take raw, uncouth,
unbred, lowly girls, as I was, from the cottage, and, destroying
all distinction, make such their wives; for there is a far greater
likelihood, that such a one, when she comes to be lifted up into so
dazzling a sphere, would have her head made giddy with her exaltation,
than that she would balance herself well in it: and to what a blot,
over all the fair page of a long life, would this little drop of dirty
ink spread itself! What a standing disreputation to the choice of a
gentleman!
But _this_ I mean, that after a gentleman had entered into the
marriage state with a young creature (saying nothing at all of birth
or descent) far inferior to him in learning, in parts, in knowledge of
the world, and in all the graces which make conversation agreeable and
improving, he would, as you do, endeavour to make her fit company for
himself, as he shall find she is _willing_ to improve, and _capable_
of improvement: that he would direct her taste, point out to her
proper subjects for her amusement and instruction; travel with her now
and then, a month in a year perhaps; and shew her the world, after he
has encouraged her to put herself forward at his own table, and at the
houses of his friends, and has seen, that she will not do him great
discredit any where. What obligations, and opportunities too, will
this give her to love and honour such a husband, every hour, more
and more! as she will see his wisdom in a thousand instances, and
experience his indulgence to her in ten thousand, to the praise of
his politeness, and the honour of them both!--And then, when select
parties of pleasure or business engaged him not abroad, in his home
conversation, to have him delight to instruct and open her views, and
inspire her with an ambition to enlarge her mind, and more and more
to excel! What an intellectual kind of married life would such persons
find theirs! And how suitable to the rules of policy and self-love in
the gentleman; for is not the wife, and are not her improvements, all
_his own_?--_Absolutely_, as I may say, _his own_? And does not every
excellence she can be adorned by, redound to her husband's honour
because she is his, even more than to _her own_!--In like manner as no
dishonour affects a man so much, as that which he receives from a bad
wife.
But where is such a gentleman as Mr. B. to be met with? Look round and
see where, with all the advantages of sex, of education, of travel,
of conversation in the open world, a gentleman of his abilities
to instruct and inform, is to be found? And there are others, who,
perhaps, will question the capacities or inclinations of our sex in
general, to improve in useful knowledge, were they to meet with such
kind instructors, either in the characters of parents or husbands.
As to the first, I grant, that it is not easy to find such a
gentleman: but for the second (if excusable in me, who am one of the
sex, and so may be thought partial to it), I could by comparisons
drawn from the gentlemen and ladies within the circle of my own
acquaintance, produce instances, which are so flagrantly in their
favour, as might make it suspected, that it is policy more than
justice, in those who would keep our sex unacquainted with that
more eligible turn of education, which gives the gentlemen so many
advantages over us in _that_; and which will shew, they have none at
all in _nature_ or _genius_.
I know you will pardon me, dear Sir; for you are so exalted above your
Pamela, by nature and education too, that you cannot apprehend any
inconvenience from bold comparisons. I will beg, therefore, to mention
a few instances among our friends, where the ladies, notwithstanding
their more cramped and confined education, make _more_ than an equal
figure with the gentlemen in all the graceful parts of conversation,
in spite of the contempts poured out upon our sex by some witty
gentlemen, whose writings I have in my eye.
To begin then with Mr. Murray, and Miss Damford that was; Mr. Murray
has the reputation of scholarship, and has travelled too; but how
infinitely is he surpassed in every noble and useful quality, and in
greatness of mind, and judgment, as well as wit, by the young lady I
have named! This we saw, when last at the Hall, in fifty instances,
where the gentleman was, you know, Sir, on a visit to Sir Simon and
his lady.
Next, dear Sir, permit me to observe, that my good Lord Davers, with
all his advantages, born a counsellor of the realm, and educated
accordingly, does not surpass his lady.
_My_ countess, as I delight to call her, and Lady Betty, her eldest
daughter, greatly surpassed the Earl and her eldest brother in every
point of knowledge, and even learning, as I may say, although both
ladies owe that advantage principally to their own cultivation and
acquirement.
Let me presume, Sir, to name Mr. H.: and when I _have_ named him,
shall we not be puzzled to find any where in our sex, one remove from
vulgar life, a woman that will not out-do Mr. H.?
Lady Darnford, upon all useful subjects, makes a much brighter figure
than Sir Simon, whose knowledge of the world has not yet made him
acquainted with himself.--Mr. Arthur excels not his lady.
Mrs. Towers, a maiden lady, is an over-match for half a dozen of
the neighbouring gentlemen I could name, in what is called wit and
politeness, and not inferior to any of them in judgment.
I could multiply such instances, were it needful, to the confutation
of that low, and I had almost said, _unmanly_ contempt, with which
a certain celebrated genius treats our sex in general in most of
his pieces, I have seen; particularly his _Letter of Advice to a new
married Lady_; so written, as must disgust, instead of instruct; and
looks more like the advice of an enemy to the _sex_, and a bitter one
too, than a friend to the _particular Lady_. But I ought to beg pardon
for this my presumption, for two reasons: first, because of the truly
admirable talents of this writer; and next, because we know not what
ladies the ingenious gentleman may have fallen among in his younger
days.
Upon the whole, therefore, I conclude, that Mr. B. is almost the only
gentleman, who excels _every_ lady that I have seen; so _greatly_
excels, that even the emanations of his excellence irradiate a
low cottage-born girl, and make her pass among ladies of birth and
education for somebody.
Forgive my pride, dear Sir; but it would be almost a crime in your
Pamela not to exult in the mild benignity of those rays, by which her
beloved Mr. B. endeavours to make her look up to his own sunny sphere:
while she, by the advantage only of his reflected glory, in _his_
absence, which makes a dark night to her, glides along with her paler
and fainter beaminess, and makes a distinguishing figure among such
lesser planets, as can only poorly twinkle and glimmer, for want of
the aid she boasts of.
I dare not, Sir, conjecture whence arises this more than parity in
the genius of the sexes, among the above persons, notwithstanding the
disparity of education, and the difference in the opportunities of
each. This might lead one into too proud a thought in favour of a sex
too contemptuously treated by some _other_ wits I could name, who,
indeed, are the less to be regarded, as they love to jest upon all God
Almighty's works: yet might I better do it, too, than anybody, since I
am so infinitely transcended by my husband, that no competition, pride
or vanity, could be apprehended from me.
But, however, I would only beg of those who are so free in their
contempts of us, that they would, for _their own sakes_ (and that,
with such generally goes a great way), rather try to _improve_ than
_depreciate_ us: we should then make better daughters, better wives,
better mothers, and better mistresses: and who (permit me, Sir, to
ask them) would be so much the better for these opportunities and
amendments, as our upbraiders themselves!
On re-perusing this, I must repeatedly beg your excuse for these proud
notions in behalf of my sex, which, I can truly say, are not owing to
partiality because, I have the honour to be one of it; but to a far
better motive; for what does this contemptuous treatment of one half,
if not the better half, of the human species, naturally produce, but
libertinism and abandoned wickedness? for does it not tend to make
the daughters, the sisters, the wives of gentlemen, the subjects of
profligate attempts?--Does it not render the sex vile in the eyes of
the most vile? And when a lady is no longer beheld by such persons
with that dignity and reverence, with which perhaps, the graces of her
person, and the innocence of her mind, should sacredly, as it were,
encompass her, do not her very excellencies become so many incentives
for base wretches to attempt her virtue, and bring about her ruin?
What then may not wicked wit have to answer for, when its possessors
prostitute it to such unmanly purposes! And as if they had never had
a mother, a sister, a daughter of their own, throw down, as much as in
them lies, those sacred fences which may lay the fair inclosure open
to the invasions of every clumsier and viler beast of prey; who,
though destitute of _their_ wit, yet corrupted by it, shall fill
their mouths, as well as their hearts, with the borrowed mischief,
and propagate it from one to another to the end of time; and who,
otherwise, would have passed by the uninvaded fence, and only shewed
their teeth, and snarled at the well secured fold within it?
You cannot, my dearest Mr. B., I know be angry at this romantic
painting: since you are not affected by it: for when at worst,
you acted (more dangerously, 'tis true, for the poor innocents) a
_principal_ part, and were as a lion among beasts--Do, dear Sir, let
me say _among_, this one time--You scorned to borrow any man's wit;
and if nobody had followed your example, till they had had your
qualities, the number of rakes would have been but small. Yet, don't
mistake me, neither; I am not so mean as to bespeak your favour by
extenuating your failings; if I _were_, you would deservedly despise
me. For, undoubtedly (I _must_ say it, Sir), your faults were the
greater for your perfections: and such talents misapplied, as they
made you more capable of mischief, so did they increase the evil of
your practices. All then that I mean by saying you are not affected
by this painting, is, that you are not affected by my description
of clumsy and sordid rakes, whose _wit_ is _borrowed_, and their
_wickedness_ only what they may call _their own_.
Then, dear Sir, since that noble conversation you held with me at
Tunbridge, in relation to the consequences that might, had it not been
for God's grace intervening, have followed the masquerade affair, I
have the inexpressible pleasure to find a thorough reformation, from
the _best_ motives, taking place; and your joining with me in my
closet (as opportunity permits) in my evening duties, is the charming
confirmation of your kind and voluntary, and I am proud to
say, _pious_ assurances; so that this makes me fearless of your
displeasure, while I rather triumph in my joy for your precious soul's
sake, than presume to think of recriminating; and when (only for this
once) I take the liberty of looking back from the delightful _now_, to
the painful _formerly!_
But, what a rambler am I again! You command me to write to you all
I think, without fear. I obey, and, as the phrase is, do it without
either _fear_ or _wit_.
If you are _not_ displeased, it is a mark of the true nobleness of
your nature, and the sincerity of your late pious declarations.
If you _are_, I shall be sure I have done wrong in having applied a
corrosive to eat away the _proud flesh_ of a _wound_, that is not
yet so thoroughly _digested_, as to bear a painful application, and
requires balsam and a gentler treatment. But when we were at Bath, I
remember what you said once of the benefit of retrospection: and you
charged me, whenever a _proper_ opportunity offered, to remind you,
by that one word, _retrospection_, of the charming conversation we had
there, on our return from the rooms.
If this be not one of them, forgive, dearest Sir, the unreasonableness
of your very impertinent, but, in intention and resolution, _ever
dutiful_,
P.B.
LETTER XCVIII
_From Mrs. B. to her Father and Mother_
EVER DEAR, AND EVER HONOURED,
I must write this one letter, although I have had the happiness to see
you so lately; because Mr. B. is now about to honour me with the
tour he so kindly promised; and it may therefore be several months,
perhaps, before I have again the pleasure of paying you the like
dutiful respects.
You know his kind promise, that he would for every dear baby I present
him with, take an excursion with me afterwards, in order to establish
and confirm my health.
The task I have undertaken of dedicating all my writing amusements
to the dearest of men; the full employment I have, when at home; the
frequent rambles he has so often indulged me in, with my dear Miss
Goodwin, to Kent, London, Bedfordshire, Lincolnshire, and to my lady
Davers, take from me the necessity of writing to you, to my Miss
Damford that was, and to Lady Davers, so often as I formerly thought
myself obliged to do, when I saw all my worthy friends so seldom; the
same things, moreover, with little variation, occurring this year, as
to our conversations, visits, friends, employments, and amusements,
that fell out the last, as must be the case in a family so uniform and
methodical as ours.
I have for these reasons, more leisure to pursue my domestic duties,
which are increased upon me; and when I have said, that I am every day
more and more happy in my beloved Mr. B., in Miss Goodwin, my Billy,
my Davers, and now, newly, in my sweet little Pamela (for so, you
know, Lady Davers would have her called, rather than by her own name),
what can I say more?
As to the tour I spoke of, you know, the first part of Mr. B.'s
obliging scheme is to carry me to France; for he has already travelled
with me over the greatest part of England; and I am sure, by my
passage last year, to the Isle of Wight, I shall not be afraid of
crossing the water from Dover thither; and he will, when we are
at Paris, he says, take _my_ farther directions (that was his kind
expression) whither to go next.
My Lord and Lady Davers are so good as to promise to accompany us to
Paris, provided Mr. B. will give them our company to Aix-la-Chapelle,
for a month or six weeks, whither my lord is advised to go. And Mr.
H. if he can get over his fear of crossing the salt water, is to be of
the party.
Lady G., Miss Damford that was (who likewise has lately lain-in of a
fine daughter), and I, are to correspond as opportunity offers; and
she promises to send you what I write, as formerly: but I have refused
to say one word in my letters of the manners, customs, curiosities,
&c. of the places we see; because, first, I shall not have leisure;
and, next, those things are so much better described in books written
by persons who made stricter and better observations that I can
pretend to make: so that what I shall write will relate only to our
private selves, and be as brief as possible.
If we are to do as Mr. B. has it in his thoughts, he intends to be
out of England two years:--but how can I bear that, if for your sakes
only, and for those of my dear babies!--But this must be my time,
my _only_ time, Mr. B. says, to ramble and see distant places
and countries; for as soon as his little ones are capable of my
instructions, and begin to understand my looks and signs, he will not
spare me from them a week together; and he is so kind as to propose,
that my dear bold boy (for every one sees how greatly he resembles his
papa in his dear forward spirit) shall go with us; and this pleases
Miss Goodwin highly, who is very fond of _him_, and my little Davers;
but vows she will never love so well my pretty black-eyed Pamela.
You see what a sweet girl Miss is, and you admired her much: did I
tell you, what she said to me, when first she saw you both, with your
silver hairs, and reverend countenances?--"Madam, I dare say, your
papa, and mamma, _honoured their father and mother_:"--"They did, my
dear; but what is your reason for saying so?"--"Because _they have
lived so long in the land which the LORD their GOD has given them_."
I took the charmer in my arms, and kissed her three or four times, as
she deserved; for was not this very pretty in the child?
I must, with inexpressible pleasure, write you word how happily God's
providence has now, at last, turned that affair, which once made me
so uneasy, in relation to the fine Countess (who has been some time
abroad), of whom you had heard, as you told me, some reports, which,
had you known at the time, would have made you very apprehensive for
Mr. B.'s morals, as well as for my repose.
I will now (because I can do it with the highest pleasure, by reason
of the event it has produced), explain that dark affair so far as
shall make you judges of my present joy: although I had hitherto
avoided entering into that subject to you. For now I think myself,
by God's grace, secure to the affection and fidelity of the best of
husbands, and that from the worthiest motives; as you shall hear.
There was but one thing wanting to complete all the happiness I wished
for in this life; which was, the remote hope I had entertained, that
one day, my dear Mr. B. who from a licentious gentleman became a
moralist, would be so touched by the divine grace, as to become in
time, more than moral, a religious man, and, at last, join in the
duties which he had the goodness to countenance.
For this reason I began with mere _indispensables_. I crowded not
his gates with objects of charity: I visited them at their homes,
and relieved them; distinguishing the worthy indigent (made so
by unavoidable accidents and casualties) from the wilfully, or
perversely, or sottishly such, by _greater_ marks of my favour.
I confined my morning and evening devotions to my own private closet,
lest I should give offence and discouragement to so gay a temper, so
unaccustomed (poor gentleman!) to acts of devotion and piety; whilst
I met his household together, only on mornings and evenings of the
Sabbath-day, to prepare them for their public duties in the one,
and in hopes to confirm them in what they had heard at church in the
other; leaving them to their own reflections for the rest of the week;
after I had suggested a method I wished them to follow, and in which
they constantly obliged me.
This good order had its desired effect, and our Sabbath-day assemblies
were held with so little parade, that we were hardly any of us missed.
All, in short, was done with cheerful ease and composure: and every
one of us was better disposed to our domestic duties: I, to attend the
good pleasure of my best friend; and they, that of us both.
Thus we went on very happily, my neighbourly visits of charity, taking
up no more time than common airings, and passing many of them for
such; my private duties being only between my FIRST, my HEAVENLY
BENEFACTOR, and myself, and my family ones personally confined to the
day separated for these best of services, and Mr. B. pleased with my
manner beheld the good effects, and countenanced me by his praises and
his endearments, as acting discreetly, as not falling into enthusiasm,
and (as he used to say) as not aiming at being _righteous overmuch_.
But still I wanted, and waited for, with humble patience, and made it
part of my constant prayers, that the divine Grace would at last touch
his heart, and make him _more_ than a countenancer, _more_ than an
applauder of my duties; that he might for his own dear sake, become a
partaker in them. "And then," thought I, "when we can, hand in hand,
heart in heart, one spirit as well as one flesh, join in the same
closet, in the same prayers and thanksgiving, what a happy creature
shall I be."
I say, _closet_: for I durst not aspire so high, as to hope the favour
of his company among his servants, in our Sunday devotions.--I knew
it would be going too far, in _his_ opinion, to expect it from him. In
_me_ their mistress, had I been ever so high-born, it was not amiss,
because I, and they, _every one_ of us, were _his_; I in one degree,
Mr. Longman in another, Mrs. Jervis in another--But from a man of his
high temper and manner of education, I knew I could never hope for it,
so would not lose _every_ thing, by grasping at _too much_.
But in the midst of all these comfortable proceedings, and my further
charming hopes, a nasty masquerade threw into his way a temptation,
which for a time blasted all my prospects, and indeed made me doubt
my own head almost. For, judge my disappointment, when I found all
my wishes frustrated, all my prayers rendered ineffectual; his very
morality, which I had flattered myself, in time, I should be an humble
instrument to exalt into religion, shocked, and in danger; and all the
work to begin over again, if offended Grace should ever again offer
itself to the dear wilful trespasser!
But who should pretend to scrutinize the councils of the
Almighty?--for out of all this _evil appearance_ was to proceed the
_real good_, I had been so long, and so often, supplicating for!
The dear man _was_ to be on the brink of relapsing: it was proper,
that I should be so very uneasy, as to assume a conduct not natural to
my temper, and to raise his generous concern for me: and, in the very
crisis, divine Grace interposed, made him sensible of his danger, made
him resolve against his error, before it was yet too late: and his
sliding feet, quitting the slippery path he was in, collected new
strength, and he stood the firmer and more secure for his peril.
For having happily put a stop to that affair, and by his uniform
conduct, for a considerable time, shewed me that I had nothing to
apprehend from it, he was pleased, when we were last at Tunbridge, and
in very serious discourse upon divine subjects, to say to this effect:
"Is there not, my Pamela, a text, _That the unbelieving husband
shall be saved by the believing wife, whilst he beholds her chaste
conversation coupled with fear?_"
"I need not tell you, my dear Mr. B., that there is, nor where it is."
"Then, my dear, I begin to hope, _that_ will be my case; for, from a
former affair, of which this spot of ground puts me more in mind, I
see so much reason to doubt my own strength, which I had built, and,
as I thought securely, on _moral_ foundations, that I must look out
for a _better_ guide to conduct me, than the proud word _honour_ can
be, in the general acceptance of it among us lively young gentlemen.
"How often have I promised (and I never promised but I intended
to perform) that I would be faithfully and only yours! How often
declared, that I did not think I could possibly deserve my Pamela,
till I could shew her, in my own mind, a purity as nearly equal to
hers, as my past conduct would admit of!
"But I depended too much upon my own strength: and I am now convinced,
that nothing but RELIGIOUS CONSIDERATIONS, and a resolution to watch
over the very _first_ appearances of evil, and to check them as they
arise, can be of sufficient weight to keep steady to his good purpose,
a vain young man, too little accustomed to restraint, and too much
used to play upon the brink of dangers, from a temerity, and love of
intrigue, natural to enterprising minds.
"I would not make this declaration of my convictions to you, till I
had thoroughly examined myself, and had reason to hope, that I should
be enabled to make it good. And now, my Pamela, from this instant
you shall be my guide; and, only taking care, that you do not, all
at once, by injunctions too rigorous, damp and discourage the rising
flame, I will leave it to you to direct as you please, till, by
degrees, it may be deemed worthy to mingle with your own."
Judge how rapturous my joy was upon this occasion, and how ready I
was to bless God for a danger (so narrowly escaped) which was attended
with the _very_ consequences that I had so long prayed for; and which
I little thought the divine providence was bringing about by the very
means, that, I apprehended, would put an end to all my pleasing hopes
and prospects of that nature.
It is in vain for me to seek words to express what I felt, and how
I acted, on this occasion. I heard him out with twenty different and
impatient emotions; and then threw myself at his feet, embracing
his knees, with arms the most ardently clasped! My face lifted up to
Heaven, and to him, by turns; my eyes overflowing with tears of joy,
which half choked up the passage of my words.--At last, his kind arms
clasping my neck, and kissing my tearful cheek, I could only say--"My
ardent prayers, are at last-heard--May God Almighty confirm your pious
purposes! And, Oh I what a happy Pamela have you at your feet!"
I wept for joy till I sobbed again--and he raising me to his kind
arms, I said--"To have this _heavenly_ prospect, O best beloved of my
heart! added to all my _earthly_ blessings!--How shall I contain
my joy!--For, oh! to think that he is, and will be mine, and I his,
through the mercies of God, when this transitory life is past and
gone, to all eternity; what a rich thought is this!--Methinks I am
already, dear Sir, ceasing to be mortal, and beginning to taste the
perfections of those joys, which this thrice welcome declaration gives
me hope of hereafter!--But what shall I say, obliged as I was beyond
expression before, and now doubly obliged in the rapturous view you
have opened to me, into a happy futurity!"
He said, he was delighted with me beyond expression; that I was his
ecstatic charmer!--That the love I shewed for his future good was the
moving proof of the purity of my heart, and my affection for him. And
that very evening he joined with me in my retired duties; and, at all
proper opportunities, favours me with his company in the same manner;
listening attentively to all my lessons, as he calls my cheerful
discourses on serious subjects.
And now, my dear parents, do you not rejoice with me in this charming,
charming appearance? For, _before_ I had the most generous, the most
beneficent, the most noble, the most affectionate, but _now_ I am
likely to have the most _pious_, of husbands! What a happy wife, what
a happy daughter, is _his_ and _your_ Pamela! God of his infinite
mercy, continue and improve the ravishing prospect!
I was forced to leave off here, to enjoy the charming reflections,
which this lovely subject, and my blessed prospects, filled me with;
and now proceed to write a few lines more.
I am under some concern on account of our going to travel into
some Roman Catholic countries, for fear we should want the public
opportunities of divine service: for I presume, the ambassador's
chapel will be the only Protestant place of worship allowed of,
and Paris the only city in France where there is one. But we must
endeavour to make it up in our private and domestic duties: for, as
the phrase is--"When we are at Rome, we must do as they do at Rome;"
that is to say, so far as not to give offence, on the one hand, to the
people we are among; nor scandal, on the other, by compliances hurtful
to one's conscience. But my protector knows all these things so well
(no place in what is called the grand tour, being new to him), that I
have no reason to be very uneasy.
And now let me, by letter, as I did on my knees at parting, beg the
continuance of your prayers and blessings, and that God will preserve
us to one another, and give us, and all our worthy friends, a happy
meeting again.
Kent, you may be sure, will be our first visit, on our return, for
your sakes, for my dear Davers's, and my little Pamela's sake, who
will be both put into your protection; while my Billy, and Miss
Goodwin (for, since I began this letter, it is so determined), are
to be my delightful companions; for Mr. B. declared, his temper
wants looking after, and his notices of every thing are strong and
significant.
Poor little dear! he has indeed a little sort of perverseness and
headstrongness, as one may say, in his will: yet he is but a baby, and
I hope to manage him pretty well; for he notices all I say, and every
look of mine already.--He is, besides, very good humoured, and willing
to part with anything for a kind word: and this gives me hopes of a
docile and benevolent disposition, as he grows up.
I thought, when I began the last paragraph but one, that I was within
a line of concluding; but it is _to_ you, and _of_ my babies, I am
writing; so shall go on to the bottom of this new sheet, if I do not
directly finish: which I do, with assuring you both, that wherever
I am, I shall always be thoughtful of you, and remember you in my
prayers, as becomes _your ever dutiful daughter_, P.B.
My respects to all your good neighbours in general. Mr. Longman will
visit you now and then. Mrs. Jervis will take one journey into Kent,
she says, and it shall be to accompany my babies, when carried down
to you. Poor Jonathan, and she, good folks! seem declining in their
health, which grieves me.--Once more, God send us all a happy meeting,
if it be his blessed will! Adieu, adieu, my dear parents! _your ever
dutiful, &c._
LETTER XCIX
My Dear Lady G.,
I received your last letter at Paris, as we were disposing every thing
for our return to England, after an absence of near two years; in
which, as I have informed you, from time to time, I have been a
great traveller, into Holland, the Netherlands, through the most
considerable province of France, into Italy; and, in our return to
Paris again (the principal place of our residence), through several
parts of Germany.
I told you of the favours and civilities we received at Florence, from
the then Countess Dowager of----, who, with her humble servant Lord
C----(that had so assiduously attended her for so many months in
Italy), accompanied us from Florence to Inspruck.
Her ladyship made that worthy lord happy in about a month after she
parted from us, and the noble pair gave us an opportunity at Paris,
in their way to England, to return some of the civilities which
we received from them in Italy; and they are now arrived at her
ladyship's seat on the Forest.
Her lord is exceedingly fond of her, as he well may; for she is one of
the most charming ladies in England; and behaves to him with so much
prudence and respect, that they are as happy in each other as can be
wished. And let me just add, that both in Italy and at Paris, Mr. B.'s
demeanour and her ladyship's to one another, was so nobly open, and
unaffectedly polite, as well as highly discreet, that neither Lord C.
who had once been jealous of Mr. B. nor the _other party_, who had
had a tincture of the same yellow evil, as you know, because of the
Countess, had so much as a shadow of uneasiness remaining on the
occasion.
Lord Davers has had his health (which had begun to decline in England)
so well, that there was no persuading Lady Davers to return before
now, although I begged and prayed I might not have another little
Frenchman, for fear they should, as they grew up, forget, as I
pleasantly used to say, the obligations which their parentage lays
them under to dearer England.
And now, my dearest friend, I have shut up my rambles for my whole
life; for three little English folks, and one little Frenchman (but
a charming baby as well as the rest, Charley by name), and a near
prospect of a further increase, you will say, are family enough to
employ all my cares at home.
I have told you, from time to time, although I could not write to you
so often as I would, because of our being constantly in motion, what
was most worthy of your knowledge relating to every particular, and
how happy we all have been in one another. And I have the pleasure to
confirm to you what I have often written, that Mr. B. and my Lord and
Lady Davers are all that I could wish and hope for, with regard to
their first duties. We are indeed a happy family, united by the best
and most solid ties!
Miss Goodwin is a charming young lady!--I cannot express how much I
love her. She is a perfect mistress of the French language and speaks
Italian very prettily! And, as to myself, I have improved so well
under my dear tutor's lessons, together with the opportunity of
conversing with the politest and most learned gentry of different
nations, that I will discourse with you in two or three languages, if
you please, when I have the happiness to see you. There's a learned
boaster for you, my dear friend! (if the knowledge of different
languages makes one learned.)--But I shall bring you an heart as
entirely English as ever, for all that!
We landed on Thursday last at Dover, and directed our course to the
dear farm-house; and you can better imagine, than I express, our
meeting with my dear father and mother, and my beloved Davers and
Pamela, who are charming babies.--But is not this the language of
every fond mamma?
Miss Goodwin is highly delighted now with my sweet little Pamela, and
says, she shall be her sister indeed! "For, Madam," said she, "Miss
is a beauty!--And we see no French beauties like Master Davers and
Miss."--"Beauty! my dear," said I; "what is beauty, if she be not
a good girl? Beauty is but a specious, and, as it may happen, a
dangerous recommendation, a mere skin-deep perfection; and if, as she
grows up, she is not as good as Miss Goodwin, she shall be none of my
girl."
What adds to my pleasure, my dear friend, is to see them both so well
got over the small-pox. It has been as happy for them, as it was for
their mamma and her Billy, that they had it under so skilful and kind
a manager in that distemper, as my dear mother. I wish if it please
God, it was as happily over with my little pretty Frenchman.
Every body is surprised to see what the past two years have done for
Miss Goodwin and my Billy.--O, my dear friend, they are both of them
almost--nay, quite, I think, for their years, all that I wish them
to be. In order to make them keep their French, which Miss so well
speaks, and Billy so prettily prattles, I oblige them, when they
are in the nursery, to speak nothing else: but at table, except on
particular occasions, when French may be spoken, they are to speak
in English; that is, when they do speak: for I tell them, that little
masters must only ask questions for information, and say--"Yes,"
or--"No," till their papas or mammas permit them to speak; nor little
ladies neither, till they are sixteen; for--"My dear loves," cry I,
"you would not speak before you know _how_; and knowledge is obtained
by _hearing_, and not by _speaking_." And setting my Billy on my lap,
in Miss's presence--"Here," said I, taking an ear in the fingers of
each hand, "are two ears, my Billy," and then, pointing to his mouth,
"but one tongue, my love; so you must be sure to mind that you _hear_
twice as much as you _speak_, even when you grow a bigger master than
you are now."
"You have so many pretty ways to learn one, Madam," says Miss, now and
then, "that it is impossible we should not regard what you say to us!"
Several French tutors, when we were abroad, were recommended to Mr. B.
But there is one English gentleman, now on his travels with young Mr.
R. with whom Mr. B. has agreed; and in the mean time, my best friend
is pleased to compliment me, that the children will not suffer for
want of a tutor, while I can take the pains I do: which he will have
to be too much for me: especially that now, on our return, my Davers
and my Pamela are added to my cares. But what mother can take too much
pains to cultivate the minds of her children?--If, my dear Lady G.,
it were not for these _frequent_ lyings-in!--But this is the time
of life.--Though little did I think, so early, I should have so many
careful blessings!
I have as great credit as pleasure from my little family. All our
neighbours here admire us more and more. You'll excuse my seeming
(for it is but seeming) vanity: I hope I know better than to have it
real--"Never," says Mrs. Towers, who is still a single lady, "did
I see, before, a lady so much advantaged by her residence in that
fantastic nation" (for she loves not the French) "who brought home
with her nothing of their affectation!"--She says, that the French
politeness, and the English frankness and plainness of heart, appear
happily blended in all we say and do. And she makes me a thousand
compliments upon Lord and Lady Davers's account, who, she would
fain persuade me, owe a great deal of improvement (my lord in his
conversation, and my lady in her temper) to living in the same house
with us.
My Lady Davers is exceeding kind and good to me, is always magnifying
me to every body, and says she knows not how to live from me: and that
I have been a means of saving half a hundred souls, as well as her
dear brother's. On an indisposition of my Lord's at Montpellier, which
made her very apprehensive, she declared, that were she to be deprived
of his lordship, she would not let us rest till we had consented to
her living with us; saying that we had room enough in Lincolnshire,
and she would enlarge the Bedfordshire seat at her own expense.
Mr. H. is Mr. H. still; and that's the best I can say of him; for I
verily think, he is more of an ape than ever. His _whole_ head is now
French. 'Twas _half_ so before. We had great difficulties with
him abroad: his aunt and I endeavouring to give him a serious and
religious turn, we had like to have turned him into a Roman Catholic.
For he was much pleased with the shewy part of that religion, and the
fine pictures, and decorations in the churches of Italy; and having
got into company with a Dominican at Padua, a Franciscan at Milan, and
a Jesuit at Paris, they lay so hard at him, in their turns, that we
had like to have lost him to each assailant: so were forced to let him
take his own course; for, his aunt would have it, that he had no
other defence from the attacks of persons to make him embrace a faulty
religion, than to permit him to continue as he was; that is to say,
to have none at all. So she suspended attempting to proselyte the
thoughtless creature, till he came to England. I wish her success
here: but, I doubt, he will not be a credit to any religion, for a
great while. And as he is very desirous to go to London, it will be
found, when there, that any fluttering coxcomb will do more to make
him one of that class, in an hour, than his aunt's lessons, to make
him a good man, in a twelvemonth. "_Where much is given, much is
required_." The contrary of this, I doubt, is all poor Mr. H. has to
trust to.
We have just now heard that his father, who has been long ill, is
dead. So now, he is a lord indeed! He flutters and starts about most
strangely, I warrant, and is wholly employed in giving directions as
to his mourning equipage.--And now there will be no holding him in, I
doubt; except his new title has so much virtue in it, as to make him a
wiser and better man.
He will now have a seat in the House of Peers of Great Britain; but I
hope, for the nation's sake, he will not find many more like himself
there!--For, to me, that is one of the most venerable assemblies in
the world; and it appears the more so, since I have been abroad; for
an English gentleman is respected, if he be any thing of a man,
above a foreign nobleman; and an English nobleman above some petty
sovereigns.
If our travelling gentry duly considered this distinction in their
favour, they would, for the honour of their country, as well as for
their own credit, behave in a better manner, in their foreign tours,
than, I am sorry to say, some of them do. But what can one expect from
the unlicked cubs (pardon the term) sent abroad with only stature, to
make them look like men, and equipage to attract respect, without one
other qualification to enforce it?
Here let me close this, with a few tears, to the memory of my dear
Mrs. Jervis, my other mother, my friend, my adviser, my protectress,
in my single state; and my faithful second and partaker in the
comforts of my higher life, and better fortunes!
What would I have given to have been present, as it seems, she so
earnestly wished, to close her dying eyes! I should have done it with
the piety and the concern of a truly affectionate daughter. But that
melancholy happiness was denied to us both; for, as I told you in
the letter on the occasion, the dear good woman (who is now in the
possession of her blessed reward, and rejoicing in God's mercies) was
no more, when the news reached me, so far off as Heidelburgh, of her
last illness and wishes.
I cannot forbear, every time I enter her parlour (where I used to see,
with so much delight, the good woman sitting, always employed in
some useful or pious work), shedding a tear to her memory; and in my
Sabbath duties, missing _her_, I miss half a dozen friends, methinks;
and I sigh in remembrance of her; and can only recover that cheerful
frame, which the performance of those duties always gave me, by
reflecting, that she is now reaping the reward of that sincere piety,
which used to edify and encourage us all.
The servants we brought home, and those we left behind, melt in tears
at the name of Mrs. Jervis. Mr. Longman, too, lamented the loss of
her, in the most moving strain. And all I can do now, in honour of her
memory and her merit, is to be a friend to those she loved most, as
I have already begun to be, and none of them shall suffer in those
concerns that can be answered, now she is gone. For the loss of so
excellent a friend and relation, is loss enough to all who knew her,
and claimed kindred with her.
Poor worthy Jonathan, too, ('tis almost a misery to have so soft,
so susceptible an heart as I have, or to have such good servants and
friends as one cannot lose without such emotions as I feel for the
loss of them!) his silver hairs, which I have beheld with so much
delight, and thought I had a father in presence, when I saw them
adorning so honest and comely a face, are now laid low!--Forgive
me, he was not a common servant; neither are _any_ of ours so: but
Jonathan excelled all that excelled in his class!-I am told, that
these two worthy folks died within two days of one another: on which
occasion I could not help saying to myself, in the words of David over
Saul and his son Jonathan, the name-sake of our worthy butler--"_They
were lovely and pleasant in their lives, and in their deaths they were
not divided._"
I might have continued on in the words of the royal lamenter; for,
surely, never did one fellow-servant love another in my maiden state,
nor servant love a mistress in my exalted condition, better than
Jonathan loved me! I could see in his eyes a glistening pleasure,
whenever I passed by him: if at such times I spoke to him, as I seldom
failed to do, with a--"_God bless you too!_" in answer to his repeated
blessings, he had a kind of rejuvenescence (may I say?) visibly
running through his whole frame: and, now and then, if I laid my hands
upon his folded ones, as I passed him on a Sunday morning or evening,
praying for me, with a--"_How do you, my worthy old acquaintance?_"
his heart would spring to his lips in a kind of rapture, and his eyes
would run over.
O my beloved friend! how the loss of these two worthies of my family
oppresses me at times!
Mr. B. likewise shewed a generous concern on the occasion: and when
all the servants welcomed us in a body, on our return--"Methinks
my dear," said he, "I miss your Mrs. Jervis, and honest Jonathan." A
starting tear, and--"They are happy, dear honest souls!" and a sigh,
were the tribute I paid to their memories, on their beloved master's
so kindly repeating their names.
Who knows, had I been here--But away, too painful reflections--They
lived to a good old age, and fell like fruit fully ripe: they _died
the death of the righteous_; I must follow them in time, God knows how
soon; and, _Oh! that my latter end may be like theirs!_
Once more, forgive me, my dear friend, this small tribute to their
memories: and believe, that I am not so ungrateful for God's mercies,
as to let the loss of these dear good folks lessen with me the joy and
delight I have still left me, in the health and the love of the best
of husbands, and good men; in the children, charming as ever mother
could boast of--charming, I mean, principally, in the dawning beauties
of their minds, and in the pleasure their towardliness of nature gives
me; including, as I always do, my dear Miss Goodwin, and have reason
to do, from her dutiful love of me, and observation of all I say to
her; in the preservation to me of the best and worthiest of parents,
hearty, though aged as they are; in the love and friendship of good
Lord and Lady Davers, and my excellent friend Lady G.; not forgetting
even worthy Mr. Longman. God preserve all these to me, as I am truly
thankful for his mercies!--And then, notwithstanding my affecting
losses, as above, who will be so happy as I? That you, my dear Lady
G. may long continue so, likewise in the love of a worthy husband, and
the delights of an increasing hopeful family, which will make you some
amends for the heavy losses you also have sustained, in the two last
years of an affectionate father, and a most worthy mother, and, in
Mrs. Jones, of a good neighbour, prays _your ever affectionate friend
and servant_,
P.B.
* * * * *
LETTER C
MY BELOVED LADY G.,
You will excuse my long silence, when I shall tell you the occasions
of it. In the first place, I was obliged to pay a dutiful visit to
Kent, where my good father was taken ill of a fever, and my mother of
an ague; and think. Madam, how this must affect me, at their time of
life!
Mr. B. kindly accompanied me, apprehending that his presence would
be necessary, if the recovery of them both, in which I thankfully
rejoice, had not happened; especially as a circumstance I am, I think,
always in, added more weight to his apprehensions.
I had hardly returned from Kent to Bedfordshire, and looked around,
when I was obliged to set out to attend Lady Davers, who said she
should _die_, if she saw me not, to comfort and recover, by my counsel
and presence (so she was pleased to express herself) her sick lord who
had just got out of an intermittent fever, which left him without any
spirit, and was occasioned by fretting at the conduct of her _stupid
nephew_ (those also were her words).
For you must have heard (every body hears when a man of quality does
a foolish thing!), and it has been in all the newspapers, that, "On
Wednesday last the Right Honourable John" (Jackey they should have
said), "Lord H., nephew to the Right Honourable William Lord Davers,
was married to the Honourable Mrs. P., relict of J.P. of Twickenham,
Esq., a lady of celebrated beauty and ample fortune."
Now, you must know, that this celebrated lady is, 'tis true, of
the----family, whence her title of _honourable_; but is indeed so
_celebrated_, that every fluttering coxcomb in town can give some
account of her, even before she was in keeping of the Duke of----who
had cast her on the town he had robbed of her.
In short, she is quite a common woman; has no fortune at all, as one
may say, only a small jointure incumbered; and is much in debt. She is
a shrew into the bargain, and the poor wretch is a father already;
for he has already had a girl of three years old (her husband has
been dead seven) brought him home, which he knew nothing of, nor even
inquired, whether his widow had a child!--And he is now paying the
mother's debts, and trying to make the best of his bargain.
This is the fruit of a London journey, so long desired by him, and his
fluttering about there with his new title.
He was drawn in by a brother of his lady, and a friend of that
brother's, two town sharpers, gamesters, and bullies. Poor Sir Joseph
Wittol! This was his case, and his character, it seems, in London.
Shall I present you with a curiosity? "Tis a copy of his letter to his
uncle, who had, as you may well think, lost all patience with him, on
occasion of this abominable folly.
"MY LORD DAVERS,
"For iff you will not call me neffew, I have no reason to call you
unkell; surely you forgett who it was you held up your kane to: I have
as little reason to valew you displeassure, as you have me: for I am,
God be thanked, a lord and a pere of the realme, as well as you; and
as to youre nott owneing me, nor your brother B. not looking upon
me, I care not a fardinge: and, bad as you think I have done, I have
marry'd a woman of family. Take thatt among you!
"As to your personal abuses of her, take care whatt you say. You know
the stattute will defend us as well as you.--And, besides, she has
a brother that won't lett her good name be called in question.--Mind
thatt!
"Some thinges I wish had been otherwise--perhapps I do.--What
then?--Must you, my lord, make more mischiefe, and adde to my plagues,
iff I have any?--Is this your unkelship?
"Butt I shan't want youre advice. I have as good an estate as you
have, and am as much a lord as yourselfe.--Why the devill then, am I
to be treated as I am?--Why the plague--But I won't sware neither. I
desire not to see you, any more than you doe me, I can tell you thatt.
And iff we ever meet under one roofe with my likeing, it must be at
the House of Peeres where I shall be upon a parr with you in every
thing, that's my cumfurte.
"As to Lady Davers, I desire not to see her ladyship; for she was
always plaguy nimbel with her fingers; but, lett my false stepp be
what itt will, I have in other respectes, marry'd a lady who is as
well descended as herseife, and no disparagement neither; so have nott
thatt to answer for to her pride; and who has as good a spiritt too,
if they were to come face to face, or I am mistaken: nor will shee
take affmntes from any one. So my lord, leave mee to make the best
of my matters, as I will of youres. So no more, but that I am _youre
servante_, H.
"P.S. I mean no affrunte to Mrs. B. She is the best of yee all--by
G--."
I will not take up your time with further observations upon this poor
creature's bad conduct: his reflection must proceed from _feeling_;
and will, that's the worst of it, come too late, come _when_ or _how_
it will. I will only say, I am sorry for it on his own account,
but more for that of Lord and Lady Davers, who take the matter very
heavily, and wish he had married the lowest born creature in England
(so she had been honest and virtuous), rather than done as he has
done.
But, I suppose, the poor gentleman was resolved to shun, at all
adventures, Mr. B.'s fault, and keep up to the pride of descent and
family;--and so married the only creature, as I hope (since it cannot
be helped), that is so great a disgrace to both: for I presume to
flatter myself, for the sake of my sex, that, among the poor wretches
who are sunk so low as the town-women are, there are very few of birth
or education; but such, principally, as have had their necessities
or their ignorance taken advantage of by base men; since birth and
education must needs set the most unhappy of the sex above so sordid
and so abandoned a guilt, as the hourly wickedness of such a course of
life subjects them to.
But let me pursue my purpose of excusing my long silence. I had hardly
returned from Lady Davers's, and recovered my family management, and
resumed my nursery duties, when my fourth dear boy, my Jemmy (for, I
think am I going on to make out the number Lady Davers allotted me),
pressed so upon me, as not to be refused, for one month or six weeks
close attention. And then a journey to Lord Davers's, and that noble
pair accompanying us to Kent; and daily and hourly pleasures crowding
upon us, narrow and confined as our room there was (though we went
with as few attendants as possible), engrossed _more_ of my time.
Thus I hope you will forgive me, because, as soon as I returned, I set
about writing this, as an excuse for myself, in the first place; to
promise you the subject you insist upon, in the next; and to say, that
I am incapable of forgetfulness or negligence to such a friend as
Lady G. For I must always be your _faithful and affectionate humble
servant_, P.B.
LETTER CI
MY DEAR LADY G.,
The remarks, your cousin Fielding says, I have made on the subject of
young gentlemen's travelling, and which you request me to communicate
to you, are part of a little book upon education, which I wrote for
Mr. B.'s correction and amendment, on his putting Mr. Locke's treatise
on that subject into my hands, and requiring my observations upon it.
I cannot flatter myself they will answer your expectation; for I am
sensible they must be unworthy even of the opportunities I have had in
the excursions, in which I have been indulged by the best of men.
But your requests are so many laws to me; and I will give you a short
abstract of what I read Miss Fielding, who has so greatly overrated it
to you.
The gentleman's book contains many excellent rules on education; but
this of travel I will only refer you to at present. You will there
see his objections against the age at which young gentlemen are sent
abroad, from sixteen to twenty-one, the time in all their lives,
he says, at which young gentlemen are the least suited to these
improvements, and in which they have the least fence and guard against
their passions.
The age he proposes is from seven to fourteen, because of the
advantage they will then have to master foreign languages, and to form
their tongue to the true pronunciation; as well as that they
will be more easily directed by their tutors or governors. Or else he
proposes that more sedate time of life, when the gentleman is able to
travel without a tutor, and to make his own observations; and when he
is thoroughly acquainted with the laws and fashions, the natural and
moral advantages and defects of his own country; by which means,
as Mr. Locke wisely observes, the traveller will have something to
exchange with those abroad, from whose conversation he hopes to reap
any knowledge. And he supports his opinion by excellent reasons, to
which I refer you.
What I have written in my little book, not yet quite finished on
_this_ head, relates principally to _Home Travelling_, which Mr. B.
was always resolved his sons should undertake, before they entered
upon a foreign tour. I have there observed, that England abounds with
curiosities, both of art and nature, worth the notice of a diligent
inquirer, and equal with some of those we admire in foreign parts;
and that if the youth be not sent abroad at Mr. Locke's earliest time,
from seven to fourteen (which I can hardly think will be worth while,
merely for the sake of attaining a perfection in the languages), he
may with good advantage begin, at fourteen or fifteen, the tour of
Great Britain, now-and-then, by excursions, in the summer months,
between his other studies, and as a diversion to him. This I should
wish might be entered upon in his papa's company, as well as his
tutor's, if it could conveniently be done; who thus initiating both
the governed and governor in the methods he would have observed by
both, will obtain no small satisfaction and amusement to himself.
For the father would by this means be an eye-witness of the behaviour
of the one and the other, and have a specimen how fit the young man
was to be trusted, or the tutor to be depended upon, when they went
abroad, and were out of his sight: as _they_ would of what was
expected from them by the father. And hence a thousand benefits may
arise to the young gentleman from the occasional observations
and reflections of his father, with regard to expence, company,
conversation, hours, and such like.
If the father could not himself accompany his son, he might appoint
the stages the young gentleman should take, and enjoin both tutor
and son to give, at every stage, an account of whatever they observed
curious and remarkable, not omitting the minutest occurrences. By
this means, and the probability that he might hear of them, and their
proceedings, from his friends, acquaintance, and relations, who might
fall in with them, they would have a greater regard to their conduct;
and so much the more, if the young gentleman were to keep an account
of his expences, which, upon his return, he might lay before his
father.
By seeing thus the different customs, manners, and economy of
different persons and families (for in so mixed a nation as ours is,
there is as great a variety of that sort to be met with, as in most),
and from their different treatment, at their several stages, a great
deal of the world may be learned by the young gentleman. He would be
prepared to go abroad with more delight to himself, as well as more
experience, and greater reputation to his family and country. In such
excursions as these, the tutor would see his temper and inclination,
and might notice to the father any thing amiss, that it might be
set right, while the youth was yet in his reach, and more under
his inspection, than he would be in a foreign country; and his
observations, on his return, as well as in his letters, would shew how
fit he was to be trusted; and how likely to improve, when at a greater
distance.
After England and Wales, as well the inland parts as the sea-coasts,
let them if they behave according to expectation, take a journey into
Scotland and Ireland, and visit the principal islands, as Guernsey,
Jersey, &c. the youth continuing to write down his observations all
the way, and keeping a journal of occurrences; and let him employ the
little time he will be on board of ship, in these small trips from
island to island, or coastwise, in observing upon the noble art of
navigation; of the theory of which, it will not be amiss that he
has some notion, as well as of the curious structure of a ship, its
tackle, and furniture: a knowledge very far from being insignificant
to a gentleman who is an islander, and has a stake in the greatest
maritime kingdom in the world; and hence he will be taught to love and
value that most useful and brave set of men, the British sailors, who
are the natural defence and glory of the realm.
Hereby he will confirm his theory in the geography of the British
dominions in Europe, he will be apprised of the situation,
conveniences, interests, and constitution of his own country; and will
be able to lay a ground-work for the future government of his thoughts
and actions, if the interest he bears in his native country should
call him to the public service in either house of parliament.
With this foundation, how excellently would he be qualified to go
abroad! and how properly then would he add to the knowledge he had
attained of his own country, that of the different customs, manners,
and forms of government of others! How would he be able to form
comparisons, and to make all his inquiries appear pertinent and manly.
All the occasions of that ignorant wonder, which renders a novice the
jest of all about him, would be taken away. He would be able to ask
questions, and to judge without leading strings. Nor would he think he
has seen a country, and answered the ends of his father's expence, and
his own improvement, by running through a kingdom, and knowing nothing
of it, but the inns and stages, at which he stopped to eat and
drink. For, on the contrary, he would make the best acquaintance, and
contract worthy friendships with such as would court and reverence him
as one of the rising geniuses of his country.
Whereas most of the young gentlemen who are sent abroad raw and
unprepared, as if to wonder at every thing they see, and to be laughed
at by all that see them, do but expose themselves and their country.
And if, at their return, by interest of friends, by alliances, or
marriages, they should happen to be promoted to places of honour
or profit, their unmerited preferment will only serve to make those
foreigners, who were eye-witnesses of their weakness and follies, when
among them, conclude greatly in disfavour of the whole nation, or, at
least, of the prince, and his administration, who could find no fitter
subjects to distinguish.
This, my dear friend, is a brief extract from my observations on
the head of qualifying young gentlemen to travel with honour and
improvement. I doubt you'll be apt to think me not a little out of my
element; but since you _would_ have it, I claim the allowances of a
friend; to which my ready compliance with your commands the rather
entitles me.
I am very sorry Mr. and Mrs. Murray are so unhappy in each other. Were
he a generous man, the heavy loss the poor lady has sustained, as well
as her sister, my beloved friend, in so excellent a mother, and so
kind a father, would make him bear with her infirmities a little.
But, really, I have seen, on twenty occasions, that notwithstanding
all the fine things gentlemen say to ladies before marriage, if the
latter do not _improve_ upon their husbands' hands, their imputed
graces when single, will not protect them from indifference, and,
probably, from worse; while the gentleman, perhaps, thinks _he_
only, of the two, is entitled to go backward in acts of kindness and
complaisance. A strange and shocking difference which too many ladies
experience, who, from fond lovers, prostrate at their feet, find surly
husbands, trampling upon their necks!
You, my dear friend, were happy in your days of courtship, and are no
less so in your state of wedlock. And may you continue to be so to a
good old age, _prays your affectionate and faithful friend,_ P.B.
LETTER CII
My dear Lady G.,
I will cheerfully cause to be transcribed for you the conversation you
desire, between myself, Mrs. Towers, and Lady Arthur, and the
three young ladies their relations, in presence of the dean and his
daughter, and Mrs. Brooks; and glad I shall be, if it may be of use
to the two thoughtless Misses your neighbours; who, you are pleased
to tell me, are great admirers of my story and my example; and will
therefore, as you say, pay greater attention to what I write, than to
the more passionate and interested lessons of their mamma.
I am only sorry you should be concerned about the supposed trouble
you give me, by having mislaid my former relation of it. For, besides
obliging my dear Lady G., the hope of doing service by it to a family
so worthy, in a case so nearly affecting its honour, as to make two
headstrong young ladies recollect what belongs to their sex and their
characters, and what their filial duties require of them, affords me
high pleasure; and if it shall be attended with the wished effects, it
will add to my happiness.
I said, _cause_ to be transcribed, because I hope to answer a double
end by it; for, on reconsideration, I set Miss Goodwin to transcribe
it, who writes a pretty hand, and is not a little fond of the task,
nor, indeed, of any task I set her; and will be more affected as she
performs it, than she could be by _reading_ it only; although she is
a very good girl at present, and gives me hopes that she will continue
to be so.
I will inclose it when done, that it may be read to the parties
without this introduction, if you think fit. And you will forgive me
for having added a few observations, with a view to the cases of
your inconsiderate young ladies, and for having corrected the former
narrative in several places.
My dear Lady G.,
The papers you have mislaid, as to the conversation between me and
the young ladies, relations of Mrs. Towers, and Lady Anne Arthur, in
presence of these two last-named ladies, Mrs. Brooks, and the worthy
dean, and Miss L. (of which, in order to perfect your kind collection
of my communications you request another copy) contained as follows.
I first stated, that I had seen these three ladies twice or thrice
before, as visitors, at their kinswomen's houses so that they and I
were not altogether strangers to one another: and my two neighbours
acquainted me with their respective tastes and dispositions, and their
histories preparatory to this visit, to the following effects:
That MISS STAPYLTON is over-run with the love of poetry and romance,
and delights in flowery language and metaphorical flourishes: is about
eighteen, wants not either sense or politeness; and has read herself
into a vein, more amorous (that was Mrs. Towers's word) than discreet.
Has extraordinary notions of a _first sight_ love; and gives herself
greater liberties, with a pair of fine eyes (in hopes to make sudden
conquests in pursuance of that notion), than is pretty in her sex
and age; which makes those who know her not, conclude her bold and
forward; and is more than suspected, with a mind thus prepared for
instantaneous impressions, to have experienced the argument to her
own disadvantage, and to be _struck_ by (before she had _stricken_)
a gentleman, whom her friends think not at all worthy of her, and
to whom she was making some indiscreet advances, under the name of
PHILOCLEA to PHILOXENUS, in a letter which she entrusted to a servant
of the family, who, discovering her design, prevented her indiscretion
for that time.
That, in other respects, she has no mean accomplishments, will have
a fine fortune, is genteel in her person, though with some visible
affectation, dances well, sings well, and plays prettily on several
instruments; is fond of reading, but affects the action, and air, and
attitude of a tragedian; and is too apt to give an emphasis in the
wrong place, in order to make an author mean significantly, even where
the occasion is common, and, in a mere historical fact, that requires
as much simplicity in the reader's accent, as in the writer's style.
No wonder then, that when she reads a play, she will put herself into
a sweat, as Mrs. Towers says; distorting very agreeable features,
and making a _multitude_ of wry mouths with _one_ very pretty one, in
order to convince her hearers, what a near neighbour her heart is to
her lips.
MISS COPE is a young lady of nineteen, lovely in her person, with a
handsome fortune in possession, and great prospects. Has a soft and
gentle turn of mind, which disposes her to be easily imposed upon. Is
addressed by a libertine of quality, whose courtship, while permitted,
was imperiousness; and whose tenderness, insult: having found the
young lady too susceptible of impression, open and unreserved,
and even valuing him the more, as it seemed, for treating her with
ungenerous contempt; for that she was always making excuses for
slights, ill manners, and even rudeness, which no other young lady
would forgive.
That this docility on her side, and this insolence on his, and an
over-free, and even indecent degree of romping, as it is called, with
her, which once her mamma surprised them in, made her papa forbid
_his_ visits, and _her_ receiving them.
That this however, was so much to Miss Cope's regret, that she was
detected in a design to elope to him out of the private garden-door;
which, had she effected, in all probability, the indelicate and
dishonourable peer would have triumphed over her innocence; having
given out since, that he intended to revenge himself on the daughter,
for the disgrace he had received from the parents.
That though convinced of this, it was feared she still loved him,
and would again throw herself in his way; urging, that his rash
expressions were the effect only of his passion; for that she knows he
loves her too well to be dishonourable to her; and by the same
degree of favourable prepossession, she will have it, that his brutal
roughness is the manliness of his nature; that his most shocking
expressions are sincerity of heart; that his boasts of former lewdness
are but instances that he knows the world; that his freedoms with her
person are but excess of love and innocent gaiety of temper; that his
resenting the prohibition he has met with, and his threats, are other
instances of his love and his courage: and peers of the realm ought
not to be bound down by little narrow rules like the vulgar; for,
truly, their _honour_ is in the greatest cases regarded as equal with
the _oath_ of a common gentleman, and is a security that a lady may
trust to, if he is not a profligate indeed; and that Lord P. _cannot_
be.
That excepting these weaknesses, Miss has many good qualities; is
charitable, pious, humane, humble; sings sweetly, plays on the spinnet
charmingly; is meek, fearful, and never was resolute or courageous
enough to step out of the regular path, till her too flexible heart
became touched with a passion, that is said to polish the most brutal
temper, and therefore her rough peer has none of it; and to animate
the dove, of which Miss Cope has too much.
That Miss Sutton, a young lady of the like age with the two former,
has too lively and airy a turn of mind; affects to be thought well
read in the histories of kingdoms, as well as in polite literature.
Speaks French fluently, talks much upon all subjects; and has a great
deal of flippant wit, which makes more enemies than friends. However,
is innocent, and unsuspectedly virtuous hitherto; but makes herself
cheap and accessible to fops and rakes, and has not the worse opinion
of a man for being such. Listens eagerly to stories told to the
disadvantage of some of her own sex; though affecting to be a great
stickler for the honour of it in general: will unpityingly propagate
them: thinks (without considering to what the imprudence of her own
conduct may subject her) the woman that slips inexcusable; and the man
who seduces her, much less faulty; and thus encourages the one sex in
their vileness, and gives up the other for their weakness, in a kind
of silly affectation, to shew her security in her own virtue; at
the same time, that she is dancing upon the edge of a precipice,
presumptuously inattentive to her own danger.
The worthy dean, knowing the ladies' intention in this visit to me,
brought his daughter with him, as if by accident; for Miss L. with
many good qualities, is of a remarkable soft temper, though not so
inconsiderately soft as Miss Cope: but is too credulous; and, as
her papa suspects, entertains more than a liking to a wild young
gentleman, the heir to a noble fortune, who makes visits to her, full
of tenderness and respect, but without declaring himself. This gives
the dean much uneasiness; and he is very desirous that his daughter
should be in my company on all occasions, as she is so kind to profess
a great regard to my opinion and judgment.
'Tis easy to see the poor young lady is in love; and she makes no
doubt that the young gentleman loves _her_; but, alas! why then (for
he is not a bashful man, as you shall hear) does he not say so?--He
has deceived already two young creatures. His father has cautioned the
dean against his son. Has told him, that he is sly, subtle, full of
stratagem, yet has so much command of himself (which makes him more
dangerous), as not to precipitate his designs; but can wait with
patience till he thinks himself secure of his prey, and then pulls off
the mask at once; and, if he succeeds, glories in his villainy. Yet
does his father beg of the dean to permit his visits, for he wishes
him to marry Miss L. though greatly unequal in fortune to his son,
wishing for nothing so much as that he _would_ marry. And the dean,
owing his principal preferment to the old gentleman, cares not to
disoblige him, or affront his son, without some apparent reason for
it, especially as the father is wrapt up in him, having no other
child, and being himself half afraid of him, least, if too much
thwarted, he should fly out entirely.
So here, Madam, are four young ladies of like years, and different
inclinations and tempers, all of whom may be said to have dangers
to encounter, resulting from their respective dispositions: and who,
professing to admire my character and example, were brought to me, to
be benefited, as Mrs. Towers was pleased to say, by my conversation:
and all was to be as if accidental, none of them knowing how well I
was acquainted with their several characters.
How proud would this compliment have made me from such a lady as Mrs.
Towers, had I not been as proud as proud could be before, of the good
opinion of four beloved persons, Mr. B., Lady Davers, the Countess of
C. and your dear self.
We were attended only by Polly Barlow, who in some points was as much
concerned as any body. And this being when Lord and Lady Davers, and
the noble Countess, were with us, 'tis proper to say, they were abroad
together upon a visit, from which, knowing how I was to be engaged,
they excused me. The dean was well known to, and valued by, all the
ladies; and therefore was no manner of restraint upon the freedom of
our conversation.
I was in my closet when they came; and Mrs. Towers, having presented
each young lady to me when I came down, said, being all seated, "I can
guess at your employment, Mrs. B. Writing, I dare say? I have often
wished to have you for a correspondent; for every one who can boast
of that favour, exalts you to the skies, and says, your letters exceed
your conversation, but I always insisted upon it that _that_ was
impossible."
"Mrs. Towers," said I, "is always saying the most obliging things in
the world of her neighbours: but may not one suffer, dear Madam, for
these kind prepossessions, in the opinion of greater strangers, who
will judge more impartially than your favour will permit you to do?"
"That," said Lady Arthur, "will be so soon put out of doubt, when Mrs.
B. begins to speak, that we will refer to that, and to put an end to
every thing that looks like compliment."
"But, Mrs. B.," says Mrs. Towers, "may one ask, what particular
subject was at this time your employment?"
I had been writing (you must know, Lady G.) for the sake of suiting
Miss Stapylton's flighty vein, a little sketch of the style she is so
fond of; and hoped for some such opportunity as this question gave me,
to bring it on the carpet; for my only fear, with her and Miss Cope,
and Miss Sutton, was, that they would deem me too grave; and so
what should fall in the course of conversation, would make the least
impression upon them. For the best instructions, you know, will be
ineffectual, if the manner of conveying them is not adapted to the
taste and temper of the person you would wish to influence. And
moreover, I had a view in it, to make this little sketch the
introduction to some future observations on the stiff and affected
style of romances, which might put Miss Stapylton out of conceit with
them, and make her turn the course of her studies another way, as I
shall mention in its place.
I answered that I had been meditating upon the misfortunes of a fine
young lady, who had been seduced and betrayed by a gentleman she
loved, and who, notwithstanding, had the grace to stop short (indeed,
later than were to be wished), and to abandon friends, country, lover,
in order to avoid any further intercourse with him; and that God had
blessed her penitence and resolution, and she was now very happy in a
neighbouring dominion.
"A fine subject," said Miss Stapylton. "Was the gentleman a man of
wit, Madam? Was the lady a woman of taste?" we condemn every man who
dresses well, and is not a sloven, as a fop or a coxcomb?"
"No doubt, when this is the case. But you hardly ever saw a man _very_
nice about his person and dress, that had any thing he thought of
_greater_ consequence to himself to regard. 'Tis natural it should be
so; for should not the man of _body_ take the greater care to set out
and adorn the part for which he thinks himself most valuable? And
will not the man of _mind_ bestow his principal care in improving that
mind? perhaps to the neglect of dress, and outward appearance, which
is a fault. But surely, Madam, there is a middle way to be observed,
in these, as in most other cases; for a man need not be a sloven, any
more than a fop. He need not shew an utter disregard to dress, nor
yet think it his first and chief concern; be ready to quarrel with the
wind for discomposing his peruke, or fear to put on his hat, lest he
should depress his foretop; more dislike a spot upon his clothes, than
in his reputation; be a self-admirer, and always at the glass, which
he would perhaps never look into, could it shew him the deformity of
his mind, as well as the finery of his person; who has a taylor for
his tutor, and a milliner for his school-mistress; who laughs at men
of sense (excusably enough, perhaps in revenge because they laugh at
him); who calls learning pedantry, and looks upon the knowledge of the
fashions as the only useful science to a fine gentleman.
"Pardon me, ladies; I could proceed with the character of this species
of men, but I need not; for every lady present would despise such
an one, as much as I do, were he to fall in her way: or the rather,
because he who admires himself, will never admire his lady as he
ought; and if he maintains his niceness after marriage, it will be
with a preference to his own person; if not, will sink, very probably,
into the worst of slovens. For whoever is capable of one extreme (take
almost the cases of human life through) when he recedes from that, if
he be not a man of prudence, will go over into the other.
"But to return to the former subject" (for the general attention
encouraged me to proceed), "permit me, Miss Sutton, to add, that a
lady must run great risks to her reputation, if not to her virtue, who
will admit into her company any gentleman who shall be of opinion, and
know it to be _hers_, that it is _his_ province to ask a favour, which
it will be _her_ duty to deny."
"I believe, Madam, I spoke these words a little too carelessly; but I
meant _honourable_ questions, to be sure."
"There can be but _one_ honourable question," replied I; "and that is
seldom asked, but when the affair is brought near a conclusion, and
there is a probability of its being granted; and which a single lady,
while she has parents or guardians, should never think of permitting
to be put to herself, much less of approving, nor, perhaps, as the
case may be of denying. But I make no doubt that you meant honourable
questions. A young lady of Miss Sutton's good sense, and worthy
character, could not mean otherwise. And I have said, perhaps, more
than I need upon the subject, because we all know how ready the
presuming of the other sex are, right or wrong to construe the most
innocent meetings in favour of their own views."
"Very true," said she; but appeared to be under an agreeable
confusion, every lady, by her eye, seeming to think she had met with
a deserved rebuke; and which not seeming to expect, it abated her
liveliness all the time after.
Mrs. Towers seasonably relieved us both from a subject _too
applicable_, if I may so express it, saying--"But, dear Mrs. B., will
you favour us with the result of your meditation, if committed to
writing, on the unhappy case you mentioned?"
"I was rather. Madam, exercising my fancy than my judgment, such as
it is, upon the occasion. I was aiming at a kind of allegorical or
metaphorical style, I know not which to call it; and it is not fit to
be read before such judges, I doubt."
"O pray, dear Madam," said Miss Stapylton, "favour us with it _to
choose_; for I am a great admirer of that style."
"I have a great curiosity," said Lady Arthur, "both from the _subject_
and the _style_, to hear what you have written: and I beg you will
oblige us all."
"It is short and unfinished. It was written for the sake of a friend,
who is fond of such a style; and what I shall add to it, will be
principally some slight observations upon this way of writing. But,
let it be ever so censurable, I should be more so, if I made any
difficulties after such an unanimous request." So, taking it out of my
letter-case, I read as follows:
"While the _banks_ of _discretion_ keep the _proud water_ of _passion_
within their natural channel, all calm and serene glides along the
silver current, enlivening the adjacent meadows, as it passes, with a
brighter and more flowery verdure. But if the _torrents_ of _sensual
love_ are permitted to descend from the _hills_ of _credulous hope_,
they may so swell the gentle stream, as to make it difficult, if not
impossible, to be retained betwixt its usual bounds. What then will be
the consequence?--Why, the _trees of resolution_, and the _shrubs
of cautious fear_, which grew upon the frail mound, and whose
intertwining roots had contributed to support it, being loosened from
their hold, _they_, and all that would swim of the _bank_ itself, will
be seen floating on the surface of the triumphant waters.
"But here, a dear lady, having unhappily failed, is enabled to set her
_foot_ in the _new-made_ breach, while yet it is _possible_ to stop
it, and to say, with little variation in the language of that power,
which only could enable _her_ to say it. _Hither, ye proud waves of
dissolute love, although you_ HAVE _come, yet no farther_ SHALL
_ye come;_ is such an instance of magnanimous resolution and
self-conquest, as is very rarely to be met with."
Miss Stapylton seemed pleased (as I expected), and told me, that she
should take it for a high favour, to be permitted, if not improper, to
see the whole letter when finished.
I said, I would oblige her with all my heart.-"But you must not
expect, Madam, that although I have written what I have read to you,
I shall approve of it in my observations upon it; for I am convinced,
that no style can be proper, which is not plain, simple, easy, natural
and unaffected."
She was sure, she was pleased to say, that whatever my observations
were, they would be equally just and instructive.
"I too," said the dean, "will answer for that; for I dare say, by what
I have already heard, that Mrs. B. will distinguish properly between
the style (and the matter too) which captivates the imagination, and
that which informs the judgment."
Our conversation, after this, took a more general turn; which I
thought right, lest the young ladies should imagine it was a designed
thing against them: yet it was such, that every one of them found her
character and taste, little or much, concerned in it; and all seemed,
as Mrs. Towers afterwards observed to me, by their silence and
attention, to be busied in private applications.
The dean began it with a high compliment to me; having a view, no
doubt, by his kind praises, to make my observations have the greater
weight upon the young ladies. He said, it was matter of great surprise
to him, that, my tender years considered, I should be capable of
making those reflections, by which persons of twice my age and
experience might be instructed.-"You see, Madam," said he, "our
attention, when your lips begin to open; and I beg we may have nothing
to do, but to _be_ attentive."
"I have had such advantages, Sir, from the observations and cautions
of my late excellent lady, that did you but know half of them, you
would rather wonder I had made _no greater_ improvement, than that
I have made _so much._ She used to think me pretty, and not
ill-tempered, and, of _course_ not incredulous, where I conceived a
good opinion; and was always arming me on that side, as believing
I might be the object of wicked attempts, and the rather, as my low
fortune subjected me to danger. For, had I been born to rank and
condition, as these young ladies here, I should have had reason
to think of _myself_, as justly as, no doubt, _they_ do, and, of
consequence, beyond the reach of any vile intriguer; as I should have
been above the greatest part of that species of mankind, who, for
want of understanding or honour, or through pernicious habits, give
themselves up to libertinism."
"These were great advantages," said Miss Sutton; "but in _you_, they
met with a surprising genius, 'tis very plain, Madam; and there is
not, in my opinion, a lady of England, of your years, who would have
improved by them as you have done."
I answered, that I was much obliged by her good opinion: and that
I had always observed, the person who admired any good qualities in
another, gave a kind of _natural_ demonstration, that she had the same
in an eminent degree herself, although, perhaps, her modest diffidence
would not permit her to trace the generous principle to its source.
The dean, to renew the subject of _credulity_, repeated my remark,
that it was safer, in cases where so much depended upon the issue, as
a lady's honour and reputation, to _fear_ an _enemy_, than to _hope_ a
_friend_; and praised my observation, that even a _weak_ enemy is not
to be too much despised.
I said, I had very high notions of the honour and value of my own sex,
and very mean ones of the gay and frothy part of the other; insomuch,
that I thought they could have no strength, but what was founded
in our weakness: that the difference of education must give men
advantages, even where the genius is naturally equal; besides, they
have generally more hardness of heart, which makes women, where they
meet not with men of honour, engage with that sex upon very unequal
terms; for that it is so customary with them to make vows and
promises, and to set light by them, _when made_, that an innocent lady
cannot guard too watchfully against them; and, in my opinion,
should believe nothing they said, or even _vowed_, but what carried
demonstration with it.
"I remember my lady used often to observe, there is a time of life in
all young persons, which may properly be called _the romantic_, which
is a very dangerous period, and requires therefore a great guard of
prudence; that the risque is not a little augmented by reading novels
and romances; and the poetical tribe have much to answer for, by
reason of their heightened and inflaming descriptions, which do much
hurt to thoughtless minds, and lively imaginations. For to those, she
would have it, are principally owing, the rashness and indiscretion of
_soft_ and _tender_ dispositions: which, in breach of their duty,
and even to the disgrace of their sex, too frequently set them upon
enterprises, like those they have read in those pernicious writings,
which not seldom make them fall a sacrifice to the base designs of
some wild intriguer; and even in cases where their precipitation
ends the best, that is to say, in _marriage_, they too frequently (in
direct opposition to the cautions and commands of their _tried_, their
_experienced_, and _unquestionable_ friends) throw themselves upon
an _almost stranger_, who, had he been worthy of them, would not, nor
_needed_ to have taken indirect methods to obtain their favour.
"And the misfortune is, the most innocent are generally the most
credulous. Such a lady would do no harm to others, and cannot think
others would do her any. And as to the particular person who has
obtained, perhaps, a share in her confidence, _he_ cannot, she
thinks, be so _ungrateful_, as to return irreparable mischief for
her good-will to him. Were all the men in the world besides to prove
false, the _beloved_ person cannot. 'Twould be unjust to _her own
merit_, as well as to _his views_, to suppose it: and so _design_ on
his side, and _credulity_ and _self-opinion_, on the lady's, at last
enrol the unhappy believer in the list of the too-late repenters."
"And what, Madam," said the dean, "has not that wretch to answer for,
who makes sport of destroying a virtuous character, and in being the
wicked means of throwing, perhaps, upon the town, and into the dregs
of prostitution, a poor creature, whose love for him, and confidence
in him, was all her crime? and who otherwise might have made a worthy
figure at the head of a reputable family, and so have been an useful
member of the commonwealth, propagating good examples, instead of ruin
and infamy, to mankind? To say nothing of, what is still worse,
the dreadful crime of occasioning the loss of a soul; since final
impenitence too generally follows the first sacrifice which the poor
wretch is seduced to make of her honour!"
"There are several gentlemen in our neighbourhood," said Mrs. Brooks,
"who might be benefited by this touching reflection, if represented
in the same strong lights from the pulpit. And I think, Mr. Dean, you
should give us a sermon upon this subject, for the sake of both sexes,
one for caution, the other for conviction."
"I will think of it," replied he, "but I am sorry to say, that we have
too many among our younger gentry who would think themselves pointed
at were I to touch this subject ever so cautiously."
"I am sure," said Mrs. Towers, "there cannot well be a more useful
one; and the very reason the dean gives, is a convincing proof of it
to me."
"When I have had the pleasure of hearing the further sentiments of
such an assembly as this, upon the delicate subject," replied this
polite divine, "I shall be better enabled to treat it. And pray,
ladies, proceed; for it is from your conversation that I must take my
hints."
"You have only, then," said Mrs. Towers, "to engage Mrs. B. to speak,
and you may be sure, we will all be as attentive to _her_, as we
shall be to _you_, when we have the pleasure to hear so fine a genius
improving upon her hints, from the pulpit."
I bowed to Mrs. Towers; and knowing she praised me, with the dean's
view, in order to induce the young ladies to give the greater
attention to what she wished me to speak, I said, it would be a
great presumption in me, after so high a compliment, to open my lips:
nevertheless, as I was sure, by speaking, I should have the benefit of
instruction, whenever it made _them_ speak, I would not be backward to
enter upon any subject; for that I should consider myself as a young
counsel, in some great cause, who served but to open it and prepare
the way for those of greater skill and abilities.
"I beg, then, Madam," said Miss Stapylton, "you will _open the cause_,
be the subject what it will. And I could almost wish, that we had as
many gentlemen here as ladies, who would have reason to be ashamed
of the liberties they take in censuring the conversations of the
tea-table; since the pulpit, as the worthy dean gives us reason to
hope, may be beholden to that of Mrs. B."
"Nor is it much wonder," replied I, "when the dean himself is with us,
and it is graced by so distinguished a circle."
"If many of our young gentlemen, were here," said Mrs. Towers, "they
might improve themselves in all the graces of polite and sincere
complaisance. But, compared to this, I have generally heard such trite
and coarse stuff from our race of would-be wits, that what they say
may be compared to the fawnings and salutations of the ass in the
fable, who, emulating the lap-dog, merited a cudgel rather than
encouragement.
"But, Mrs. B.," continued she, "begin, I pray you, to _open_ and
_proceed_ in the cause; for there will be no counsel employed but you,
I can tell you."
"Then give me a subject that will suit me, ladies, and you shall see
how my obedience to your commands will make me run on."
"Will you, Madam," said Miss Stapylton, "give us a few cautions and
instructions on a theme of your own, that a young lady should rather
_fear_ too much than _hope_ too much? A necessary doctrine, perhaps;
but a difficult one to be practised by one who has begun to love, and
who supposes all truth and honour in the object of her favour."
"_Hope_, Madam," said I, "in my opinion, should never be unaccompanied
by _fear_; and the more reason will a lady ever have to fear, and to
suspect herself, and doubt her lover, when she once begins to find in
her own breast an inclination to him. For then her danger is doubled,
since she has _herself_ (perhaps the more dangerous enemy of the two)
to guard against, as well as _him._
"She may secretly wish the best indeed: but what _has been_ the fate
of others _may be_ her own; and though she thinks it not _probable_,
from such a faithful protester, as he appears to her to be, yet,
while it is _possible_, she should never be off her guard: nor will a
prudent woman trust to his mercy or honour; but to her own discretion:
and the rather, because, if he mean well, he _himself_ will value her
the more for her caution, since every man desires to have a virtuous
and prudent wife; if not well, she will detect him the sooner, and so,
by her prudence, frustrate all his base designs.
"But let me, my dear ladies, ask, what that passion is, which
generally we dignify by the name of love; and which, when so
dignified, puts us upon a thousand extravagances? I believe, if
examined into, it would be found too generally to owe its original
to _ungoverned fancy;_ and were we to judge of it by the consequences
that usually attend it, it ought rather to be called _rashness,
inconsideration, weakness_, and thing but _love;_ for very seldom,
I doubt, is the solid judgment so much concerned in it, as the _airy
fancy._ But when once we dignify the wild mis-leader with the name of
_love_, all the absurdities which we read in novels and romances take
place, and we are induced to follow examples that seldom end happily
but in _them._
"But, permit me further to observe, that love, as we call it, operates
differently in the two sexes, as to its effects. For in woman it is
a _creeping_ thing, in a man an _incroacher;_ and this ought, in
my humble opinion, to be very seriously attended to. Miss Sutton
intimated thus much, when she observed that it was the man's province
to ask, the lady's to deny:--excuse me. Madam, the observation was
just, as to the men's notions; although, methinks, I would not have a
lady allow of it, except in cases of caution to themselves.
"The doubt, therefore, which a lady has of her _lover's_ honour,
is needful to preserve _her own_ and _his_ too. And if she does him
wrong, and he should be too just to deceive her, she can make him
amends, by instances of greater confidence, when she pleases. But if
she has been accustomed to grant him little favours, can she easily
recal them? And will not the _incroacher_ grow upon her indulgence,
pleading for a favour to-day, which was not refused him yesterday, and
reproaching her want of confidence, as a want of esteem; till the
poor lady, who, perhaps, has given way to the _creeping, insinuating_
passion, and has avowed her esteem for him, puts herself too much in
his power, in order to manifest, as she thinks, the _generosity_
of her affection; and so, by degrees, is carried farther than she
intended, or nice honour ought to have permitted; and all, because,
to keep up to my theme, she _hopes_ too much, and _doubts_ too little?
And there have been cases, where a man himself, pursuing the dictates
of his _incroaching_ passion, and finding a lady _too conceding_, has
taken advantages, of which, probably, at first he did not presume to
think."
Miss Stapylton said, that _virtue_ itself spoke when _I_ spoke; and
she was resolved to recollect as much of this conversation as she
could, and write it down in her common-place book, where it would make
a better figure than any thing she had there.
"I suppose, Miss," said Mrs. Towers, "your chief collections are
flowers of rhetoric, picked up from the French and English poets, and
novel-writers. I would give something for the pleasure of having it
two hours in my possession."
"Fie, Madam," replied she, a little abashed, "how can you expose your
kinswoman thus, before the dean and Mrs. B.?"
"Mrs. Towers," said I, "only says this to provoke you to shew your
collections. I wish I had the pleasure of seeing them. I doubt not but
your common-place book is a store-house of wisdom."
"There is nothing bad in it, I hope," replied she; "but I would
not, that Mrs. B. should see it for the world. But, Madam" (to Mrs.
Towers), "there are many beautiful things, and good instructions,
to be collected from novels and plays, and romances; and from the
poetical writers particularly, light as you are pleased to make of
them. Pray, Madam" (to me), "have you ever been at all conversant in
such writers?"
"Not a great deal in the former: there were very few novels and
romances that my lady would permit me to read; and those I did,
gave me no great pleasure; for either they dealt so much in the
_marvellous_ and _improbable_, or were so unnaturally _inflaming_ to
the _passions_, and so full of _love_ and _intrigue_, that most of
them seemed calculated to _fire_ the _imagination_, rather than to
_inform_ the _judgment._ Titles and tournaments, breaking of spears
in honour of a mistress, engaging with monsters, rambling in search
of adventures, making unnatural difficulties, in order to shew the
knight-errant's prowess in overcoming them, is all that is required
to constitute the _hero_ in such pieces. And what principally
distinguishes the character of the _heroine_ is, when she is taught to
consider her father's house as an enchanted castle, and her lover as
the hero who is to dissolve the charm, and to set at liberty from one
confinement, in order to put her into another, and, too probably, a
worse: to instruct her how to climb walls, leap precipices, and do
twenty other extravagant things, in order to shew the mad strength of
a passion she ought to be ashamed of; to make parents and guardians
pass for tyrants, the voice of reason to be drowned in that of
indiscreet love, which exalts the other sex, and debases her own. And
what is the instruction that can be gathered from such pieces, for the
conduct of common life?
"Then have I been ready to quarrel with these writers for another
reason; and that is, the dangerous notion which they hardly ever
fail to propagate, of a _first-sight_ love. For there is such a
susceptibility supposed on both sides (which, however it may pass in
a man, very little becomes the female delicacy) that they are smitten
with a glance: the fictitious blind god is made a _real_ divinity:
and too often prudence and discretion are the first offerings at his
shrine."
"I believe, Madam," said Miss Stapylton, blushing, and playing with
her fan, "there have been many instances of people's loving at first
sight, which have ended very happily."
"No doubt of it," replied I. "But there are three chances to one,
that so precipitate a liking does not. For where can be the room for
caution, enquiry, the display of merit and sincerity, and even the
assurance of a _grateful return_, to a lady, who thus suffers herself
to be prepossessed? Is it not a random shot? Is it not a proof of
weakness? Is it not giving up the negative voice, which belongs to the
sex, even while she is not sure of meeting with the affirmative one
from him whose affection she wishes to engage?
"Indeed, ladies," continued I, "I cannot help concluding (and I am the
less afraid of speaking my mind, because of the opinion I have of the
prudence of every lady that hears me), that where this weakness is
found, it is no way favourable to a lady's character, nor to that
discretion which ought to distinguish it. It looks to me, as if a
lady's _heart_ were too much in the power of her _eye_, and that she
had permitted her _fancy_ to be much more busy than her _judgment_."
Miss Stapylton blushed, and looked around her.
"But I observe," said Mrs. Towers, "whenever you censure any
indiscretion, you seldom fail to give cautions how to avoid it; and
pray let us know what is to be done in this case? That is to say, how
a young lady ought to guard against and overcome the first favourable
impressions?"
"What I imagine," replied I, "a young lady ought to do, on any the
least favourable impressions of the kind, is immediately to _withdraw
into herself_, as one may say; to reflect upon what she owes to her
parents, to her family, to her character, and to her sex; and to
resolve to check such a random prepossession, which may much more
probably, as I hinted, make her a prey to the undeserving than
otherwise, as there are so many of that character to one man of real
merit.
"The most that I apprehend a _first-sight_ approbation can do, is to
inspire a _liking_; and a liking is conquerable, if the person will
not brood over it, till she hatches it into _love_. Then every man
and woman has a black and a white side; and it is easy to set the
imperfections of the person against the supposed perfections, while it
is only a _liking_. But if the busy fancy be permitted to work as it
pleases, uncontrolled, then 'tis very likely, were the lady but to
keep herself in countenance for receiving first impressions, she will
see perfections in the object, which no other living soul can. And it
may be expected, that as a consequence of her first indiscretion, she
will confirm, as an act of her judgment, what her wild and ungoverned
fancy had misled her to think of with so much partial favour. And too
late, as it probably may happen, she will see and lament her fatal,
and, perhaps, undutiful error.
"We are talking of the ladies only," added I (for I saw Miss Stapylton
was become very grave): "but I believe first-sight love often operates
too powerfully in both sexes: and where it does so, it will be very
lucky, if either gentleman or lady find reason, on cool reflection, to
approve a choice which they were so ready to make without thought."
"'Tis allowed," said Mrs. Towers, "that rash and precipitate love
_may_ operate pretty much alike in the rash and precipitate of both
sexes: and which soever loves, generally exalts the person beloved
above his or her merits: but I am desirous, for the sake of us maiden
ladies, since it is a science in which you are so great an adept,
to have your advice, how we should watch and guard its first
incroachments and that you will tell us what you apprehend gives the
men most advantage over us."
"Nay, now, Mrs. Towers, you rally my presumption, indeed!"
"I admire you, Madam," replied she, "and every thing you say and do;
and I won't forgive you to call what I so seriously _say_ and _think_,
raillery. For my own part," continued she, "I never was in love yet,
nor, I believe, were any of these young ladies." (Miss Cope looked a
little silly upon this.) "And who can better instruct us to guard _our
hearts_, than a lady who has so well defended _her own_?"
"Why then, Madam, if I must speak, I think, what gives the other sex
the greatest advantage over even many of the most deserving ones,
is that dangerous foible, the _love of praise_, and the desire to be
_flattered_ and _admired_, a passion I have observed to predominate,
more or less, from sixteen to sixty, in most of our sex. We are too
generally delighted with the company of those who extol our graces of
person or mind: for, will not a _grateful_ lady study hard to return
a_ few_ compliments to a gentleman who makes her so _many_! She is
concerned to _prove_ him a man of distinguished sense, or a polite
man, at least, in regard to what she _thinks_ of herself; and so the
flatterer shall be preferred to such of the sincere and worthy, as
cannot say what they do not think. And by this means many an excellent
lady has fallen a prey to some sordid designer.
"Then, I think, nothing can give gentlemen so much advantage over our
sex, as to see how readily a virtuous lady can forgive the capital
faults of the most abandoned of the other; and that sad, sad notion,
_that a reformed rake makes the best husband_; a notion that has
done more hurt, and discredit too, to our sex (as it has given more
encouragement to the profligate, and more discouragement to the sober
gentlemen), than can be easily imagined. A fine thing, indeed I as
if the wretch, who had run through a course of iniquity, to the
endangering of soul and body, was to be deemed the best companion
for life, to an innocent and virtuous young lady, who is to owe
the kindness of his treatment to her, to his having never before
accompanied with a modest woman; nor, till his interest on one hand
(to which his extravagance, perhaps, compels him to attend), and
his impaired constitution on the other, oblige him to it, so much
as _wished_ to accompany with one; and who always made a jest of the
marriage state, and perhaps, of every thing either serious or sacred!"
"You observe, very well," said Mrs. Towers: "but people will be apt
to think, that you have less reason than any of our sex, to be severe
against such a notion: for who was a greater rake than a certain
gentleman, and who is a better husband?"
"Madam," replied I, "the gentleman you mean, never was a common
town rake: he is a man of sense, and fine understanding: and his
reformation, _secondarily_, as I may say, has been the natural effect
of those extraordinary qualities. But also, I will presume to say,
that that gentleman, as he has not many equals in the nobleness of
his nature, so he is not likely, I doubt, to have many followers, in
a reformation begun in the bloom of youth, upon _self-conviction_, and
altogether, humanly speaking, _spontaneous_. Those ladies who would
plead his example, in support of this pernicious notion, should find
out the same generous qualities in the man, before they trust to it:
and it will then do less harm; though even then, I could not wish it
to be generally entertained."
"It is really unaccountable," said Mrs. Towers, "after all, as Mrs.
B., I remember, said on another occasion, that our sex should not as
much insist upon virtue and sobriety, in the character of a man, as
a man, be he ever such a rake, does in that of a lady. And 'tis
certainly a great encouragement to libertinism, that a worn-out
debauchee should think himself at any time good enough for a husband,
and have the confidence to imagine, that a modest woman will accept
of his address, with a_ preference_ of him to any other."
"I can account for it but one way," said the dean: "and that is,
that a modest woman is apt to be _diffident_ of her own merit and
understanding and she thinks this diffidence an imperfection. A rake
_never_ is troubled with it: so he has in perfection a quality she
thinks she wants; and, knowing _too little _of the world, imagines she
mends the matter by accepting of one who knows_ too much_."
"That's well observed, Mr. Dean," said Mrs. Towers: "but there is
another fault in our sex, which Mrs. B. has not touched upon; and that
is, the foolish vanity some women have, in the hopes of reforming a
wild fellow; and that they shall be able to do more than any of their
sex before them could do: a vanity that often costs them dear, as I
know in more than one instance."
"Another weakness," said I, "might be produced against some of our
sex, who join too readily to droll upon, and sneer at, the misfortune
of any poor young creature, who has shewn too little regard for
her honour: and who (instead of speaking of it with concern, and
inveighing against the seducer) too lightly sport with the unhappy
person's fall; industriously spread the knowledge of it--" [I would
not look upon Miss Sutton, while I spoke this], "and avoid her, as
one infected; and yet scruple not to admit into their company the vile
aggressor; and even to smile with him, at his barbarous jests, upon
the poor sufferer of their own sex."
"I have known three or four instances of this in my time," said Mrs.
Towers, that Miss Sutton might not take it to herself; for she looked
down and was a little serious.
"This," replied I, "puts me in mind of a little humourous copy of
verses, written, as I believe by Mr. B. And which, to the very purpose
we are speaking of, he calls
_"'Benefit of making others' misfortunes our own._
"'Thou'st heard it, or read it, a million of times,
That men are made up of falsehood and crimes;
Search all the old authors, and ransack the new,
Thou'lt find in love stories, scarce one mortal true.
Then why this complaining? And why this wry face?
Is it 'cause thou'rt affected _most_ with thy own case?
Had'st thou sooner made _others'_ misfortunes thy own,
Thou never _thyself_, this disaster hadst known;
Thy _compassionate caution_ had kept thee from evil,
And thou might'st have defy'd mankind and the devil.'"
The ladies were pleased with the lines; but Mrs. Towers wanted to know
at what time of Mr. B.'s life they could be written. "Because," added
she, "I never suspected, before, that the good gentleman ever took
pains to write cautions or exhortations to our sex, to avoid the
delusions of his own."
These verses, and these facetious, but severe, remarks of Mrs. Towers,
made every young lady look up with a cheerful countenance; because it
pushed the ball from _self_: and the dean said to his daughter, "So,
my dear, you, that have been so attentive, must let us know what
useful inferences you can draw from what Mrs. B. and the other ladies
so excellently said."
"I observe. Sir, from the faults the ladies have so justly imputed to
some of our sex, that the advantage the gentlemen _chiefly_ have over
us, is from our own weakness: and that it behoves a prudent woman
to guard against _first impressions_ of favour, since she will think
herself obliged, in compliment to _her own_ judgment, to find reasons,
if possible, to confirm them.
"But I wish to know if there be any way that a woman can judge,
whether a man means honourably or not, in his address to her!"
"Mrs. B. can best inform you of that, Miss L.," said Mrs. Towers:
"what say you, Mrs. B.?"
"There are a few signs," answered I, "easy to be known, and, I think,
almost infallible."
"Pray let's have them," said Lady Arthur; and they all were very
attentive.
"I lay it down as an undoubted truth," said I, "that true love is one
of the most _respectful_ things in the world. It strikes with awe and
reverence the mind of the man who boasts its impressions. It is chaste
and pure in word and deed, and cannot bear to have the least indecency
mingled with it.
"If, therefore, a man, be his birth or quality what it will, the
higher the worse, presume to wound a lady's ears with indecent words:
if he endeavour, in his expressions or sentiments, to convey gross
or impure ideas to her mind: if he is continually pressing for _her
confidence_ in _his_ honour: if he requests favours which a lady ought
to refuse: if he can be regardless of his conduct or behaviour to her:
if he can use _boisterous_ or _rude_ freedoms, either to her _person_
or _dress_--" [Here poor Miss Cope, by her blushes, bore witness to
her case.] "If he avoids _speaking_ of _marriage_, when he has a
_fair opportunity_ of doing it--" [Here Miss L. looked down and
blushed]--"or leaves it _once_ to a lady to wonder that he does not:--
"In any, or in all these cases, he is to be suspected, and a lady
can have little hope of such a person; nor, as I humbly apprehend,
consistent with honour and discretion, encourage his address."
The ladies were so kind as to applaud all I said, and so did the dean.
Miss Stapylton, Miss Cope, and Miss L. were to write down what they
could remember of the conversation: and our noble guests coming
in soon after, with Mr. B., the ladies would have departed; but he
prevailed upon them to pass the evening; and Miss L., who had an
admirable finger on the harpsichord, as I have before said, obliged
us with two or three lessons. Each of the ladies did the like, and
prevailed upon me to play a tune or two: but Miss Cope, as well as
Miss L., surpassed me much. We all sung too in turns, and Mr. B.
took the violin, in which he excels. Lord Davers obliged us on the
violincello: Mr. H. played on the German flute, and sung us a fop's
song, and performed it in character; so that we had an exceeding gay
evening, and parted with great satisfaction on all sides, particularly
on the young ladies; for this put them all in good humour, and good
spirits, enlivening the former scene, which otherwise might have
closed, perhaps more gravely than efficaciously.
The distance of time since this conversation passed, enables me to add
what I could not do, when I wrote the account of it, which you have
mislaid: and which take briefly, as follows:
Miss Stapylton was as good as her word, and wrote down all she could
recollect of the conversation: and I having already sent her the
letter she desired, containing my observations upon the flighty style
she so much admired, it had such an effect upon her, as to turn
the course of her reading and studies to weightier and more solid
subjects; and avoiding the gentleman she had begun to favour, gave
way to her parents' recommendations, and is happily married to Sir
Jonathan Barnes.
Miss Cope came to me a week after, with the leave of both her parents,
and tarried with me three days; in which time she opened all her heart
to me, and returned in such a disposition, and with such resolutions,
that she never would see her peer again; nor receive letters from him,
which she owned to me she had done clandestinely before; and she is
now the happy lady of Sir Michael Beaumont, who makes her the best
of husbands, and permits her to follow her charitable inclinations
according to a scheme which she consulted me upon.
Miss L., by the dean's indulgent prudence and discretion, has escaped
her rake; and upon the discovery of an intrigue he was carrying on
with another, conceived a just abhorrence of him; and is since married
to Dr. Jenkins, as you know, with whom she lives very happily.
Miss Sutton is not quite so well off as the three former; though
not altogether so unhappy neither, in her way. She could not indeed
conquer her love of dress and tinsel, and so became the lady of Col.
Wilson: and they are thus far easy in the marriage state, that, being
seldom together, they have probably a multitude of misunderstandings;
for the colonel loves gaming, in which he is generally a winner; and
so passes his time mostly in town. His lady has her pleasures, neither
laudable nor criminal ones, which she pursues in the country. And
now and then a letter passes on both sides, by. the inscription and
subscription of which they remind one another that they have been once
in their lives at one church together,
And what now, my dear Lady G., have I to add to this tedious account
(for letter I can hardly call it) but that I am, with great affection,
_your true friend and servant_,
P.B.
LETTER CIII
MY DEAR LADY G.,
You desire to have a little specimen of my _nursery tales_ and
_stories_, with which, as Miss Fenwick told you, on her return to
Lincolnshire, I entertain my Miss Goodwin and my little boys. But you
make me too high a compliment, when you tell me, it is for your
_own_ instruction and example. Yet you know, my dear Lady G., be your
motives what they will, I must obey you, although, were others to see
it, I might expose myself to the smiles and contempt of judges less
prejudiced in my favour. So I will begin without any further apology;
and, as near as I can, give you those very stories with which Miss
Fenwick was so pleased, and of which she has made so favourable a
report.
Let me acquaint you, then, that my method is to give characters of
persons I have known in one part or other of my life, in feigned
names, whose conduct may serve for imitation or warning to my dear
attentive Miss; and sometimes I give instances of good boys and
naughty boys, for the sake of my Billy and my Davers; and they are
continually coming about me, "Dear Madam, a pretty story," now cries
Miss: "and dear mamma, tell me of good boys, and of naughty boys,"
cries Billy.
Miss is a surprising child of her age, and is very familiar with many
of the best characters in the Spectators; and having a smattering
of Latin, and more than a smattering of Italian, and being a perfect
mistress of French, is seldom at a loss for a derivation of such words
as are not of English original. And so I shall give you a story in
feigned names, with which she is so delighted, that she has written
it down. But I will first trespass on your patience with one of my
childish tales.
Every day, once or twice, I cause Miss Goodwin, who plays and sings
very prettily, to give a tune or two to me, my Billy and my Davers,
who, as well as my Pamela, love and learn to touch the keys, young as
the latter is; and she will have a sweet finger; I can observe that;
and a charming ear; and her voice is music itself!-"O the fond, fond
mother!" I know you will say, on reading this.
Then, Madam, we all proceed, hand-in-hand, together to the nursery, to
my Charley and Jemmy: and in this happy retirement, so much my
delight in the absence of my best beloved, imagine you see me seated,
surrounded with the joy and the hope of my future prospects, as well
as my present comforts. Miss Goodwin, imagine you see, on my right
hand, sitting on a velvet stool, because she is eldest, and a Miss;
Billy on my left, in a little cane elbow-chair, because he is eldest,
and a good boy; my Davers, and my sparkling-ey'd Pamela, with
my Charley between them, on little silken cushions, at my feet,
hand-in-hand, their pleased eyes looking up to my more delighted ones;
and my sweet-natured promising Jemmy, in my lap; the nurses and the
cradle just behind us, and the nursery maids delightedly pursuing some
useful needle-work for the dear charmers of my heart-All as hush and
as still as silence itself, as the pretty creatures generally are,
when their little, watchful eyes see my lips beginning to open: for
they take neat notice already of my rule of two ears to one tongue,
insomuch that if Billy or Davers are either of them for breaking the
mum, as they call it, they are immediately hush, at any time, if I put
my finger to my lip, or if Miss points hers to her ear, even to the
breaking of a word in two, as it were: and yet all my boys are as
lively as so many birds: while my Pamela is cheerful, easy, soft,
gentle, always smiling, but modest and harmless as a dove.
I began with a story of two little boys, and two little girls, the
children of a fine gentleman, and a fine lady, who loved them dearly;
that they were all so good, and loved one another so well, that every
body who saw them, admired them, and talked of them far and near; that
they would part with any thing to the another; loved the poor; spoke
kindly to the servants; did every thing they were bid to do; were not
proud; knew no strife, but who should learn their books best, and be
the prettiest scholar; that the servants loved them, and would do any
thing they desired; that they were not proud of fine clothes; let
not their heads run upon their playthings when they should mind their
books; said grace before they eat, their prayers before they went to
bed, and as soon as they rose; were always clean and neat; would not
tell a fib for the world, and were above doing any thing that required
one; that God blessed them more and more, and blessed their papa and
mamma, and their uncles and aunts, and cousins, for their sakes. "And
there was a happy family, my dear loves!-No one idle; all prettily
employed; the Masters at their books; the Misses at their books too,
or at their needles; except at their play-hours, when they were never
rude, nor noisy, nor mischievous, nor quarrelsome: and no such word
was ever heard from their mouths, as, 'Why mayn't I have this or that,
as well as Billy or Bobby?' Or, 'Why should Sally have this or that,
any more than I?' But it was, 'As my mamma pleases; my mamma knows
best;' and a bow and a smile, and no surliness, or scowling brow to be
seen, if they were denied any thing; for well did they know that
their papa and mamma loved them so dearly, that they would refuse them
nothing that was for their good; and they were sure when they were
refused, they asked for something that would have done them hurt, had
it been granted. Never were such good boys and girls as these I
And they grew up; and the Masters became fine scholars, and fine
gentlemen, and every body honoured them: and the Misses became fine
ladies, and fine housewives; and this gentleman, when they grew to
be women, sought to marry one of the Misses, and that gentleman the
other; and happy was he that could be admitted into their companies I
so that they had nothing to do but to pick and choose out of the best
gentlemen in the country: while the greatest ladies for birth and the
most remarkable for virtue (which, my dears, is better than either
birth or fortune), thought themselves honoured by the addresses of the
two brothers. And they married, and made good papas and mammas, and
were so many blessings to the age in which they lived. There, my dear
loves, were happy sons and daughters; for good Masters seldom fail
to make good gentlemen; and good Misses, good ladies; and God blesses
them with as good children as they were to their parents; and so the
blessing goes round!-Who would not but be good?"
"Well, but, mamma, we will all be good:-Won't we, Master Davers?"
cries my Billy. "Yes, brother Billy. But what will become of the
naughty boys? Tell us, mamma, about the naughty boys!"
"Why, there was a poor, poor widow woman, who had three naughty sons,
and one naughty daughter; and they would do nothing that their mamma
bid them do; were always quarrelling, scratching, and fighting; would
not say their prayers; would not learn their books; so that the little
boys used to laugh at them, and point at them, as they went along, for
blockheads; and nobody loved them, or took notice of them, except
to beat and thump them about, for their naughty ways, and their
undutifulness to their poor mother, who worked hard to maintain them.
As they grew up, they grew worse and worse, and more and more stupid
and ignorant; so that they impoverished their poor mother, and at last
broke her heart, poor poor widow woman!--And her neighbours joined
together to bury the poor widow woman: for these sad ungracious
children made away with what little she had left, while she was ill,
before her heart was quite broken; and this helped to break it the
sooner: for had she lived, she saw she must have wanted bread, and had
no comfort with such wicked children."
"Poor poor widow woman!" said my Billy, with tears; and my little dove
shed tears too, and Davers was moved, and Miss wiped her fine eyes.
"But what became of the naughty boys, and the naughty girl, mamma?"
"Became of them! Why one son was forced to go to sea, and there he was
drowned: another turned thief (for he would not work), and he came to
an untimely end: the third was idle and ignorant, and nobody, who knew
how he used his poor mother, would employ him; and so he was forced to
go into a far country, and beg his bread. And the naughty girl, having
never loved work, pined away in sloth and filthiness, and at last
broke her arm, and died of a fever, lamenting, too late, that she had
been so wicked a daughter to so good a mother!--And so there was a
sad end to all the four ungracious children, who never would mind what
their poor mother said to them; and God punished their naughtiness as
you see!--While the good children I mentioned before, were the glory
of their family, and the delight of every body that knew them."
"Who would not be good?" was the inference: and the repetition from
Billy, with his hands clapt together, "Poor widow woman!" gave me much
pleasure.
So my childish story ended, with a kiss of each pretty dear, and their
thanks for my story: and then came on Miss's request for a woman's
story, as she called it. I dismissed my babies to their play; and
taking Miss's hand, she standing before me, all attention, began in a
more womanly strain to _her_; for she is very fond of being thought
a woman; and indeed is a prudent sensible dear, comprehends any thing
instantly, and makes very pretty reflections upon what she hears or
reads as you will observe in what follows:
"There is nothing, my dear Miss Goodwin, that young ladies should be
so watchful over, as their reputation: 'tis a tender flower that the
least frost will nip, the least cold wind will blast; and when once
blasted, it will never flourish again, but wither to the very root.
But this I have told you so often, I need not repeat what I have said.
So to my story.
"There were four pretty ladies lived in one genteel neighbourhood,
daughters of four several families; but all companions and visitors;
and yet all of very different inclinations. Coquetilla we will call
one, Prudiana another, Profusiana the third, and Prudentia the fourth;
their several names denoting their respective qualities.
"Coquetilla was the only daughter of a worthy baronet, by a lady very
gay, but rather indiscreet than unvirtuous, who took not the requisite
care of her daughter's education, but let her be over-run with the
love of fashion, dress, and equipage; and when in London, balls,
operas, plays, the Park, the Ring, the withdrawing-room, took up her
whole attention. She admired nobody but herself, fluttered about,
laughing at, and despising a crowd of men-followers, whom she
attracted by gay, thoughtless freedoms of behaviour, too nearly
treading on the skirts of immodesty: yet made she not one worthy
conquest, exciting, on the contrary, in all sober minds, that contempt
of herself, which she so profusely would be thought to pour down upon
the rest of the world. After she had several years fluttered about the
dangerous light, like some silly fly, she at last singed the wings of
her reputation; for, being despised by every worthy heart, she became
too easy and cheap a prey to a man the most unworthy of all her
followers, who had resolution and confidence enough to break through
those few cobweb reserves, in which she had encircled her precarious
virtue; and which were no longer of force to preserve her honour, when
she met with a man more bold and more enterprising than herself, and
who was as designing as she was thoughtless. And what then became of
Coquetilla?-Why, she was forced to pass over sea to Ireland, where
nobody knew her, and to bury herself in a dull obscurity; to go by
another name, and at last, unable to support a life so unsuitable
to the natural gaiety of her temper, she pined herself into a
consumption, and died, unpitied and unlamented, among strangers,
having not one friend but whom she bought with her money."
"Poor Lady Coquetilla!" said Miss Goodwin; "what a sad thing it is to
have a wrong education; and how happy am I, who have so good a lady
to supply the place of a dear distant mamma!-But be pleased, Madam, to
proceed to the next."
"Prudiana, my dear, was the daughter of a gentleman who was a widower,
and had, while the young lady was an infant, buried her mamma. He was
a good sort of man; but had but one lesson to teach to Prudiana, and
that was to avoid all sort of conversation with the men; but never
gave her the right turn of mind, nor instilled into it that sense
of her religious duties, which would have been her best guard in all
temptations. For, provided she kept out of the sight and conversation
of the gentlemen, and avoided the company of those ladies who more
freely conversed with the other sex, it was all her papa desired of
her. This gave her a haughty, sullen, and reserved turn; made her
stiff, formal, and affected. She had sense enough to discover early
the faults of Coquetilla, and, in dislike to them, fell the more
easily into that contrary extreme, which a recluse education, and
her papa's cautions, naturally led her. So that pride, reserve,
affectation, and censoriousness, made up the essentials of her
character, and she became more unamiable even than Coquetilla; and
as the other was too accessible, Prudiana was quite unapproachable by
gentlemen, and unfit for any conversation, but that of her servants,
being also deserted by those of her own sex, by whom she might have
improved, on account of her censorious disposition. And what was the
consequence? Why this: every worthy person of both sexes despising
her, and she being used to see nobody but servants, at last throws
herself upon one of that class: in an evil hour, she finds something
that is taking to her low taste in the person of her papa's valet,
a wretch so infinitely beneath her (but a gay coxcomb of a servant),
that every body attributed to her the scandal of making the first
advances; for, otherwise, it was presumed, he durst not have looked
up to his master's daughter. So here ended all her pride. All her
reserves came to this! Her censoriousness of others redoubled people's
contempt upon herself, and made nobody pity her. She was finally
turned out of doors, without a penny of fortune: the fellow was forced
to set up a barber's shop in a country town; for all he knew was to
shave and dress a peruke: and her papa would never look upon her more:
so that Prudiana became the outcast of her family, and the scorn
of all that knew her; and was forced to mingle in conversation and
company with the wretches of her husband's degree!"
"Poor, miserable Prudiana!" said Miss--"What a sad, sad fall was hers.
And all owing to the want of a proper education too!--And to the loss
of such a mamma, as I have an aunt; and so wise a papa as I have an
uncle!--How could her papa, I wonder, restrain her person as he
did, like a poor nun, and make her unacquainted with the generous
restraints of the mind?
"I am sure, my dear good aunt, it will be owing to you, that I shall
never be a Coquetilla, nor a Prudiana neither. Your table is always
surrounded with the best of company, with worthy gentlemen as well as
ladies: and you instruct me to judge of both, and of every new guest,
in such a manner, as makes me esteem them all, and censure nobody; but
yet to see faults in some to avoid, and graces in others to imitate;
but in nobody but yourself and my uncle, any thing so like perfection,
as shall attract one's admiration to one's own ruin."
"You are young, yet, my love, and must always doubt your own strength;
and pray to God, more and more, as your years advance, to give you
more and more prudence, and watchfulness over your conduct.
"But yet, my dear, you must think justly of yourself too; for let
the young gentlemen be ever so learned and discreet, your education
entitles you to think as well of yourself as of them: for, don't you
see, the ladies who are so kind as to visit us, that have not been
abroad, as you have been, when they were young, yet make as good
figures in conversation, say as good things as any of the gentlemen?
For, my dear, all that the gentlemen know more than the ladies, except
here and there such a one as your dear uncle, with all their learned
education, is only, that they have been _disciplined_, perhaps, into
an observation of a few accuracies in speech, which, if they know no
more, rather distinguish the _pedant_ than the _gentleman_: such as
the avoiding of a false concord, as they call it, and which you know
how to do, as well as the best; not to put a _was_ for a _were_, an
_are_ for an _is_, and to be able to speak in mood and tense, and such
like valuable parts of education: so that, my dear, you can have no
reason to look upon that sex in so high a light, as to depreciate your
own: and yet you must not be proud nor conceited neither; but make
this one rule your guide:
"In your _maiden state_, think yourself _above_ the gentlemen, and
they'll think you so too, and address you with reverence and respect,
if they see there be neither pride nor arrogance in your behaviour,
but a consciousness of merit, a true dignity, such as becomes virgin
modesty, and untainted purity of mind and manners, like that of an
angel among men; for so young ladies should look upon themselves to
be, and will then be treated as such by the other sex.
"In your _married state_, which is a kind of state of humiliation for
a lady, you must think yourself subordinate to your husband; for so it
has pleased God to make the wife. You must have no will of your own,
in _petty_ things; and if you marry a gentleman of sense and honour,
such a one as your uncle, he will look upon you as his equal; and will
exalt you the more for your abasing yourself. In short, my dear, he
will act by you, just as your dear uncle does by me: and then, what a
happy creature will you be!"
"So I shall, Madam! To be sure I shall!--But I know I shall be happy
whenever I marry, because I have such wise directors, and such an
example, before me: and, if it please God, I will never think of
any man (in pursuance of your constant advice to young ladies at the
tea-table), who is not a man of sense, and a virtuous gentleman. But
now, dear Madam, for your next character. There are two more yet to
come, that's my pleasure! I wish there were ten!"
"Why the next was Profusiana, you may remember, my love. Profusiana
took another course to _her_ ruin. She fell into some of Coquetilla's
foibles, but pursued them for another end, and in another manner.
Struck with the grandeur and magnificence of what weak people call the
_upper life_, she gives herself up to the circus, to balls, to operas,
to masquerades, and assemblies; affects to shine at the head of all
companies, at Tunbridge, at Bath, and every place of public resort;
plays high, is always receiving and paying visits, giving balls, and
making treats and entertainments; and is so much _above_ the conduct
which mostly recommends a young lady to the esteem of the deserving
of the other sex, that no gentleman, who prefers solid happiness, can
think of addressing her, though she is a fine person, and has many
outward graces of behaviour. She becomes the favourite toast of the
place she frequents, is proud of that distinction; gives the fashion,
and delights in the pride, that she can make apes in imitation,
whenever she pleases. But yet endeavouring to avoid being thought
proud, makes herself cheap, and is the subject of the attempts of
every coxcomb of eminence; and with much ado, preserves her virtue,
though not her character.
"What, all this while, is poor Profusiana doing? She would be glad,
perhaps, of a suitable proposal, and would, it may be, give up some
of her gaieties and extravagances: for Profusiana has wit, and is not
totally destitute of reason, when she suffers herself to think. But
her conduct procures her not one solid friendship, and she has not
in a twelvemonth, among a thousand professions of service, one devoir
that she can attend to, or a friend that she can depend upon. All the
women she sees, if she excels them, hate her: the gay part of the men,
with whom she accompanies most, are all in a plot against her honour.
Even the gentlemen, whose conduct in the general is governed by
principles of virtue, come down to these public places to partake of
the innocent freedoms allowed there, and oftentimes give themselves
airs of gallantry, and never have it in their thoughts to commence a
treaty of marriage with an acquaintance begun upon that gay spot. What
solid friendships and satisfactions then is Profusiana excluded from!
"Her name indeed is written in every public window, and prostituted,
as I may call it, at the pleasure of every profligate or sot, who
wears a diamond to engrave it: and that it may be, with most vile and
barbarous imputations and freedoms of words, added by rakes, who very
probably never exchanged a syllable with her. The wounded trees are
perhaps also taught to wear the initials of her name, linked, not
unlikely, and widening as they grow, with those of a scoundrel. But
all this while she makes not the least impression upon one noble
heart: and at last, perhaps, having run on to the end of an
uninterrupted race of follies, she is cheated into the arms of some
vile fortune-hunter; who quickly lavishes away the remains of that
fortune which her extravagance had left; and then, after the worst
usage, abandoning her with contempt, she sinks into an obscurity that
cuts short the thread of her life, and leaves no remembrance, but on
the brittle glass, and still more faithless bark, that ever she had a
being."
"Alas, alas! what a butterfly of a day," said Miss (an expression she
remembered of Lady Towers), "was poor Profusiana!--What a sad thing
to be so dazzled by worldly grandeur, and to have so many admirers,
and not one real friend!"
"Very true, my dear; and how carefully ought a person of a gay and
lively temper to watch over it I And what a rock may public places be
to a lady's reputation, if she be not doubly vigilant in her conduct,
when she is exposed to the censures and observations of malignant
crowds of people; many of the worst of whom spare the least those who
are most unlike themselves."
"But then, Madam," said Miss, "would Profusiana venture to play at
public places? Will ladies game, Madam? I have heard you say, that
lords, and sharpers but just out of liveries, in gaming, are upon a
foot in every thing, save that one has nothing to lose, and the
other much, besides his reputation! And will ladies so disgrace their
characters, and their sex, as to pursue this pernicious diversion in
public?"
"Yes, my dear, they will too often, the more's the pity! And don't you
remember, when we were at Bath, in what a hurry I once passed by some
knots of genteel people, and you asked what those were doing? I told
you, whisperingly, they were gaming; and loath I was, that my Miss
Goodwin should stop to see some sights, to which, till she arrived at
the years of discretion, it was not proper to familiarize her eye;
in some sort acting like the ancient Romans, who would not assign
punishments to certain atrocious crimes, because they had such an high
idea of human nature, as to suppose it incapable of committing them;
so I was not for having you, while a little girl, see those things,
which I knew would give no credit to our sex, and which I thought,
when you grew older, should be new and shocking to you: but now you
are so much a woman in discretion, I may tell you any thing."
She kissed my hand, and made me a fine curtsey-and told me, that now
she longed to hear of Prudentia's conduct. "_Her_ name, Madam," said
she, "promises better things than those of her three companions; and
so it had need: for how sad is it to think, that out of four ladies
of distinction, three of them should be naughty, and, _of course_,
unhappy."-"These two words, _of course_, my dear," said I, "were
very prettily put in: let me kiss you for it: since every one that is
naughty, first or last, must be _certainly_ unhappy.
"Far otherwise than what I have related, was it with the amiable
Prudentia. Like the industrious bee, she makes up her honey-hoard from
every flower, bitter as well as sweet; for every character is of use
to her, by which she can improve her own. She had the happiness of an
aunt, who loved her, as I do you; and of an uncle who doated on her,
as yours does: for, alas! poor Prudentia lost her papa and mamma
almost in her infancy, in one week: but was so happy in her uncle and
aunt's care, as not to miss them in her education, and but just to
remember their persons. By reading, by observation, and by attention,
she daily added new advantages to those which her education gave her.
She saw, and pitied, the fluttering freedoms and dangerous nights of
Coquetilla. The sullen pride, the affectation, and stiff reserves,
which Prudiana assumed, she penetrated, and made it her study to
avoid. And the gay, hazardous conduct, extravagant temper, and love
of tinselled grandeur, which were the blemishes of Profusiana's
character, she dreaded and shunned. She fortifies herself with the
excellent examples of the past and present ages, and knows how to
avoid the faults of the faulty, and to imitate the graces of the most
perfect. She takes into her scheme of that future happiness, which she
hopes to make her own, what are the true excellencies of her sex, and
endeavours to appropriate to herself the domestic virtues, which
shall one day make her the crown of some worthy gentleman's earthly
happiness: and which, _of course_, as you prettily said, my dear, will
secure and heighten her own.
"That noble frankness of disposition, that sweet and unaffected
openness and simplicity, which shines in all her actions and
behaviour, commend her to the esteem and reverence of all mankind;
as her humility and affability, and a temper uncensorious, and ever
making the best of what she said of the absent person, of either sex,
do to the love of every lady. Her name, indeed, is not prostituted
on windows, nor carved on the barks of trees in public places: but it
smells sweet to every nostril, dwells on every tongue, and is engraven
on every heart. She meets with no address but from men of honour
and probity: the fluttering coxcomb, the inveigling parasite, the
insidious deceiver, the mercenary fortune-hunter, spread no snares for
a heart guarded by discretion and prudence, as hers is. They see, that
all her amiable virtues are the happy result of an uniform judgment,
and the effects of her own wisdom, founded in an education to which
she does the highest credit. And at last, after several worthy
offers, enough to perplex a lady's choice, she blesses some one happy
gentleman, more distinguished than the rest, for learning, good sense,
and _true politeness_, which is but another word for _virtue_ and
_honour_; and shines, to her last hour, in all the duties of domestic
life, as an excellent wife, mother, mistress, friend, and Christian;
and so confirms all the expectations of which her maiden life had
given such strong and such edifying presages."
Then folding my dear Miss in my arms, and kissing her, tears of
pleasure standing in her pretty eyes, "Who would not," said I, "shun
the examples of the Coquetilla's, the Prudiana's, and the Profusiana's
of this world, and choose to' imitate the character of Prudentia!-the
happy, and the happy-making Prudentia."
"O Madam! Madam!" said the dear creature, smothering me with her
rapturous kisses, "Prudentia is YOU!--Is YOU indeed!--It _can_ be
nobody else!--O teach me, good God! to follow _your_ example, and I
shall be a Second Prudentia--Indeed I shall!"
"God send you may, my beloved Miss! And may he bless you more, if
possible, than Prudentia was blessed!"
And so, my dear Lady G., you have some of my nursery tales; with
which, relying on your kind allowances and friendship, I conclude
myself _your affectionate and faithful_
P.B.
CONCLUSION
The Editor thinks proper to conclude in this place, that he may not be
thought to deserve a suspicion, that the extent of the work was to be
measured by the patience of its readers. But he thinks it necessary,
in order to elucidate the whole, to subjoin a note of the following
facts.
Mr. B. (after the affair which took date at the masquerade, and
concluded so happily) continued to be one of the best and most
exemplary of men, an honour to his country, both in his public and
private capacity; having, at the instances of some of his friends in
very elevated stations, accepted of an honourable employment abroad
in the service of the state; which he discharged in such a manner, as
might be expected from his qualifications and knowledge of the world:
and on his return, after an absence of three years, resisting all the
temptations of ambition, devoted himself to private duties, and joined
with his excellent lady in every pious wish of her heart; adorning the
married life with all the warmth of an elegant tenderness; beloved by
his tenants, respected by his neighbours, revered by his children, and
almost adored by the poor, in every county where his estates gave him
interest, as well for his own bountiful temper, as for the charities
he permitted to be dispensed, with so liberal a hand, by his lady.
She made him the father of seven fine children, five sons, and two
daughters, all adorned and accomplished by nature, to be the joy and
delight of such parents; being educated, in every respect, by the
rules of their inimitable mother, laid down in that book which she
mentions to have been written by her for the revisal and correction
of her consort; the contents of which may be gathered from her remarks
upon Mr. Locke's Treatise on Education, in her letters to Mr. B., and
in those to Lady G.
Miss GOODWIN, at the age of eighteen, was married to a young gentleman
of fine parts, and great sobriety and virtue: and both she and he, in
every material part of their conduct, and in their behaviour to one
another, emulate the good example set them by Mr. and Mrs. B.
Lord DAVERS dying two years before this marriage, his lady went to
reside at the Hall in Lincolnshire, the place of her birth, that she
might enjoy the company and conversation of her excellent sister; who,
for conveniency of the chapel, and advantage of room and situation,
had prevailed upon Mr. B. to make it the chief place of his residence;
and there the noble lady lived long (in the strictest friendship with
the happy pair) an honourable relict of her affectionate lord.
The worthy Mr. ANDREWS, and his wife, lived together in the sweet
tranquillity set forth in their letters, for the space of twelve
years, at the Kentish farm: the good old gentlewoman died first, full
of years and comfort, her dutiful daughter performing the last pious
offices to so beloved and so loving a parent: her husband survived her
about a year only.
Lady G., Miss DARNFORD that was, after a happy marriage of several
years, died in child-bed of her fourth child, to the inexpressible
concern of her affectionate consort, and of her dear friend Mrs. B.
Lord H., after having suffered great dishonour by the ill courses of
his wife, and great devastations in his estate, through her former
debts, and continued extravagance (intimidated and dispirited by
her perpetual insults, and those of her gaming brother, who with his
bullying friends, terrified him into their measures), threw himself
upon the protection of Mr. B. who, by his spirit and prudence, saved
him from utter ruin, punished his wife's accomplices, and obliged her
to accept a separate maintenance; and then taking his affairs into his
own management, in due course of time, entirely re-established them:
and after some years his wife dying, he became wiser by his past
sufferings, and married a second, of Lady Davers's recommendation,
who, by her prudence and virtue, made him happy for the remainder of
his days.
Mr. LONGMAN lived to a great age in the worthy family, much esteemed
by every one, having trained up a diligent youth, whom he had
recommended, to ease him in his business, and who, answering
expectation, succeeded him in it after his death.
He dying rich, out of his great love and gratitude to the family, in
whose service he had acquired most of his fortune, and in disgust
to his nearest relations, who had perversely disobliged him; he
bequeathed to three of them one hundred pounds a-piece, and left all
the rest to his honoured principal, Mr. B.; who, as soon as he came to
know it, being at that time abroad, directed his lady to call together
the relations of the old gentleman, and, after touching them to the
heart with a just and effectual reproof, and finding them filled
with due sense of their demerit, which had been the cause of their
suffering, then to divide the whole, which had been left him, among
them, in greater proportions as they were more nearly related: an
action worthy prayers and blessings, not only of the benefited, but
all who heard of it. For it is easy to imagine, how cheerfully, and
how gracefully, his benevolent lady discharged a command so well
suited to her natural generosity.
THE END
