[The Lord is only my support,And he that doth me feed:How can I then lack any thingWhereof 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.
[The Lord is only my support,And he that doth me feed:How can I then lack any thingWhereof 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.
[The Lord is only my support,And he that doth me feed:How can I then lack any thingWhereof 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.
[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 crookAfford me comfort still.
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 crookAfford me comfort still.
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 crookAfford me comfort still.
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 spreadIn 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 IMy life for ever spend.]
Thou hast my table richly spreadIn 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 IMy life for ever spend.]
Thou hast my table richly spreadIn 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 IMy life for ever spend.]
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 whereSet forth his noble praise.
[O all ye nations of the world,Praise ye the Lord always:And all ye people every whereSet forth his noble praise.
[O all ye nations of the world,Praise ye the Lord always:And all ye people every whereSet forth his noble praise.
[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.]
For great his kindness is to us;His truth doth not decay:Wherefore praise ye the Lord our God;Praise ye the Lord alway.]
For great his kindness is to us;His truth doth not decay:Wherefore praise ye the Lord our God;Praise ye the Lord alway.]
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 own 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.
I.
When we did sit in Babylon,The rivers round about;Then in remembrance of Sion,The tears for grief burst out.
When we did sit in Babylon,The rivers round about;Then in remembrance of Sion,The tears for grief burst out.
When we did sit in Babylon,The rivers round about;Then in remembrance of Sion,The tears for grief burst out.
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 instrumentsThe willow trees upon:For in that place, men, for that use,Had planted many a one.
II.
We hang’d our harps and instrumentsThe willow trees upon:For in that place, men, for that use,Had planted many a one.
We hang’d our harps and instrumentsThe willow trees upon:For in that place, men, for that use,Had planted many a one.
We hang’d our harps and instrumentsThe willow trees upon:For in that place, men, for that use,Had planted many a one.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
II.
My joys and hopes all overthrown,My heart-strings almost broke,Unfit my mind for melody,Much more to bear a joke.
My joys and hopes all overthrown,My heart-strings almost broke,Unfit my mind for melody,Much more to bear a joke.
My joys and hopes all overthrown,My heart-strings almost broke,Unfit my mind for melody,Much more to bear a joke.
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.
III.
Then they, to whom we pris’ners were,Said to us, tauntingly,Now let us hear your Hebrew songs,And pleasant melody.
Then they, to whom we pris’ners were,Said to us, tauntingly,Now let us hear your Hebrew songs,And pleasant melody.
Then they, to whom we pris’ners were,Said to us, tauntingly,Now let us hear your Hebrew songs,And pleasant melody.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 frameHis heavy heart to singThe praises of our living God,Thus under a strange king?
IV.
Alas! said we; who can once frameHis heavy heart to singThe praises of our living God,Thus under a strange king?
Alas! said we; who can once frameHis heavy heart to singThe praises of our living God,Thus under a strange king?
Alas! said we; who can once frameHis heavy heart to singThe praises of our living God,Thus under a strange king?
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 frameMy heavy heart to sing,Or tune my mind, while thus enthrall’dBy such a wicked thing?
IV.
Alas! said I, how can I frameMy heavy heart to sing,Or tune my mind, while thus enthrall’dBy such a wicked thing?
Alas! said I, how can I frameMy heavy heart to sing,Or tune my mind, while thus enthrall’dBy such a wicked thing?
Alas! said I, how can I frameMy heavy heart to sing,Or tune my mind, while thus enthrall’dBy such a wicked thing?
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 JerusalemOut of my heart let slide;Then let my fingers quite forgetThe warbling harp to guide.
V.
But yet, if I JerusalemOut of my heart let slide;Then let my fingers quite forgetThe warbling harp to guide.
But yet, if I JerusalemOut of my heart let slide;Then let my fingers quite forgetThe warbling harp to guide.
But yet, if I JerusalemOut of my heart let slide;Then let my fingers quite forgetThe warbling harp to guide.
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 innocenceI ev’n in thought should slide,Then let my fingers quite forgetThe sweet spinnet to guide.
V.
But yet, if from my innocenceI ev’n in thought should slide,Then let my fingers quite forgetThe sweet spinnet to guide.
But yet, if from my innocenceI ev’n in thought should slide,Then let my fingers quite forgetThe sweet spinnet to guide.
But yet, if from my innocenceI ev’n in thought should slide,Then let my fingers quite forgetThe sweet spinnet to guide.
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 seeThy full deliv’rance past.
VI.
And let my tongue, within my mouth,Be ty’d for ever fast,If I rejoice, before I seeThy full deliv’rance past.
And let my tongue, within my mouth,Be ty’d for ever fast,If I rejoice, before I seeThy full deliv’rance past.
And let my tongue, within my mouth,Be ty’d for ever fast,If I rejoice, before I seeThy full deliv’rance past.
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 seeMy full deliv’rance past.
VI.
And let my tongue, within my mouth,Be lock’d for ever fast,If I rejoice, before I seeMy full deliv’rance past.
And let my tongue, within my mouth,Be lock’d for ever fast,If I rejoice, before I seeMy full deliv’rance past.
And let my tongue, within my mouth,Be lock’d for ever fast,If I rejoice, before I seeMy full deliv’rance past.
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 nowThe cursed noise and cry,That Edom’s sons against us made,When they ras’d our city.
VII.
Therefore, O Lord! remember nowThe cursed noise and cry,That Edom’s sons against us made,When they ras’d our city.
Therefore, O Lord! remember nowThe cursed noise and cry,That Edom’s sons against us made,When they ras’d our city.
Therefore, O Lord! remember nowThe cursed noise and cry,That Edom’s sons against us made,When they ras’d our city.
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!
VIII.
Remember, Lord, their cruel words,When, with a mighty sound,They cried, Down, yea down with it,Unto the very ground!
Remember, Lord, their cruel words,When, with a mighty sound,They cried, Down, yea down with it,Unto the very ground!
Remember, Lord, their cruel words,When, with a mighty sound,They cried, Down, yea down with it,Unto the very ground!
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! recompenseThe evils I endureFrom those who seek my sad disgrace,So causeless, to procure.
VII.
And thou, Almighty! recompenseThe evils I endureFrom those who seek my sad disgrace,So causeless, to procure.
And thou, Almighty! recompenseThe evils I endureFrom those who seek my sad disgrace,So causeless, to procure.
And thou, Almighty! recompenseThe evils I endureFrom those who seek my sad disgrace,So causeless, to procure.
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!
VIII.
Remember, Lord, this Mrs. Jewkes,When with a mighty sound,She cries, Down with her chastity,Down to the very ground!
Remember, Lord, this Mrs. Jewkes,When with a mighty sound,She cries, Down with her chastity,Down to the very ground!
Remember, Lord, this Mrs. Jewkes,When with a mighty sound,She cries, Down with her chastity,Down to the very ground!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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’dThat takes thy little ones,And dasheth them in pieces smallAgainst the very stones.
X.
Yea, blessed shall the man be call’dThat takes thy little ones,And dasheth them in pieces smallAgainst the very stones.
Yea, blessed shall the man be call’dThat takes thy little ones,And dasheth them in pieces smallAgainst the very stones.
Yea, blessed shall the man be call’dThat takes thy little ones,And dasheth them in pieces smallAgainst the very stones.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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’dThat shames thee of thy evil,And saves me from thy vile attempts,And thee, too, from the d—l.
X.
Yea, blessed shall the man be call’dThat shames thee of thy evil,And saves me from thy vile attempts,And thee, too, from the d—l.
Yea, blessed shall the man be call’dThat shames thee of thy evil,And saves me from thy vile attempts,And thee, too, from the d—l.
Yea, blessed shall the man be call’dThat shames thee of thy evil,And saves me from thy vile attempts,And thee, too, from the d—l.
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 doIn truth upon him call.He the desires of all themThat 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 fillAll things whatever, that do live,With gifts of thy good will.My thankful mouth shall gladly speakThe praises of the Lord:All flesh, to praise his holy name,For ever shall accord.
The Lord is just in all his ways:His works are holy all:And he is near all those that doIn truth upon him call.He the desires of all themThat 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 fillAll things whatever, that do live,With gifts of thy good will.My thankful mouth shall gladly speakThe praises of the Lord:All flesh, to praise his holy name,For ever shall accord.
The Lord is just in all his ways:His works are holy all:And he is near all those that doIn truth upon him call.
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 themThat fear him, will fulfil;And he will hear them when they cry,And save them all he will.
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.
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 fillAll things whatever, that do live,With gifts of thy good will.
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 speakThe praises of the Lord:All flesh, to praise his holy name,For ever shall accord.
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.