LETTER I.

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 un⯑eaſy in the Poſſeſſion of it, by your modeſt Diffidence of your own Worthineſs: For, at the ſame time that it is what will do Honour to the beſt of Gentlemen, [2] it is not ſo very extraordinary, conſidering his Con⯑dition, as that it will give any one Cauſe to cen⯑ſure 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 that he can ſhine in to the moſt obliged and ſenſible Heart?) holds his kind Purpoſe of fitting up the large Parlour and three Apartments in the commodious Dwelling he calls yours, for his Entertainment and mine, when he ſhall permit me to pay my Duty to you both, for a few happy Days together; and he has actually given Orders for that Purpoſe; 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 to be obſerved in the Rooms as well as the Furni⯑ture, 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 Accom⯑modations.

The old Bow-windows he will have preſerv'd, but will not have them ſaſh'd, nor the Wood⯑binds, Jeſſamines and Vines that run up againſt them, deſtroyed; only he will have larger Panes of Glaſs, and convenienter Caſements, to let in more of the ſweet Air and Light, to make amends for that obſtructed by the Shades of thoſe fragrant Climbers. For he has mention'd three or four times, how gratefully they diſpens'd their intermingled Odours to us, when, the laſt Evening, we ſtood at the Window in our Bed-chamber, to hear the re⯑ſponſive [3] Songs of two warbling Nightingales, one at a Diſtance, the other near, which took up our de⯑lighted Attention for above two Hours, and charm'd us the more, as we thought their Seaſon had been over. And when they had done, he made me ſing him one, and called me for it, the ſweeteſt of all Nightingales, ſaying, How greatly do the innocent Pleaſures I now hourly taſte, exceed the guilty Tu⯑mults 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 indeed will be more elegant, tho' that is to be rather plain than rich, as well in its Wainſcot as Furniture, and to be new floor'd. The dear Gentleman has already given Orders about it, and you will ſoon have Workmen with you 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 In⯑fancy, before they can be of Age to be benefited by your Leſſons and Example? And beſides, I make no doubt, but I ſhall entertain there ſome of my choſen Friends, in their Excurſions, for a Day or ſo.

How am I, every Hour of my Life, overwhelm'd with Inſtances of God Almighty's Goodneſs and his! — O ſpare, bleſſed Father of Mercies, the pre⯑cious Life of this excellent Gentleman! and increaſe my Thankfulneſs, and my Worthineſs; and then— But what ſhall I ſay?—Only that then I may continue to be what I am; for more bleſs'd and more happy, in my own Mind, ſurely I cannot be.

[4]The Beds he will have of Cloth, becauſe he thinks the Situation a little cold, eſpecially when the Wind is Eaſterly, and becauſe he purpoſes to be down in the early Spring Seaſon now-and-then, as well as in the latter Autumn; and the Win⯑dow 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 come down with the other Furniture; for he will nor alter the old Oaken Floors of the Bed-cham⯑ber, nor yet of the little Room he intends for my Uſe, to withdraw to, when I chuſe 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 par⯑ticular 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: For otherwiſe, perhaps, they will be apt to think I am aſham'd of Company I ſhall always be pleaſed with.—Nor are you, my Dear, continued he, to take this as a Compli⯑ment to yourſelf, but a Piece of requiſite Policy in me; for who will offer to reproach me for marrying, as the World thinks, below me, when they ſhall ſee, that ſuch a Reproach, as they would intend it, is ſo far from being ſo to me, that every Day of my Life, I not only pride myſelf in my Pamela, but take Pleaſure in owning her Relations as mine, and viſit⯑ing 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 Pleaſures of their humble, but decent Life?—Ay, continued he, and [5] 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 Gentle⯑men endeavour to diſclaim tho' I muſt be very un⯑grateful, if, with me, it did not inhance the proper Merit of a Beneficence that is natural to him; and which indeed, as I tell him, may be in one reſpect depreciated, 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 Gentleman requires nothing of me, but what is con⯑ſiſtent with my Duty to the ſupreme Benefactor, the firſt Mover and Cauſe of all his own Happineſs, of my Happineſs, and of that of my dear, my ever dear Parents!

But whither does the inchanting Subject lead me! I am running on to my uſual Length, tho' I have not the ſame Excuſe for it; for heretofore I had nothing to do but to write. Yet, I am ſure, if I do exceed a little, you will be pleaſed with it; and you have moreover a Right to rejoice with me in the Days of my Felicity, after your indulgent Hearts had been ſo much pained by a long Succeſſion of my Fears and my Dangers, which only ought to be remember'd now, as Subjects of thankful Exultation, by

LETTER II.

I Need not repeat to you the Senſe your good Mo⯑ther and I have of our Happineſs, and of our Obliga⯑tions to your honoured Spouſe: You both were pleaſed Witneſſes of it every Hour of the happy Fortnight you paſſed with us. But ſtill, my Dear, we hardly know how to addreſs ourſelves even to You, much leſs to the 'Squire, with the Freedom he ſo often in⯑vited us to take: For, I don't know how it is, but tho' you are our Daughter, and are ſo far from being lifted up by your high Condition, that we ſee no Difference in your Behaviour to us your poor Pa⯑rents; yet, when we look upon 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 would 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 your Prudence, my dear Daughter, is ſo much above all we could ever have any Notion of it:—And to have Gentry come only to behold you, and admire you, not ſo much for your Genteelneſs and Amiableneſs neither, as for your Behaviour, and your 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; makes 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 honour'd Husband's Heart, to make us the happieſt Couple in the World: But little [7] leſs, indeed, we ſhould have been, had we only, in ſome far diſtant Land, heard of our dear Child's Hap⯑pineſs, and never partaken of the Benefits of it our⯑ſelves. But thus to be provided for!—Thus kindly to be owned, and called Father and Mother by ſuch a brave Gentleman, and thus to be placed, that we have nothing to do, but to bleſs God, and bleſs him, and bleſs you, and hourly pray for you both, is ſuch a Providence, my dear Child, as is too mighty to be borne by us, with Equalneſs of Temper; and 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 we had to 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 intitled to a happier Lot: For this would have grieved us the more, for the ſake of you, my dear Child, and your un⯑happy Brother's Children; for it is well known, that, tho' we pretend not to boaſt of our Family, and indeed had 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.

But yet the Iſſue has ſhewn, that (if I may preſume to ſay ſo) what I did, was not diſpleaſing to God; inaſmuch as I have the Comfort to ſee, that my Reliance on Him, while I was doing what though ſome thought imprudent Things, yet not wrong Things, is ſo abundantly rewarded, beyond [8] Expectation and Deſert. Bleſſed be his holy Name for it!

You command me—Let me, as writing to Mr. B.'s Lady, ſay command, tho', as to my dear Daughter, I will only ſay deſire: And indeed I will not, as you wiſh'd 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.—But 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-ſtock'd Farm, in theſe rich Meadows, and well-cropt Acres, we look around us, and, which Way ſoever we turn our Heads, ſee Bleſſings upon Bleſſings, and Plenty upon Plenty; ſee Barns well-ſtor'd, Poultry increaſing, the Kine lowing and crouding about us, and all fruitful; and are bid to call all theſe our own—And then think; that all is the Reward of our Child's Virtue!—O my dear Daughter, who can bear theſe Things!—Ex⯑cuſe 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 like ſort affected.—But do you think I will call all theſe Things my own!—Do you think I will live Rent-free!—Do you think I would? Can the ho⯑noured 'Squire believe, that having ſuch a generous [9] 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 his 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 Con⯑dition: What tho' 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 this noble Stock and improving Farm: And I will do it, an' it pleaſe God to bleſs me with Life and Health.— I ſhould not be worthy to crawl on 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 praiſ⯑ing ſome little Contrivances of my own, for the Im⯑provement 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, Good⯑man Andrews.—Why, Man, he has no Occaſion for it: He's worth a Power of Money, beſides a noble and clear Eſtate in Land.—Adsheartlikins, you [10] muſt not affront him, I can tell you that: For 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 Dickins 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 chuſe; and I ſhall be as happy as a Prince; for I doubt not, by God's Bleſſing, to make a comfortable Liveli⯑hood of it, beſides.—Why, doſt believe, Goodman Andrews, ſaid he, I would do ſuch a thing?—Would not his Honour think, if I hid one thing from him, I might not hide another?—Go to, go to, honeſt Heart, I love thee dearly: But can the 'Squire do too much for his Lady, think'ſt thou? Come, come, (and he jeer'd me ſo, I could not tell what to ſay to him) 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, good Mr. Longman, 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 Plea⯑ſures to me, to do the good 'Squire Service, as well as to be ſo much benefited and obliged by him.

[11]Our eldeſt Grandſon Thomas is very deſirous to come and live with us: The Boy is honeſt, and, they tell me, induſtrious. And Couſin Burroughs 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 would not belea⯑guer, 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 Incroacher. And I am ſure you have ſo much Prudence, that there is nobody's Advice fitter to be followed than yours.

Our Bleſſings (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,

May we not hope to be favour'd 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.

I HAVE ſhew'd your Letter to my Beſt-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, how does every thing they ſay, and every thing they write, manifeſt 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 that what I have done for them, is only the Effect of my Affection for their Daughter, that let 'em find out another Couple, as worthy as themſelves, and I will do as much for them. Indeed I would not place them, continued the dear Obliger, in the ſame County, becauſe I would wiſh two Counties to be bleſt 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 Patri⯑mony: And if there can any thing ariſe, that is more than they themſelves can wiſh for, in the way of Life they chuſe to live, let them look round among their own Relations, where it may be accept⯑able, and communicate to them the like ſolid Rea⯑sons for rejoicing in the Situation they are pleaſed with: And do you, my Dear, continued he, ſtill further enable them, as you ſhall judge proper, to gratify their inlarged Hearts, for fear they ſhould deny any Comfort to themſelves, in order to do good to others.

[13]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 overflow'd as ſoon as my bold Lips touch'd his dear Face, bleſs God and him with my whole Heart; for ſpeak I could not! — But, almoſt choak'd with my Joy, ſobb'd to him my grateful Acknowledgment— 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 Plea⯑ſure you give me!—Oh, 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, ſurely, my dear, my beloved Parents, no⯑body's Happineſs is ſo great as mine!—If it pro⯑ceeds thus from Degree to Degree, and is to be aug⯑mented by the Hope, the charming Hope, that the dear ſecond Author of your Bleſſings and mine, 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.

[14]Thus, then, do I ſet before you imperfectly, as I am forced to do, the Delight your grateful, your ho⯑neſt Hearts give us. I ſay, imperfectly, and well I may; for I might as eaſily paint Sound, as deſcribe the noble, the ſublime Pleaſures that wind up my Affections to even a painful Height of Rapture, on ſuch Occaſions as this: And I deſire, as he often bids me, that you will take to yourſelves the Merit of thus delighting us both, and then think with leſs Uneaſineſs of the Obligation you are un⯑der to the beſt of Friends!—And indeed it is but doing Juſtice to his beneficent Temper, to think, that we have given him an Opportunity of exerciſing it, in a way ſo agreeable to it; and I can tell by the Ar⯑dour of his Speech, by the additional Luſtre that it lights up in his Eyes, naturally ſo lively, and by the virtuous Endearments, refined on theſe Occaſions above what Senſe can know, that he has a Pleaſure, a Joy, a Tranſport, in doing what he does of this ſort, that is its own Reward; as every virtuous and noble Ac⯑tion muſt be to a Mind that can be delighted with Virtue for its own ſake, and can find itſelf inlarged by the Power of doing Good to worthy Objects. Even I, my dear Parents, know this by Experience, when I can be an humble Means to make an honeſt Creature happy, tho' not related to myſelf; and yet I am but a Third-hand Diſpenſer, as I have ^*elſewhere ſaid, of theſe Comforts; and all the Light I can com⯑municate, as I once before obſerved², like that of the Moon, is but borrowed from his ſunny Radiance.

Forgive me, my dear, my worthy Parents, if my Style on this Subject be raiſed above that natu⯑ral Simplicity which is 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 [15] equally? Can the Affections be ſo highly raiſed as mine are on theſe Occaſions, and the Thoughts creep, groveling, like one's ordinary Self? No, in⯑deed! —Call not this, therefore, the Gift of Ut⯑terance, 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 too, ſpeak and write, as I hope it will make us act, above our⯑ſelves! —And 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 Gentleman that bleſſes us.—And will it be right then to ſay, you are ſo uneaſy under ſuch (at leaſt as to your Wills) returned and diſcharged Obliga⯑tions? 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 Particu⯑lars, imitates Divinity, deſires no more:—You have this thankful Heart;—yes, you have; and that to ſuch a high Degree of Gratitude, that nobody can exceed you.

But yet, my dear Parents, when your worthy Minds would be too much affected with your Grati⯑tude, ſo as to lay you under the Reſtraints you mention, to the dear Gentleman, and, for his ſake, to your dependent Daughter; then let me humbly adviſe you, that you will at ſuch Times, with more particular, more abſtracted Aſpirations, than at others, 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 [16] 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, 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 to be thought to act worthy of the Sentiments with which your Examples, Cautions and Inſtructions have inſpired me, than in any one thing in this Life, my deter⯑mined Duty to our common Benefactor, the beſt of Gentlemen and Husbands, excepted. And I am ſure, God has bleſſed me for your ſakes, and has thus an⯑ſwered for me all your Prayers; nay, more than an⯑ſwered all you or I could have wiſhed or hoped for. We only prayed, only hoped, that God would pre⯑ſerve you honeſt, and me virtuous: And ſee, O ſee, my excellent Parents! how we are crown'd with Bleſſings upon Bleſſings, till we are the Talk of all that know us: — You for your Honeſty! I for my Humility and Virtue! — that Virtue which God's Grace inſpired, and your Examples and Leſſons, with thoſe of my dear good Lady, cultivated; and which now have left me nothing to do but to reap all the Rewards which this Life can afford; and if I walk humbly, and improve my bleſſed Opportunities, will heighten and perfect all in a ſtill more joyful Fu⯑turity!—

Hence, my dear Parents, (I mean, from the De⯑light I have in writing to you, a Delight which tranſ⯑ports me ſo much above my own Sphere) you'll ſee that I muſt write to you, 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, that is in the Power of your Pamela, that ſhe would [17] not do! — O that the Lives and Healths of my deareſt Mr. B. and my deareſt Parents, may be continued to me! And who then can be ſo bleſt as your Pamela?

I will write; depend upon it, I will — on every Occaſion: —And you augment my Joys, to think it is in my Power to add to your Comforts. Nor can you conceive the Pleaſure I have in hoping, that this your new happy Lot, may, by relieving you from corroding Care, and the too wearing 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 ſuch Thoughts as remind me, that one Day, either you from me, or I from you, muſt be ſeparated.

But 'tis fit that we ſo comport ourſelves, as that we ſhould not imbitter our preſent Happineſs with Proſpects too gloomy — but bring our Minds to be chearfully thankful for the preſent, wiſe⯑ly 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!

But I have written a great deal; yet have much ſtill to ſay, relating to other Parts of your kind, your 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 that will make you eaſier,

LETTER IV.

I Now write again, as I told you I ſhould in my laſt —But I am half afraid to look back on the Copy of it; for your worthy Hearts, ſo viſible in your [18] Letter, and my beſt Beloved's kind Deportment upon ſhewing it to him, raiſed me into a Frame of Mind, that was bordering on Ecſtaſy: Yet am I ſure, I wrote my Heart. But you muſt not, my dear Father, write to your poor Pamela ſo affect⯑ingly. Your ſteadier Mind could hardly bear your own moving Strain, and you was forced to lay down your Pen, and retire: How then could I, who love you ſo dearly, if you had not, if I may ſo ſay, in⯑creaſed 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, that he has thought of a Method to make your wor⯑thy Hearts eaſy; thoſe were his Words—And this is, ſaid he, by putting that whoſe Eſtate, with the new Purchaſe, under your Father's Care, as I at firſt in⯑tended ^*; and 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 Fa⯑ther writes, ſaid he, a very legible Hand, and he ſhall take what Aſſiſtants he pleaſes: And do you, Pamela, ſee to that, that this new Task may 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, conti⯑nued he: Firſt, That it will be a Relief to ho⯑neſt Longman, who has Buſineſs enough on his Hands beſides. Next, It will make the good Couple eaſy, that they have an Opportunity of en⯑joying that as their Due, which now their too grateful Hearts give them ſo many cauſeleſs Scruples about▪ [19] Thirdly, it will employ your Father's Time, more ſuit⯑ably to your Liking, and mine, becauſe with more Eaſe to himſelf; for you ſee his induſtrious Will can⯑not 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, my Dear, added he, you'll ſee, that it is al⯑ways one Point in View with me, to endeavour to convince every one, that I eſteem and value them for their own intrinſick 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 pleaſe to accept it; as I hope you will; and the rather, for my dear Mr. B's third Reaſon; and becauſe I know, 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 way of Phraſing, that he'll make it as eaſy to you as a Glove.

If you do accept it, my beſt Beloved will leave every thing to you, as to Rent, where not already fixed, and likewiſe as to Acts of Kindneſs and Fa⯑vour to be done where you think proper; and he is pleaſed to ſay, That, with all his bad Qualities, he was ever deemed a kind Landlord; and this 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'll always have it in [20] his Power to befriend an honeſt Man: So that the Province will be intirely 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 that will be too hard-hearted for his Wiſh: For it was a Rule my Father ſet me, and I have ſtrictly followed, that tho' 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 Law-ſuits.

I dare ſay, my dear Father, this will be an accept⯑able Employment 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 theſe Things?—But what ſignifies exulting in one's Gratitude for one Benefit!— Every Hour the dear Gentleman heaps new ones upon us, and we have hardly Time to thank him for one, but a ſecond, and a third, and ſo on to countleſs Degrees, confound one, and throw back one's Words upon one's Heart before they are well formed, and oblige one to ſit down under all with profound Silence and Admiration.

As to what you mention of the Deſire of Couſin Thomas, and Roger, to come to live with you, I en⯑deavoured to ſound what our dear Benefactor's Opi⯑nion was. He was pleaſed to ſay, I have nothing to chuſe in this Caſe, my Dear. Your Father is his own Maſter: He may employ whom he pleaſes; and, if they are not wanting in Reſpect to him and your [21] Mother, I think, as he rightly obſerves, Relation⯑ſhip ſhould rather have the Preference; and as he can remedy Inconveniences, if he finds any, by all means 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 ex⯑cuſe me, if I give it freely; yet intirely ſubmitting all to your own Liking.

In the firſt Place, then, I think it would be bet⯑ter to have any body than Relations; and that for theſe Reaſons:

One is apt to expect more Regard from Relations, and they more Indulgence, than Strangers can have Reaſon for.

That where there is ſuch a Difference in the Ex⯑pectations of both, it is hardly poſſible but Uneaſineſs muſt 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 cccaſion Ill-will. They will call you unkind; and you them ungrateful; and as, it may be, your proſperous Lot will raiſe you Enviers, ſuch will be apt to believe them, rather than you.

Then the World will be inclined to think, that we are crouding upon a generous Gentleman, a nume⯑rous Family of indigent People; and tho' they may be ever ſo deſerving, yet it will be ſaid, The Girl is filling every Place with her Relations, and beleaguer⯑ing, as you ſignificantly expreſs it, a worthy Gentle⯑man. And this will be ſaid, perhaps, ſhould one's Kindred behave ever ſo worthily; And ſo,

[22]In the next Place, one would not, for their Sakes, that this ſhould be done; who may live with leſs Re⯑proach, 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 Expence, if their Induſtry will not do it; altho' I would never ſcruple to do any thing reaſonable to promote or aſſiſt that Induſtry, in the way of their Callings.

Then it will poſſibly put others of our Relations upon the ſame Expectations, of living with you; and this may occaſion Ill-will among them, if ſome be preferred to others in your Favour.

Then, my dear Father, I apprehend, that our be⯑loved and 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 Father and Mother of his Pamela, but as if you were his own Father and Mother: And if you had any body as your Servants there, who called you Cou⯑ſin, or Grandfather, or Uncle, he would not care, when he came down, to treat them on the Foot of common Servants, tho' they might nevertheleſs think themſelves honoured (as they would be, and as I am ſure I ſhall always think myſelf) with his Commands. And would it not, if they are mo⯑deſt 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 I have ever ſo much Re⯑luctance to it, appear in a Light that may not give Diſcredit to his Choice.

[23]Then again, as I hinted, you will have it in your Power, 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, ac⯑cording 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 as much diſcou⯑rage as one could, ſuch a proud and ambitious Spirit in any of them, as ſhould want to raſe it⯑ſelf by Favour inſtead of Merit; and this the ra⯑ther, for that, undoubtedly, there are many more happy Perſons in low than in high Life, take Number for Number, all the World over.

I am ſure, altho' 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, my dear Parents, if I could but get honeſt to you, that it made my Confinement the more grievous to me, and even, if poſſible, aggravated the Apprehen⯑ſions attending it.

But I muſt beg of you, not to harbour a Thought, that theſe my Reaſons proceed from the bad Mo⯑tives 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 an one reproach me with having twenty low Relations, be⯑cauſe they have, peradventure, not above Five? or with Ten, becauſe they have but one, or two, or [24] three?—Or ſhould I, on the other hand, be aſham'd of Relations who had done nothing blame-worthy, and whoſe Poverty (a very neceſſary State in the Scale of Beings) was all their Crime; when there is hardly any great Family but has produced Inſtances of Perſons guilty of bad Actions, really bad, which have reduced them to a Diſtreſs we never knew? Let the Perſon who would reproach me with low Birth, which is no Diſgrace, and what I cannot help, give me no Cauſe to retort upon him low Actions, which are a Diſgrace to any Station, the more ſo, the higher it is, and which he can help; or elſe I ſhall ſmile with Contempt at his empty Reproach: And could I be half ſo proud with Cauſe, as he is without, glory in my Advantage over him.

Let us then, my dear Father and Mother, en⯑deavour 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 he be ſo or not, and the more he want my Aſſiſtance, the more intitled to it he ſhall be, as well as to my Eſteem: While thoſe who deſerve it not, muſt expect nothing but 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 Re⯑proach to me, which one Day will be matter of Juſtification.

Upon the Whole then, I ſhould think it adviſe⯑able, my dear Father and Mother, to make ſuch kind Excuſes to the offered Services of my Couſins, as your better Reaſon ſhall ſuggeſt to you; and to do [25] any thing elſe for them of more Value, as their Cir⯑cumſtances may require, or Occaſions offer to ſerve them.

But if the employing them, and having them about you, will add any one Comfort to your Lives, I give up intirely 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,

The Copy of this Letter I will keep to myſelf, till I have your Anſwer to it, that you may be un⯑der no Difficulty how to act in either of the Caſes mentioned in it.

LETTER V.

HOW ſhall I do to anſwer, as they deſerve, your two laſt Letters? Surely no happy Couple ever had ſuch a Child as we have! But it is in vain to aim at Words like your Words; 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 be⯑ing 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, overloaden, as I may ſay, with Benefits; and at the ſame time to make me more reſpected in my new Neighbourhood.

[26]I can only ſay, I moſt gratefully accept of the kind Offer; and ſince it will eaſe the worthy Mr. Long⯑man, ſhall with ſtill greater Pleaſure do all I can in it. But I doubt I ſhall be wanting in Ability; I doubt I ſhall: 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 Circum⯑ſtances be really ſuch as I ſhall repreſent them.

But one thing, my dear Daughter, let me deſire, that I may make up my Accounts to Mr. Longman, or to his Honour himſelf, when he ſhall make us ſo happy as to be here with us. I don't know how—but it will make me uneaſy, if I am to make up my Ac⯑counts to you: For ſo well known is your Love to us, that tho' 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 of this Diffi⯑culty, 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 the ſame time, 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 Ad⯑vice; 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 hap⯑py 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 [27] intereſt as many as know us in our own good Wiſhes and Prayers for both your Happineſs.

But let me ſay, how much convinced I am by the Reaſons you give 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 Wo⯑men; for, as I have often thought, if one were to have a hundred Pounds a Year in good Comings-in, 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 Incroacher:— 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: To be ſure it will be the chief Comfort of our Lives, next to ſeeing you, as we are put in hope we ſometimes ſhall. But yet, my dear Child, don't let us put you to Inconvenience 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 wea⯑thered [28] the firſt Dangers, and but for your fine Cloaths and Jewels, we ſhould not ſee any Difference, indeed we ſhould not, 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 remem⯑ber in your former Writings, a Saying of the Squire's, ſpeaking of you, my dear Child, That it was for Perſons who were not uſed to Praiſe, and did not deſerve it, to be proud of it ^* In like ſort one may ſay, it is for Perſons of little Senſe to be proud; but you, my dear Child, every one ſees, are above it: And that methinks is a proud Word; is it not? If one was not—I don't know how — half-ſtupid, I be⯑lieve — one would be raiſed by your high Style of Writing. But I ſhould be more than half-ſtupid, I'm ſure, to aim at it.

Every Day brings us Inſtances of the good Name his Honour and you, my dear Child, have left be⯑hind you in this Country. Here comes one, and here comes another, and a third and a fourth; and, Goodman Andrew, 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 they live! — What an Example do they give to all about them! — Then one cries, God bleſs 'em 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 ſuch-a-one 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 my dear Child! what a Happineſs is this! How do your poor Mother and I ſtand fixed [29] 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 irk⯑ſome to you to hear of. But, tho' the Time may be ſome Months off, ſhe every Hour prays for your Safety and Happineſs, and for all the Increaſe of Fe⯑licity that his Honour's generous Heart can wiſh for. This is all we will ſay at preſent: Only, that we are, with continued Prayers and Bleſſings, my deareſt Child,

Yet one Word more! & and that is, & Our Duty to your honoured Husband. We muſt ſay ſo now; tho' he forbad us ſo often before. You cannot, my dear Child, imagine how I was aſhamed to have my poor Letter ſhewn to him. I hardly remember what I wrote; but it was from my Heart, I'm ſure; ſo I needed not to keep a Copy; for an honeſt Mind muſt al⯑ways be the ſame, in Caſes that cannot admit of Change, ſuch as thoſe of my Thankfulneſs to God and to him. But don't ſhew him all I write; for I ſhall be afraid of what I ſay, if I think any body but our Daughter ſees it, who knows how to allow for her poor Parents Defects.

LETTER VI. From Lady DAVERS to Mrs. B.

I HAD intended to have been with you before this; but my Lord has been a little indiſpoſed with the Gout, and Jackey too has had an Intermittent Fever; but they are pretty well recovered, and it ſhall not be long before I ſee you, now I underſtand you are re⯑turn'd from your Kentiſh Expedition.

We have been exceedingly diverted with your Pa⯑pers. You have given us, by their Means, many a delightful Hour, that otherwiſe would have hung heavy upon us; and we are all charm'd with you. Lady Betty, as well as her noble Mamma, has always been of our Party, whenever we have read your Ac⯑counts. She is a dear generous Lady, and has ſhed many a Tear over them, as indeed we all have; and my Lord has not been unmov'd, nor Jackey neither, at ſome of your Diſtreſſes and Reflections. Indeed, Pamela, you are a charming Creature, and an Orna⯑ment to our Sex. We wanted to have had you among us an hundred times, as we read, that we might have lov'd, and kiſs'd, and thank'd you.

But after all, my Brother, generous and noble as he was, 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 tell them all, that you are the fineſt Girl, and the moſt improv'd in Perſon and Mind, I ever beheld; and I am nor afraid, altho' they ſhould imagine all they can in your Favour, [31] from my Account of you, that they will be diſap⯑pointed when they ſee you, and converſe with you. But one thing more you muſt do for us, and then we will love you ſtill more; and that is, you muſt ſend us the reſt of your Papers, down to your Marriage at leaſt, and further, if you have written further; for we all long to ſee the reſt, as you relate it, tho' we know in general what has paſſed.

You leave off^* with an Account of an angry Let⯑ter I wrote to my Brother, to perſuade him to give you your Liberty, and a Sum of Money; not doubt⯑ing but his Deſigns would end in your Ruin, and, I own it, 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 I was at the Hall, I ſhall make a ridiculous Figure enough; but I will forgive all that, for the ſake of the Plea⯑ſure you have given me, and will ſtill further 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 receiv'd 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 [32] thinks, the Reaſons you give ^* in your Relation, and your Love for him, (which then you began to diſ⯑cover was your Caſe) as well as the Event, ſhew'd you did right.

But we'll tell you all our Judgments, when we hav read the reſt of your Accounts. So pray ſend them, as ſoon as you can, to (I won't write myſelf Siſter till then)

LETTER VII.

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 were in the leaſt diverting to you and to ſuch honourable and worthy Perſons as your Ladyſhip is pleaſed to mention. I could wiſh, my dear Lady, I might be favour'd with ſuch Re⯑marks on my Conduct, (ſo nakedly ſet forth, with⯑out any Imagination that they would ever appear in ſuch an Aſſembly) as may be of Uſe to me in my future Life, and make me, by that means, 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 govern'd by them?

[33]As to the Papers following thoſe in your Ladyſhip's Hands, when I ſay, that they muſt needs appear im⯑pertinent 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 con⯑tain.

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 Beha⯑viour towards me; Mr.B.'s Reconciliation to Mr. Williams; his introducing me to the good Fami⯑lies in the Neighbourhood, and avowing before them his honourable Intentions. A Viſit from my honeſt Father, who (not knowing what to conclude from the Letter I wrote 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 that had ended in my Ruin. His joyful Surprize to find how happy I was likely to be. All the Hopes given me, anſwer'd, by the private Celebration of our Nuptials — An Ho⯑nour 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 marry'd, but ſup⯑poſing 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, tho' 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 be⯑comes me, I ſhall ever retain the moſt grateful [34] 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 Af⯑fair, and preſenting to me the pretty Miſs Good⯑win, at the Dairy-houſe. Our Appearance at Church; the Favour of the Gentry in the Neigh⯑bourhood, who, knowing your Ladyſhip had not diſdain'd 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 condeſending Deportment to me before them, (as if I had been worthy of the Honour done me) did Credit to his own ge⯑nerous Act."’

Theſe, my Lady, down to my good Parents ſet⯑ting out to this Place, in order to be ſettled, by my honoured Benefector's Bounty, in the Kentiſh Farm, are the moſt material Contents of my remaining Pa⯑pers: And tho' 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 judg'd of by your Ladyſhip, than deſcribed by me; and as your Ladyſhip is acquainted with all the Particulars the can be worthy of any other Perſon's Notice but my dear Parents; I am ſure your Ladyſhip will diſpenſe with your Com⯑mands: and I make it my humble Requeſt, that you will.

[35]For, Madam, you muſt needs think, that when my Doubts were diſpell'd; when I was confident all my Trials were over; when I had a Proſpect be⯑fore me of being ſo abundantly rewarded for what I had ſuffer'd; 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 muſt be too much open'd; and eſpecially as it then (reliev'd from its paſt An⯑xieties and Fears, which had kept down and damp'd the latent Flame) firſt diſcover'd to me Impreſſions of which before I hardly thought it ſuſceptible. — So that it is ſcarce poſſible, that my Joy and my Pru⯑dence, if I were to be try'd by ſuch Judges of Deli⯑cacy and Decorum, as Lord and Lady Davers, the honoured Counteſs, and Lady Betty, could be ſo in⯑timately, ſo laudably coupled, as were to be wiſh'd: Altho' indeed the continued Senſe of my Unworthi⯑neſs, and the Diſgrace the dear Gentleman would bring upon himſelf by his generous Goodneſs to me, always went hand-in-hand with that 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 poſ⯑ſible ſuch a young Creature as I could have been.

Wherefore, my dear good Lady, I hope I ſtand excus'd, and ſhall not bring upon myſelf. the Cen⯑ſure of being diſobedient to your Commands.

Beſides, Madam, as you inform me, that my good Lord Davers will attend your Ladyſhip hither, I ſhould never dare to look his Lordſhip in the Face, if all the Emotions of my Heart on ſuch af⯑fecting Occaſions, ſtood confeſs'd to his Lordſhip; and, indeed, if I am aſhamed they ſhould to your [36] Ladyſhip, and to the Counteſs, and Lady Betty, whoſe Goodneſs might induce you all three to think favour⯑ably, in ſuch Circumſtances, of one who is of your own Sex, how would it concern me, that the ſame ſhould 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 Gentle⯑men: Your Ladyſhip muſt needs know which I mean, and will think of my two grand Trials of all.—For tho' 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 Bro⯑ther's ſake, as well as for the Decency of the Mat⯑ter, one would not, when one ſhall have the Honour to appear before my Lord and his Nephew, be 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 let me know, if the Gentlemen have heard all.—I hope they have not.—And be pleaſed 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 Fa⯑mily, and the Right the beſt of Gentlemen has given me to ſtyle myſelf

LETTER VIII. From Lady DAVERS, in Reply.

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 De⯑nial, 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 was, which might be well enough for your Parents to ſee, but for nobody elſe; and Relations of our Side leaſt of all, whoſe future Intimacy and frequent Viſits, might give Occaſions for Raillery and Remarks, that might not be always agreeable. I re⯑garded her Apology for you the more, becauſe I knew it was a great Balk to her, that you did not com⯑ply with my Requeſt. But now, Child, when you know me more, you'll find, that if I am oblig'd to give up one Point, I always inſiſt upon 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 then, this is what I inſiſt on; That you cor⯑reſpond with me in the ſame manner you did with your Parents, and acquaint me with every Paſſage that is of Concern to you; beginning with your Ac⯑counts how you ſpent your Time, both of you, when you were 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 [38] is a Power to add to the natural Obligation, all the Comforts and Conveniences of Life? We People in upper Life, you muſt know, love to hear how Grati⯑tude and unexpected Benefits operate upon honeſt Minds, who have little more than plain artleſs Na⯑ture for their Guide; and we flatter ourſelves with the Hopes of many a delightful Hour, by your Means, in this our ſolitary Situation, as it will be, if we are 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 and Trouble: And if my Brother carries you to Town, for the Winter, while he attends Parliament, the Advices you will be able to give us of what paſſes in London, and of the public Entertainments and Diverſions he will take you to, as you will relate them from your own artleſs and natural Obſervations, will be as diverting to us, as if we were at them ourſelves. For a young Crea⯑ture, of your good Underſtanding, to whom all theſe Things will be quite new, will give us, per⯑haps, a better Taſte of them, their Beauties and De⯑fects, than we might have before. For we People of Quality go to thoſe Places, dreſs'd out and adorn'd, in ſuch Manner, outvying one another, as if we con⯑ſidered ourſelves as ſo many Parts of the public En⯑tertainment, 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: And, indeed, we, ſome of us, behave with ſo much Indifference to the Entertain⯑ment, as if we thought ourſelves above being di⯑verted by what we come to ſee, and as if our View was rather to trifle away our Time, than to improve ourſelves, by attending to the Story or the Action.

See, Pamela, I ſhall not make an unworthy Cor⯑reſpondent altogether; for I can get into thy grave Way, and moralize a little now-and-then: And if [39] you'll promiſe to oblige me by your conſtant Corre⯑ſpondence in this way, and diveſt yourſelf of all Reſtraint, as if you was 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, mean time,

LETTER IX.

I AM very glad thy honeſt Man has let thee into the Affair of Sally Godfrey. But pr'ythee, Pamela, give us an Account of the Manner in which he did it, and of thy Thoughts upon it; for that is a critical Caſe; and according 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 dear⯑ly loved her Mother; and, notwithstanding her Fault, ſhe well deſerv'd 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 [40] 'tis my Opinion, if any body can, you will.—Then he did not like the young Lady's Mother, who ſought artfully to intrap 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 was a nice Part to act; and all his Obſervations were up, I dare ſay, on the Occaſion. — Do, let me hear how it was. There's my good Pamela, do. And write, I charge you, freely and without Reſtraint; for altho' I am not your Mother, yet am I his elder Siſter, you know— and, as ſuch—come, I will ſay ſo, in hopes you'll oblige me—your Siſter, and ſo intitled 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 very much to your Credit, I can tell you that: 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 can 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 Letter: No, you muſt not expect that.—Your Part will be a kind of Nar⯑rative purpoſely deſigned to entertain us here; and I [41] 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, as you ſay, you ſhall freely have it, (tho' not in a ſplenetic or ill-natur'd way) as often as you give Occaſion. Now, you muſt know, Pamela, I have two Views in this: One is, to ſee how a Man of my Brother's Spirit, who has not deny'd himſelf any genteel Liberties, (for, it muſt be own'd, he never was a common Town Rake, and had always Dignity in his Roguery) will behave himſelf to you, and in Wedlock, which uſed to be very freely ſneered by him: The next, that I may love you more and more, which it will be enough to make me do, I dare ſay, 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 re⯑quire your Attention, and not give you the Time you uſed to have for this Employment. But conſi⯑der, 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 derive 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 con⯑ſider yourſelf as the Task-miſtreſs, and the common Herd of Female Servants as ſo many Negroes direct⯑ing themſelves by your Nod; or yourſelf as the Ma⯑ſter-wheel, in ſome beautiful Piece of Mechaniſm, whoſe dignify'd grave Motion is to ſet a-going all the [42] Under-wheels, with a Velocity ſuitable to their re⯑ſpective Parts.—Let your Servants, under your Di⯑rection, do all that relates to Houſhold Oeconomy: 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 men⯑tioned, and expect; and I ſee plainly, by your Style, that nothing can be eaſier for you, than to do this.

And thus, and with Reading, may your Time be filled up with Reputation to yourſelf, and Delight to others, till a fourth Employment puts itſelf upon you; and that is, (ſhall I tell you in one Word, without mincing the Matter?) a Succeſſion of brave Boys, to perpetuate a Family that has for many hundred Years been eſteemed worthy and eminent, and which, be⯑ing now reduced, in the direct Line, to him and me, expects it from you; or elſe, let me tell you, (nor will I balk it) my Brother, by deſcending to the wholſome 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 to encourage you in the Pro⯑ſpect that is already opening to you both, and to me, who have the Welfare of the Family I ſprung from [43] ſo much at Heart, altho' I know this will be attended with ſome Anxieties to a Mind ſo thoughtful and ap⯑prehenſive as yours ſeems to be.

O but this puts me in mind of your Solicitude for fear the Gentlemen ſhould have ſeen every thing con⯑tained in your Letters.—But this I will particularly ſpeak to in a third Letter, having fill'd my Paper on all Sides: And am

You ſee, and I hope will take it as a Favour, that I break the Ice, and begin firſt in the indiſpenſ⯑ably expected Correſpondence between us.

LETTER X. From the ſame.

AND ſo, Pamela, you are very ſolicitous to know if the Gentlemen have ſeen every Part of your Papers. I can't ſay but they have. Nor, ex⯑cept in regard to the Reputation of your ſaucy Man, do I ſee why the Parts 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 Objections to any Part, tho' 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 on, how you eſcap'd 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, tho' he has marry'd her. Who, that knows theſe Things of him, would wiſh him to be hers, with all his Advantages of Perſon, [44] Mind and Fortune? — And ſuch-like Expreſſions in your Praiſe, and condemning him 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 Mea⯑ſures 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 ſhould not have been able to judge of the Merit of your Reſiſtance, and how ſhocking thoſe Attempts were to your Virtue, inſomuch that Life itſelf was indanger'd by them: Nor, let me tell you, could I in particular, have ſo well juſtify'd 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 Relations, ſhould know that he had try'd every Stratagem, and made uſe of every Contrivance, to ſubdue you to his Purpoſe, before he marry'd you: And how would it have anſwer'd to his intrepid Character, and Pride of Heart, had we not been particularly let into the Nature of thoſe Attempts, which you ſo nobly re⯑ſiſted, as to convince us all, that you have deſerv'd 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 concern'd 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 Ex⯑preſſions are too delicate to give the niceſt Ear Of⯑fence, except at him.—You paint no Scenes but ſuch [45] as make his Wickedneſs odious; and that Gentle⯑man, much more Lady, muſt have a very corrupt Heart, who could, from ſuch Circumſtances of Di⯑ſtreſs, make any Reflections but what ſhould be to your Honour, and in Abhorrence of ſuch Actions. Indeed, Child, 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 tenderer Occaſions, Reaſon to think they had more Virtue than not to be very apprehenſive for your Safety; and my Lord ſeveral times exclaim'd, that he could not have thought his Brother ſuch a Libertine neither.

Beſides, Child, were not theſe things written in Confidence to your Mother? And bad as his Actions were to you, if you had not recited all you could re⯑cite, would there not have been Room for any one who ſhould have ſeen what you writ, to imagine they had been ſtill worſe? — And how could the Terror be ſuppoſed to have had ſuch Effects upon you, as to indanger your Life, without imagining you had un⯑dergone the worſt that 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 apprehen⯑ſive Imaginations of what you ſuffered, which other⯑wiſe muſt have been injurious to your Purity, tho' 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 aban⯑doned, but that he could ſtop ſhort of the Execu⯑tion of his wicked Purpoſes, which, he apprehended, if purſu'd, would deſtroy the Life, that, of all Lives, he would chuſe to preſerve; and you ow'd alſo thus [46] 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 Daugh⯑ter. And one cannot but reflect, now all is over, and he has made you his Wife, that it muſt be a Sa⯑tisfaction to the wicked Man, as well as to yourſelf, that he was not more guilty than he was, and that he took no more Liberties than he did.

For my own Part, I muſt ſay, that I could not have accounted for your Fits, by any Deſcription ſhort of thoſe you give; and had you been leſs parti⯑cular in the Circumſtances, I ſhould have judg'd he had been ſtill worſe, and your Perſon, tho' 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 tho' they indulge in all manner of Libertiniſm themſelves, there is no Claſs of Men who exact greater Delicacy than they, from the Perſons they marry; tho' they care not how bad they make the Wives, the Siſters, and Daughters of others.

I have run into Length again; ſo 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 the moſt impudent Aſ⯑ſiſtance ſhe gave to his lewd Attempt; much leſs, we think, ought you to have left her in her Place, and rewarded her for her Vileneſs, which could hardly be equalled by the worſt Actions of the moſt aban⯑doned Procureſs.

I know the Difficulties you lay under, in his arbi⯑trary Will, and in his Interceſſion for her: But Lady Betty rightly obſerves, that he knew what a vile Wo⯑man ſhe was, when he put you into her Power, and no doubt employ'd her, becauſe he was 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 [47] keeping her there, and in having her put on 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 Virtue, 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, or not: 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. Tho', 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, tho' 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,

LETTER XI.

I AM honoured with your Ladyſhip's Three Let⯑ters, 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 me ſuch a rich and invaluable Return; of which you have given me already ſuch ample and ſuch 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, thro' your kind Indulgence. But ne⯑vertheleſs, ſheltering myſelf under your Goodneſs, I will chearfully comply with every thing your Lady⯑ſhip expects from me, that is in my Power to do.

[48]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 Par⯑ticulars of the happy Fortnight we paſſed in Kent, on one of the moſt agreeable Occaſions that could befal 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 that I ſhould ſay ſomething upon your welcome Remarks on my Conduct towards Mrs. Jewkes.

The other Particulars contained in your Ladyſhip's kind Letters will naturally fall under one or other of theſe three Heads.— But expect not, my Lady, tho' I begin in Method thus, that I ſhall keep up to it; If your Ladyſhip will not allow for me, and keep in View the poor Pamela Andrews in all I write, but will have Mrs. B. in your Eye, what will be⯑come of me? — But, indeed, I promiſe myſelf ſo much Improvement from this Correſpondence, that I enter upon it with a greater Delight than I can ex⯑preſs, notwithſtanding the mingled Awe and Diffi⯑dence 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 [49] all Occaſions I ſhould ſpeak of them with the Duty that becomes a good Child) — I ſay, then, your dear Brother, and they, and myſelf, ſet out on the Monday Morning for Kent, paſſing thro' St. Albans to Lon⯑don, at both which Places we ſtopp'd 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 at⯑tended only by Abraham and John, on Horſeback; for Mr. Colbrand, having ſprain'd his Foot, was in the Travelling-Coach with the Cook and Houſe-Maid, and Polly Barlow, a genteel new Servant, whom Mrs. Brooks recommended to wait on me.

Mr. Longman had been down there for a Fortnight, imploy'd in ſettling the Terms of an additional Pur⯑chace to this pretty well-wooded and well-watered Eſtate; and the Account he gave of his Proceedings was very ſatisfactory to his honour'd Principal. He told us, he had much ado to diſſuade the Tenants from purſuing a form'd Reſolution of meeting their Landlord on Horſeback, at ſome Miles Diſtance; for he had inform'd them when he expected us: But knowing how deſirous Mr. B. was of being retired while he ſtaid here this time, he had ventured to aſſure them, that when every thing was ſettled, and the new Purchace actually enter'd upon, they would have his Preſence among them now-and-then; and that he would introduce them all at different times to their worthy Landlord, before we left the Country.

The Houſe, my good Lady, is large and very commodious; and we found every thing about it, and in it, exceeding neat and convenient; which was owing to the worthy Mr. Longman's Care and Di⯑rection. The Ground is well-ſtock'd, the Barns and Out-houſes in excellent Repair, and my poor Father and Mother have only to wiſh, that they and [50] I may be deſerving of half the Goodneſs we experi⯑ence from the bountiful Mind of your good Brother.

But indeed, my Lady, I have the Pleaſure of dis⯑covering every Day more and more, that there is not a better diſpos'd and more generous Gentleman in the World than himſelf, inſomuch that, I verily think, he has not been ſo careful to conceal his bad Actions as his good ones. His Heart is naturally bene⯑ficent, and his Beneficence is the Gift of God to him, as I have been ſo free as to tell him, to ſerve for excellent Purpoſes, even for a Foundation to the nobleſt Superſtructure, whenever the Rubbiſh of Senſe ſhall be clear'd from it, and the Divine Workmen be properly employ'd to build a Temple for the Deity to reſide in. — Pardon me, my dear Lady; I wiſh I may not be impertinently grave: But I find a great many Inſtances of his conſiderate Cha⯑rity, which hardly any body knew of, and which, ſince I have been his Almoner, could not avoid coming to my Knowlege. — But this, poſſibly, is no News to your Ladyſhip. Every body knows the generous Goodneſs of your own Heart: Every one that wanted Relief taſted the Bounty of your excel⯑lent Mother, my late honour'd Lady: So that 'tis a Family Grace, and I have no need to ſpeak of it to you, Madam.

This cannot, my dear Lady, I hope, be conſtrued as if I would hereby ſuppoſe ourſelves leſs oblig'd. Indeed I know nothing ſo God-like in Human Na⯑ture as this Diſpoſition to do Good to our Fellow-Creatures; for is it not following immediately the Example of that gracious Providence which every Minute is conferring Bleſſings on us all, and by giv⯑ing Power to the Rich, makes them but the Diſpen⯑ſers of its Benefits to thoſe that want them? But yet, as there are but too many Objects of Compaſſion, and as the moſt beneficent Mind in the World can⯑not, [51] like Omnipotence, do Good to all, how much are they oblig'd who are diſtinguiſhed from others? And this, kept in Mind, will always contribute to make the Benefited receive 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-fill'd when it is imploy'd 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 to your Lady⯑ſhip, (that mark'd [I.] written by me to my Father and Mother, on our Return hither from Kent; that mark'd [II.] from my dear Father in Anſwer to it, and that mark'd [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, that may in the leaſt amuſe and divert you, or that may better explain our grateful Sentiments) in a great meaſure, anſwer what your Ladyſhip expects from me, as to the happy Fort⯑night we paſs'd in Kent.

And here I will conclude this Letter, chuſing 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 for my writing to you, when you ſee it is 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,

Your deareſt Brother, from whoſe Knowlege 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 pleas'd 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.

YOU very much oblige me by your chearful Compliance with my Requeſt. I leave it in⯑tirely to you to write in what Manner you pleaſe, and as you ſhall be in the Humour to write, when you take up your Pen; for then I ſhall have you write with leſs Reſtraint: For, you muſt know, that what we admire in you, are Truth and Nature, and not ſtudied or elaborate Sentiments. We can hear at Church, or we can 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, your Prudence, your Integrity of Heart, your Humility, ſhine ſo much in all your Letters and Sentiments, 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 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 once, more than I thought ever any Wo⯑man [53] on this Side the Seventieth Year of his Age would ever be able to ſay. The Letters to and from your Parents we are charm'd 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 ob⯑ſerve what Uſe you are likely to make of the Power you have 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, becauſe 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 Incroacher, as the good old Man calls it, my Brother would be one of the firſt to ſee it, and he 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 Impo⯑ſition, or low Cunning, or mean Selfiſhneſs, he can⯑not bear.

In ſhort, you're 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 to 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 [54] 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 to 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 Intuition, as it were, than the beſt of us have in a Series of the gen⯑teeleſt Education, 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 Improve⯑ment to you: It is your own Writings. This Itch of Scribbling has been a charming Help to you. For here, having a natural Fund of good Senſe, and a Prudence above your Years, you have, with the Obſervations thoſe Advantages have inabled you to make, been Flint and Steel too, as I may ſay, to your⯑ſelf: So that you have ſtruck Fire when you pleas'd, wanting nothing but a few dry'd Leaves, like the firſt Pair in old Du Bartas, to ſerve as Tinder to catch your animating Sparks. So that reading con⯑ſtantly, and thus uſing yourſelf to write, which im⯑preſs'd you more than Reading could, and enjoying beſides the Benefit of a good Memory, every thing you heard or read became your own; and not only ſo, but improved by paſſing thro' 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 [55] 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 will poſſibly make me reſume the poetical Ideas that uſed to be ſtrong upon me, before I entered into the drowſy married Life; for my good Lord Davers's Turn happens not to be to Books; and ſo, by De⯑grees, my Imagination was in a manner quench'd, and I, as a dutiful Wife ſhould, endeavour'd to form my Taſte by that of the Man I choſe.

But after all, Pamela, you are not to be a little proud (I can tell you that) of my Correſpondence; and I could not have thought it e'er would have come to this: But you'll have the Penetration to 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 inamour'd 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 inquiring 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 un⯑locked 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 [56] your affectionate Siſter; but, till then, it ſhall only barely be

You'll proceed with the Account of your Kentiſh Affair, I doubt not.

LETTER XIII.

WHAT kind, what generous things, are you plea⯑ſed to ſay of your happy Correſpondent! And what Reaſon have I to value myſelf on ſuch an Advan⯑tage 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! I wiſh I be not now proud indeed! — To be praiſed by ſuch a Genius, and by the noble Siſter of my honoured Benefactor, whoſe Favour, next to his own, 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 had the Preſumption, but from your Ladyſhip's own Motion, to hope to be in any manner the Sub⯑ject of it, much leſs to be called your Correſpon⯑dent.

Indeed, Madam, I am proud, 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 permit me, in the firſt Place, to diſclaim any Merit, from my own poor Writings, to that Improve⯑ment [57] 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 hardly to be imagined what Pains her Ladyſhip took with her poor Servant. Beſides make⯑ing me keep a Book of her Charities diſpenſed by my Hands, ſhe cauſed me always to ſet down, in my Way, the Caſes of the Diſtreſſed, their Griefs from their Misfortunes, and their Joys in her bountiful Re⯑lief; and ſo I was enter'd early into the various Turns that affected worthy Hearts, and was taught the better to regulate my own, eſpecially by the Help of the fine Obſervations which my good Lady uſed to make to me, when I read to her what I wrote. For many a time has her worthy Heart run over with Plea⯑ſure 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 En⯑couragement this condeſcending Behaviour and Goodneſs was to me. Indeed, 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 Inſtru⯑ctions, and it is all your happy, 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 be intirely diveſted of that Awe, which will lay me under more Reſtraint, than if I was writing to my Father and Mother, [58] whoſe Partiality for their Daughter made me in a manner ſecure of their good Opinions.

And now, that I may ſhorten the Work before me, in the Account I am to give of the ſweet Fort⯑night that we paſſed in Kent, I incloſe not only the Copy of the Letter your Ladyſhip deſired me to ſend you, but my Father's Anſwer to it, which, with thoſe you have already, will ſet before your Ladyſhip all you want to ſee in relation to the Deſire ſome of my Kindred had to live with my Father, and my own Advice on the Occaſion. And I am humbly confident you will join in Sentiment with me: For Perſons are leſs doubtful of Approbation, when their Minds are incapable of dark Reſerves, or ſuch Views as they would be afraid ſhould be detected by the moſt watchful Obſerver of their Conduct: And your Ladyſhip gives me double Pleaſure, that you are pleaſed to have an Eye upon mine; firſt, Becauſe I hope it will be ſuch as will, generally, bear the ſtricteſt Scrutiny; and next, Becauſe, when my Actions fall ſhort of my Intentions, I preſume to hope your Ladyſhip will be as kind a Monitor to me, as you are a Correſpondent; and then I ſhall have an Opportu⯑nity to correct myſelf, and be, as near as my ſlender Talents will permit, what your Ladyſhip would have me to be.

As the Letters I ſent before, and thoſe I now ſend, will let your Ladyſhip into 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 de⯑ſerve the Comforts 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, men⯑tion the reſt: And, particularly,

[59]That the Behaviour of my dear Benefactor to me, to my Parents, to Mr. Longman, and to the Tenants, was one continued Series of Benignity and Conde⯑ſcenſion. He endeavoured, in every kind and gene⯑rous way, to encourage the good Couple to be free and chearful with him; and ſeeing them unable to get over that Awe and Reſpect which they owe him above all Mankind, and which they ſought to pay him on all Occaſions, he would take their Hands, and move than once called them by the neareſt and deareſt Names of Relationſhip, as if they were his own Parents; and I believe would have diſtin⯑guiſh'd them oftener in this manner, but that he ſaw them too much affected with his Goodneſs to bear the Honour (as my dear Father ſays in his firſt Let⯑ter) with Equalneſs of Temper; and he ſeemed al⯑ways to delight in being particularly kind to them before Strangers, and before the Tenants, and before Mr. Sorby, and 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 In⯑vitation of thoſe worthy Families.

Judge you, my dear Lady, with what a Joy theſe kind Diſtinctions, and this ſweet Behaviour, muſt fill their honeſt Hearts: Judge of my grateful Sentiments and Acknowlegements on theſe hourly Inſtances of his Goodneſs; and judge of the Reſpect and Eſteem with which this muſt inſpire every one to the good Couple. And when once Mrs. Bennet had like to have ſaid ſomething of their former Condition, which ſhe would have recalled in ſome Confuſion, and when ſhe could not, apologized for it, the dear Gentleman ſaid, — All is well, Mrs. Bennet: No Apologies are neceſſary; and to ſhew you they are not, I'll tell you myſelf what you cannot have heard [60] ſo particularly from others, and which were I to en⯑deavour to conceal, would be a Piece of Pride as ſtupid as deſpicable: So, in a conciſe manner, he gave them an Account of my Story, ſo much to my Advantage, and ſo little to his own, in the ingenuous Relation of his Attempts upon me, that you can't imagine, Madam, how much the Gentry were af⯑fected by it, and how much, in particular, they ap⯑plauded him for the Generoſity of his Actions to me and to my dear Parents. And your Ladyſhip will permit me to obſerve, that ſince the Matter is cir⯑cumſtanced as it is, Policy, as well as Nobleneſs of Mind, obliged from the dear Gentleman this Frank⯑neſs and Acknowlegement; for having ſaid worſe of himſelf, and as mean of our Fortunes, as they could think, what remained for the Hearers but to applaud, when he had left them no Room to reproach, not ſo much as in Thought?

Every Day we rode out, or walked a little about the Grounds; and while we were there, he employ'd Hands to cut a Viſta thro' a Coppice, as they call it, but rather a little Wood, to a riſing Ground, which fronting an old-faſhion'd Balcony in the Middle of the Houſe, he ordered it to be planted like a Grove, and a little Building to be erected on its Summit, in the Faſhion of an antient Greek Temple, of which he has ſent them a Draught, drawn by his own Hand, from one he had ſeen Abroad; and 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 chuſe 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 chuſe for me; ſaying he was half-afraid, that my [61] 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 im⯑poſſible, that it could be ſuch as he ſhould not take a Delight in conforming to it.

But, when (as I told him) his Favour for me made him rather ſtudy what was obliging to me, than him⯑ſelf, and that he prevented all my Wiſhes by his Good⯑neſs, how was it poſſible for me not to receive with Pleaſure and Gratitude every Intimation from him, in ſuch a manner, as that tho' it might ſeem to be the Effect of an implicit Obedience to his Will, yet was it (nor could it be otherwiſe) intirely my own?

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, what a Parting there was between my dear Parents, and their honoured Benefactor, and me.

We ſet out, attended with the good Wiſhes of Crouds of Perſons of all Degrees; for your dear Brother left behind him noble Inſtances of his Boun⯑ty; 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, Madam, to obſerve, that I could not forbear often, very often, in this happy Period, thanking God in private, for the bleſſed Terms upon which I was there, to what I ſhould have been, had I graceleſly accepted of thoſe which once were tender'd to me; for your Ladyſhip will remember, that the Kentiſh Eſtate was to be Part of the Purchace of my Infamy^*.

[62]We return'd thro' London again, by the like eaſy Journeys, but tarry'd 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 purpoſes to take for his Winter Reſidence: He chuſes it to be about Soho-Square, or 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 good Lady, I have anſwer'd 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,

LETTER XIV.

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 Beha⯑viour upon it: And this I cannot do better, than by tranſcribing the Relation I gave at the Time, in thoſe Letters to my dear Parents which your Ladyſhip has not ſeen, in theſe very Words.

Thus far, my dear Lady, the Relation I gave to my Parents, at the Time of my being firſt acquainted with this melancholy Affair.

[63]It is a great Pleaſure to me, that I can already flat⯑ter myſelf, from the Hints you kindly give me, that I behaved as you wiſhed I ſhould behave. Indeed, Madam, I could not help it; for I pitied moſt ſin⯑cerely the unhappy Lady; and tho' I could not but rejoice, that I had had the Grace to eſcape the dan⯑gerous Attempts of the dear Intriguer, yet never did the Story of any unfortunate Lady make ſuch an Im⯑preſſion 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 in his Power; and too ſeldom, alas! have the nobleſt-minded of the ſeduce⯑ing Sex the Mercy or the Goodneſs to ſpare the poor Creatures that do!—And then this Love, to be ſure, is a ſad Thing, when once it is ſuffer'd to reign!— A perfect Tyrant!—requiring an unconditional Obe⯑dience to its arbitrary Dictates, and deeming every Inſtance of Diſcretion, and Prudence, and Virtue it⯑ſelf, too often, but as ſo many Acts of Rebellion to its uſurped Authority.

And then, how do even Blemiſhes become Per⯑fections in thoſe we love? Crimes themſelves too often, to inconſiderate Minds, appear but as human Failings; and human Failings are a common Cauſe, and always pardonable by human Frailty.

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 [64] 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, tho' 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, that I am,

LETTER XV.

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 Aſ⯑ſiſtance ſhe gave to his lewd Attempts; much leſs to have left her in her Place, and rewarded her for her Vileneſs."’ 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; not a Soul who durſt be my Friend; and [65] every Day expecting to be ruin'd and undone, by one of the haughtieſt and moſt determin'd Spirits in England? — 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 overjoy'd, after all my Dangers paſt, (which were ſo great, that I could not go to Reſt, nor riſe, but with ſuch Apprehen⯑ſions, that I wiſh'd for Death rather than Life) to think of refuſing any Terms that I could yield to, and keep my Honour.

And tho' 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 Spirit, and would have had a Right to pick and chuſe your own Servants, and diſtribute Rewards and Puniſhments to the Deſerv⯑ing and Undeſerving, at your own good Pleaſure; yet what had I, a poor Girl, who ow'd my Title even to common Notice, to the Bounty of my late good Lady, and a kind of imputed Sightlineſs of Perſon, which had made me only the Subject of vile Attempts; who from a Situation of Terror and Ap⯑prehenſion was lifted up to a 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 reſiſted till it ſub⯑ſided; and then indeed he was all Goodneſs and Acknowlegement, (of which I could give your La⯑dyſhip [66] more than one Inſtance) what, I ſay, had I to do, to take upon me Lady-Airs, and reſent?

But, my dear Ladies, (let me, in this Inſtance, beſpeak both your Ladyſhips Attention) 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 In⯑clination.

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 ſhall be found to deſerve in your Ladyſhips Judgment; but indeed, were it to do 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 this poor Creature was put into my Power, (ſeemingly at leaſt, tho' it might poſſibly have been reſum'd, 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 on the mortify'd Guilt, which (from the higheſt Degree of Inſolence and Imperiouſneſs, that before harden'd her maſculine Features) appear'd in her Countenance, when ſhe found the Tables likely to be ſoon turn'd upon her.

This Change of Behaviour, which at firſt operated in ſullen Awe, and afterwards in a kind of ſilent Reſpect, ſhew'd 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 [67] and over, as I may ſay: But to me, who always was taught to diſtinguiſh between the Perſon and the Action, I could not hold my Reſentment againſt the poor paſſive Machine of Miſchief, one Day to⯑gether, tho' her Actions were ſo odious to me.

I ſhould indeed except that Time of my grand Trial, when ſhe appear'd ſo much a Wretch to me, that I ſaw her not (even after ^* two Days that ſhe was kept from my Sight) 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 Wicked⯑neſs.^†.

But, my dear Ladies, when I conſider'd the Mat⯑ter 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? Eſpe⯑cially as ſhe was aſhamed of her Crime, and there was no Fear of a Repetition of it.

Thus then I thought on the Occaſion: Poor wretched Agent, for Purpoſes little leſs than infer⯑nal! 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. My Eye, that uſed to quiver and trem⯑ble at thy haughty Eye, ſhall now, with conſcious Worthineſs, take a ſuperior Steadineſs, and look down thy ſcouling guilty one into Self-Condemna⯑tion, the State thou couldſt never caſt mine into, nor from it wilt be able to raiſe thine own! Bear the Reproach of thy own wicked Heart, low, vile [68] Woman, unworthy as thou art of the Name, and choſen, as it ſhould ſeem, for a Foil to the Inno⯑cent, and to make Purity ſhine forth the brighter, the only good Uſe ſuch Wretches as thou can be of to others (except for Examples of Penitence and Mercy): This will be Puniſhment enough for thee, without my expoſing myſelf to the Imputation of deſcending ſo near to a Level with thee, as to re⯑ſent thy Baſeneſs, when thou haſt no Power to hurt me!—

Such were then my Thoughts, my proud Thoughts, ſo far was I in my Heart, and, I hoped, in the very Act that proceeded from that Heart, from inten⯑tional Meanneſs in forgiving, at Mr. B.'s Interpo⯑ſition, the poor, low, creeping, abject, Self-morti⯑fy'd, and Maſter-mortify'd Mrs. Jewkes!—

And do you think, Ladies, when you revolve in your Thoughts, who I was, and what I was, and what I was deſigned to be; when you revolve the amazing Turn in my Favour, and the Proſpects before me (Proſpect ſo much above my Hope, that I left them intirely to Providence to direct for me, as it pleaſed, without daring to look forward to what thoſe Proſpect 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 Guilt, and my Innocence, gave me a Courage, more than natural to my other⯑wiſe daſtardly Heart: When this impetuous Spirit could ſtoop to requeſt one whom he had ſunk beneath even her uſual low Character of his Servant, and 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 acknow⯑ledge the Vileneſs of thoſe Purpoſes: Could ſay, [69] 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 that was due to one he muſt love ^*:"’ At another, acknowlege 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 ſay, I was thus lifted up to the State of a ſovereign Forgiver, and my lordly Maſter became a Petitioner for himſelf, and for 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 mortify'd, and ſo much in my Power? For ſo ſhe actually was, while I ſeemed to think ſo: And would it have been good Manners with regard to my Maſter, or Policy with reſpect to mayſelf, to doubt it, after he had ſo declared? —

Then, my dear Ladies, while I was injoying the Soul-charming Fruits of that Innocence which the Divine Grace had inabled 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 Sunſhine, unclouded Sunſhine, and I poſſeſſed my Mind in [70] Peace, and had nothing to do but to be thankful to Providence, which had been ſo gracious to my Unworthineſs; when I ſaw, as I ſaid above, my Perſecutor become my Protector, my active Ene⯑my, no longer my Enemy, but creeping, with flow, doubtful Feet, and ſpeaking to me, with awful heſi⯑tating Doubt of my Acceptation; a Stamp of an inſolent Foot, turned into court'fying 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 Ac⯑cent 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?

Indeed, indeed, my dear good Ladies, I found ſuch a Subject for Exultation in this providential Change of my Condition, that I had much ado to ſubdue my riſing Pride, and thought there was more Danger of being lifted up, (every Moment, to ſee ſuch improving Contrition on the poor Creature's Part) than to be ſuppoſed guilty of a Meanneſs of Heart, in ſtooping (yes. Madam, that was then the proudly proper Word, in the Elevation wherein I found myſelf) to forgive her! — And, what! ſhould I not forgive a Creature for that very Baſe⯑neſs, which, happily withſtood, had ſo largely con⯑tributed to exalt me? Indeed, my dear good Ladies, permit me to repeat, I could not chuſe but to for⯑give her! — How could I?—And would it not have been out of Character in me, and againſt all [71] Expectation of my high-ſoul'd (tho' ſometimes, as in my Caſe, for a great while together, meanly-acting) Maſter, if I had not? —

Would it not have ſhewn him, that the low⯑born Pamela was incapable of a generous Action, had ſhe refuſed the only Requeſt her humble Con⯑dition had given her the Opportunity of granting, at that time, with Innocence? Would he not have thought the humble Cottager as capable of Inſo⯑lence, and Vengeance too, in her Turn, as the better⯑born? And that ſhe wanted but the Power, to ſhew that unrelenting Temper by which ſhe had ſo griev⯑ouſly ſuffer'd?—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 acted, and ſometimes govern'd, 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 Perſe⯑verance, 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 Strug⯑gles he apparently had to bring down his high Spirit [72] to ſo humble a Level. And tho', I hope, all would have been, even in this worſt Caſe, ineffectual, thro' Divine Grace, yet how do I know what lurk⯑ing Vileneſs might have appeared by Degrees in this frail Heart, to have incouraged his Deſigns, and to have augmented my Trials and my Dan⯑gers? And perhaps downright Violence might have been uſed, if he could not on one hand have ſub⯑du'd his Paſſion, 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 dignify'd 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 altho' he knew he could not keep it up, if he made me happy, yet it was no ſmall Mo⯑tive in his chuſing me, in one reſpect, becauſe he expected from me more Humility, more Sub⯑miſſion, than he thought he had Reaſon to flatter himſelf would be paid him, by a Lady equally born and educated: And of this I will ſend your Ladyſhip an Inſtance, in a Tranſcription from that Part of ^* my Journal you have not ſeen, of his Leſſons to me, on the Occaſion your Ladyſhip ſo well remembers, of my incurring his Diſpleaſure by interpoſing between yourſelf and him ^†, in your Miſunderſtanding at the Hall; for, Madam, I in⯑tend 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 the Lump, and many of which muſt needs have appeared very impertinent to ſuch Judges.

Thus, could your Ladyſhip have thought it?— have I ventur'd upon a ſtrange Paradox, that even [73] this ſtrongeſt Inſtance of his Debaſing himſelf, is not the weakeſt Inſtance of his Pride; and he ven⯑tured once at Sir Simon Darnford's to ſay, in your Ladyſhip's 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 in⯑cloſed 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, (comply'd with, he meant) even when in the wrong: Another, That a Wife ſhould never ſo much as expoſtulate with him, tho' 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 Contra⯑diction's ſake: And then, another time, perhaps he might take better Reſolutions ^†.

I hope, from what I have ſaid, it will appear to your Ladyſhip, and to Lady Betty too, that I am juſtify'd, or at leaſt excuſable, in pardoning Mrs. Jewkes: And I have yet another Reaſon behind, for doing ſo, had ſhe been as abſolutely in my Power, as the Wiſh of the moſt reſenting Perſon in the World could have made her; and that is, the Hope I had, that the poor Creature, by being continued in a Fa⯑mily where the Gentleman gave Hopes of ſo deſire⯑able a Reformation, and where the Example of the Perſon he was about to honour in ſo eminent a De⯑gree, beyond all that could have been hoped for by her a few Days before, might, poſſibly contribute to make her change her Manner of Thinking, as well as Acting.

I looked upon the poor Wretch, in all her Deport⯑ment to me, in my Days of Trial, as one devoted to Perdition, by her own Act and Deed; as one who [74] had no Regard to a future State, and who, while ſhe could live in Eaſe and Plenty for a wretched poor Term of Years, the Remainder of an ill-ſpent Life, cared not what ſhe did, and was ready to undertake any thing which Perſons of Power and Riches would put her upon: That even were ſhe to be turned off diſgracefully, at my Deſire, beſides ſhewing myſelf to be of an implacable Spirit, which ſome People would have imputed to right, ſome to wrong Mo⯑tives, as they favoured me or not, ſhe might be en⯑tertained by ſome proſtigate Perſons, to whoſe Baſe⯑neſs ſuch a Woman might be uſeful; and that then her Power to do Miſchief might be augmented, and ſhe might go on more ſucceſsfully to do the Devil'; Work, and ſeveral innocent Creatures might be in⯑tangled, like ſo many thoughtleſs Flies, in the inſnaring Web of this venomous-hearted Spider, which I had ſo happily eſcaped. Is it not better then, thought I, if I can impreſs Conviction upon the poor Wretch, whom its hopeful Forerunner Shame had already taken hold of, and add the delightful Hope of Miſchiefs prevented, to that of a Soul reclaimed ? And may not I, who have been ſo hardly uſed by her, for that very Reaſon, have more Influence upon her, than any other Perſon, even the beſt of Divines, could have? — When I talk to her in a virtuous Way, will ſhe not ſee, that I talk from Example, (pardon my Preſumption, Madam, in ſaying ſo) as well as Precept? (Will ſhe not ſee, that thoſe Principles muſt proceed from a right Direction, a Direction wor⯑thy of being followed, which could make a Sufferer by her, forgive as readily as ſhe could err; and in Hopes of reclaiming her to the Paths of Virtue, for⯑get that ſhe was either her Enemy or her Superior, tho' the one ſhe had Reaſon to apprehend, and the other ſhe ſaw I was become?

[75]Nay, would not this Behaviour of mine, very pro⯑bably, operate on a much higher and nobler Subject, her dear naughty Maſter, and let him ſee the Force and Amiableneſs of a virtuous Habit? that there muſt be ſomething in thoſe Laws, that could make ſo young a Creature purſue them, in an Inſtance ſo dif⯑ficult to ſome Minds, (and eſpecially to the Paſſion⯑ate and High-born) that of forgiving Injuries, when in one's Power to reſent, and of returning Good for Evil?

And then, when no ſullen Behaviour to the poor Wretch, on my Side, took Place; no diſtant Airs were affected, no angry Brow put on, nor Sharpneſs of Speech, to one who might expect all theſe from me; would it not ſhew him, that I was ſincere in my Forgiveneſs? that I was not able to bear Malice? was a Stranger to Revenge? had truly that Softneſs of Nature, and Placableneſs of Diſpoſition, which he would wiſh for in a Perſon he thought to honour; which he holds to be the greateſt Merit in our Sex; and which, I dare ſay, your Ladyſhip will join with me in Opinion, is indiſpenſably neceſſary for a happy Life in the Perſon who is his Wife?

Then I have no Notion of that ſlight Diſtinction I have ſo often heard, between forgive and forget, when Perſons have a mind to ſplit Hairs, and to di⯑ſtinguiſh away their Chriſtian Duties by a Word, and ſay, I muſt forgive ſuch an Action, but I will never forget it: When I would rather ſay, I will remember ſuch an Action, in order for my future Guard; but I will forgive it as often as I remember it, or elſe I will try to forget it for ever, if it will occaſion a Breach in my Chriſtian Charity.

After what I have ſaid, I will not name leſſer Conſiderations, ſuch as that of my being forced to accompany with the poor Woman, and my being deſtitute of the Company of my own Sex, but of [76] ſuch as were too inferior and ſtupid for me to take Notice of, in the Proſpect before me.

But one thing I may mention further: Might it not, Ladies, be right, that by keeping her, I ſhould make the World think, that Mr. B. had not gone ſuch very wicked Lengths, as would have been ima⯑gin'd, if ſhe had not been ſupportable to me in the ſame Houſe? Which, moreover, thoſe Perſons, who might not know thoſe Reaſons which it was not to your dear Brother's Credit to give, might have im⯑puted to me as Arrogance, or Revenge; and ſo brought ſtill greater Diſgrace upon the Choice he had made of me, as if I would take as much upon me, as tho' I were to be the Obliger inſtead of the Obliged; and who knows, beſides, what ſhe might have reported of both, had ſhe been diſmiſſed?

How then, deareſt Ladies, if theſe Conſiderations have any Weight, could I act otherwiſe than I did, either with reſpect to your honoured Brother, my⯑ſelf or the poor Woman? And when I tell your Ladyſhip, that I have all the Reaſon in the World to be pleaſed with this Manner of Acting, in the Confi⯑dence it has given me with Mr. B. and his good Opi⯑nion of the Sincerity of my Charity, and (in what I was very deſirous of) its Effects upon the poor Woman, I dare ſay, both your Ladyſhips Opinions will be in my Favour on this Head.

But your dear Brother has juſt ſent me Word, that Supper waits for me; and the Poſt, moreover, being going off, I defer till the next Opportunity what I have to ſay as to theſe good Effects; and am, mean time,

LETTER XVI.

I WILL now acquaint you with the good Effect my Behaviour to Mrs. Jewkes has had upon her, as a further Juſtification of my Conduct towards the poor Woman.

That ſhe began to be affected as I wiſh'd, ap⯑peared to me before I left the Hall, not only in the Converſations I had with her after my Happineſs was completed; but it ſtill appears in her general De⯑meanor to the Servants, to the Neighbours, and in her devout Behaviour at Church; but ſtill more par⯑ticularly in a Letter I have received from Miſs Darn⯑ford. I dare ſay, your Ladyſhip will be pleaſed with the Peruſal of the whole Letter, altho' a Part of it would anſwer my preſent Deſign: And in Confi⯑dence that you will excuſe, for the ſake of its other Beauties, the high and undeſerved Praiſes which Miſs's Goodneſs makes her ſo laviſhly to beſtow upon me, I will tranſcribe it all.

Your Ladyſhip will, as I ſaid, forgive me what may appear like Vanity in this Communication. Miſs Darnford is a charming young Lady. I al⯑ways admir'd her; but her Letters are the ſweeteſt, kindeſt! — But I am too much the Subject of their Encomiums, and ſo will ſay no more; but add here the Copy of the poor Woman's Letter to me; and your Ladyſhip will ſee what an ample Corre⯑ſpondence you have open'd to yourſelf, if you go on to countenance it.

[85]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 ob⯑ſerves, ſays your Ladyſhip, That he knew what a vile Woman ſhe [Mrs. Jewkes] was, when he put you into her Power; and, no doubt, im⯑ploy'd her, becauſe he was 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 there."’

I make no doubt, Madam, that Mrs. Jewkes was placed there, as one who would be ſubſervient to every bad Deſign; and that this was the Reaſon of Mr. B.'s cauſing me to be carried off to that Houſe: But then this was a Proof too of my hope⯑leſs Condition, and of my want of Power to make his Reformation any Part of my Terms.

Alas! Madam, I was to take him as I found him, as I have already hinted, glad of my own Safety; and had only to hope, that God (and HE only could do it; for neither Law nor Juſtice had ſtood in the naughty Gentleman's Way) would per⯑fect the good Work already begun in him; and having firſt made him refrain from what he had abſolutely determin'd upon, would next let him ſee his Error, and at laſt give him Grace to re⯑form.

But Lady Betty adds, ‘"That had ſhe been in my Caſe, ſhe would have had one Struggle for Mrs. Jewkes's Diſmiſſion, let it have been taken as it would; and he that was ſo well pleaſed [86] with my Virtue, muſt have thought this a na⯑tural Conſequence of it, if he was in Earneſt to reclaim."’

But, alas! Madam, he was not ſo well pleaſed with my Virtue for Sake's ſake, as Lady Betty thinks he was. He would have been glad, at that very Time, to have found me leſs reſolved on that ſcore. He did not ſo much as pretend to be in Earneſt to reclaim: No, not he!

He had entertained, as it proved, a ſtrong Paſ⯑ſion for me. This Paſſion had been heighten'd by my reſiſting of it. His Pride, and the Advantages he had both of Perſon and Fortune, would not let him brook Controul; and when he could not have me upon his own Terms, God turn'd his evil Purpoſes to good ones, and he reſolved to ſubmit to my own, or rather to ſuch as he found I would not yield to him without. For all this time, I had no Terms to propoſe. Neither my low Fortunes, my unjuſt Captivity, nor my Sex, nor unexperienc'd Youth, (not a Soul near me, whom I could call my Friend, or whoſe Advice I could ask) permitted me to offer at making Terms with him, had I been diſ⯑poſed to have diſputed his Will, or his Interceſſion for the Woman; which, as I have ſaid, I was not. I had but one ſteady Purpoſe to adhere to, and having Grace given me to adhere to that, he reſolved, ſince he could not conquer his Paſſion for me, to make me his with Honour. But ſtill, I doubt, as I ſaid, this was not for the Love of Virtue at that time. That came afterwards, and I hope will be always his governing Motive, in his future Actions; and then I ſhall be happy indeed!

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 the Caſe was rather this, That I put Mrs. Jervis on a Foot with [87] Mrs. Jewkes; for the dear Gentleman had named the Sum he would have me give Mrs. Jewkes ^*; and I would not give Mrs. Jervis leſs, becauſe I loved her better; nor more could I give her, on that Occa⯑ſion, 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, in a much more agreeable manner, both to Mrs. Jervis and myſelf, ſhew my Love and my Gratitude to the dear good Woman▪ And this I have taken care to do, in the manner I will ſub⯑mit to your Ladyſhip; at the Tribunal of whoſe Judgment I am willing all my Actions, reſpecting your dear Brother, ſhall be try'd: And I hope, your Ladyſhip will not think me a too profuſe or laviſh Creature; I hope you won't have Reaſon for it: Yet if you think you have, pray, my dear Lady, don't ſpare me; for if you ſhall judge me pro⯑fuſe 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,

LETTER XVII.

IT is needful, in order to let you more intelligibly into the Subject where I left off in my laſt, that your Ladyſhip ſhould know, that your generous Bro⯑ther has made me his Almoner, as I was my late dear Lady's; and has order'd Mr. Longman to pay me 50 l. ^* Quarterly, for Purpoſes of which he requires no Account, tho' I have one always ^† ready to produce; and he has given me other Sums to inable me to do all the Good I can to diſtreſſed Objects, at my firſt ſetting out. Thus inabled, your Ladyſhip knows not how many honeſt Hearts I have made glad already, and how many I hope to rejoice before a Year is at an End, and yet come within my Limits.

Now, Madam, as I knew Mrs. Jervis was far from being eaſy in her Circumſtances, thinking her⯑ſelf obliged to pay old ^‡ Debts for two extrava⯑gant Children who are both dead; and maintaining in Schooling and Cloaths three of their Children, which always keeps her bare; I took upon me one Day, as ſhe and I ſat together, at our Needles, to ſay to her, (as we are always running over old Stories, when we are alone) My good Mrs. Jervis, will you allow me to ask you after your own pri⯑vate Affairs, and if you are tolerably eaſy in them?

You are very good, Madam, ſaid ſhe, to con⯑cern yourſelf about my poor Matters, ſo much as you have to imploy your Thoughts about, and ſo much as every Moment of your Time is taken up from the Hour you riſe, to the Time of your Reſt. [89] 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 Free⯑dom; 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, ſaid ſhe, ſo much Goodneſs! — Oh! my Lady! —

Oh! my Pamela, ſay, reply'd 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 Good⯑neſs! — I cannot bear it!—

But you muſt bear it, and bear ſtill worſe Exer⯑ciſes 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 Genero⯑ſity of the beſt of Gentlemen, only becauſe I was young and ſightly, ſhall put on Lady-Airs to a Gentlewoman born, the Wiſdom of whoſe Years, and her faithful Services, and good Management, make her a much greater Merit in this Family, than I can pretend to have! — And return, ſhall I? in the Day of my Power, Inſult and Haugh⯑ineſs 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.—

[90]Then moving my Chair nearer her, and taking her Hand, and wiping, with my Handkerchief in my o [...]her, her reverend Cheek, Come, 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 wor⯑thy 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 on her Shoulder, and I waited till the Diſcharge of her Tears gave Time for Ut⯑terance to her Words; provoking only her Speech, by ſaying, You uſed to have Three Grandchildren to provide for in Cloaths 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-an-half to two others, in Proportion to their reſpective Demands; and with the other Five I paid off all Arrears of the poor Childrens Schooling and Maintenance, and every one is ſatisfy'd and eaſy, and all declare they will never do harſh Things by me, if they are paid no more.

But, tell me, Mrs. Jervis, what you owe in the World, put all together; 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. Jer⯑vis, let me know all.

Come, I know your Debts, (dear, juſt, good Woman, as you are!) like David's Sins, are ever [91] 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 wor⯑thy Heart is too much affected (pulling out her Book, which ſhe always has about her): I will go to my Cloſet, and return preſently.

So I left her to recover her Spirits, and retir'd 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, anſwer'd 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 the dear Gentleman, 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, dear 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 oppreſs'd 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 we have din'd, we'll take a Turn, if you pleaſe, [92] 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, reply'd I, moſt willingly; altho' I doubt I am to be made a Shew of.

Something like it, ſaid he — For ſhe has pro⯑mis'd 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 Ac⯑counts, and found a Balance drawn of all her Mat⯑ters, in one Leaf, in a very clear manner, and a thankful Acknowlegement to God, for her Maſter's laſt Bounty, ‘"which had inabled her to give Satiſ⯑faction to others, and do herſelf great Pleaſure,"’ as ſhe had written underneath.

The Balance of all was 35 l. 11 s. and odd Pence; and I went to my Eſcritoire, and took out 40 l. 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 35 or 36 l. 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 Ser⯑vice.

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 down by me, Here, my dear Mrs. Jervis, is 40 l. It is not ſo [93] much to me now, as the ^* Two Guineas were to you, that you would have given me, if I would have accepted of them, at my going away from this Houſe, to my Father's, as I thought. But 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 here 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 Childrens Schooling. And thus you ſhall repay it. I always deſigned, as our dear Maſter added Five Guineas per Annum to your Salary, in Acknowlegement 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. And 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 good dear Woman's Behaviour on this Occaſion, you would never have forgot it. She could not ſpeak: Tears ran down her Cheeks in plentiful Currents: her modeſt Hand put gently from her my offering Hand, and her Boſom heav'd, and ſhe ſobb'd with the painful Tumult that ſeem'd 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, and wiping her Eyes, and kiſſing her Cheek, ſhe cry'd, My dear, my excellent Lady! 'tis too much! too much! I cannot bear all this—And then ſhe threw herſelf at my Feet; for I was not [94] 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 to⯑gether — May God Almighty, ſaid I, drowning her Voice with my louder Voice, bleſs us both together, for many happy Years! and may He bleſs and reward the dear Gentleman who has thus inabled me to make the Widow's Heart to ſing for Joy!

Dear, good Woman, ſaid I, riſing, and raiſing her, Do you think you ſhall outdo me in Prayers and Praiſes to the Fountain of all our Mercies?—Do you think you ſhall?— And while I am impower'd to do Good to ſo many worthy Objects abroad, ſhall I forget to make my dear Mrs. Jervis happy at home?

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,

LETTER XVIII.

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 too natural Effects of the Praiſes and proſeſſed Admiration of that Lady's Gueſts, as well as my dear Mr. B.'s, and thoſe [95] 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 Bed-time: He inquired kindly after my Imployment, which was trying to read in the French Telemachus: For, my Lady, I am learn⯑ing 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 maſter'd the Accent and Pronunciation, which he tells me is a great Diffi⯑culty 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 turn from me then, or elſe how ſhall I look you in the [96] Face? how ſee, as I proceed, whether you are diſ⯑pleaſed? for you will not chide me in Words, ſo partial have you the Goodneſs to be to all my Foibles.

He put his Arm round my Waiſt, and looked down now-and-then, as I deſired; for, O Madam, he is all Condeſcenſion and Goodneſs to his unwor⯑thy yet grateful Pamela! And I told him all I have written to your Ladyſhip about the Forty Pounds.— And now, dear Sir, ſaid I, half hiding my Face on his Boſom, 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 An⯑gel!—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 bad her call Mrs. Jervis. And tho' I thought from his kind Looks, and kind Words, as well as tender Be⯑haviour, that I had not much to fear, yet I was im⯑patient to know what my Fault was, for which I was ſo to be expoſed.

The good Woman came, and as ſhe enter'd 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 the Servants) has incurred my Cen⯑ſure, and I would not tell her in what, till I had you Face to Face.

She look'd ſurpris'd — 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 [97] ſorry for it, Sir! ſaid ſhe, court'ſying low. — But ſhould be more ſorry, if I were the unhappy Occa⯑ſion.

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, Pa⯑mela, 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, ſel⯑dom does any thing that can be mended; but, I think, when your good Conduct deſerved an annual Acknowlegement from me, in Addition to your Sa⯑lary, 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 a 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 ſu⯑ſpect 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.

This was what he was 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, does your Ladyſhip think, could Mrs. Jervis or I ſay to him? — Why indeed nothing at all!—We could only look upon one another, with [98] our Eyes full, and our Hearts full, of a Gratitude that would not permit either of us to ſpeak, but which expreſs'd itſelf at laſt in a Manner he was pleaſed to call more elegant than Words, and that was, with uplifted folded Hands, and Tears of Joy.

Oh 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 Sub⯑ject; the principal Part of which can have no Ex⯑cuſe, if it may not ſerve as a Proof of my chearful Compliance with your Ladyſhip's Commands, That I recite every thing that is of Concern to me, and with the ſame Freedom as I was wont to do to my dear Parents.

I have done it, and at the ſame time have offer'd 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,

LETTER XIX. From Lady DAVERS to Mrs. B. In Anſwer to the Six laſt Letters.

‘"WHERE ſhe had it, I can't tell; but I think I never met with the Fellow of her in my Life, at any Age;"’ are, as I remember, my Brother's [99] Words, ſpeaking of his Pamela, in the ^* early Part of your Papers. In Truth, thou'rt a ſurpriſing Crea⯑ture; 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! reply'd 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 exceed 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 outdone 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 quick⯑ly: For here, inſtead of my ſtooping, as I had thought it 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 [100] my dear Mother; and as you know many Things of her by your Attendance upon her, in 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 Dawn⯑ings of this your bright Day of Excellence: And this not only I, but the Counteſs, and Lady Betty, (her Siſter Lady Jenny too) with whom I am going over your Papers again, requeſt of you.

2. I am much pleaſed with your Kentiſh Ac⯑count; tho' we wiſhed you had been more particu⯑lar 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, as our Pleaſure in reading your Relations makes us call it. Your Pa⯑rents are honeſt, diſcreet Folks, I ſee that: I have a Value for them. And you're the prudenteſt Creature I ever knew, in all your Ways; particularly in the Advice you give them about your more diſtant Re⯑lations, and to aim at nothing beyond their natural Sphere.—Every Tittle is right, and as it ſhould be. On theſe Accounts it is, that all the World will allow, that you, and your Parents too, merit the For⯑tune you have met with.

3. I am highly delighted with the Account you give me 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 on, and as you relate it. The Wretch has been very juſt in his Account of it. But don't you think he was a ſad young Fel⯑low! Well may you be thankful for your Eſcape; well may you!—Your Behaviour was what I admire; and ſo we do all; but none of us think we could have imitated it in all its Parts. We are in Love [101] 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 de⯑clared Love of Miſs. 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 Miſs with you; for the Girl may be pert, perhaps inſolent (you know who is her Father); you'd not care to check her, for ſeveral Reaſons, and this may make you uneaſy; for, if you did, he might take it amiſs, let your Motives be ever ſo good: So I think 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, and his good Pleaſure, to determine upon; for in the latter it muſt reſt, let you, or me, or any body, ſay what we will.

5. You have fully, and to our Satisfaction, an⯑ſwer'd our Objections to your Behaviour to Mrs. Jewkes. We had not conſidered your Circum⯑ſtances quite ſo thoroughly as we ought to have done. You are a charming Girl, and all your Mo⯑tives are ſo juſt, that we ſhall be a little more cau⯑tious for the future how we cenſure you. We are particularly pleaſed with the Triumphs of your Inno⯑cence over his and her Guilt; and agree, that they are the righteſt and beſt-to-be-defended Motives for Pride that ever were ſet before us.

In ſhort, I ſay with the Counteſs, This good Girl is not without her Pride; but it is the Pride that be⯑comes, and can only attend, the innocent Heart; and I'll warrant, ſaid her Ladyſhip, nobody will be⯑come her Station ſo well as one who is capable of ſo worthy a Pride as this.

[102]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 obey'd it, and of conſe⯑quence join'd in the Evil he impoſes! He ſays, in⯑deed, in ſmall Points; but I ſuppoſe he is to judge which are and which are not ſmall.

Thus, I remember, my Brother himſelf took No⯑tice once of a Propoſal in the Houſe of Commons, to grant the Crown a very great Sum to anſwer Civil⯑Liſt Deficiencies, which being oppoſed by the Mi⯑nority, the Miniſter found out an Expedient, that they would give the Money firſt, and examine into the Merits of the Demand afterwards. So we read, that, in ſome Countries, an accuſed Perſon is put to Death, and try'd afterwards; and all he has to hope for while he lives, is, that his Relations, and his own Family, will be releaſed from Obloquy, if an Ac⯑quittal enſues.

Much good may do you with ſuch an Husband, ſays Lady Betty!—Every body will admire you, but no one will have Reaſon to envy you upon thoſe Prin⯑ciples. Yet, I don't know how it is, but this is evident, that at preſent there is not a happier Couple in the World than you two are.

6. I am pleaſed with your Promiſe of ſending me what you think I ſhall like to ſee, out of thoſe Papers you chuſe not to ſhew me collectedly: 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, tho', is pretty enough, and ingenious: But whether it will hold or not, I won't juſt now examine.

[103]8. Your Obſervation on the Forget and Forgive we are much pleaſed with, and think you have di⯑ſtinguiſhed well on that Head.

9. You are a very good Girl for 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 me 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. You muſt needs know that, or you know nothing. For I think you deſerve all Miſs Darnford ſays of you; and that's a great deal too.

Pray—have you ſhewn Jewkes's Letter to your good Friend? — Lady Betty wan [...]s 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 Vir⯑tue for Virtue's ſake, I warrant him. He likes it in a Wife, becauſe 'tis a Husband's Security againſt the Lex Talionis. There's a great deal in that, I can tell you. I once heard the Wretch hold an Argument, that Women had no Souls. I asked him, If he was to marry, whether he'd have his Wife act as if ſhe believ'd this Doctrine to be good? That was another thing he ſaid: He was for having his Wife think ſhe had, he muſt own: Such a Belief could do her no Harm. Ah! Pamela, Theory and Practice, never was ſuch a Rake, for one not quite a Town De⯑bauchee!

11. Your Manner of Acting by Mrs. Jervis, with ſo handſome a Regard to my Brother's Intereſt, her [104] 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 Qua⯑lities too!—It is impoſſible not to think well of him; and his good Actions go a great way towards atone⯑ing for his bad. But you, Pamela, have the Glory of all! We deſire particularly, that you will never omit any of thoſe moving Scenes, which you ſo well deſcribe, be the Occaſion what it will: For they are Nature, and that's your Excellence. Keep to that; for one more learned, I verily think, could not write as you do, nor inſtruct, and delight, and move, all at once, ſo very ingagingly.

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 the pretty Account you give us of his Method of Inſtructing and Re⯑warding. 'Twould be ſtrange, if you did not learn any Language quickly under ſuch Methods, and with ſuch Encouragements, from the Man you love, were your Genius leſs apt than it is. But we wiſh'd you had inlarged on that Subject: For ſuch Fond⯑neſs of Men to their Wives, who have been any time marry'd, 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 Ex⯑emplar to Wives now, as well as thou waſt before to Maidens! Thou canſt tame Lions, I dare ſay, if thou'dſt 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! Wonderful Girl! Yet uſeſt thou no Arts but honeſt ones, ſuch as Prudence directs, Nature points out, [105] and ſuch as make Duty delightful, even command⯑ing moſt, when thou ſeemeſt moſt to ſubmit.

It muſt be owned indeed, that thou haſt no brutal Mind to deal with: Bad as he is, it muſt be ſaid, that thou haſt a ſenſible and a generous Heart to work upon; one who takes no Glory in the blind Submiſ⯑ſion of a Slave; but, like a true Britiſh Monarch, delights to reign in a free, rather than in an abject Mind. Yet is he jealous as a Tyrant of his Prero⯑gative: But you have found the way to lay that watchful Dragon aſleep, and ſo poſſeſs the golden Fruits of Content and true Pleaſure, the due Reward of your matchleſs Conduct.

Now, my dear Pamela, I think I have taken No⯑tice 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

LETTER XX.

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 [106] Darnford, and that to Mrs. Jewkes, the former of which (and a long one it is) is as follows^*:

[114]This, my good Lady Davers, is the long Letter I ſent to Miſs Darnford, who, at parting, ingag'd me to keep up a Correſpondence with her, and put me in hopes of paſſing a Month or two with us, at the Hall, if we came down, and ſhe could per⯑ſuade 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.

Thus, my good Lady, have I obey'd you, in tran⯑ſcribing 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 Opportu⯑nity, 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 the noble Ladies you mention.

[117]2. I am extremely delighted, that your Ladyſhip thinks ſo well of my dear honeſt Parents: Indeed 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 under⯑took.

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 de⯑ſcend 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 Reſig⯑nation, and contented Poverty, of which otherwiſe your Ladyſhip can hardly have a Notion. I will give it, becauſe it will be a Scene of Nature, how⯑ever low, which your Ladyſhip loves, and it ſhall not tire you by its Length.

It was upon Occaſion of a great Loſs and Diſap⯑pointment which happened to my dear Parents (for tho' they were never high in Life, yet were they 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, I remember well, 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, tho' not fa⯑voured 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 [118] Troubles will be quickly overblown; and we ſhall be happy in a better, I make no Doubt."’

Then my dear Mother threw her kind 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 make no Doubt, will be a better Friend to our good Girl here, becauſe ſhe is good, than we could be, if this had not hap⯑pened,"’—pointing to me, who, then about Ele⯑ven 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 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 ho⯑nouring the Memories of mine, who in their good Names, and good Leſſons, will have left me the beſt of Portions."’

And then they both hugg'd their prating Girl to their fond Boſoms, by Turns; and all three were ſo filled with Comfort in one another, that after join⯑ing in a grateful Hymn, we went to Bed (what tho' ſupperleſs, perhaps?) with ſuch true Joy, that very few of the Rich and Great can have any Idea of it; I to my Loft, and they to their Ruſh-floor'd cleanly Bed-Room. And we have had ſweet Sleep, and Dreams ſo pleaſant, that we have reaped greater Pleaſures, in repeating them to one another, at our next Leiſure-Hour, than, poſſibly, we ſhould have received, had we injoy'd the Comforts we wanted.

[119]And, truly, my Lady, I muſt needs ſay, that while the virtuous Poor can be bleſs'd with ſuch ſweet In⯑joyments as theſe, in contented Minds all Day, and in Dreams and Viſions at Night, I don't know whether they have not more, even of this World's Pleaſures, than the abounding Rich: And while the Hours of Night bear ſo near a Proportion to thoſe of the Day, may not ſuch be ſaid, even at the worſt, to paſs at leaſt half their Lives with more Comfort than many times the diſtemper'd Great can pretend to know?

For a further Inſtance, that honeſt Poverty is not ſuch a deplorable State, let me ask, What Pleaſure can thoſe over-happy People taſte, who never knew that of Hunger or Thirſt? Like the Eaſtern Mon⯑arch I have read of, who marching at the Head of a vaſt Army, thro' a deſert Place, where was no Wa⯑ter, nor any thing to quench his craving Thirſt, at laſt one of his Soldiers bringing him in his naſty Hel⯑met a little dirty Water, he greedily ſwallowed it, and cry'd out, That he never in all his Life had taſted ſo ſweet a Draught! Having always before eaten be⯑fore he was hungry, and drank before he was thirſty.

But when I talk or write of my dear worthy Pa⯑rents, 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, turn'd into a fine Lady; for, methinks, tho' I would never forget what I was, yet I would be thought to know how, gratefully to injoy 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.

[120]3. And you cannot imagine, Madam, how much you have ſet my Heart at Reſt when you tell me, that my dear Mr. B. gave me a juſt Narrative of hi [...] Af⯑fair with Miſs Godfrey: For, when your Ladyſhip de⯑ſir'd to know, how he had recounted that Story, leſt you ſhould make a Miſunderſtanding between us una⯑wares, I did not know what to think. I was afraid ſome Blood had been ſhed on the Occaſion by the dear Gentleman: For Miſs was ruin'd, and, as to her, nothing could have happened worſe. And the Regard I have for his future Happineſs, which coſts me in my conſtant Supplications for him in private, 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 very happy again.

What makes one, my dear Lady, in our moſt proſperous Condition, be always intermingling one's Fears and one's Anxieties of what may be; and by that Means rob one's ſelf of the Prime of one's beſt worldly Injoyments? — Is this Apprehenſiveneſs, does your Ladyſhip think, implanted in our Natures (for I know I am not vapouriſh, nor the only Perſon who is thus conſtituted) for wiſe and good Ends, that we may not think ourſelves ſo happy here, as to make us forget, that there is a better and more per⯑fectly happy State, which we ought to aſpire after? I believe it is: And if ſo, what an uſeful Monitor do we carry about us, that ſhall make us conſider and reflect, when in Proſperity; and in Adverſity teach us to bear up to Hopes of a happier Lot! Thus is it prettily ſaid by a Tranſlator of one of Horace's Odes,

[121]I now come to your Ladyſhip's fourth Parti⯑cular.

And highly delighted I am for having obtained your Approbation of my Conduct to the Child, as well as of my Behaviour to the dear Gentleman on the unhappy Lady's Score. Your Ladyſhip's wiſe Intimations about having the Child with me, make due Impreſſion upon me; and I ſee in them, with grateful Pleaſure, your kind and unmerited Conſider⯑ation 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?

No doubt, Miſs Godfrey loved Virtue, and pre⯑ferred it to all Conſiderations: 'Tis plain ſhe did even after her Fall — when, as I have obſerved in the Pa⯑pers ^* I ſent your Ladyſhip, ſhe could leave Country, Parents, Friends, and the Man of all others ſhe loved beſt, and ſeek a new Fortune, run the Danger of the Seas, and perhaps the Hazards of meeting with worſe Men, rather than truſt to her own Strength, where it had once ſo unhappily failed her. — What a Love of Virtue for Virtue's Sake is this? I know not who could have acted up to this Part of her Character.

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 your Ladyſhip will take as an Inſtance that I would, the chearful Obedience which I pay to your [122] 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, which your Lady⯑ſhip makes me hope for, of your Preſence here: And yet I perplex myſelf with the Fear of appearing ſo unworthy in your Eyes, when near you, as to ſuf⯑fer 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 when⯑ever I ſhall be favoured with a Second, you ſhall have leſs 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 Conſe⯑quence more worthy than I am of the Honour of ſtyling myſelf,

LETTER XXI. From Miſs Darnford. In Anſwer to Mrs. B.'s, p. 106.

YOU are highly obliging to me 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; tho' I had ſecur'd my Mamma in my Intereſt; and I know Nan⯑cy would be glad of my Abſence, becauſe the dear perverſly 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, improv'd by your charming Example and Converſation.

[123]My Papa affects to be in a fearful Pet at your lecturing of him ſo juſtly; for my Mamma would ſhew it him; 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—But the Character of your worthy Gentleman, I doubt, ſtands a little in the Way with my Papa: For he will have it, that he is juſt ſuch a Rake as is to be liked by a Lady; one that ſaves common Appear⯑ances, and that's all; and is too handſome, too witty, and too enterprizing, for any honeſt Man, that's Si Simon's Phraſe, to truſt his Daughter with.

My Mamma pleaded his being marry'd. — Ads⯑dines, Madam, ſaid he, what of all that! What married Man, when a pretty Girl's in the Way, minds his Wife, except ſhe has made him ſtand in Fear of her? and that's far from the Caſe here. Why I tell you, added his peeviſh Highneſs, if our Polly ſhould happen to ſlip, (I thank him for his Suppo⯑ſition) he'd make his Lady nurſe both her and the Baſtard, (another of his polite Expreſſions) if he had a mind to it, and ſhe durſt not refuſe him. And would you truſt ſuch a ſpritely Girl as Polly, in the Houſe with ſuch a Fellow as that?

Theſe, it ſeems, were his Words and Reaſonings: I thank him for his Opinion of his Daughter. It be⯑comes not me to ſay, by what Rules my Papa judges of Mankind; Rules, however, that are not much to the Credit of his Sex: — But it made me put on very grave Airs when I came to Supper, (for after [124] this Repulſe, and the Reaſons given for it, I pre⯑tended Indiſpoſition, not to dine with my Papa, be⯑ing half-vex'd, and half-afraid of his Raillery) and he ſaid, Why, how now, Polly! What! in the Sul⯑lens, Girl? I ſaid, I ſhould have hoped, that I never gave my Papa Cauſe to ſuſpect my Conduct, and that he would have had a better Opinion of the Force which the Example and Precepts of my good Mam⯑ma had upon me.

Not your Papa's Example then. — Very well, Saucebox: I underſtand you.

But, Sir, ſaid I, I hope, if I may not go to Bed⯑fordſhire, 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 inable me to give a better Reaſon to good Mrs. B. why I am not permitted to accept of her kind Invitation, than that which I underſtand you have been pleaſed to aſſign.

He ſtuck his Hands in his Sides, with his uſual hu⯑mourous Poſitiveneſs, Why then tell her, ſhe is a very ſaucy Lady, for her laſt Letter to you; and that 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 Darn⯑ford is diſappointed of one of the greateſt Pleaſures ſhe could have had.

I can't help it. — And if you truly pity me, I can put you in a Way to make me eaſier under the Diſap⯑pointment, than otherwiſe I can poſſibly be; and that is, to favour me with an Epiſtolary Converſa⯑tion, ſince I am deny'd a Perſonal one; and this my Mamma joins to requeſt of you; and particularly, to let us know how Lady Davers's firſt Viſit paſſes; [125] 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 pro⯑mis'd 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 Daugh⯑ters: 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 chuſe which of the two he likes beſt. But be he a Duke, 'tis all one to Polly, if he is not ſome⯑thing above our common Lincolnſhire Claſs of Fox⯑hunters.

I have ſhewn Mr. and Mrs. Peters your Let⯑ter. They admire you beyond Expreſſion; and Mr. Peters ſays, He does not know that ever he did any thing in all his Life, that ever 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 that very Denial, as well as the other Hardſhips you 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 ex⯑cuſable by you, who are ſo exact in your own Duty, as he had the Unhappineſs to loſe ſuch an Opportu⯑nity to have done Honour to his Function, had he had the Fortitude to have done his; and he begg'd of me, ſome how or other, and at ſome time or other, to hint his Concern to you on this Head; and to hope, [126] in his Name, 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, that could ſo eaſily forgive the late wicked, but now peni⯑tent Jewkes, will overlook with Kindneſs a Fault in a good Man, that proceeded more from Puſil⯑lanimity and Conſtitution, than from Want of Prin⯑ciple: And once, talking of it to my Mamma and 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. William'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 be ever ſo! May you always convert your Enemies, confirm the Luke⯑warm, and every Day multiply your Friends, prays,

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. Let me hear from you 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.

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 them be ſo proud and ſo vain of oblig⯑ing and pleaſing you, as to make them not care how they affront 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 to it.

Here I have been plagued with Gouts, Rheuma⯑tiſms, 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 ſlighted, that is, where he moſt loves; and that by young Upſtarts, who are growing up to the In⯑joyment 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, [128] 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 Slut, with an Air of Aſ⯑ſurance, as if ſhe thought all muſt be well the Mo⯑ment ſhe appeared, with, Do you want me, Papa?

Do I want you, Confidence! Yes, I do. Where have you been theſe two Hours, and 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. Why, with a P—x to it, cannot it go and rouſe up ſome ſtupid lethargic Raſcal, whoſe Blood is ready to ſtagnate? There it might do ſome Good; and not make an honeſt Man miſerable, as it does me, who want none of its pungent Helps to Feeling.

She gave me, I ſay, a pert Anſwer, and turn'd upon her Heel; and not coming near me at my firſt Word, I flung a Book I had in my Hand at her Head.

This the ſaucy Slut (Girls now-a-days make no⯑thing of expoſing their indulgent Parents) has men⯑tioned in a Letter to your Lady; and ſhe has abuſed me upon it in ſuch a Manner— Well, if you don't take ſome Courſe with her, I muſt with you, that's poſitive; and young as you are, and a Cripple as I am, I'll ſtump to an appoin [...]ed Place, to procure to myſelf the Satisfaction of a Man of Honour.

Your Lady has written to Polly what ſhe would have ſaid to me on this Occaſion. She has reflected upon me for not reading a Book of Mortification, when I was labouring under ſo great a Senſe of it, [129] and confin'd to my Elbow-Chair in one Room, whom lately half a Dozen Counties could hardly contain: She has put it into Polly's Head to fling this very Book at her Siſter's Head, in Imitation of my Ex⯑ample, and hopes Nancy will fling it at ſomebody's elſe, till it goes all round the Houſe: She reproaches me for making no better Uſe of a good Book, as ſhe calls Rabelais's Pantagruel, which I innocently was reading to make me the more chearfully bear my Misfortune; and runs on a Pack of Stuff about my Polly's Eyes, and Skin, and I don't know what, on Purpoſe to fill the Girl with Notions that don't be⯑long to her, in order to make her proud and ſaucy; and then to inſpire her with Inſolence to me, runs on with Suppoſitions of what Harm I might have done her, had the Book bruiſed her Face, or Eyes, and ſo forth: As if our Daughters Eyes were not our own Eyes, their brazen Faces our brazen Faces; at leaſt till we can find ſomebody to take them, and all the reſt of their Trumpery, off of our Hands. — Saucy Baggages! who have neither Souls nor Senſes, but what they have borrowed from us; and whoſe very Bones, and the Skin that covers them, ſo much their Pride and their Ornament, are ſo many Parts of our own undervalued Skin and Bones; and ours only are more wrinkled, by taking Pains to make theirs ſmooth.

Nay, this fine Lady of yours, this Paragon of Meekneſs and Humility, in ſo many Words, bids me, or tells my own Daughter to bid me, which is worſe, never to take a Book in 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?

[130]Then, pray, Sir, do you allow your Lady to beg Preſents from Gentlemen? — This is a tender Point to touch upon: But you ſhall know all, I am re⯑ſolv'd.—For here ſhe ſends to deſire me to make her a Preſent of this very Book, and promiſes to ſend me another as good.

Come, come, Sir, theſe are no jeſting Matters; for, is it not a ſad thing to think, that Ladies, let them be young or old, well-marry'd or ill-marry'd, cannot live without Intrigue? And here, if I were not a very honeſt Man, and your Friend, and reſolv'd to be a virtuous Man too, in ſpite of Temptation, one does not know what might be the Conſequence of ſuch a Correſpondence as is here begun, or rather deſired to be begun; for I have too much Honour to give into it, for your ſake, and I hope you'll think yourſelf much oblig'd to me. — I know the Time that I have improv'd a more myſterious Hint than this, into all that I had a Mind to make of it. And it may be very happy for you, Neighbour, that I muſt and will be virtuous, let the Temptation be from whom it will: For the fineſt Lady in the World is nothing to me now — in this my Reformed State.

But this is not all: Mrs. B. goes on to reflect upon me for making her bluſh formerly, and ſaying Things before my Daughters, that, truly, I ought to be aſhamed to ſay; and then avows Malice and Re⯑venge, and all that. Why, Sir, 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 con⯑demn the only Inſtances of Wit that remain to this Generation, that dear polite Double Entendre ▪ which keeps alive the Attention, and quickens the Appre⯑henſion of the beſt Companies in the World, and is the Salt, the Sauce, which gives a Poignancy to all our genteeler Entertainments?

[131]Very fine, truly! that more than half the World ſhall be ſhut out of Society, ſhall be precluded their Share of Converſation among the Gay and Polite of both Sexes, were your Lady to have her Will! Let her firſt find People that can ſupport a Converſation with Wit and good Senſe like her own, and then ſomething might be ſaid: But, till then, I poſitively ſay, and will ſwear upon Occaſion, that Double En⯑tendre ſhall not be baniſhed from our Tables; and where this won't raiſe a Bluſh, or create a Laugh, we will be at Liberty, if we pleaſe, for all Mrs. B. and her new-fangled Notions, to force the one and the other by ſtill plainer Hints, and let her help her⯑ſelf 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, the Advances of a married Lady to a Gentleman who is reſolv'd to be virtuous, and the Freedom of Converſation; in all which Points 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

LETTER XXIII. From Mr. B. In Anſwer to the preceding.

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 [132] Gentleman, than I could, that ſhe would have de⯑ſerved 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 your Letter 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, tho' ſhe takes ſuch ſaucy Freedoms with my Friends) away ſhe tripp'd; and I, inquiring for her, when, with Surprize, as you may believe, I had read your Charge, found ſhe was gone to viſit a poor ſick Neighbour, of which indeed ſhe had before appris'd me, becauſe ſhe took the Cha⯑riot; but I had forgot it in my Wrath.

'Twas well for her, that ſhe was not in the Way; perhaps I ſhould have taken more ſevere Methods with her in my firſt Emotions; and I long'd for her Return: And there is another Well-for-her too in her Caſe; for one would be loth to ſpoil a Son and Heir, you know, Sir Simon, before we ſee whether the little Varlet may deſerve one's Conſideration.

I mention theſe Things, that you may obſerve, it was not owing to any Regard for the Offender her⯑ſelf, that I did not puniſh her as much as injur'd Friendſhip requir'd at my Hands.

At laſt, in ſhe came, with that ſweet Compoſure in her Face which reſults from a Conſciouſneſs of doing generally juſt and generous Things; altho' in this In⯑ſtance ſhe has ſo egregiouſly err'd, that it behoves me (as well in Juſtice to my Friend, as Policy to myſelf; for who knows whither firſt Faults may lead, if not checked in time?) to nip ſuch Boldneſs in the Bud. And indeed the Moment I beheld the Charmer of my Heart, (for I do love her too well, that's certain) all my Anger was diſarm'd; and had the Offence re⯑garded myſelf, I muſt have forgiven her, in ſpite of [133] all my meditated Wrath. But it behov'd me in a Friend's Caſe not to be ſoon ſubdu'd by a too partial Fondneſs: 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 over-clouded Aſpect, and her Lips, half-drawn to a Smile, trembled 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.

Dear Sir! good Sir! what's the Matter? what have I done?

We entered. I ſat down, ſtill holding her unſteady Hand, and her Pulſe fluttering under my Finger, like a dying Bird.

'Tis well, ſaid I, 'tis well, your preſent Condition pleads for you; and I muſt not carry what I have to ſay too far, for Conſiderations leſs in your Favour, than for one unſeen: But I have great Complaints againſt you.

Againſt me, Sir! — What have I done? Let me know, dear 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.

Pray let me, Sir! — This Cloſet, I hoped, would not be a ſecond Time Witneſs to the Flutter you put me in.

There hangs a Tale, Sir Simon, that I am not very fond of relating, ſince it gave Beginning to the Triumphs of this ^* little Sorcereſs.

[134]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 know my Fault! I will repent, acknowlege and amend: Let me but know it.

You muſt have great Preſence of Mind, Pamela, reply'd I, 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 Mr. B. hide this guilty Face, while I hear my Fault told; and I will not ſeek to extenuate it, but by my Tears, and my Penitence.

I could hardly hold out. What infatuating Crea⯑tures are theſe Women, when they can think it thus worth their while to ſooth 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 Behavi⯑our; nay, I believe I did, unawares to myſelf, and in Defiance of my reſolv'd Diſpleaſure, preſs her Fore⯑head with my Lips, as the reſt of her Face was hid on my Breaſt: But, conſidering it was the Cauſe of my Friend that 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 trem⯑bling Miſchief, in a Pomp of Style theatrically tra⯑gick:

[135]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 Fa⯑vour, when otherwiſe you might expect a 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, com⯑plaining 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 Hu [...]band, 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 Heav'n! ſaid ſhe, it is no worſe!—I was at my Wits 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 ſeem'd 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 wor⯑thy 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 [136] 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 Oc⯑caſion 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 re⯑turn inſtantly to hear your Anſwer to it. So I went from her, for a few Minutes.

But, would you believe it, Sir Simon? ſhe ſeem'd, 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 might have expected, 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 Anger. Upon which, being determin'd to have Juſtice done to my Friend, and a due Senſe of her own great Error im⯑preſs'd upon her, I began thus:

Pamela, Pamela, take heed, that you do not ſuffer the Purity of your own Mind, in Breach of your Cha⯑rity, to make you too rigorous a Cenſurer of other Peoples Actions: Don't be ſo puff'd 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 Gen⯑tleman 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: You ſee, he ſays himſelf, that he muſt, and therefore he will, be virtuous: And is a Man for ever to hear of the Faults of his Youth, when he himſelf is ſo willing to forget them?

[137]Ah! but, Sir, Sir, ſaid the bold Slut, can you ſay he is willing to forget them?—Does he not repine here 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, dear Sir, before his Maiden Daughters! before 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, continu'd the bold Prattler, (taking Advantage of a Silence that was more owing to Diſ⯑pleaſure than Approbation) let me, for I would not be 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 reform'd Gentleman? Don't you ſee the Delight he takes, when he ſpeaks of his former Pranks, as if he was ſorry he could not play them over again? See but how he ſimpers, and injoys, as one may ſay, the Relations of his own rakiſh Actions, when he tells a bad Story!—And have you not ſeen how often he has been forced to take his Handker⯑chief to wipe the Outſide of his Mouth, tho' the Inſide wanted it moſt, when he has wounded a Lady's Ears, and turn'd, as it were, his own faulty Heart inſide out?—Indeed, Sir, I am afraid, ſo bad in this way is your worthy Neighbour, that he would ac⯑count it a Diſgrace to him to be thought reform'd: And how then can I abuſe the Gentleman, by repre⯑ſenting him in a Light in which he loves to be con⯑ſidered?

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?

[138]O Sir! the good Gentleman himſelf has taken care, that ſuch a Character as I preſum'd to draw to Miſs of her Papa, was no ſtrange one to her. You have ſeen yourſelf, Mr. B. whenever his arch Leers, and the humourous Attitude in which he puts himſelf on thoſe Occaſions, have taught us to expect ſome ſhocking Story, how his Lady and Daughters (us'd to him, as they are) have ſuffer'd in their Apprehen⯑ſions of what he would ſay, before he ſpoke it: How, particularly, dear Miſs Darnford has look'd 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, continu'd ſhe; but is it not a fine Sight, do you think, to ſee a Gentleman, as we have more than once ſeen Sir Simon, when he has thought proper to read a Paſſage or ſo, in ſome bad Book, pulling off his Spectacles, to talk filthily? 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, while he is making obſcene Remarks upon what he has read.—

And then the dear Saucyface laugh'd 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 make, on two or three Occaſions of this ſort, with his diſ⯑mounted Spectacles, his arch Mouth, and Gums of ſhining Jet, ſucceeding thoſe of poliſh'd 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 Fel⯑low, it was always a Maxim with me, to endeavour [139] to touch a Lady's Heart without wounding her Ears. And, indeed, I found my Account ſometimes in ob⯑ſerving it.

But, reſuming my Gravity, Huſſy, ſaid I, do you think I will have my old Friend thus made the Sub⯑ject of your Ridicule?—Suppoſe a Challenge ſhould have enſu'd between us on your Account—What might have been the Iſſue of it? To ſee an old Gen⯑tleman, ſtumping, as he ſays, on Crutches, to fight a Duel in Defence of his wounded Honour! A pretty Sight this would have afforded, would it not? And what (had any one met him on the Way) could he have ſaid he was going to do? Don't you conſi⯑der, that a Man is anſwerable for the Faults of his Wife? And, if my Fondneſs for you would have made me deny doing Juſtice to my Friend, and, on the contrary, to reſolve in your behalf to give him a Meeting, and he had flung his Crutch at my Head, as he did the Book at his Daughter's, what might have been the Conſequence, think you?

Very bad, Sir, ſaid ſhe, to be ſure; I ſee that and am ſorry for it: For had you carry'd off Sir Simon's Crutch as a Trophy, the poor Gentleman muſt have lain ſighing and groaning, like a wounded Soldier in the Field of Battle, till another had been brought him, to have ſtump'd home with.

But, dear Sir Simon, I have brought this Matter to an Iſſue, that will, I hope, make all eaſy: And that is this—Miſs Polly, and my Pamela, ſhall both be puniſh'd as they deſerve, if it be not your own Fault. I am told, that the Sins of your Youth don't fit ſo heavily upon your Limbs, as they do 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 Crimi⯑nal to mine; and when we have them together, they [140] ſhall humble themſelves before us, and it ſhall be in your Power to 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 acknowleged with great Gra⯑titude, by, Dear Sir,

LETTER XXIV. From Sir SIMON DARNFORD, in Reply.

HARK ye me, 'Squire B.—A Word in your Ear!—I like neither you, nor your Wife, to be plain with you, well enough to truſt my Polly with you. What! you are to ſhew her, in your Lady's Caſe, all the Game of a Lying-in, I ſuppoſe; and, at leaſt, ſet the Girl a longing to make one in the Dance, before I have found out the proper Man for her Partner!

But here's War declar'd 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 us'd to inſpire Love and Terror as it pleas'd.—And here your—What-ſhall-I-call-her of a Wife, with all the Inſolence of Youth [141] 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-humour'd old Fellow—if I am an old Fellow—or I ſhould not bear the Inſults con⯑tain'd in your Letter. Between you and your Lady, you make a wretched Figure of me, that's certain— And yet, 'tis taking my Part, with a P—x to you, Mr. B. I would have ſaid; but on your Lady's Ac⯑count—You ſee I have as much more Charity than her, as ſhe has Purity than me; or I ſhould not have put in that Saving Clauſe in her Behalf.

Diſmounted Spectacles, arch Mouth, Gums of ſhining Jet, and ſuch-like fine Deſcriptions, are theſe yours, or your Lady's? I'd be glad to know that, Mr. B.—

Well but, What a D—l muſt a Man 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 and Libertine unreform'd by her Example, which I ſup⯑poſe will make Virtue the Faſhion, if ſhe goes on at the Rate ſhe does. But here I have been us'd to cut a Joke, and toſs the Squib about; and, as far as I know, it has help'd 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 at⯑tend on advanced Years; for I won't (hang me if I will) give it up as abſolute Old-age!—

I love, I own it, to make a pretty Woman bluſh; it is double-damasking a fine Roſe, as it were; and till I ſaw your—[Do, let me call her ſome free Name or other! I always lov'd to be free with pretty Women! Till I ſaw your—Methinks I like her Arcadian Name, tho' I'm ſo old a Swain, as not to merit any thing but Rebuke at her Hands — Well then, till I ſaw your]— Pamela — I thought all Ladies, in their Hearts, lov'd a little Squib of that kind. For why ſhould they not, when it adds ſo [142] much Grace to their Features, and improves their native Charms?—And often have I toſs'd the Joke about, as much, in my Intention, to oblige them as myſelf.—Yet no one can ſay, but that I always wrapt it up in clean Linen, as the Saying is—Only ſuiting myſelf to my Company, till I had made the dear Rogues ſenſible, and ſhew they could apprehend.

But now, it ſeems, I muſt leave all this off, or I muſt be mortify'd with a Looking-glaſs held before me, and every Wrinkle muſt be made as conſpicuous as a Cable-rope.—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, farewel, 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?

I beſeech you, Mr. B.'s Pamela, ſtick me into ſome Poſy among your finer Flowers — And if you won't put me in your Boſom, let me ſtand in ſome gay Flower-pot in your Chimney Corner: I may ſerve for Shew, if not for Smell. Or, let me be the Baſs in your Muſick, or permit my humour⯑ous Humdrum to ſerve as a pardonable kind of Diſcord to ſet off your own Harmony.—I verily think, I cannot be ſo good as you'd have me to be: So pray let your poor Anacreon go off with what he loves. It will be very cruel, if you won't.

Well but, after all, 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) [143] tho' '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 Settle⯑ments in his Hands, 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; tho' I tell her I much queſtion the former Quality, his Wit, if he is for marrying.—And would you have her be at⯑tending your Wife's Nurſery, when ſhe may poſſibly be put in a Way to have a Raree-ſhew of her own?

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 (for the Devil's in you, if you'd attempt to abuſe ſuch a generous Confidence) —As to the Superiority of Beauty in your own Lady, I depend nothing on that, with you young Fellows, to whom Variety has generally greater Charms.

Now, when I have ſaid this, and when I ſay fur⯑ther, that I can forgive your ſevere Lady, and your⯑ſelf too, (who, however, are leſs to be excus'd in the Airs you aſſume, which looks like one Chimney-ſweeper calling another ſooty Raſcal) I give a Proof of my Charity, which I hope with Mrs. B. will co⯑ver a Multitude of Faults; and the rather, ſince, tho' 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

LETTER XXV.

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 neither 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 view'd ſo intimately near, behave myſelf an⯑ſwerably to her Ladyſhip's Expectations. But this I reſolve upon, I will not endeavour to move out of the Sphere of my own Capacity, in order to emulate her Ladyſhip. She has, and muſt have, Advan⯑tages, 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; that ſo her Ladyſhip may not have Rea⯑ſon to reproach me of Pride in my Exaltation, nor her dear Brother to rebuke me for Meanneſs in con⯑deſcending: And, as to my Family Management, I am the leſs afraid of Inſpection, becauſe by the natural Byaſs of my own Mind, I bleſs God, I am above dark Reſerves, and have not one ſelfiſh or ſor⯑did View, that ſhould make me wiſh to avoid the moſt ſcrutinizing Eye.

I have begun a Correſpondence with Miſs Darn⯑ford, a young Lady of uncommon Merit. But you know her Character from my former Writings. She is very ſolicitous to hear of every thing that concerns [145] 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 Bene⯑volence and ſolid Thought, I ever knew in a young Lady, and knows not what it is to 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 Miſs, as I hope to do, the Return of my Letters to her, for your Peruſal, and 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 dear, 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 gave me great Pleaſure, on his laſt Return from you, 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, that, I dare ſay, will pleaſe you as much as it did me.

After he had been adjuſting ſome Affairs with his dear Principal, which took them up two Hours, my beſt Beloved ſent for me.—My Dear, ſaid he, take⯑ing my Hand, and ſeating me down 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 Per⯑ſons. But never was an exacter or more methodical [146] Accomptant than Mr. Longman: 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 ſweet 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 endeavour'd before Mr. Longman to rein in a Gratitude, that my throbbing Heart confeſſed thro' my Handkerchief, as I could perceive: But the good old Gentleman could not hinder his from ſhewiug it⯑ſelf at his worthy Eyes, to ſee how much I was fa⯑vour'd — oppreſs'd, I ſhould ſay, with the deareſt Gentleman's tender Goodneſs to me, and kind Ex⯑preſſions.—Excuſe me, Sir, excuſe me, Madam, ſaid he, wiping his Cheeks: My Delight to ſee ſuch Merit ſo juſtly rewarded, will not be contained, I think.— And ſo he got up, 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 in⯑deed! And a worthier Couple never lived, I aſſure you. Moſt nobly do they go on, in the Farm. Your Honour's 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 pro⯑ſpers under his Management: The Gentry love both [147] him and my Dame; and the poor People adore them. Indeed they do a Pow'r of Good, in viſiting their poor Neighbours, and giving them Cordials, and ſuch-like; inſomuch that Colicks, Agues, and twenty Diſtempers, nipp'd in the Bud, fly before them. So that I reckon the Doctors will ſoon be the only Enemies they have in the World: For, in a while, there will be no Occaſion for one within ten Miles of their Habitation.

In this manner ran on Mr. Longman, to my inex⯑preſſible 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 Gentleman makes me ſpring to his Arms, whenever he touches this String: For he ſpeaks al⯑ways thus generouſly and kindly of you; and is glad to hear, he ſays, that you don't live only to your⯑ſelves: And now-and-then adds, That your Prudence and mine do more Credit to his Choice, than might have been done him by an Alliance with the firſt Quality: Since every Mouth, he is pleaſed to ſay, is full of our Merits. How pleaſing, how tranſport⯑ing 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 carry us to London; and as I ſhall then be nearer to you, we may more frequently hear from one another, which, to be ſure, will be a great Heightening to my Pleaſures.

But I have ſuch an Account given me of the Im⯑moralities to which Perſons are expoſed there, along [148] with the publick 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 at London, that thoſe Enormities are heard of without the leaſt Wonder or Surprize.

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

LETTER XXVI.

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 any ſuch Matter, 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, tho' the Good we hope from them is not ſmall perhaps: And if a very diſtreſsful Caſe ſhould happen among our poor Neighbours, that would require any thing con⯑ſiderable, and the Objects be deſerving, we would acquaint you with it, and leave it to you to do as God ſhall direct you.

But this, indeed, we have done, and continue to do: We have furniſhed ourſelves with ſimple Wa⯑ters [149] and Cordials of ſeveral Sorts; and when in a hot ſultry Day, I ſee poor labouring Creatures ready to faint and drop down, if they are only fatigued, I order them a Mouthful of Bread or ſo, and a Cup of good Ale or Beer, and this makes them go about their Buſineſs with new Spirits; and when they bleſs me for it, I tell them they muſt bleſs the good 'Squire, from whoſe Bounty, next to God, it all pro⯑ceeds. If any are ill, I give them a Cordial; and we have been the Means of ſetting up ſeveral poor Creatures who have labour'd under Colicky and Aguiſh Diſorders, or have been taken with ſlight Stomach Ailments. And nothing is loſt by it, my dear Child; for poor People have as grateful Souls as any body; and it would delight your dear Heart to ſee how many drooping Spirits we have raiſed, and how, in an Hour or two, ſome of them, after a little cordial Refreſhment, from languiſhing under an Hedge, or behind a Hay-ſtack, have skipped about, as nimble as Deer, whiſtling and ſinging, and purſu⯑ing with Alacrity their ſeveral Imployments; and inſtead of curſing and ſwearing, as is the Manner of ſome wicked Wretches, nothing but Bleſſings and Praiſes poured out of their glad Hearts upon his Honour and you; calling me their Father and Friend, and telling me, they will live and die for me, and my Wife; and that we ſhall never want an induſtri⯑ous Servant to do his Honour's Buſineſs, or to cul⯑tivate the Farm I am bleſſed in. And in like ſort, we communicate to our ſick or wanting Neighbours, even altho' they be not Tenants to the Eſtate.

Come, my dear Child, you are happy, very happy, to be ſure you are; and, if it can be, may you be yet happier and happier! But ſtill I verily think you cannot be more happy than your Father and Mother, except in this one thing, That all our Happineſs, un⯑der God, proceeds from you; and, as other Parents [150] bleſs their Children with Plenty and Benefits, you have bleſs'd your Parents (or your honoured Husband rather for your ſake) with all the good Things this World can afford.

The Papers you ſend us 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 no⯑body comes up to you: And you make our Hearts and our Eyes ſo often overflow, as we read, that we join Hand in Hand together, and I ſay to her, Bleſſed be God, and bleſſed be you, my Dear; and ſhe in the ſame Breath, Bleſſed be God, and 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 bleſſing you, and bleſſing your Spouſe, and bleſſing ourſelves! — Is any Happineſs like our Happineſs, my dear Daughter!

Really and indeed, we are ſo inraptur'd with your Writings, that when our Spirits flag, thro' the Infir⯑mity of Years, that have 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, altho' it be on a Sunday, ſo good are your Letters; and, you muſt know, I have Copies [151] of a many of them: And after a little while, we are as much alive and brisk, as if we had had no Flag⯑ging 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 oppreſ⯑ſing 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 to me, and the Notice ſhe took 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!—to be ſure I never ſhall. — 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 how ſhall I end? And yet, what ſhall I ſay more? — Only, with my Prayers, that God will continue to you the Bleſſings and Comforts you are in Poſſeſſion of! — And pray now, be not over⯑thoughtful about what may happen at 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, my dear Child, 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 rejoice? [152] 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! who can bleſs 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 ex⯑celled them all.

I will only add, that every thing the 'Squire or⯑der'd 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 over⯑flowing Hearts of

LETTER XXVII.

THE Intereſt I take in every thing that concerns you, makes me very importunate to know how you approve the Gentleman, whom ſome of his 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 un⯑married Gentlemen in England.

Your Papa, in his humourous Manner, mentions his large Poſſeſſions and Riches: But, indeed, were he as rich as Croeſus, he ſhould not have my Conſent, if he has no greater Merit; tho' that is what the Ge⯑nerality of Parents look out for firſt: And indeed an eaſy Fortune is ſo far from being diſregardable, that, when attended with equal Merit, I think it ought to have a Preference given to it, ſuppoſing Affections [153] diſingaged. For 'tis certain, that a Gentleman or Lady may ſtand as good a Chance for Happineſs in Mar⯑riage 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 Ne⯑glect 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 one thing, my dear Miſs, to ſay; and that is, that I think myſelf ſo in⯑tirely 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 Opi⯑nion of general Rules. For, moſt ſurely, the Ho⯑nours I have received, and the Debaſement to which my beſt Friend has ſubjected himſelf, have, for their principal Excuſe, that the Gentleman was intirely inde⯑pendent, had no Queſtions to ask, and had a Fortune ſufficient to make himſelf, as well as the Perſon he choſe, happy, tho' ſhe brought him nothing at all; and that he had, moreover, ſuch a Character for good Senſe, and Knowlege 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 fre⯑quently, and, I will ſay, ſo wickedly, try'd, and could not ſubdue.

But why do I thus run on to Miſs Darnford, whoſe partial Friendſhip attributes to me Merits I cannot claim? I will, therefore, quit this Subject, as a [154] needleſs one to her, and proceed to what was prin⯑cipally in my View, when I began to write; and that is, to complain of your Papa, who has, let me ſay it, done his Endeavour to ſet at Variance a Gen⯑tleman and his Wife.

I will not enter into the Particulars, becauſe the Appeal is to Caeſar, and it would look like invading his Prerogative, to take it into my own Hands. But I can tell Sir Simon, that he is the only Gentleman, I hope, who, when a young Perſon of my Sex asked him to make her a Preſent of a Book, would put ſuch a miſchievous Turn as he has done upon it, to her Husband!—Indeed, from the Beginning, I had Rea⯑ſon to call him a ^* Tell-tale—But, no more of that—Yet I muſt ſay, I had rather he ſhould have flung this Book at my Head too, than to have made a ſo much worſe Uſe of it. But I came off toler⯑ably, no Thanks to Sir Simon, however!—And but tolerably neither: For, my dear Mr. B. kept me in Suſpenſe a good while, and put me in great Flutters, before he let me into the Matter.

But I was very much concerned, my dear Miſs, at firſt, till you gave a Reaſon I better liked after⯑wards, for Sir Simon's denying your Company to me, after I had obtain'd the Favour of your Mamma's Conſent, and you were kindly inclin'd yourſelf to oblige me: And that was, that Sir Simon had a bad Opinion of the Honour of my dear Mr. B. For, as to that Part of his Doubt, which reflected Diſ⯑honour upon his dear Daughter, it was all but the Effect of his ſtrange free Humour, on purpoſe to vex you.

That Gentleman muſt be the moſt abandon'd of Men, who would attempt any thing againſt the Vir⯑tue of a Lady intruſted to his Protection: And I am [155] grieved, methinks, that the dear Gentleman, who is the better Part of myſelf, and has, to his own De⯑baſement, acted ſo honourably by me, ſhould be thought capable of ſo much Vileneſs. But forgive me, Miſs; it is only Sir Simon, I dare ſay, who could think ſo hardly of him: And I am in great Hope, for the Honour of the preſent Age, (quite contrary to the Aſperſion, that every Age grows worſe and worſe) that the laſt, if it produc'd People ca⯑pable of ſuch Attempts, was wickeder than this.

Bad as my dear Mr. B.'s Deſigns and Attempts were upon me, I can, now I am ſet above fearing them, and am inabled to reflect upon them with leſs Terror and Apprehenſion, be earneſt, for his own dear ſake, to think him not, even then, the worſt of Men, tho' bad enough in all Conſcience: For have we not heard of thoſe that have had no Remorſe or Compunction at all, and have actually executed all their vile Purpoſes, when a poor Crea⯑ture was in their Power?—Yet (indeed, after ſore Trials, that's true!) did not God turn his Heart? And altho' I was ſtill helpleſs, and without any Friend in the World, and in the Hands of a poor vile Wo⯑man, who, to be ſure, was worſe than he, provoking him to ruin me, and ſo wholly in his Power, that I durſt not diſobey him, whether he bid me come to him, or be gone from him, as he was pleaſed, or diſ⯑pleaſed with me; yet, I ſay, for all this, did he not overcome his criminal Paſſion, and entertain an ho⯑nourable one, tho' to his poor Servant Girl; and brave the World, and the World's Cenſures, and marry me?

And does not this ſhew, that the Seeds of Honour were kept alive in his Heart, tho' choaked or kept from ſprouting forth, for a Time, by the Weeds of Senſuality, Pride, and youthful Impetuoſity? And by cutting down the latter, have not the former [156] taken Root, have they not ſhot out, and, in their turn, kept down at leaſt, the depreſſed Weeds? And who now lives more virtuouſly than Mr. B.?

Let me tell you, my dear Miſs, that I have not heard of many Inſtances of Gentlemen, who, having deſigned vilely, have ſtopt ſhort, and acted ſo ho⯑nourably; and who continue to act ſo nobly: And I have great Confidence, that he will, in time, be as pious, as he is now moral; for tho' he has a few bad No⯑tions, which he talks of now-and-then, as Polygamy, and ſuch-like, which indeed give me a little ſerious Thought ſometimes, becauſe a Man is too apt to practiſe what he has perſuaded himſelf to believe is no Crime; yet, I hope, they are owing more to the Livelineſs of his Wit, (a wild Quality, which does not always confine itſelf to proper Exerciſes) than to his Judgment. And if I can but ſee the firſt three or four Months Reſidence over in that wicked Lon⯑don, (which, they ſay, is ſo ſeducing a Place) without adding to my Apprehenſions, how happy ſhall I be!

So much, ſlightly, have I thought proper to ſay in behalf of my dear Mr. B. For a good Wife can⯑not but hope for a ſweeter and more elevated Com⯑panionſhip, (if her preſumptuous Heart makes her look upward with Hope herſelf) than this tranſitory State can afford us. And what a ſad Caſe is hers, who being as exemplary as human Frailty will per⯑mit her to be, looks forward upon the Partner of her adverſe and of her proſperous Eſtate, the Husband of her Boſom, the Father of her Children, the Head of her Family, as a poor unhappy Soul, de⯑ſtin'd to a ſeparate and a miſerable Exiſtence for ever!—O my dear Miſs!—How can ſuch a Thought be ſupportable!—But what high Conſolation, what Tranſport rather, at times, muſt hers be, who ſhall be bleſs'd with the Hope of being an humble In⯑ſtrument to reclaim ſuch a dear, dear, thrice dear [157] Partner!— And that, Heart in Heart, and Hand in Hand, they ſhall one Day iſſue forth from this in⯑cumbred State into a bleſſed Eternity, benefited by each other's Example—I will lay down my Pen, and injoy the rich Thought for a few Moments!

Now, my dear Miſs, let me, as a Subject very pleaſing to me, touch upon your kind Mention of the worthy Mr. Peters's Sentiments in relation to that Part of his Conduct to me, which (oppreſs'd by the Terrors and Apprehenſions to which I was ſubjected) once indeed I cenſured; and ſo much the readier, as I had ever 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 a Cauſe of Stum⯑bling to ſo worthy a Heart! To be ſure, a Gentle⯑man, who knows ſo well, and practiſes ſo well, his Duty, in every other Inſtance, and preaches it ſo efficaciouſly to others, muſt have been one Day ſen⯑ſible, that it would not have misbecome his Function and Character to have afforded that Protection to op⯑preſſed 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 Name-ſake, 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 carry'd off by her Maſter, a young Gentleman of violent and lawleſs Paſſions; who, in this very In⯑ſtance, [158] ſhew'd how much in Earneſt he was ſet upon effecting all his vile Purpoſes; and whoſe Heart altho' God might touch, it was not probable any leſſer Influence could.

Then he was not ſure, that tho' he might aſſiſt my Eſcape, I might not afterwards fall again into the Hands of ſo determin'd a Violator; and that Diffi⯑culty would not, with ſuch an one, inhance his Reſo⯑lution to overcome all Obſtacles.

Moreover, he might think, that the Perſon, who was moving him to this worthy Meaſure, might poſſibly be ſeeking to gratify a View of his own; and that while he was endeavouring to ſave, to outwatd Appearance, a Virtue in Danger, he was, in reality, only helping (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) another to a Wife; for ſuch was his ^* Apprehen⯑ſion, groundleſs, intirely groundleſs as it was, tho' not improbable, as it might ſeem to him.

Then again, the ſad Examples ſet by too many European Sovereigns, in whom the Royal and Prieſtly Offices are united (for are not Kings the Lord's Anointed?); and the little Scruple which many Perſons, Right Reverend by their Functions and Characters, too generally make, to pay ſordid Court and Viſits (far from bearing their Teſtimony againſt ſuch Practices) even to Concubines, who have In⯑tereſt to promote them^†, are no ſmall Diſcourage⯑ments to a private Clergyman, to do his Duty, and to make himſelf Enemies among his powerful Neigh⯑bours, for the Cauſe of Virtue. And eſpecially (forgive me, dear Sir Simon Darnford, if you ſhould [159] ſee this) when an eminent Magiſtrate, one of the principal Gentlemen of the County, of an indepen⯑dent Fortune, who had fine young Ladies to his Daughters, (who had nothing but their ſuperior Conditions, not their Sex, to exempt them from like Attempts) a Juſtice of Peace, and of the Quo⯑rum; refuſed to BE a ^* Juſtice, tho' ſuch a Breach of the Peace was made, and ſuch a Violation of Morals plainly intended. This, I ſay, muſt add to the Diſcouragement of a Gentleman a little too diffi⯑dent and timorous of himſelf: And who having no one to ſecond him, had he afforded me his Protec⯑tion, muſt have ſtood alone in the Gap, and made to himſelf, in an active Gentleman, an Enemy who had a thouſand deſirable Qualities to make one wiſh him for a Friend.

For all theſe Conſiderations, I think my ſelf obliged to pity, rather than too rigorouſly to cenſure, the worthy Gentleman. And I muſt and will always reſpect him: And thank him a thouſand times, my dear Miſs, in my Name, for his Goodneſs, in con⯑deſcending to acknowlege, by your dear 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 burning and ſhining Lights to the World; ſince ſo much depends on their Miniſtry and Examples, as well with reſpect to our publick 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 [160] generally the Indication of an uncharitable, and per⯑haps 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 in⯑ſtructed to amend.

Forgive, my dear Miſs, 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! my dear Miſs, 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 Ser⯑vant!

This, my dear Miſs, 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 Si⯑mon ſays, with the Words Slave, Servant, Admirer, continually at their Tongues Ends.

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, tho' not her Lips, if ſhe likes him. And ſo they go to Church together: And, in [161] Concluſion, it will be happy, if theſe obſequious Courtſhips end no worſe than my frightful one.

But I am convinc'd, 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 as happy as I now am, notwithſtanding all that's paſt, wiſhes and prays

N. B. Altho' 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.

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 Acknowlegements for your favourable Opinion of him, and kind Allowances. If there be an Angel on Earth, he ſays you are one. My Papa, altho' he has ſeen your ſtinging Reflection upon his Refuſal to pro⯑tect 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 he was wrong to deny you his Protection.

[162]We are pleas'd with your Apology for Mr. B. 'Tis ſo much the Part of a good Wife to extenuate her Husband's Faults, and make the beſt of his bad Qualities, in order to give the World a good Opi⯑nion of him; that, together with the affecting In⯑ſtances of your Humility, in looking back with ſo much true Greatneſs of Mind, to what you were, make us all join to admire you, and own, that no⯑body can deſerve what you deſerve.

Yet I am ſorry, my dear Friend, to find, notwith⯑ſtanding your Defence of Mr. B. that you have any Apprehenſions about London. 'Tis pity any thing ſhould give you Concern. As to Mr. B.'s talking in Favour of Polygamy, you cannot expect, that he can ſhake off all his bad Notions at once. And it muſt be a great Comfort to you, that his Actions do not correſpond, and that his Liberties have been reduced to Notions only. In time, we hope that he will be every thing you wiſh him. If not, with ſuch an Example before him, he will be the more culpable.

We all ſmiled at the Deſcription of your own un⯑common 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 pity'd you. But as the one were Days of Trial and Temptation, the other 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 [163] 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-natur'd Girl; but would make a good Wife, I hope; and I fanſy 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 a pretty Complaiſance: He is well vers'd in Country Sports; and my Papa loves him for that too, and ſays, He is a moſt accompliſh'd Gentle⯑man: Yes, cry I, as Gentlemen go—You muſt be ſaucy, ſays Sir Simon, and when a Partrige is put on your Plate, ſnuff up your Noſe at it, when, were you kept a little hungry, you'd have leapt at a coarſer Bird.

I know ſome Gentlemens Partriges, Sir, cry'd I, no better than rank Wigeons, and far ſhort of a Stub⯑ble Gooſe. He call'd me one of his free Names.

But I have broken my Mind to my dear, my indul⯑gent 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 marry'd, unleſs ſuch an one offer'd, as I never expect.

I have great Hope, the Gentleman will be eaſily perſuaded to quit me for Nancy; for I ſee he has not Delicacy enough to love with any great Diſtin⯑ction. He ſays, as my Mamma tells me by the bye, that I am the handſomeſt and beſt humour'd; 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 much queſtion, any body may think ſo ſtill much more; for I have been far from taking [164] Pains to ingage 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 for⯑ward 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 3000 l. Fortune more than I am likely to have ^*, will give her the wiſh'd-for Pre⯑ference 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 Sub⯑ject 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 Corre⯑ſpondence: Which will be always eſteemed, as it deſerves, by, my dear Mrs. B.

Mrs. Peters, Mrs. Jones, my Papa, Mamma, and Siſter, preſent their due 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.

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 wri [...]e what paſſes between us: I will not ſay worthy of Notice; for were I to do ſo, I ſhould be more brief, perhaps, by much, than you ſeem to ex⯑pect. 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 In⯑ſcription or Subſcription; but ſend it as I have Op⯑portunity: 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 further for Apologies on that ſcore, but this one for all.

If you think it worth while, when they have read it, you ſhall have it again.

LETTER XXX. Thurſday Morning, Six o'Clock.

OUR Breakfaſt Converſation Yeſterday, (at which only Mrs. Worden, my Lady's Wo⯑man, and my Polly attended) was ſo whimſically particular, (tho' I doubt ſome of it, at leaſt, will appear too trifling) that I cannot help acquainting 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, that 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 tells me, 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, tho' 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 In⯑ſtance.

[178]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 Lord⯑ſhip 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 or other, ſaid he, be allow'd to chuſe my own Words and Phraſes, I hope: Your Siſter, Mr. B. added he, often queſtions whether I am at Age or not, tho' the Houſe of Peers made no Scruple of admit⯑ting 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 overlooks all her ſaucy Sallies. I am ſure, when you took her out of our Family into your own, we all thought ourſelves 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-humour'd, and obliging to every body, till your Impudence came from College, and from your Travels; and then, I own, your pro⯑voking 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, altho' 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 Par⯑don; for this Brother will make Miſchief betwixt [179] us, if he can. — I only took Notice of the Word Siſter ſo often us'd, which looked more like Affecta⯑tion 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 Epithet, that I call her ſo for us both.

Your Lordſhip ſays well, rejoin'd my dear 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 of a proud Lady, to ſpeak in her own Dialect, comes as hard and as difficult, as a Favour from the Houſe of Auſtria to the petty Princes of Germany. The ſecond, Be⯑cauſe of your Sex, (excuſe me, my Lady Counteſs) who having once made Scruples, think it inconſiſt⯑ent with themſelves to be over-haſty to alter their own Conduct, chuſing rather to perſiſt in an Error, than own it to be one.

This proceeded from the dear Gentleman's Impa⯑tience 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 Ear⯑neſt, and yet ſo ſatirical upon each other in Jeſt, as my good Lady and Mr. B. But your Lordſhip knows their Way.

My Lady frown'd at her Brother, but turn'd it off with an Air: I love the Miſtreſs of this Houſe, ſaid ſhe, very well; and am quite reconcil'd to her: But [180] methinks there is ſuch a hiſſing Sound in the Word Siſter, that I cannot abide it. 'Tis a true Engliſh Word, and 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 had;—and that was, Miſ-ſ-ſ-treſs, with two other hiſſing Words to ac⯑company it, of this-s-s Houſ-ſ-ſ-e: But what childiſh Follies does not Pride make one ſtoop to! Excuſe, my Lady, (to the Counteſs) ſuch poor low Con⯑verſation 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 pleas'd, reply'd her Brother, ſmiling, when Lady Davers acts up to her own Character, and the good Senſe ſhe is Miſtreſs of.

Ay, ay, return'd ſhe, 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 tho' I call you Pamela, and Pamela, as I pleaſe, I do aſſure you, I love you as well as if I called you Siſter, 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 [181] I'll loſe no Opportunity that ſhall be afforded me, to ſhew 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 my dear Mr. B. how good they can be, when they reflect a little on what becomes their Characters!

So then, ſaid 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.

Why, you ſaucy Siſter, ſaid he, excuſe me, Lord Davers, what Merit would you have? 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 waſt, return'd 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 Topick, and none but Friends about us, I am reſolved to be even with thee, Brother. Jackey, if you are not for another Diſh, I wiſh you'd with⯑draw. Polly Barlow, we don't want you. Beck, you may ſtay. Mr. H. obey'd; and Polly went out: For you muſt know, Miſs, that my Lady Da⯑vers will have none of the Men-Fellows, as ſhe [182] calls them, to attend upon us at Tea. And I can⯑not ſay but I think her intirely in the right, for ſeve⯑ral Reaſons that might be given.

When they were withdrawn, my Lady repeated, Now we are upon this Topick 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 always was noted to be? As to the other vile Crea⯑ture Jewkes, 'tis leſs Wonder, altho' 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.

The dear Gentleman ſeemed a little diſconcerted, and ſaid, Surely, ſurely, Lady Davers, this is going too far! Look at Pamela's bluſhing Face, and down⯑caſt Eye, and wonder at yourſelf for this Queſtion as much as you do at me for the Actions 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 has come in ſo na⯑turally, I muſt ſay, Mr. B. that we have all, and my Daughters too, wonder'd at this, more than any Part of your Attempts; becauſe, Sir, we thought you one of the moſt civiliz'd Gentlemen in England, and that you could not but wiſh to have ſaved Ap⯑pearances a little.

Tho' this, ſaid Mr. B. 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.

[183]Nay, ſaid Lady Davers, you know the Queſtion; I cannot put it ſtronger.

That's very true, reply'd he. — But what would you have me ſay? Do 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 of⯑fended, 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: Tho' I ought to be aſham'd 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 I had; and I'll read it to you; or, rather, you ſhall read it yourſelf, Boldface! if you can.

So ſhe pulled thoſe Leaves out of her Pocket, wrapp'd 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 ſome⯑thing that will abate the Heinouſneſs of this heavy [184] Charge, or elſe I ſhould not ſtand thus at the inſo⯑lent Bar of my Siſter, anſwering her Interrogatories.

I ſend you, my dear Miſs, a Tranſcript of the Charge, as follows: — To be ſure, you'll ſay, he was a very wicked Gentleman.

Mr. B. read this to himſelf, and ſaid, This is a dark Affair, as it is here ſtated; and I can't ſay, but Pamela, and Mrs. Jervis too, had a great deal of Reaſon to apprehend the worſt: But ſurely Readers of it, who were leſs Parties in the ſuppoſed Attempt, and who were not determined at all Events to con⯑demn me, might have made a more favourable Con⯑ſtruction 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 Counteſs, and Lord Davers, ſeem to expect, that I ſhall particularly an⯑ſwer to this black Charge, I will, at a proper Time, if it will be agreeable, give you a brief Hiſtory of my Paſſion for this dear Girl, how it commenc'd, and increas'd, 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 At⯑tempt; and at the ſame time inable you the better to account for ſome Facts which you have read in my pretty Accuſer's Papers.

This pleaſed every one, and they begg'd him to begin then: But he ſaid, It was Time we ſhould think of Dreſſing, the Morning being far advanc'd; and if no Company came in, he would give them, in the Afternoon, the Particulars they deſired to hear.

The three Gentlemen rode out, and returned juſt Time enough to dreſs before Dinner; and my Lady and the Counteſs alſo took an Airing in the Chariot. Juſt as they returned, Compliments came from ſeve⯑ral of the neighbouring Ladies to our noble Gueſts, [185] on their Arrival in theſe Parts; and, to as many as ſent, Lady Davers deſir'd their Companies for To⯑morrow in the Afternoon, to drink Tea: But Mr. B. having fallen in with ſome of the Gentlemen like⯑wiſe, he told me, we ſhould have moſt of our viſit⯑ing Neighbours at Dinner, and deſired Mrs. Jervis might prepare accordingly for them.

After Dinner Mr. H. took a Ride out, attended with Mr. Colbrand, of whom he is very fond, ever ſince he frighten'd Lady Davers's Footmen at the Hall, threatening ^* to chine them, if they offer'd to ſtop his Lady; for, he ſays, he loves a Man of Cou⯑rage; very probably knowing his own Defects that way; for my Lady now-and-then calls him a Chic⯑ken-hearted Fellow. And then Lord and Lady Da⯑vers, and the Counteſs, reviv'd the Subject of the Morning; and Mr. B. was pleaſed to begin in the Manner I ſhall mention by-and-by. For here I am obliged to break off.

Now, my dear Miſs, I will proceed.

‘'I need not, ſaid the dear Gentleman, obſerve to any body who knows what Love is, (or rather that violent Paſſion which we mad young Fellows are apt to miſcal Love) what mean Things it puts us upon; how it unmans, and levels with the Duſt, the proudeſt Spirit. In the Sequel of my Story you will obſerve ſeveral Inſtances of this Truth.’

‘'I began 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 every one who beheld her. My Mother, as you, Lady Da⯑vers, know, took the greateſt Delight in her, al⯑ways calling her, her Pamela, her good Child: And [186] her Waiting-maid, and her Cabinet of Rarities, were her Boaſts, and equally ſhewn to every Viſi⯑tor: 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 unequal'd, that ſhe took all Parts of Learning, which her Lady, as fond of inſtructing her, as ſhe of improving by Inſ⯑truction, crouded upon her; inſomuch that ſhe had Maſters to teach her to dance, to ſing, and to play on the Spinnet, whom ſhe every Day ſurpris'd 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 take Notice to her of her Fond⯑neſs for her, and ſaid, What do you deſign, Ma⯑dam, to do with, or do 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 join'd with me, and ſpoke in a ſtill ſtronger Manner againſt giving her ſuch an Educa⯑tion. — 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 Father's mean Condi⯑tion; and I ſhall do nothing for them, at leaſt at preſent, tho' they are honeſt Folks, and deſerve well, becauſe I will keep the Girl humble.’

[187] ‘'But what can I do with the little Baggage? con⯑tinued my Mother: She conquers every thing ſo faſt, and has ſuch a Thirſt after Knowlege, 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⯑works, to qualify her, as ſhe has a Delicacy in her Perſon that makes it a Pity ſhe ſhould ever be put to hard Work, for a genteel Place: But ſhe ma⯑ſters that ſo faſt, that now, as my Daughter is marry'd, and gone from me, I am deſirous to qua⯑lify her to divert and entertain me in my thought⯑ful 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 Compa⯑nion 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 that may be fatal to herſelf, and others too.’

‘'I'm glad to hear this from my Son, ſaid the good Lady. But the Moment I ſee my Favour puffs her up, I ſhall take other Meaſures.’

‘'Well, thought I to myſelf, I want only 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 Accompliſh⯑ments, as you now do: So, go on, and improve [188] her as faſt as you will. I'll only now-and-then talk againſt her, to blind you; and doubt not that all you beſtow upon her, will qualify her the bet⯑ter 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 as little as poſſible, my dear Miſs, interrupt this affecting Narration, by mentioning my own alternate Bluſhes, Confuſions, and Exclamations, as the naughty Gentleman went on; nor the Cenſures and many Out-upon-you's of me at⯑tentive Ladies, and Fie Brothers of Lord Da⯑vers; nor yet with Apologies for the Praiſes on myſelf, ſo frequently intermingled — content⯑ing myſelf to give you, as near as I can recol⯑lect, the very Sentences of the dear Relator; And as to our intermingled Exclaimings and Obſervations, you may ſuppoſe what they were occaſionally.

‘'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 her, or to ſpeak to her, as ſhe paſs'd me, court'ſying, and putting on a thouſand bewitching Airs of Obligingneſs and Reverence; while I (who thought that the beſt way to demoliſh the Influence of ſuch an Educa⯑tion would be to avoid alarming 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, [189] Girl?—I hope ſhe reſted well laſt Night: Then, cover'd with Bluſhes, and court'ſying at every Word, as if ſhe thought herſelf unworthy of an⯑ſwering my Queſtions, ſhe'd trip away in a kind of Hurry and 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! was it not? — Ay, thought I, I'm 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 with you, Ladies, and with you, my Lord, a higher Reputation for my Pamela (I am but too ſenſible I can make none for myſelf) in the Relation I am now giving you. Every one but my Mother, who, however, had no high Opinion of her Son's Virtue, uſed to look upon me as a Rake; and I got the Name, not very much to my Credit, you'll ſay, as well Abroad as in England, of the ſober Rake; — ſome would ſay the genteel Rake; nay, for that Matter, ſome pretty Hearts, that have ſmarted for their good Opinion, have called me the handſome Rake. — But whatever other Epithet I was diſtin⯑guiſhed by, it all concluded in Rake or Libertine; nor was I very much offended at the Character; for, thought I, if a Lady knows this, and will come into my Company, half the Ceremony between us is over; and if ſhe calls me ſo, I ſhall have an ex⯑cellent Excuſe to puniſh her Freedom, by greater of my own.’

‘'So I dreſs'd, grew more and more confident, and became as inſolent withal, as if, tho' I had not [190] 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 me⯑nac'd Complaint have I look'd 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 Enterprizes, 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 Knowlege, ſhe thought you no Saint.’

‘'Ay, poor Lady, continued he, ſhe uſed now-and-then to catechiſe 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 am 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 home 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, as ſoon as I ſaw 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? ſaid I, turning my Face from her; for I had a few Scratches on my Forehead, — with a Thorn, or ſo, — that I feared ſhe would be more inquiſitive about than I cared for.’

[191] ‘'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 marry'd!’

‘'So, Madam, ſaid I, the old Wiſh! — I'm not ſo bad as you think me: — I hope I have not me⯑rited 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. Mean time, thought I, (for I uſed, as I mentioned in the Morning, to have ſome Com⯑punction for my vile Practices, when cool Refle⯑ction, brought on by Satiety, had taken hold of me) I wiſh this ſweet Girl were grown to Years of Suſceptibility, that I might reform this wicked Courſe of Life, and not prowl about, diſturbing honeſt Folks Peace, and indangering myſelf. And as I had by a certain very daring and wicked At⯑tempt, 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 eſcap'd an Ambuſh, by dint of mere good Luck; I thought it was 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, as you know, Siſter; and paſſed a Twelvemonth there in the beſt of Company, and with ſome Improvement both to my Morals and Underſtanding, and had 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 return'd, ſeveral Matches were pro⯑pos'd to me, and my good Mother often requeſted me to make her ſo happy, as ſhe call'd it, as to ſee me marry'd before ſhe dy'd: But I could not in⯑dure [192] the Thoughts of that 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 very little Solicitude at that time, whether my Name were continued or not, in my own Deſcendants. However, upon my Return, I look'd upon my Mother's Pamela with no ſmall Pleaſure, and I found her ſo much im⯑prov'd, as well in Perſon as Behaviour, that I had the leſs Inducement either to renew my intriguing Life, or to think of a marry'd State.’

‘'Yet, as my Mother had all her Eyes about her, as the Phraſe is, I affected great Shyneſs, both be⯑fore her, and to the Girl; for I doubted not, my very Looks would be watched by them both; and what the one diſcover'd, would not be a Secret to the other; and laying myſelf open to too early a Suſpicion, I thought would but ice the Girl over, and make my Mother more watchful.’

‘'So I uſed to come into my Mother's Apart⯑ments, and go out, without taking the leaſt No⯑tice of her, but putting 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 ſaid, on my looking after her, when her Back was turn'd, 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, ſaid I! — My Eyes ſparkle at ſuch a Girl as that! No indeed!—She may be your [193] Favourite, as a Waiting-maid; but I ſee nothing but clumſy Court'ſies, and aukward Airs about her. A little Ruſtick Affectation of Innocence, that to ſuch as cannot ſee into her, may paſs well enough.’

‘'Nay, my Dear, reply'd 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 comes about: 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 be⯑tween 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 hold before her; nor whether to hold her Head up, or down; and ſo does neither, but hangs it on one Side; a little aukward Piece of One-and-t'other, I think her.—And indeed, Madam, 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 ſpoil'd, I doubt, for any uſeful Purpoſe.’

‘'Ah! Son! ſaid ſhe, I fear by your Deſcription, you have minded her too much in one Senſe, tho' 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 to be 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 natu⯑ral, and yet ſo humble, and ſo much above herſelf, that I was forc'd to turn my Head from her, leſt my Mother ſhould watch my Eye again, and leſt I [194] ſhould be inclin'd to do her that Juſtice, which my Heart aſſented to, but which my Lips had juſt before deny'd her.’

‘'All my Difficulty, in Apprehenſion, was, my good Mother: The Effect of whoſe Leſſons to her Girl, I was not, however, ſo much afraid of, as her Vigilance. For, thought I, I ſee by the Deli⯑cacy of her Perſon, the Brilliancy of her Eye, and the ſweet Apprehenſiveneſs that plays about every Feature of her Face, that 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 paſs'd, to catch her Attention too: I expected her to turn after me, and look ſo, as to ſhew a beginning Liking towards me; for, you muſt know, I had a great Opinion of my Per⯑ſon and Air, which had been fortunately diſtin⯑guiſh'd by Ladies, whom, of courſe, my Vanity made me allow to be very good Judges of theſe outward Advantages.’

‘'I'll give your Ladyſhip an Inſtance of this my Vanity, in a Catch I made extempore, to a Lady whom I had been urging to give me ſome Proofs of a Love, that, I had the Confidence to tell her, I was ſure ſhe had in her Heart for me: She was a lively Lady; and laughing, ſaid, Whoever admir'd me, it muſt be for my Confidence, and nothing elſe: But urging her farther, Why, ſaid ſhe, brazen Man, (for ſhe'd call Names, like Lady Davers) what would you have me ſay? I would love you, if I could—But—Here interrupting her, and putting on a free Air, I half ſaid, and half ſung, 'You'd love me, you ſay, if you cou'd! 'Why, thou mak'ſt me a very odd Creature! 'I pr'ythee ſurvey me again; 'What can'ſt thou object to my Feature?’

[195] ‘'This ſhew'd my Vanity: And I anſwer'd for the Lady, 'Why nothing!— Very well!—Then I'm ſure you'll admit, 'That the Choice I have made, is a Sign of my WIT!’

‘'But, to my great Diſappointment, Pamela never, by any favourable Glance, gave the leaſt In⯑couragement 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 make her better qualify'd in time, and another Year Will ripen her into my Arms, no doubt of it. Let me only go on in my preſent way, and make her fear me: That will inhance 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, tho' I could not once attract her Eye to⯑wards me, ſhe never fail'd to draw mine after her, whenever ſhe went by me, or where-ever 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 marry'd 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 Appre⯑henſiveneſs of the Girl; for, high or low, every [196] Individual of the Sex is quick as Lightning to Imaginations of this Kind: And beſides, well ſays the Poet; Men without Love, have oft ſo cunning grown, That ſomething like it, they have ſhown; But none who had it, e'er ſeem'd to have none. Love's of a ſtrangely open, ſimple Kind, Can no Arts or Diſguiſes find; But thinks none ſees it, 'cauſe itſelf is blind.’

‘'But, to ſay nothing of her tender Years, and that my Love was not of this baſhful Sort, I was not abſolutely determin'd, 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 happen'd! But to proceed:’

‘'Hitherto my Mind was taken up with the Beau⯑ties of her Perſon only. My EYE had drawn my HEART after it, without giving myſelf any Trou⯑ble about that Senſe and Judgment which my Mo⯑ther was always praiſing in her Pamela, as exceed⯑ing her Years, and Opportunities: But an Occa⯑ſion happen'd, ſlight in itſelf, but which took the HEAD into the Party, and made me think of her, young as ſhe was, with a Diſtinction, that before I had not had for her The Occaſion was this:’

‘'Being with my Mother in her Cloſet, who was talking to me on the old Subject, Matrimony, I ſaw Pamela's Common-place 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 made moſt Im⯑preſſion [197] upon her, as ſhe read. A Method, I take it, my Dear, turning to me, that was 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 pre⯑ſent Fetters are not a little owing: Juſt as Pedlars catch Monkeys in the Baboon Kingdoms, pro⯑voking the attentive Fools, by their own Example, to put on Shoes and Stockens, till the Apes of Imitation, trying to do the like, intangle 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 obſerv'd the Girl wrote a pretty Hand, and very ſwift and free; and affixed her Points, or Stops, with ſo much Judgment, (her Years conſider'd) that I began to have an high Opinion of her Under⯑ſtanding. Some Obſervations likewiſe upon ſeve⯑ral 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, Mr. B.?’

‘'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 careleſly.’

‘'Look once more in it, ſaid ſhe, and ſee if you 'can't open it upon ſome Place, that may ſtrike you.’

[198] ‘'I open'd it at, Train up a Child in the Way it ſhould go, &c. I fanſy, ſaid I, when I was at 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! 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. There 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 than this fooliſh Girl? You complain how ſeldom I attend you, Madam; and indeed, 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 eſteem'd 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.’

[199] ‘'I took a little Tour ſoon after this, in Company of a few 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 in⯑different State of Health; but her Pamela arrived to a Height of Beauty and Perfection, that ex⯑ceeded all my Expectations. I was ſo much taken with her Charms the firſt time I ſaw her, after my Return, 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 Court'ſies and Reverences, and was out of my Sight before I could determine.’

‘'I was reſolved, however, not to be long with⯑out her; and Mrs. Jewkes having been recom⯑mended to me a little before, by a Brother-Rake, as a Woman of try'd Fidelity, I ask'd her, If ſhe would be Faithful, if I ſhould have 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 of obeying me.’

‘'So I thought I would way-lay the Girl, and carry her firſt to a little Village in Northampton⯑ſhire, to an Acquaintance of Mrs. Jewkes's. And when I had brought her to be eaſy and pacify'd a little, I deſign'd 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 [200] 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 contriv'd, was quite eaſy, as I imagin'd, and ſuch as could not have failed to anſwer my Purpoſe, as to carrying her off; and I doubted not of making her well ſatisfy'd 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, on the Suppoſition, that I had got her Favourite into my Hands, which ap⯑peared to me, as I ſaid, a Task very eaſy to be con⯑quered, I had actually form'd a Letter for her to tran⯑ſcribe, acknowleging a Love-Affair, and laying her Withdrawing herſelf ſo privately, to the implicit Obedience ſhe ow'd to her Husband's Commands, to whom ſhe was marry'd that Morning, and who, being a young Gentleman of a genteel Family, and dependent on his Friends, was deſirous of keep⯑ing 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 Mo⯑ther'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 ſome body to come to him; and who rode off, when I came up to the Door, as faſt as he could.’

[201] ‘'Nobody knew any thing of the Matter, and were much ſurpriſed at what I told them: But I begg'd 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, where 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 them ſhe ſhews me.’

‘'Well, reply'd 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, Madam, thoſe he writes, looks like a Cloak to others ſhe may receive from another Hand. But it can be no Harm, ſaid I, 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 reſolv'd 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 ſeem'd to my Mother to have ſo good an Opinion of her Pamela, that I was ſorry, as I told her, I had had ſuch a Sur⯑miſe: Saying, that tho' the Fellow and the Pillion were an odd Circumſtance, yet, I dared to ſay, there could be nothing in it; for I doubted not, [202] the Girl's Duty and Gratitude would hinder her from doing a fooliſh or raſh thing.’

‘'This my Mother heard with Pleaſure; altho' my Motive for it was but to lay her Pamela on the thicker to her, when ſhe was to be told ſhe had eſcaped.’

‘'She ſaid, She was glad I was not an Enemy to the poor Child. Pamela has no Friend but me, con⯑tinued the good Lady; 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 afraid 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 deſerv'd this Tribute to her Memory. All my Pleaſure now is, that ſhe knew not half my wic⯑ked 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 Knowlege of the one and the other.’

‘'I had thus in Readineſs every thing neceſſary 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 on her in her Illneſs gave me an Opportunity of obſerving more and more of the Girl, and her affectionate Duty, and continual Tears, (finding her frequently on her Knees pray⯑ing for her Miſtreſs) I was moved to pity her: And often did I, while thoſe Scenes of my Mother's [203] Illneſs and Decline were before me, reſolve to conquer, if poſſible, my guilty Paſſion, as thoſe Scenes taught me, while their Impreſſions held upon me, juſtly to call it; and I was much con⯑cerned I found it a more difficult Task than I ima⯑gin'd: For, till now, I thought it principally ow⯑ing 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 found 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 her, What ſhe would have done for Pamela and Mrs. Jervis?’

‘'Make Mrs. Jervis, my dear Son, ſaid ſhe, 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 my Pamela, I hope you will be her Pro⯑tector; I hope you will! — She is a good Girl: I love her next to you and your dear Siſter. She is juſt arrived at a trying Time of Life. I don't know what to ſay for her. What I had deſign'd was, that if any Man of a genteel Calling ſhould offer, I would have given her a little pretty Portion, had God ſpared my Life till then. But if ſhe [204] ſhould be made independent, ſome idle Fellow perhaps 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 involv'd, 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 will be likely to be the Bird for which ſome wicked Fowler will ſpread his Snares; or, it may be, every Lady will not chuſe to have ſuch a Waiting-maid. You are a young Gentleman, and, I am ſorry to ſay it, not better than I wiſh you to be — Tho' I hope my Pamela would not be in Danger from her Maſter, who owes to all his Ser⯑vants Protection, as much as a 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 love⯑ly enough in the Genteelneſs of her Perſon, and the Beauty of her Mind; and more out of Danger of ſuffering from the tranſient Beauties of Counte⯑nance! 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 [205] fit for any thing, or to wiſh for any thing, but to receive the laſt releaſing Stroke.'’

Here the dear Gentleman ſtopp'd, being under ſome Concern himſelf, and we in much more. At laſt he reſum'd the Subject:

‘You will too naturally think, my Lord, and you my good Ladies, that the Mind muſt be truly dia⯑bolical, that could break thro' the Regards due to the ſolemn Injunctions and Recommendations of a dying Parent. They did hold me a good while indeed; and, as faſt as I had 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 Spi⯑rit of Intrigue, made it a Sweetheart of courſe. And I could not help watching her Motions; and ſeeing her once putting a Letter ſhe had juſt folded up, into her Boſom, at my Entrance into my Mo⯑ther's Dreſsing-room, I made no doubt of detect⯑ing her, and her Correſpondent; and ſo I took the Letter from her^* Stays, ſhe trembling and court'⯑ſying with a ſweet Confuſion; and highly pleaſed I was, to find it contained nothing but Innocence and Duty to the deceaſed Miſtreſs, and the loving Pa⯑rents, 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 Incouragement, and went down much better ſatisfied, than I had been, with her Correſpondents.’

[206] ‘'But when I reflected on the innocent Simplicity of her Style, I was ſtill more in Love with her, and form'd 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 Ex⯑ecution; altho' the little Slut was moſt abominably free upon my Character to her Father and Mo⯑ther.’

‘'You will cenſure me, no doubt, that my Mother's Injunctions made not a more laſting Impreſſion upon me. 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 accom⯑pliſh'd. Her Letters were but ſo many Links to the Chains ſhe had bound me in; and tho' once I had reſolv'd to part with her.^† to Lady Davers, and you, my Lady, had an Intention to take her, I could not for my Life give her up; and thinking at that time more honourably of the State of a Mi⯑ſtreſs 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 Circumſtance) 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 have met with a Reſiſt⯑ance from her, that I had ſeldom encountered from Perſons much her Superiors as to Deſcent; and was amaz'd at it; for it confounded me in all the Notions I had of her Sex, which, like a true Li⯑bertine, I ſuppoſed wanted nothing but Importu⯑nity and Opportunity, a bold Attempter, and a Mind not ungenerous.’

[207] ‘'Sometimes I admired her for her Virtue; at other times, impetuous in my Temper, and unus'd to Controul, I could have beat her. She well, I re⯑member, deſcribes the Tumults of my Soul, when ſhe repeats 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 begone!— No, come back again."’ —'She thought I was mad, I remember ſhe ſays in her Papers. Indeed I was little leſs.’

‘'She ſays, ‘"I took her Arm, and grip'd it black and blue, to bring her back again; and then ſat down and look'd at her as ſilly as ſuch a poor Girl as ſhe!"’’

‘'Well did the dear Slut 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, that otherwiſe ſhe would not have thought of.’

‘'Sometimes I ſoothed her, ſometimes threatened her; but never was ſuch Courage, when ſhe ap⯑prehended her Virtue was in Danger, mix'd 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 [208] to my Family, and had an abſolute Dependence on my Pleaſure; myſelf not deſpicable in Perſon or Mind, as I ſuppoſed; ſhe unprejudic'd in any Man's, Favour; at an Age ſuſceptible of Impreſ⯑ſions; and a Frame and Conſtitution not Ice nor 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 to me: That was more faithful to her than to me; it had more Honour in it at Bottom, than I had deſigned it ſhould have. Aw'd by her unaffected Innocence, and a Virtue I had never before encounter'd ſo uniform and im⯑moveable, the Moment I ſaw her, I was half diſ⯑armed; and I courted her Conſent to that, which tho' I was not likely to obtain, yet it went againſt me to think of extorting by Violence. Yet Mar⯑riage was never in my Thoughts; I ſcorn'd ſo much as to promiſe it.’

‘'What numberleſs mean Things did not this un⯑manly Paſſion ſubject me to? — I uſed to watch for her Letters, tho' mere Prittle-prattle and Chit-chat, receiv'd them with burning Impatience, and read them with Delight, tho' myſelf was accuſed in them, and ſtigmatiz'd as I deſerv'd.’

‘'I would liſten meanly at her Chamber-door; try to overhear her little Converſations; in vain at⯑tempted 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 [209] Intereſt; ſo greatly did the Virtue of the Servants triumph over the Vice of the Maſter, when at⯑tracted 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 a rough Nature, in which my Devil conſtantly fail'd me, and her good Angel prevail'd, I had talk'd to Mrs Jervis to induce the Girl (to whom, in hopes of frightening her, I had given Warning, but which ſhe rejoiced to take, to my great Diſap⯑pointment) to deſire to ſtay ^*; and ſuſpecting Mrs. Jervis play'd me Booty, and rather confirm'd 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 pri⯑vate Converſation: But really not deſigning to make any other Uſe of my Concealment, than to teize 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: And I had the leſs Scruple as to Mrs. Jer⯑vis's Preſence, becauſe ſhe knew as bad of me as ſhe could know, from Pamela's Apprehenſions, as well as her own; and would find me, if I kept within any decent Bounds, better than either of them expected. But I had no Deſign of proceed⯑ing to Extremities, altho' I had little Hope of im⯑preſſing her by Gentleneſs.’

‘'So, like a benighted Traveller, who had ſtrayed out of his Knowlege, and, deſpairing to find [210] his Way, threw the Reins upon his Horſe's Neck, to be guided at its uncertain Direction, I reſolv'd to take my Chance for the Iſſue which the Adven⯑ture ſhould produce.’

‘'But the dear Prattler, not knowing I was there, as ſhe undreſs'd herſelf, began ſuch a bewitching Chit-chat with Mrs. Jervis, who, I found, but ill kept my Secret, that I never was at ſuch a Loſs in my Life what to reſolve upon. One while I wiſh'd myſelf, unknown to them, out of the Clo⯑ſet into which my inconſiderate Paſſion had mean⯑ly led me; another time I was incens'd at the Free⯑dom with which I heard myſelf treated: But then rightly conſidering, that I had no Buſineſs to hear⯑ken to their private Converſation, and that it was ſuch as became them, while I ought to have been aſham'd to give Occaſion for it, I excus'd them both, and admir'd ſtill more and more the dear Prattler.’

‘'In this Suſpenſe, the undeſigned Ruſtling of my Night-gown from, changing my Poſture as I ſtood, giving Alarm to the watchful Pamela, ſhe in a Fright came towards the Cloſet to ſee who was there; ſo that I could be no longer conceal'd.’

‘'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 follow'd her thither, de⯑tected 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, indeed, I found myſelf detected; when the dear frighten'd Girl ran to the Bed; when Mrs. Jervis threw herſelf about her; when [211] they would not ceaſe their hideous Squallings; when I was charg'd 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 were riſing, as I heard by the Noiſe they made over-head, upon the others Screamings, 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 expos'd to my whole Family; and I was not guilty of any Freedoms, that her Modeſty, unaffrighted, could reproach itſelf 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 a Character of myſelf, 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 form'd 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, indeed, bad as I was, I was not ſo vile, ſo abandon'd 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 Matri⯑mony with any body, and to be brought to the Stake 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 [212] in it! and, laſtly, forbid it, my Family Spirit, ſo viſible in Lady Davers, as well as myſelf; to whoſe Inſults, and thoſe of all the World, I ſhall be ob⯑noxious, if I make ſuch a Step!’

‘'All this tends to demonſtrate the Strength of my Paſſion: I could not conquer my Love; ſo I con⯑quer'd a Pride, which every one thought uncon⯑querable; and ſince I could not make an innocent Heart vicious, I had the Happineſs to follow ſo good an Example; and, I thank God, a vicious Heart is become virtuous, as I hope, at leaſt mo⯑rally ſo; and I have the Pleaſure of rejoicing in the Change, and hope I ſhall ſtill more and more re⯑joice in it; for I really look back with Con⯑tempt upon 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. Indeed 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 Vir⯑tue: And now I will conclude my tedious Narra⯑tion with the Poet; Our Paſſions gone, and Reaſon in her Throne, Amaz'd, we ſee the Miſchiefs we have done: After a Tempeſt, when the Winds are laid, The calm Sea wonders at the Wrecks it made.'’

Thus ended my dear Mr. B. his affecting Re⯑lation; which in the Courſe of it gave me a thouſand different Emotions; and made me often pray for him, (as I conſtantly do) that God will intirely con⯑vert 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 have great Hopes, that nothing will affect his Morals again.

[213]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? Bleſſings, a thouſand Bleſſings, on her beloved Memory! Were I to live to ſee my Childrens Chil⯑dren, they ſhould be all taught to liſp her Praiſes, before they could ſpeak. My Gratitude ſhould always be renew'd in their Mouths; and GOD, and my dear Father and Mother, my Lady, and my Maſter that was, my beſt Friend that is, but princi⯑pally, as moſt due, the FIRST, who inſpired all the reſt, ſhould have their Morning, their Noon-tide, and their Evening Praiſes, as long as I lived!—

I will only obſerve further, as to this my Third Converſation piece, That my Lord Davers offer'd to extenuate ſome Parts of his dear Brother-in-law's Conduct, which he did not himſelf vindicate; and Mr. B. was pleaſed to obſerve, that my Lord was always very candid to him, and kind in his Allow⯑ances for the Sallies of an 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, who now-and-then runs away with a ſtraggling Pullet, when nobody ſees him: Whereas thoſe of my Bro⯑ther [214] 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 around me, and have Reaſon perhaps to think the invading Lion has come off, little as he deſerv'd it, better than the creeping Fox, who, with all his Cunning, ſometimes ſuffers for his pilfering. Theft.

O Miſs, 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 Suffering?

I long to hear of you. And muſt ſhorten my fu⯑ture Accounts, or I ſhall do nothing but write, and tire you into the Bargain, tho' I cannot my dear Father and Mother. I am, my dear Miſs,

LETTER XXXI. From Miſs DARNFORD, to Mr. B.

EVERY Poſt you more and more oblige us to admire and love you: And let me tell you, I will gladly receive your Letters upon your own Terms^*: Only when your worthy Parents have per⯑uſed them, ſee that I have every Line of them again.

[215]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 offer'd Title of Baronet; the juſt Applauſes conferred on you by all, particularly the good Counteſs; your Breakfaſt Converſation, and the Narrative of your ſaucy abominable Maſter, tho' amiable Husband; all delight us beyond Expreſſion.

Do, go on, dear excellent Lady, with your charm⯑ing 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. Ad⯑dreſſes. The good Man lov'd me moſt violently, nay, he could not live without me; Life was no Life, unleſs I favour'd him: But yet, after a few more of theſe Flights, he is trying to ſit down ſatisfy'd without my Papa's fooliſh perverſe Girl, as Sir Si⯑mon 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 apply'd to her, ſhe ſcrew'd up her Mouth to my Mamma, and, Truly, ſhe'd have none of Pol⯑ly'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-dreſs'd Gentle⯑man; — the chattering Magpye, (for he talks and laughs much) quite converſible,—and has ſomething agreeable to ſay on 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, — Indeed, 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 is that for Ill-Nature!) in Miſs Nanny; ſomething ſo aweful, that while Miſs Polly ingaged [216] the Affections at firſt Sight, Miſs Nanny ſtruck a Man with Reverence; inſomuch that the one might be loved as a Woman, but the other revered as ſome⯑thing more: A Goddeſs, no doubt!

I do but think, that when he comes to be lifted up to her Celeſtial Sphere, as her Fellow Conſtella⯑tion, what a Figure will Nancy and her Urſa Major 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 3000 Satellites, or little Stars, in her Train more than poor Polly can pretend to. Won't there be fine Twink⯑ling and Sparkling, think you, when the Greater and Leſſer Bear-ſtars are joined together?

But excuſe me, dear Mrs. B. this ſaucy Girl has vex'd me juſt now, by her ill-natur'd Tricks; and I am even with her, having thus vented my Spite, tho' ſhe knows nothing of the Matter.

So, fanſy, my dear Friend, you ſee Polly Darn⯑ford abandon'd 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, and ſnarling out a kind Word, and breaking thro' her ſullen Gloom, for a Smile now-and-then in Re⯑turn; and I laughing at both in my Sleeve, and think⯑ing, that in a while I ſhall get Leave to attend you in Town, and that 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 injoy, unenvied, the Favour of my dear Papa and Mamma, which this ill temper'd Girl is always begrudging me.

Forgive all this Nonſenſe. I was willing to wri [...]e ſomething, tho' worſe than nothing, to ſhew how [217] deſirous I would be to oblige you, had I Capacity or Subject as you have. But nobody can love you bet⯑ter, or admire you more; of this you may be aſ⯑ſured, (however unequal in all other reſpects) than

I ſend you up ſome of your Papers for the good Couple in Kent. Pray 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 Re⯑ſpects: They mention you with Delight in every Letter.

LETTER XXXII. The JOURNAL continued. Thurſday, Friday Evening.

I AM retired from a very buſy Day, having had no leſs than Fourteen of our Neighbours, Gentle⯑men and Ladies, to Dinner with us: The Occaſion principally to welcome our noble Gueſts into theſe Parts; Mr. B. having, as I mentioned in a former, turn'd the intended Viſit into an Entertainment, after his uſual generous Manner.

Mr. B. and Lord Davers are gone Part of the Way with them home; and Mr. H. or Lord Jackey, as we call the Gentleman, who will always be young, mounted, with his Favourite Colbrand, as an Eſcorte to the Counteſs and Lady Davers, who are gone to take an Airing in the Chariot. They offer'd to take the Coach, if I would have gone; but being fa⯑tigu'd, I deſir'd to be excus'd. So I retir'd to my [218] Cloſet, and Miſs Darnford, who is ſeldom out of my Thoughts, coming into my Mind, I had a new Recruit of Spirits, which inabled 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 marry'd 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 Chara⯑cter: 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, tho' of the tawdry Sort, and affecting foreign Airs, as if he was afraid it would not be judg'd 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 they were upon a Compromiſe; that is, that each would take it in Turn to ſay free Things of the other — tho' ſome of their Freedoms are of ſo cut⯑ting a Nature, that it looks as if they intended to divert the Company at their own Expence. The Lady, being of a noble Family, takes great Pains 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, a Gentleman who is a free Joker on ſerious Subjects, but a good-natur'd Man, and ſays ſprightly things with no ill Grace; but his Lady is a little reſerved, and of a haughty Turn, tho' To-day ſhe happened to be freer than uſual; as was observed at Table by

[219]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 pleas'd with her. This Lady is generally gallanted by

Mr. Martin of the Grove, as he is called, to di⯑ſtinguiſh him from a rich Citizen of that Name, who is ſettled in theſe Parts, but being covetous and proud, is ſeldom admitted among the Gentry in their Viſits or Parties of Pleaſure. Mr. Martin is a ſhrewd Gentleman, but has been a little too much of the Libertine Caſt, and has lived freely as to Wo⯑men; and for that Reaſon has not been received by Mrs. Towers, who hates free Actions, tho' ſhe'll uſe free Words, modeſtly free, as ſhe calls them, that is to ſay, the Double Entendre, in which Sir Simon Darnford, a Gentleman you are not unacquainted with, takes great Delight; tho', by the way, what that worthy Gentleman calls innocent, Lady Towers would bluſh at.

Mr. Dormer, a Gentleman 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-behav'd Cou⯑ple, who are not aſhamed to be very tender and obſerving to one another, but without that cenſure⯑able 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 indiſpos'd; a well-behav'd prudent young Lady. And here were our Fourteen Gueſts.

The Counteſs of C. Lady Davers, Lord Davers, Mr. H. my dear Mr. B. and your humble Servant, [220] made up the reſt of the Company. So we had a capacious and brilliant Circle, you may imagine; and all the Avenues to the Houſe were crouded with their Equipages.

The Subjects of Diſcourſe at Dinner were vari⯑ous, as you may well ſuppoſe, and the Circle was too large to fall upon any regular or very remarkable Topicks. A good deal of ſprightly Wit, however, flew about, between the Earl of D. Mrs. Towers and Mr. Martin, in which that Lord ſuffered as he deſerved; for he was by no means a Match for the Lady, eſpecially as the Preſence of the Dean was a Reſtraint, as was very viſible, upon him, and Mr. Brooks too: So much Awe will the Character of a good Clergyman always impreſs upon even forward Spirits, where he is known to have had an inviolable Regard to it himſelf.

Beſides, the good Gentleman has a genteel and in-offenſive Vein of Raillery himſelf, and ſo was too hard for them at their own Weapons.

But after Dinner was over, and the Servants were withdrawn, Mr. Martin began to ſingle me out, as he loves to do, for a Subject of Encomium, and made ſome high Compliments to my dear Mr. B. on his Choice; and wiſhed (as he often does) he could find juſt ſuch another Perſon for himſelf.

Lady Towers told him, That it was a Thing as un⯑accountable as it was unreaſonable, that every Rake who loved to deſtroy Virtue, ſhould expect to be re⯑warded 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 'twas pity there was not a Law, that every Man who made a Harlot of an honeſt Wo⯑man, ſhould be obliged to marry one of another's making.

[221]That would be too ſevere, Mr. B. ſaid; it would be Puniſhment enough, if he was to marry his own; and eſpecially if he had not ſeduced her under Pro⯑miſe of Marriage.

Then you'd have a Man be obliged, reply'd Lady Davers, to ſtand to his Promiſe, I ſuppoſe, Mr. B.

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. continued Lady Davers, will you, and my Lord Davers, join to bring in a Bill into the Houſe of Peers, for the Purpoſes I mentioned? I fanſy my Brother would give it all the Aſſiſtance he could in the Lower Houſe.

Your Ladyſhip, ſaid Mr. Martin, is highly un⯑reaſonable, I think, to propoſe that: It would be enough, ſurely, that a Man ſhould be obliged, as Mr. B. ſays, to marry the Woman he himſelf ſe⯑duced.

The Earl ſaid, That he thought neither the one nor the other ſhould be impoſed upon any Man; for that when Womens Virtue was their Glory, and they were brought up with that Notion, and to avoid the Snares of Men, he thought, if they yielded, they ought to pay the Forfeit, and take the Diſgrace of it to themſelves.

May I ask your Lordſhip, ſaid I, How it comes to paſs, that a Woman's Virtue is her Glory, and that a Man's ſhall not be his?—Or, in other Words, Why you think Virtue in a Man is not as requiſite as in a Woman?

Cuſtom, Madam, reply'd the Earl, has made it very different; and thoſe Things which are ſcanda⯑lous in a Lady, are not ſo in a Gentleman.

Will your Lordſhip argue, that it ſhould be ſo, becauſe it is ſo? Does not the Gentleman call him⯑ſelf [222] the Head of his Family? Is it not incumbent upon him then to ſet a good Example? And will he plead it as a Faſhion, that he may do by the deareſt Relatives of another Man's Family, what, if any one ſhould attempt to do by his, he would mortally reſent?

Very well obſerved, Madam, ſaid the Dean: There is not a Free-liver in the World, I believe, that can anſwer that Argument.

Mr. B. ſaid the Earl, pray ſpeak to your Lady: She is too cloſe upon us. And where Sentiments have been ſo well ſupported by a Conduct ſo uni⯑form and exemplary, I chuſe not to enter the Liſts with ſuch an Antagoniſt.

Well, well, ſaid Mr. B. ſince your Lordſhip will ſpeak in the Plural Number U S, let me ſay, We muſt not pretend to hold an Argument on this Sub⯑ject.—But, however, I think, my Lord, you ſhould not call upon a Man to defend it, who, bad as he has been, never committed a Fault of this Nature, that he was not ſorry for, tho' the Sorrow generally laſted too little a while.

Mr. B. (ſaid Lady Towers) has ſome Merit with me for that Anſwer: And he has ſtill a greater on another Account; and that is, that he has ſeen his Error ſo early, and has left his Vices before they have left him.

She looked, as every one did, on the Earl, who appeared a little diſconcerted, as one conſcious, that he deſerved the Reflection. And the Dean ſaid, Lady Towers obſerves very well: For, altho' I pre⯑ſume not to make perſonal Applications, yet I muſt ſay, That the Gentleman who ſees his Error in the Prime of Life, before he is overtaken by ſome awakening Misfortune, may be called one of the happieſt of thoſe who have erred.

[223]Ay, Mr. Dean, ſaid Lady Towers, I can tell you one thing, that ſuch another Buttreſs as you know who, taken away from Libertiniſm, and ſuch another Example as a certain Lady every Day gives, would go near in a few Years to ruin the Devil's Kingdom in Bedfordſhire.

The Gentlemen looked round upon one another upon this home Puſh: And the Lady would not let them recover it. See, ſaid ſhe, how the Gentlemen look upon one another, as who ſhould ſay, each to his Companion, I'm not ſo bad as you!

Ay, ſaid Lady Davers, I ſee, my Lord Davers, and the Earl of D. and Mr. Martin, look moſt con⯑cerned.

Faith, Ladies, ſaid Mr. Martin, this is too ſevere⯑ly perſonal: A Man who contends with a Lady has a fine Time of it; for we are under Reſtraint, while you ſay any thing you pleaſe. But let me tell you, there's not a Man of us all, 'tis my Opinion, that could have attempted what a certain Renegado has attempted, tho' he is ſo readily acquitted.

Not ſo haſty, my good Friend, ſaid Mr. B. You don't conſider well what you ſay, nor of whom: For did I take upon myſelf to cenſure you? But tho' I may challenge you to ſay the worſt you can, becauſe I always dealt upon my own Stock, while other People I could name enter'd into a Society and club⯑bed for Miſchief; yet I ſee you deal with a Brother Rake, when he reforms, as Highwaymen with one of their Gang, who would fain withdraw and be honeſt, but is kept among them by Fear of an Im⯑peachment.

But is not this, Ladies, ſaid Mrs. Arthur, a ſad thing, that ſo many fine Gentlemen as think them⯑ſelves concern'd in this Charge, ſhould have no way to clear themſelves but by Recrimination?

[224]Egad, ſaid Sir Thomas Atkyns, I know not what you're about, Gentlemen! You make but ſorry Fi⯑gures, by my Faith! — I have heard of many queer Pranks among my Bedfordſhire Neighbours; but I bleſs my Stars, I was in France and Italy all the Time.

Said Mr. Martin, Mrs. Arthur ſpoke the Words fine Gentlemen, and Sir Thomas thought himſelf obliged to enter upon his own Defence.

Ay, ſaid the Earl; and the beſt of it is, Sir Thomas pleads not his Virtue neither, that he did not join his Bedfordſhire Neighbours, but his Abſence.

Gad take me, returned he, putting a Pinch of Snuff to his Noſe with an Air, you're plaguy ſharp, Gentlemen: I believe in my Conſcience you're in a Confederacy, as Mr. B. ſays, and would ſwear an honeſt Man into the Plot, that would not care for ſuch Company. What ſay you, Mr. H.? which Side are you of?

The Gallows, reply'd he, in his uſual blunt Way, are of the Ladies Side; and I was always of the Side of the Gallows.

That ſhews, return'd Lady Towers, that Mr. H. is more afraid of the Puniſhment, than of deſerv⯑ing it.

'Tis well, ſaid Mr. B. that any Conſideration de⯑ters a Gentleman at Mr. H.'s Time of Life. What may be Fear now, may improve to Virtue by-and-by.

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 look'd after, perhaps.

Pray, my Dear, ſaid Lord Davers, forbear: You ought not to introduce two different Converſations in different Companies.

I think, truly, ſaid Mr. B. you ſhould take the Dean's Hint, my good Friends; elſe you'll be leſs polite than perſonal.

[225]Well, but, Gentlemen, ſaid Lady Arthur, ſince you ſeem to have been ſo hard put to it, as ſingle Gentlemen, what's to be done with the marry'd Man who ruins an innocent body? What Puniſhment, Mrs. Towers, ſhall we find out for ſuch? and what Reparation to the Injured? This, it ſeems, was ſaid with a particular View to the Earl, on a late ſcanda⯑lous Occaſion: But I knew it not till afterwards.

As to the Puniſhment of the Gentleman, reply'd Mrs. Towers, where the Law has 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 Re⯑paration 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 marry'd Man: If ſhe knows he is, I think ſhe neither deſerves Re⯑dreſs nor Pity, tho' it alleviates not his Guilt. But if the Caſe be otherwiſe, and ſhe had no means of informing herſelf that he was marry'd, and he pro⯑miſed to make her his Wife, to be ſure, tho' ſhe can⯑not be acquitted, he deſerves the ſevereſt Puniſh⯑ment that can be inflicted. What ſay you, Mrs. B.?

If I muſt ſpeak my Mind, reply'd I, I think, that ſince Cuſtom, as the Earl ſaid juſt now, exacts ſo lit⯑tle Regard to Virtue from Men, and ſo much from Women, and ſince the Deſigns of the former upon the latter are ſo flagrantly avow'd and known, the poor Creature, who ſuffers herſelf to be ſeduced either by a ſingle or marry'd Man, with Promiſes, or without, has nothing to do, but to ſequeſter herſelf from the World, and dedicate the Remainder of her Days to Penitence and Obſcurity. As to the Gen⯑tleman, added I, he muſt be left, I doubt, to his Conſcience, as you ſay, Mrs. Towers, which will, ſooner than he wiſhes, find him out.

Every young Lady has not your angelick Per⯑fection, Madam, ſaid Mr. Dormer. And there are [226] 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 favour'd Object, who per⯑haps, on all Occaſions, 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 Inno⯑cence. Is not ſuch a poor Creature to be pity'd! 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; admir'd 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 Mrs. 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, ſaid 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, retorted Mrs. Towers, that he is diſpoſed to take Offence at it?

I think, ſaid Mr. B. pardon me, Mrs. Towers, a Lady ſhould never make a Motion to wave ſuch Sub⯑jects [227] as thoſe of Virtue and Honour; and leſs ſtill in Company, where there is ſo much Occaſion, as ſhe ſeems to think, for inforcing them.

Nay, ſaid ſhe, I deſire not to wave the Subject, I'll aſſure you. And if you think, Sir, 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.

We are going into Perſonals again, Gentlemen and Ladies, ſaid the Earl.

And that won't bear, my Lord, you ſeem to think? retorted Lady Davers.

A Toaſt to the King and Royal Family brought on Publick Affairs, and Politicks; 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; for ſuch large Companies, you know, Miſs, don't always produce the moſt agreeable and edifying Subjects. But this I was the willinger to recite, becauſe I thought the Characters of ſome of our Neighbours would be thereby made more familiar to you, if ever I ſhould have the Happineſs to ſee you in theſe Parts.

I will only add, that Miſs L. the Dean's Daugh⯑ter, is a very modeſt and agreeable young Lady, and a perfect Miſtreſs of Muſick; in which the Dean takes great Delight alſo, and is a fine Judge of it. The Gentlemen coming in, to partake of our Coffee and Converſation, as they ſaid, obtain'd of Miſs to play ſeveral Tunes on the Spinnet; and would have me do ſo too. But really, Miſs L. ſo very much ſur⯑paſs'd me, that had I regarded my Reputation for play⯑ing above the Deſire I had (as I ſaid, and truly ſaid) to oblige the good Company, I ought not to have pretended to touch a Key after ſuch a Miſtreſs of it. Miſs has no Voice, which is great Pity; and at her Requeſt, and the Dean's, and the Company, I ſung to [228] her Play, twice or thrice; as did Mrs. Towers, whoſe Voice exceeds her Ear. But here, Miſs, will I end my Fourth Converſation-Piece.

LETTER XXXI.

I Now proceed with my Journal, which I brought down to Tueſday Evening; and of courſe I begin with

LETTER XXXIV. From Miſs DARNFORD, to Mrs. B.

I MUST recapitulate the Pleaſure you have given us in your charming Accounts of your Conver⯑ſations with your London Gueſts, and the Verſes put ſo boldly, and wickedly under your Seat; and your juſt Obſervations on the Lines, and the Occaſion. But we all humbly requeſt you'll be pleaſed to give us the Copy of the Manuſcript Verſes, from which you tranſcribe the pretty Lines, beginning— ‘But, Oh! forgive me, Heav'n, if oft my Fair.’

I am quite ſhock'd, when I think of Lady Davers's paſſionate Intentions, at her firſt coming down to you to the Hall, but have let nobody into the worſt of the Matter, in Compliance with your Deſire. We are delighted with your Account of Family Manage⯑ment, and your Sunday's Service.—What an excel⯑lent Lady are you! And how happy, and how good you make every one who knows you, is ſeen by the Ladies joining in your Evening Service, as well as their Servants.

We go on here ſwimmingly with our Courtſhip. Never was there a fonder Couple than Mr. Murray and Miſs Nancy. The moody Girl is quite alive, eaſy and pleas'd, 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 ſo free before-hand, that they would leave nothing for Improvement afterwards; to tell me, She had for ſome time 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.

[338]Poor, fooliſh Girl! cry'd I, when he was gone, provok'd to great Contempt by her Expreſſion be⯑fore 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! I ſay, Common Decency! 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 Ex⯑ample! Thy Ill-nature and Perverſeneſs will keep thee from that, as it has always hitherto done.

My Ill-temper you have often told me is natural to me; ſo it muſt become me: But upon ſuch a ſweet-temper'd young Lady as Miſs Polly, it 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 perhaps I ſee it vexes you; and ill-natured Folks love to teize, you know.—But, dear Polly, don't let the Affection Mr. Murray expreſſes for me, put ſuch a good-temper'd Body out of Humour, pray don't.— Who knows, (continued the Provoker, who never ſays a tolerable thing that is not ill-natur'd, that being her Talent) but the Gentleman may think himſelf happy, that he has found a way with ſo much Eaſe to diſpenſe with the Difficulty that Elderſhip laid [339] 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, indeed, ſaid I with a contemptuous Smile, thou'rt right, Nancy, to take the Gentleman at his firſt Word. Hold him faſt, and play over all thy Monkey Airs with him, with all my Heart: Who knows but it may engage him more? For ſhould he leave thee, I might be too much provok'd at thy Ingratitude to turn over another Gentleman to thee —And, let me tell you, without ſuch an Introduc⯑tion, 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 Mr. B. a great while!

No, but it was neceſſary, reply'd I, that one Nail ſhould drive out another; for thou'dſt been repining ſtill, had not Mr. Murray been turn'd over to thee.

Turn'd over! you us'd that Word once before, Siſter: Such great Wits as you, methinks, ſhould not uſe the ſame Word ſo often.

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 cau⯑tion [340] thee, that thou doſt not ſatiate where thou wouldſt oblige, that's all: Or if thy Man can be ſo groſs, as to like thy Fondneſs, that thou leaveſt ſome⯑thing 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 out now what was the Cauſe of thy conſtant Perverſeneſs: For had the unavailing Leſſons, my Mamma was always inculcating upon 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! ſpar⯑ring, jangling again, you Sluts!—O what fiery Eyes on one ſide! and contemptuous Looks on t'other!

Why, Papa, my Siſter Polly has turn'd over Mr. Murray to me, and ſhe wants him back again, and he won't come—That's all the Matter!

You know your Daughter Nancy, Papa—She could never 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!—The poor Girl has not indeed been uſed to be courted, and ſo knows not how to behave herſelf.

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 con⯑cern'd, Polly?—Hay!

Sir, this or any thing, 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 ſpite⯑ful [341] Sort? But, Papa, ſhould the poor Thing add to his Vanity, which wants no Addition, at the Ex⯑pence of her own?

I ſaw her affected, and was reſolv'd to purſue my Advantage.

Pr'ythee, Nancy, continu'd 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 Fond⯑neſs; for I have pity'd him many a time, when I have ſeen him ſtretched on the Tenters to keep thee in Countenance.

This ſet the ill-natur'd Girl into Tears and Fret⯑fulneſs; all her old Temper came upon her, as I deſign'd it ſhould; for ſhe had kept me at Bay longer than uſual; and I left her under the Domi⯑nion of it; and becauſe I would not come into a freſh Diſpute, got my Mamma's Leave, and the Chariot, and went and begg'd a Dinner at Lady Jones's; and then came home as cool and as eaſy, as I us'd 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 ſuffer'd 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.

The two following, anticipating the Order of Time, for the Reaſons mentioned p. 161. we inſert here.

LETTER XXXV. From Miſs DARNFORD to Mrs. B.

PRAY give my Service to your Mr. B. and tell him, he is very unpolite, in his Reflections ^* upon me, in relation to Mr. Murray, when he ſup⯑poſes I regret the Loſs of him. You are much more favourable and juſt too, I will ſay, to your Polly Darnford. 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 happens to continue her Diſlike, what ſhould be interpreted in her Favour, as a juſt and regular Piece of Conduct, is turn'd againſt her, and it muſt proceed from Spite.

Mr. B. may think he knows a good deal of the Sex. But perhaps, were I as malicious as he is re⯑flecting, (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 had the Happineſs to know 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.

But I can't bear, it ſeems, to ſee my Siſter ad⯑dreſs'd and complimented, and preferr'd by one whom I had thought in my own Power! But he may be miſtaken: With all his Sagacity, he has been often. Nor is it ſo mortifying a thing to me, as he imagines, to ſit and ſee two ſuch Anticks playing [343] their Pugs Tricks, as he calls them, with one an⯑other.

But you hardly ever ſaw ſuch Pug's Tricks play'd as they play, at ſo early a Time of Courtſhip. The Girl hangs upon his Arm, and receives his empty Head on her Shoulder, already, with a Freedom that would be cenſurable in a Bride, before Folks. A ſtiff, ſullen, proud, ſcornful Girl, as ſhe uſed to be, ſhe now puts on Airs that are not natural either to her Features or her Character; and judge then how it muſt diſguſt one; eſpecially when one ſees her Man ſo proud and vain upon it, that, like a true Man, he treats her with the leſs Ceremony for her Con⯑deſcenſions, putting on Airs of Conſequence, while her Eaſineſs of Behaviour makes him ſecure of Ac⯑ceptance, and a kind Reception, let him be as neg⯑ligent or as forward as he pleaſes.

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 think it an Honour to receive.

But neither can I bear, it ſeems, the Preparatives to Matrimony, the fine Cloaths, 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, if I were to marry.

Compliments in the ſingle State are a Lady's Due, whether courted or not; and ſhe receives them, or ought always to receive them, as ſuch: But in Court⯑ſhip they are pour'd out upon one, like a haſty Shower, that one knows will ſoon be over!—A mighty comfortable Conſideration this, to a Lady [344] who loves to be complimented!—Inſtead of the re⯑freſhing April-like Showers, which beautify the Sunſhine, ſhe ſhall ſtand a Deluge of Complaiſance, be wet to the Skin with it; and then—What then!— Why be in a Libyan Deſart ever after—; experience a conſtant parching Drought, and all her fine Attri⯑butes will be ſwallow'd up in the Quickſands of Ma⯑trimony.

It may be otherwiſe with you; and it muſt be otherwiſe; becauſe there is ſuch an infinite Variety in your Excellence. Every riſing Sun adorns you with ſome new Rays, and ſets not, without leaving you brighter than he himſelf can hold it.—But does Mr. B. think it muſt be ſo in every Matrimony?

'Tis true, he improves every Hour, as I ſee in your kind Papers, 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 ingrateful, as well as abſurd Churl, would he be, who ſhould ſeek to obſcure a meridian Luſtre, that dazles the Eyes of every one elſe?

But, let me obſerve, moreover, that you had ſo few of theſe fine Speeches before-hand, that you have all the Reaſon in the World to expect them now: And this leſſens his Merit a good deal, as the moſt he can ſay, is but common Juſtice, on full Preof ▪ for, can the like Generoſity be attributed to him, as might to a Gentleman who praiſes on Truſt?

You promiſe, if I will come to you, you will join with me againſt Mr. B. on this Subject. 'Tis very kindly offer'd: but when Mr. B. is in the Que⯑ſtion, I expect very little Aſſiſtance from you, be the Argument what it will.

But 'tis not my Fault, I don't come. I am quite tir'd with the perverſe Folly of this Nancy of ours. She every Day behaves more like a Fool to Mr. Murray, and leſs like a Siſter to me, and takes De⯑light [345] to teize and vex me, by all the little ways in her Power. And then Surlineſs and Ill-temper are ſo natural to her, that I, who can but throw out a ſpiteful Word, by way of Flouriſh, as I may ſay, and 'tis over, and I am ſorry for it as ſoon as ſpoken, am no Match for her—For ſhe perſeveres ſo intolerably, and comes back to the Attack, tho' never ſo often repuls'd, riſing like Antaeus, with freſh Vigour for every Fall, or like the Lernaean Hydra, which had a new Head ſprouting up, as faſt as any one of the Seven was lopt off, that there is no bearing her. Wedlock, in fine, muſt be her Hercules, and will furniſh me, I doubt, with a Revenge I wiſh not for.

But let me thank you for your delightful Narra⯑tives, and beg you to continue them. I told you how your Saturday's Converſation with Lady Da⯑vers, and your Sunday Imployments, charm us all: So regular, and ſo eaſy to be perform'd!—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. let me tell you, judges right, and acts a charm⯑ing Part, to throw ſuch a fine Game into your Hands. And ſo excellently do you play it, that never ſurely was ſo happy a Couple!

He has a prodigious Merit with me, I can tell him, tho' he thinks not ſo well of me as I would have him. To ſee, to praiſe, and to reward a Virtue, is next to having it one's ſelf: And, in time, he will make as good a Man (theſe fine Appearances encourage one to hope ſo) as he is a Husband.

Your Notions of Diſpenſations, and double Livings, are admirably juſt. Mr. Williams is more [346] 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, tho' Truth and Nature, are the moſt ſhocking, or the moſt amiable, that ever I 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 for that Purpoſe: I have got my Mamma on my Side again; who is concern'd 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 at his Heart to make Miſ⯑chief between us, inſtead of interpoſing to ſilence either: And truly, I am afraid, the Delight of this kind, which he takes, 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 Stra⯑tagem; 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 mortify'd Air.

What would not one do, in ſhort, to procure to one's ſelf the inexpreſſible Pleaſure that I ſhould have in your Company and Converſation? But [347] continue to write to me till then, however, and that will be next Beſt. I am

LETTER XXXVI. From the ſame.

I Am all over Joy and Rapture. My good Papa has given me Leave to tell you, that he will put his Polly under your Protection, when you go to London. If you have but a Tenth Part of the Plea⯑ſure 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 Acknowlegement, which I am to carry along with me, that I am in⯑truſted to his Honour and yours, and to be returned to him Heart-whole, and Dutiful, and with a Repu⯑tation as unſully'd as he receives me.

But do, deareſt Mrs. B. continue your Journals till then; for I have promis'd to take them up where you leave off, to divert our Friends in theſe Parts. 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 have been greatly diverted with the Trick put upon that Barbarian Sir Jacob. His Obſtinacy, Repentance, and Amendment, follow'd ſo irreſiſt⯑ibly 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 anſwer'd all the Beſieger's Ends at once.

[348]Mr. B.'s Defence of his own Conduct to⯑wards you, is quite noble; and he judges with his uſual Generoſity and good Senſe, when, by adding to your Honour, he knows he inhances his own. Mr. Pitt's fine Diamond met with a world of Admirers; but all turn'd upon this Reflection, What a happy Man is Mr. Pitt, who can call ſuch a Jewel his own!—How greatly do you excel this Diamond; and how much does Mr. B. outdo Mr. Pitt!— Who has contributed to give ſo rich a Jewel a Poliſh ſo admirable; and then has ſet it in ſo noble a Light, as makes its Beauty conſpicuous to every Eye!

You bid me skim over your Writings lightly; bur '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 Mur⯑ray, and forget to frown or be ill-natur'd, while ſhe can hear read what you write—And, angry as ſhe makes me ſometimes, I cannot deny her this Pleaſure, becauſe poſſibly, among the innumer⯑able 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—I'faith, ſhe's a ſweet one! — Do▪ dear good Sir Simon, repeated he aloud, let Miſs Polly add to our Delights!—So ſhe ſhall then; [349] —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, tho' always quar⯑relling 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 ſo 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 Let⯑ter 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 Com⯑pliance. I gave it moſt willingly, you may believe.

Nancy looked envious, altho' Mr. Murray came in juſt then—She look'd almoſt like a great Glut⯑ton, whom I remember, one Sir Jonathan Smith, who killed himſelf by eating: He us'd, 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. This is a groſs Simile; but all greedy and envious Folks look alike about the Eyes; and, thinking of Nancy on this Occaſion, (who envied a Happineſs ſhe knew I preferred to that ſhe has in Proſpect). I could not but call to mind Sir Jonathan at the ſame time.

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

P. S. Remember the Verſes I wrote about, if proper^*—You hint too at ſome other Verſes ^§. Don't let us loſe any thing.

LETTER XXXVII.

I NOW proceed with my Journal, which I had brought down to Thurſday Night.

LETTER XXXVIII. From Mrs. B. to Miſs Darnford. In Anſwer to Letters XXXV. and XXXVI.

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 charming Letters came to my Hand together, and I thank you an 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 together! But how long will you be permitted to ſtay, tho'? — 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 ſo paſs moſt of the Summer too 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 [386] Letter. I told him, that he was more intereſted in the Pleaſure I took in this Favour of Sir Simon's, than he imagin'd. As how, my Dear? ſaid he. A plain Caſe, Sir, reply'd I: For endeavouring to im⯑prove myſelf by Miſs Darnford's Converſation and Behaviour, I ſhall every Day be more worthy of your Favour. He kindly would have it, that no⯑body, no, not Miſs Darnford herſelf, excelled me.

'Tis right, you know, Miſs, he ſhould think ſo— tho' 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. —But don't let every body know how vain I am: Yet they may too, if they take in, at the ſame time, that I have ſome Excuſe, when I have won ſo happily the Favour of two ſuch Judges, as Mr. B. and Miſs Darnford, and had the good Fortune, too, to rejoice in that of Lady Davers, and the Counteſs of C.

Well, my dear Miſs,