Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded
she had married a man for his estate, when she had rather have had
another, had it not been for that; and that now, the world will say,
she is at liberty to pursue her inclination, the parson is the man!—And
I cannot bear even the most distant apprehension, that I had not the
preference with you, of any man living, let me have been what I would,
as I have shewn my dear life, that I have preferred her to all her sex,
of whatever degree.
I could not speak, might I have had the world; and he took me in his
arms, and said, I have now spoken all my mind, and expect no answer;
and I see you too much moved to give me one. Only forgive me the
mention, since I have told you my motive; which as much affects your
reputation, as my niceness; and offer not at an answer;—only say, you
forgive me: And I hope I have not one discomposing thing to say to my
dearest, for the rest of my life; which I pray God, for both our sakes,
to lengthen for many happy years.
Grief still choaked up the passage of my words; and he said, The shower
is over, my dear: let us walk out again.—He led me out, and I would
have spoken; but he said, I will not hear my dear creature say any
thing! To hearken to your assurance of complying with my request, would
look as if I doubted you, and wanted it. I am confident I needed only
to speak my mind, to be observed by you; and I shall never more think
on the subject, if you don’t remind me of it. He then most sweetly
changed the discourse.
Don’t you with pleasure, my dear, said he, take in the delightful
fragrance that this sweet shower has given to these banks of flowers?
Your presence is so enlivening to me, that I could almost fancy, that
what we owe to the shower, is owing to that: And all nature, methinks,
blooms around me when I have my Pamela by my side. You are a poetess,
my dear; and I will give you a few lines, that I made myself on such an
occasion as this I am speaking of, the presence of a sweet companion,
and the fresh verdure, that, after a shower, succeeding a long drought,
shewed itself throughout all vegetable nature. And then, in a sweet and
easy accent, (with his dear arms about me as we walked,) he sung me the
following verses; of which he afterwards favoured me with a copy:
I.
All nature blooms when you appear;
The fields their richest liv’ries wear;
Oaks, elms, and pines, blest with your view,
Shoot out fresh greens, and bud anew.
The varying seasons you supply;
And, when you’re gone, they fade and die.
II.
Sweet Philomel, in mournful strains,
To you appeals, to you complains.
The tow’ring lark, on rising wing,
Warbles to you, your praise does sing;
He cuts the yielding air, and flies
To heav’n, to type your future joys.
III.
The purple violet, damask rose,
Each, to delight your senses, blows.
The lilies ope’, as you appear;
And all the beauties of the year
Diffuse their odours at your feet,
Who give to ev’ry flow’r its sweet.
IV.
For flow’rs and women are allied;
Both, nature’s glory, and her pride!
Of ev’ry fragrant sweet possest,
They bloom but for the fair one’s breast,
And to the swelling bosom borne,
Each other mutually adorn.
Thus sweetly did he palliate the woes, which the generosity of his
actions, mixed with the solemness of the occasion, and the strange
request he had vouchsafed to make me, had occasioned. And all he would
permit me to say, was, that I was not displeased with him!—Displeased
with you, dearest sir! said I: Let me thus testify my obligations, and
the force all your commands shall have upon me. And I took the liberty
to clasp my arms about his neck, and kissed him.
But yet my mind was pained at times, and has been to this hour.—God
grant that I may never see the dreadful moment, that shall shut up the
precious life of this excellent, generous benefactor of mine! And—but I
cannot bear to suppose—I cannot say more on such a deep subject.
Oh! what a poor thing is human life in its best enjoyments! subjected
to imaginary evils, when it has no real ones to disturb it; and that
can be made as effectually unhappy by its apprehensions of remote
contingencies, as if it was struggling with the pangs of a present
distress! This, duly reflected upon, methinks, should convince every
one, that this world is not a place for the immortal mind to be
confined to; and that there must be an hereafter, where the whole soul
shall be satisfied.
But I shall get out of my depth; my shallow mind cannot comprehend, as
it ought, these weighty subjects: Let me only therefore pray, that,
after having made a grateful use of God’s mercies here, I may, with my
dear benefactor, rejoice in that happy state, where is no mixture, no
unsatisfiedness; and where all is joy, and peace, and love, for
evermore!
I said, when we sat at supper, The charming taste you gave me, sir, of
your poetical fancy, makes me sure you have more favours of this kind
to delight me with, if you please; and may I beg to be indulged on this
agreeable head? Hitherto, said he, my life has been too much a life of
gayety and action, to be busied so innocently. Some little essays I
have now and then attempted; but very few have I completed. Indeed I
had not patience nor attention enough to hold me long to any one thing.
Now and then, perhaps, I may occasionally shew you what I have essayed.
But I never could please myself in this way.
Friday.
We were yesterday favoured with the company of almost all the
neighbouring gentlemen and their ladies, who, by appointment with one
another, met to congratulate our happiness. Nothing could be more
obliging, more free and affectionate, than the ladies; nothing more
polite than the gentlemen. All was performed (for they came to supper)
with decency and order, and much to every one’s satisfaction; which was
principally owing to good Mrs. Jervis’s care and skill; who is an
excellent manager.
For my part, I was dressed out only to be admired, as it seems: and
truly, if I had not known, that I did not make myself, as you, my dear
father, once hinted to me, and if I had had the vanity to think as well
of myself, as the good company was pleased to do, I might possibly have
been proud. But I know, as my Lady Davers said, though in anger, yet in
truth, that I am but a poor bit of painted dirt. All that I value
myself upon, is, that God has raised me to a condition to be useful, in
my generation, to better persons than myself. This is my pride: And I
hope this will be all my pride. For what was I of myself!—All the good
I can do, is but a poor third-hand good; for my dearest master himself
is but the second-hand. God, the all-gracious, the all-good, the
all-bountiful, the all-mighty, the all-merciful God, is the first: To
him, therefore, be all the glory!
As I expect the happiness, the unspeakable happiness, my ever-dear and
ever-honoured father and mother, of enjoying you both here, under this
roof, so soon, (and pray let it be as soon as you can,) I will not
enter into the particulars of the last agreeable evening: For I shall
have a thousand things, as well as that, to talk to you upon. I fear
you will be tired with my prattle when I see you!
I am to return these visits singly; and there were eight ladies here of
different families. Dear heart! I shall find enough to do!—I doubt my
time will not be so well filled up, as I once promised my dear
master!—But he is pleased, cheerful, kind, affectionate! O what a happy
creature am I!—May I be always thankful to God, and grateful to him!
When all these tumultuous visitings are over, I shall have my mind, I
hope, subside into a family calm, that I may make myself a little
useful to the household of my dear master; or else I shall be an
unprofitable servant indeed!
Lady Davers sent this morning her compliments to us both, very
affectionately; and her lord’s good wishes and congratulations: and she
desired my writings per bearer; and says, she will herself bring them
to me again, with thanks, as soon as she has read them; and she and her
lord will come and be my guests (that was her particularly kind word)
for a fortnight.
I have now but one thing to wish for; and then, methinks, I shall be
all ecstasy: and that is, your presence, both of you, and your
blessings; which I hope you will bestow upon me every morning and
night, till you are settled in the happy manner my dear Mr. B—— has
intended.
Methinks I want sadly your list of the honest and worthy poor; for the
money lies by me, and brings me no interest. You see I am become a mere
usurer; and want to make use upon use: and yet, when I have done all, I
cannot do so much as I ought. God forgive my imperfections!
I tell my dear spouse, I want another dairy-house visit. To be sure, if
he won’t, at present, permit it, I shall, if it please God to spare us,
tease him like any over-indulged wife, if, as the dear charmer grows
older, he won’t let me have the pleasure of forming her tender mind, as
well as I am able; lest, poor little soul, she fall into such snares,
as her unhappy dear mother fell into. I am providing a power of pretty
things for her, against I see her next, that I may make her love me, if
I can.
Just now I have the blessed news, that you will set out for this happy
house on Tuesday morning. The chariot shall be with you without fail.
God give us a happy meeting! O how I long for it! Forgive your
impatient daughter, who sends this to amuse you on your journey; and
desires to be Ever most dutifully yours.
Here end, at present, the letters of Pamela to her father and mother.
They arrived at their daughter’s house on Tuesday evening in the
following week, and were received by her with the utmost joy and duty;
and with great goodness and complaisance by Mr. B——. And having resided
there till every thing was put in order for them at the Kentish estate,
they were carried down thither by himself, and their daughter, and put
into possession of the pretty farm he had designed for them.
The reader will here indulge us in a few brief observations, which
naturally result from the story and characters; and which will serve as
so many applications of its most material incidents to the minds of
YOUTH of BOTH SEXES.
First, then, in the character of the GENTLEMAN, may be seen that of a
fashionable libertine, who allowed himself in the free indulgence of
his passions, especially to the fair sex; and found himself supported
in his daring attempts, by an affluent fortune in possession, a
personal bravery, as it is called, readier to give than take offence,
and an imperious will: yet as he betimes sees his errors, and reforms
in the bloom of youth, an edifying lesson may be drawn from it, for the
use of such as are born to large fortunes; and who may be taught, by
his example, the inexpressible difference between the hazards and
remorse which attend a profligate course of life, and the pleasures
which flow from virtuous love, and benevolent actions.
In the character of Lady DAVERS, let the proud, and the high-born, see
the deformity of unreasonable passion, and how weak and ridiculous such
persons must appear, who suffer themselves, as is usually the case, to
be hurried from the height of violence, to the most abject submission;
and subject themselves to be outdone by the humble virtue they so much
despise.
Let good CLERGYMEN, in Mr. WILLIAMS, see, that whatever displeasure the
doing of their duty may give, for a time, to their proud patrons,
Providence will, at last, reward their piety, and turn their distresses
to triumph; and make them even more valued for a conduct that gave
offence while the violence of passion lasted, than if they had meanly