P.B.
[N.B.–Although Miss Darnford could not receive the above letter so soon, as to answer it before others were sent to her by her fair correspondent; yet we think it not amiss to dispense with the order of time, that the reader may have the letter and answer at one view, and shall on other occasions take the like liberty.]
LETTER XXVIII
_In answer to the preceding_
MY DEAR MRS. B.,
You charm us all with your letters. Mr. Peters says, he will never go to bed, nor rise, but he will pray for you, and desires I will return his thankful acknowledgment for your favourable opinion of him, and kind allowances. If there be an angel on earth, he says, you are one. My papa, although he has seen your stinging reflection upon his refusal to protect you, is delighted with you too; and says, when you come down to Lincolnshire again, he will be _undertaken_ by you in good earnest: for he thinks it was wrong in him to deny you his protection.
We all smiled at the description of your own uncommon courtship. And, as they say the days of courtship are the happiest part of life, if we had not known that your days of marriage are happier by far than any other body’s courtship, we must needs have pitied. But as the one were days of trial and temptation, the others are days of reward and happiness: may the last always continue to be so, and you’ll have no occasion to think any body happier than Mrs. B.!
I thank you heartily for your good wishes as to the man of sense. Mr. Murray has been here, and continues his visits. He is a lively gentleman, well enough in his person, has a tolerable character, yet loves company, and will take his bottle freely; my papa likes him ne’er the worse for that: he talks a good deal; dresses gay, and even richly, and seems to like his own person very well–no great pleasure this for a lady to look forward to; yet he falls far short of that genteel ease and graceful behaviour, which distinguish your Mr. B. from any body I know.
I wish Mr. Murray would apply to my sister. She is an ill-natured girl; but would make a good wife, I hope; and fancy she’d like him well enough. I can’t say I do. He laughs too much; has something boisterous in his conversation: his complaisance is not pretty; he is, however, well versed in country sports; and my papa loves him for that too, and says–“He is a most accomplished gentleman.”–“Yes Sir,” cry I, “as gentlemen go.”–“You _must_ be saucy,” says Sir Simon, “because the man offers himself to your acceptance. A few years hence, perhaps, if you remain single, you’ll alter your note, Polly, and be willing to jump at a much less worthy tender.”
I could not help answering that, although I paid due honour to all my papa was pleased to say, I could not but hope he would be mistaken in this. But I have broken my mind to my dear mamma, who tells me, she will do me all the pleasure she can; but would be loth the youngest daughter should go _first_, as she calls it. But if I could come and live with you a little now and then, I did not care who married, unless such an one offered as I never expect.
I have great hopes the gentleman will be easily persuaded to quit me for Nancy; for I see he has not delicacy enough to love with any great distinction. He says, as my mamma tells me by the bye, that I am the handsomest, and best humoured, and he has found out as he thinks, that I have some wit, and have ease and freedom (and he tacks innocence to them) in my address and conversation. ‘Tis well for me, _he_ is of this opinion: for if he thinks justly, which I must question, _any body_ may think so still much more; for I have been far from taking pains to engage his good word, having been under more reserve to him, than ever I was before to any body.
Indeed, I can’t help it: for the gentleman is forward without delicacy; and (pardon me, Sir Simon) my papa has not one bit of it neither; but is for pushing matters on, with his rough raillery, that puts me out of countenance, and has already adjusted the sordid part of the preliminaries, as he tells me.
Yet I hope Nancy’s three thousand pound fortune more than I am likely to have, will give her the wished-for preference with Mr. Murray; and then, as to a brother-in-law, in prospect, I can put off all restraint, and return to my usual freedom.
This is all that occurs worthy of notice from us: but from you, we expect an account of Lady Davers’s visit, and of the conversations that offer among you; and you have so delightful a way of making every thing momentous, either by your subject or reflections, or both, that we long for every post-day, in hopes of the pleasure of a letter. And yours I will always carefully preserve, as so many testimonies of the honour I receive in this correspondence: which will be always esteemed as it deserves, by, my dear Mrs. B., _your obliged and faithful_
POLLY DARNFORD.
Mrs. Peters, Mrs. Jones, my papa, mamma, and sister, present their respects. Mr. Peters I mentioned before. He continues to give a very good account of poor Jewkes; and is much pleased with her.
LETTER XXIX
MY DEAR MISS DARNFORD,
At your desire, and to oblige your honoured mamma, and your good neighbours, I will now acquaint you with the arrival of Lady Davers, and will occasionally write what passes among us, I will not say worthy of notice; for were I only to do so, I should be more brief, perhaps, by much, than you seem to expect. But as my time is pretty much taken up, and I find I shall be obliged to write a bit now, and a bit then, you must excuse me, if I dispense with some forms, which I ought to observe, when I write to one I so dearly love; and so I will give it journal-wise, as it were, and have no regard, when it would fetter or break in upon my freedom of narration, to inscription or subscription; but send it as I have opportunity, and if you please to favour me so far, as to lend it me, after you have read the stuff, for the perusal of my father and mother, to whom my duty, and promise require me to give an account of my proceedings, it will save me transcription, for which I shall have no time; and then you will excuse blots and blurs, and I will trouble myself no farther for apologies on that score, but this once for all.
If you think it worth while when they have read it, you shall have it again.
WEDNESDAY MORNING, SIX O’CLOCK.
For my dear friend permits me to rise an hour sooner than usual, that I may have time to scribble; for he is always pleased to see me so employed, or in reading; often saying, when I am at my needle, (as his sister once wrote) “Your maids can do this, Pamela: but they cannot write as you can.” And yet, as he says, when I choose to follow my needle, as a diversion from too intense study, (but, alas! I know not what study is, as may be easily guessed by my hasty writing, putting down every thing as it comes) I shall then do as I please. But I promised at setting out, what a good wife I’d endeavour to make: and every honest body should try to be as good as her word, you know, and such particulars as I then mentioned, I think I ought to dispense with as little as possible; especially as I promised no more than what was my duty to perform, if I had _not_ promised. But what a preamble is here? Judge by it what impertinences you may expect as I proceed.
Yesterday evening arrived here my Lord and Lady Davers, their nephew, and the Countess of C., mother of Lady Betty, whom we did not expect, but took it for the greater favour. It seems her ladyship longed, as she said, to see _me_; and this was her principal inducement. The two ladies, and their two women, were in Lord Davers’s coach and six, and my lord and his nephew rode on horseback, attended with a train of servants.
We had expected them to dinner; but they could not reach time enough; for the countess being a little incommoded with her journey, the coach travelled slowly. My lady would not suffer her lord, nor his nephew, to come hither before her, though on horseback, because she would be present, she said, when his lordship first saw me, he having quite forgot _her mother’s Pamela_; that was her word.
It rained when they came in; so the coach drove directly to the door, and Mr. B. received them there; but I was in a little sort of flutter, which Mr. B. observing, made me sit down in the parlour to compose myself. “Where’s Pamela?” said my lady, as soon as she alighted.
I stept out, lest she should take it amiss: and she took my hand, and kissed me: “Here, my lady countess,” said she, presenting me to her, “here’s the girl; see if I said too much in praise of her person.”
The countess saluted me with a visible pleasure in her eye, and said, “Indeed, Lady Davers, you have not. ‘Twould have been strange (excuse me, Mrs. B., for I know your story), if such a fine flower had not been transplanted from the field to the garden.”
I made no return, but by a low curtsey, to her ladyship’s compliment. Then Lady Davers taking my hand again, presented me to her lord: “See here, my lord, my mother’s Pamela.”–“And see here, my lord,” said her generous brother, taking my other hand most kindly, “see here your brother’s Pamela too!”
My lord saluted me: “I do,” said he to his lady, and to his brother; “and I see the first person in her, that has exceeded my expectation, when every mouth had _prepared_ me to expect a wonder.”
Mr. H., whom every one calls Lord Jackey, after his aunt’s example, when she is in good humour with him, and who is a very _young_ gentleman, though about as old as my best friend, came to me next, and said, “Lovelier and lovelier, by my life!–I never saw your peer, Madam.”
Will you excuse me, my dear, all this seeming vanity, for the sake of repeating exactly what passed?
“Well, but,” said my lady, taking my hand, in her free quality way, which quite dashed me, and holding it at a distance, and turning me half round, her eye fixed to my waist, “let me observe you a little, my sweet-faced girl;–I hope I am right: I hope you will do credit to my brother, as he has done you credit. Why do you let her lace so tight, Mr. B.?”
I was unable to look up, as you may believe, Miss: my face, all over scarlet, was hid in my bosom, and I looked so _silly!_–
“Ay,” said my naughty lady, “you may well look down, my good girl: for works of this nature will not be long hidden.–And, oh! my lady,” (to the countess) “see how like a pretty _thief_ she looks!”
“Dear my lady!” said I: for she still kept looking at me: and her good brother, seeing my confusion, in pity to me, pressed my blushing face a moment to his generous breast, and said, “Lady Davers, you should not be thus hard upon my dear girl, the moment you see her, and before so many witnesses:–but look up, my best love, take your revenge of my sister, and tell her, you wish her in the same way.”
“It is so then?” said my lady. “I’m glad of it with all my heart. I will now love you better and better: but I almost doubted it, seeing her still so slender. But if, my good child, you lace too tight, I’ll never forgive you.” And so she gave me a kiss of congratulation, as she said.
Do you think I did not look very silly? My lord, smiling, and gazing at me from head to foot; Lord Jackey grinning and laughing, like an oaf, as I then, in my spite, thought. Indeed the countess said, encouragingly to me, but severely in persons of birth, “Lady Davers, you are as much too teazing, as Mrs. B. is too bashful. But you are a happy man, Mr. B., that your lady’s bashfulness is the principal mark by which we can judge she is not of quality.” Lord Jackey, in the language of some character in a play, cried out, “_A palpable hit, by Jupiter!_” and laughed egregiously, running about from one to another, repeating the same words.
We talked only upon common topics till supper-time, and I was all ear, as I thought it became me to be; for the countess had, by her first compliment, and by an aspect as noble as intelligent, overawed me, as I may say, into a respectful silence, to which Lady Davers’s free, though pleasant raillery (which she could not help carrying on now-and-then) contributed. Besides, Lady Davers’s letters had given me still greater reason to revere her wit and judgment than I had before, when I reflected on her passionate temper, and such parts of the conversation I had had with her ladyship in your neighbourhood; which (however to be admired) fell short of her letters.
When we were to sit down at table, I looked, I suppose, a little diffidently: for I really then thought of my lady’s anger at the Hall, when she would not have permitted me to sit at table with her; and Mr. B. saying, “Take your place, my dear; you keep our friends standing;” I sat down in my usual seat. And my lady said, “None of your reproaching eye, Pamela; I know what you hint at by it; and every letter I have received from you has made me censure myself for my _lady-airs_, as you call ’em, you sauce-box you: I told you, I’d _lady-airs_ you when I saw you; and you shall have it all in good time.”
“I am sure,” said I, “I shall have nothing from your ladyship, but what will be very agreeable: but, indeed, I never meant any thing particular by that, or any other word that I wrote; nor could I think of any thing but what was highly respectful to your ladyship.”
Lord Davers was pleased to say, that it was impossible I should either write or speak any thing that could be taken amiss.
Lady Davers, after supper, and the servants were withdrawn, began a discourse on titles, and said, “Brother, I think you should hold yourself obliged to my Lord Davers; for he has spoken to Lord S. who made him a visit a few days ago, to procure you a baronet’s patent. Your estate, and the figure you make in the world, are so considerable, and your family besides is so ancient, that, methinks, you should wish for some distinction of that sort.”
“Yes, brother,” said my lord, “I did mention it to Lord S. and told him, withal, that it was without your knowledge or desire that I spoke about it; and I was not very sure you would accept of it; but ’tis a thing your sister has wished for a good while.”
“What answer did my Lord S. make to it?” said Mr. B.
“He said, ‘We,’ meaning the ministers, I suppose, ‘should be glad to oblige a man of Mr. B.’s figure in the world; but you mention it so slightly, that you can hardly expect courtiers will tender it to any gentleman that is so indifferent about it; for, Lord Davers, we seldom grant honours without a view: I tell you that,’ added he, smiling.”
“My Lord S. might mention this as a jest,” returned Mr. B., “but he spoke the truth. But your lordship said well, that I was indifferent about it. ‘Tis true, ’tis an hereditary title; but the rich citizens, who used to be satisfied with the title of Knight, (till they made it so common, that it is brought into as great contempt almost as that of the French knights of St. Michael,[1] and nobody cares to accept of it) now are ambitious of this; and, as I apprehend, it is hastening apace into like disrepute. Besides, ’tis a novel honour, and what the ancestors of our family, who lived at its institution, would never accept of. But were it a peerage, which has some essential privileges and splendours annexed to it, to make it desirable to some men, I would not enter into conditions for it. Titles at best,” added he, “are but shadows; and he that has the substance should be above valuing them; for who that has the whole bird, would pride himself upon a single feather?”
“But,” said my lady, “although I acknowledge that the institution is of late date, yet, as abroad, as well as at home, it is regarded as a title of dignity, and the best families among the gentry are supposed to be distinguished by it, I should wish you to accept of it. And as to citizens who have it, they are not many; and some of this class of people, or their immediate descendants, have bought themselves into the peerage itself of the one kingdom or the other.”
[Footnote 1: This order was become so scandalously common in France, that, to order to suppress it, the hangman was vested with the ensigns of it, which effectually abolished it.]
“As to what it is looked upon abroad,” said Mr. B., “this is of no weight at all; for when an Englishman travels, be he of what degree he will, if he has an equipage, and squanders his money away, he is a lord of course with foreigners: and therefore Sir Such-a-one is rather a diminution to him, as it gives him a lower title than his vanity would perhaps make him aspire to be thought in the possession of. Then, as to citizens, in a trading nation like this, I am not displeased in the main, with seeing the overgrown ones creeping into nominal honours; and we have so many of our first titled families, who have allied themselves to trade, (whose inducements were money only) that it ceases to be either a wonder as to the fact, or a disgrace as to the honour.”
“Well, brother,” said my lady, “I will tell you farther, the thing may be had for asking for; if you will but go to court, and desire to kiss the king’s hand, that will be all the trouble you’ll have: and pray now oblige me in it.”
“If a title would make me either a better or a wiser man,” replied Mr. B., “I would embrace it with pleasure. Besides, I am not so satisfied with some of the measures now pursuing, as to owe any obligation to the ministers. Accepting of a small title from them, is but like putting on their badge, or listing under their banners; like a certain lord we all know, who accepted of one degree more of title to shew he was theirs, and would not have an higher, lest it should be thought a satisfaction tantamount to half the pension he demanded: and could I be easy to have it supposed, that I was an ungrateful man for voting as I pleased, because they gave me the title of a baronet?”
The countess said, the world always thought Mr. B. to be a man of steady principles, and not attached to any party; but, in her opinion, it was far from being inconsistent with any gentleman’s honour and independency, to accept of a title from a prince he acknowledged as his sovereign.
“‘Tis very true. Madam, that I am attached to no party, nor ever will. I will be a _country gentleman_, in the true sense of the word, and will accept of no favour that shall make any one think I would _not_ be of the opposition when I think it a necessary one; as, on the other hand, I should scorn to make myself a round to any man’s ladder of preferment, or a caballer for the sake of my own.”
“You say well, brother,” returned Lady Davers; “but you may undoubtedly keep your own principles and independency, and yet pay your duty to the king, and accept of this title; for your family and fortune will be a greater ornament to the title, than the title to you.”
“Then what occasion have I for it, if that be the case, Madam?”
“Why, I can’t say, but I should be glad you had it, for your family’s sake, as it is an hereditary honour. Then it would mend the style of your spouse here; for the good girl is at such a loss for an epithet when she writes, that I see the constraint she lies under. It is, ‘_My dear gentleman, my best friend, my benefactor, my dear Mr. B._’ whereas Sir William would turn off her periods more roundly, and no other softer epithets would be wanting.”
“To me,” replied he, “who always desire to be distinguished as my Pamela’s best friend, and think it an honour to be called _her dear Mr. B. and her dear man_, this reason weighs very little, unless there were no other Sir William in the kingdom than _her_ Sir William: for I am very emulous of her favour, I can tell you, and think it no small distinction.”
I blushed at this too great honour, before such company, and was afraid my lady would be a little picqued at it. But after a pause, she said, “Well, then, brother, will you let Pamela decide upon this point?”
“Rightly put,” said the countess. “Pray let Mrs. B. choose for you, Sir. My lady has hit the thing.”
“Very good, by my soul,” says Lord Jackey; “let my _young aunt_,” that was his word, “choose for you, Sir.”
“Well, then, Pamela,” said Mr. B., “give us your opinion, as to this point.”
“But, first,” said Lady Davers, “say you will be determined by it; or else she will be laid under a difficulty.”
“Well, then,” replied he, “be it so–I will be determined by your opinion, my dear; give it me freely.”
Lord Jackey rubbed his hands together, “Charming, charming, as I hope to live! By Jove, this is just as I wished!”
“Well, now, Pamela,” said my lady, “speak your true heart without disguise: I charge you do.”
“Why then, gentlemen and ladies,” said I, “if I must be so bold as to speak on a subject, upon which on several accounts, it would become me to be silent, I should be _against_ the title; but perhaps my reason is of too private a nature to weigh any thing: and if so, it would not become me to have any choice at all.”
They all called upon me for my reason; and I said, looking down a little abashed, “It is this: Here my dear Mr. B. has disparaged himself by distinguishing, as he has done, such a low creature as I; and the world will be apt to say, he is seeking to repair _one way_ the honour he has lost _another!_ and then perhaps, it will be attributed to my pride and ambition: ‘Here, they will perhaps say, ‘the proud cottager will needs be a lady in hopes to conceal her descent;’ whereas, had I such a vain thought, it would be but making it the more remembered against both Mr. B. and myself. And indeed, as to my own part, I take too much pride in having been lifted up into this distinction for the causes to which I owe it, your brother’s _bounty_ and _generosity_, than to be ashamed of what I _was_: only now-and-then I am concerned for his own sake, lest he should be too much censured. But this would not be prevented, but rather be promoted by the title. So I am humbly of opinion against the title.”
Mr. B. had hardly patience to hear me out, but came to me and folding his arms about me, said, “Just as I wished, have you answered, my beloved Pamela; I was never yet deceived in you; no, not once.”
“Madam,” said he to the countess, “Lord Davers, Lady Davers, do we want any titles, think you, to make us happy but what we can confer upon ourselves?” And he pressed my hand to his lips, as he always honours me most in company and went to his place highly pleased; while his fine manner drew tears from my eyes, and made his noble sister’s and the countess’s glisten too.
“Well, for my part,” said Lady Davers, “thou art a strange girl: where, as my brother once said, gottest thou all this?” Then pleasantly humorous, as if she was angry, she changed her tone, “What signify thy _meek_ words and _humble_ speeches when by thy _actions_, as well as _sentiments_, thou reflectest upon us all? Pamela,” said she, “have less merit, or take care to conceal it better: I shall otherwise have no more patience with thee, than thy monarch has just now shewn.”
The countess was pleased to say, “You’re a happy couple indeed!”
Such sort of entertainment as this you are to expect from your correspondent. I cannot do better than I can; and it may appear such a mixture of self-praise, vanity, and impertinence, that I expect you will tell me freely, as soon as this comes to your hand, whether it be tolerable to you. Yet I must write on, for my dear father and mother’s sake, who require it of me, and are prepared to approve of every thing that comes from me, for no other reason but that: and I think you ought to leave me to write to them only, as I cannot hope it will be entertaining to any body else, without expecting as much partiality and favour from others, as I have from my dear parents. Mean time I conclude here my first conversation-piece; and am, and will be, _always yours, &c._ P.B.
LETTER XXX
THURSDAY MORNING, SIX O’CLOCK.
Our breakfast conversation yesterday (at which only Mrs. Worden, my lady’s woman, and my Polly attended) was so whimsically particular, (though I doubt some of it, at least, will appear too trifling) that I must acquaint my dear Miss Darnford with it, who is desirous of knowing all that relates to Lady Davers’s conduct towards me.
You must know, then, I have the honour to stand very high in the graces of Lord Davers, who on every occasion is pleased to call me his _good Sister_, his _dear Sister_, and sometimes his _charming Sister_, and he says, he will not be out of my company for an hour together, while he stays here, if he can help it.
My lady seems to relish this very well in the main, though she cannot quite so readily, yet, frame her mouth to the sound of the word _Sister_, as my lord does; of which this that follows is one instance.
His lordship had called me by that tender name twice before, and saying, “I will drink another dish, I think, my _good Sister_.” My lady said, “Your lordship has got a word by the end, that you seem mighty fond of: I have taken notice, that you have called Pamela _Sister, Sister, Sister_, no less than three times in a quarter of an hour.”
My lord looked a little serious: “I shall one day,” said he, “be allowed to choose my own words and phrases, I hope–Your sister, Mr. B.,” added he, “often questions whether I am at age or not, though the House of Peers made no scruple of admitting me among them some years ago.”
Mr. B. said severely, but with a smiling air, “‘Tis well she has such a gentleman as your lordship for a husband, whose affectionate indulgence to her makes you overlook all her saucy sallies! I am sure, when you took her out of our family into your own, we all thought ourselves, I in particular, bound to pray for you.”
I thought this a great trial of my lady’s patience: but it was from Mr. B. And she said, with a half-pleasant, half-serious air, “How now, Confidence!–None but my brother could have said this, whose violent spirit was always much more intolerable than mine: but I can tell you, Mr. B., I was always thought very good-humoured and obliging to every body, till your impudence came from college, and from your travels; and then, I own, your provoking ways made me now-and-then a little out of the way.”
“Well, well, sister, we’ll have no more of this subject; only let us see that my Lord Davers wants not his proper authority with you, although you used to keep _me_ in awe formerly.”
“Keep _you_ in awe!–That nobody could ever do yet, boy or man. But, my lord, I beg your pardon; for this brother will make mischief betwixt us if he can–I only took notice of the word _Sister_ so often used, which looked more like affectation than affection.”
“Perhaps, Lady Davers,” said my lord, gravely, “I have two reasons for using the word so frequently.”
“I’d be glad to hear them,” said the dear taunting lady; “for I don’t doubt they’re mighty good ones. What are they, my lord?”
“One is, because I love, and am fond of my new relation: the other, that you are so sparing of the word, that I call her so for us both.”
“Your lordship says well,” replied Mr. B., smiling: “and Lady Davers can give two reasons why she does _not_.”
“Well,” said my lady, “now we are in for’t, let us hear _your_ two reasons likewise; I doubt not they’re wise ones too.”
“If they are _yours_, Lady Davers, they must be so. One is, That every condescension (to speak in a proud lady’s dialect) comes with as much difficulty from her, as a favour from the House of Austria to the petty princes of Germany. The second, Because those of your sex–(Excuse me, Madam,” to the countess) “who have once made scruples, think it inconsistent with themselves to be over hasty to alter their own conduct, choosing rather to persist in an error, than own it to be one.”
This proceeded from his impatience to see me in the least slighted by my lady; and I said to Lord Davers, to soften matters, “Never, my lord, were brother and sister so loving in earnest, and yet so satirical upon each other in jest, as my good lady and Mr. B. But your lordship knows their way.”
My lady frowned at her brother, but turned it off with an air: “I love the mistress of this house,” said she, “very well; and am quite reconciled to her: but methinks there is such a hissing sound in the word _Sister_, that I cannot abide it. ‘Tis a true English word, but a word I have not been used to, having never had a sis-s-s-ter before, as you know,”–Speaking the first syllable of the word with an emphatical hiss.
Mr. B. said, “Observe you not, Lady Davers, that you used a word (to avoid that) which had twice the hissing in it that _sister_ has? And that was mis-s-s-tress, with two other hissing words to accompany it, of this-s-s hous-s-e: but to what childish follies does not pride make one stoop!–Excuse, Madam” (to the countess), “such poor low conversation as we are dwindled into.”
“O Sir,” said her ladyship, “the conversation is very agreeable;–and I think, Lady Davers, you’re fairly caught.”
“Well,” said my lady, “then help me, good _sister_–there’s for you!–to a little sugar. Will that please you, Sir?”
“I am always pleased,” replied her brother, smiling, “when Lady Davers acts up to her own character, and the good sense she is mistress of.”
“Ay, ay, my good brother, like other wise men, takes it for granted that it is a mark of good sense to approve of whatever _he_ does.–And so, for this one time, I am a very sensible body with him–And I’ll leave off, while I have his good word. Only one thing I must say to you, my dear,” turning to me, “that though I call you Pamela, as I please, be assured, I love you as well as if I called you _sister_, as Lord Davers does, at every word.”
“Your ladyship gives me great pleasure,” said I, “in this kind assurance; and I don’t doubt but I shall have the honour of being called by that tender name, if I can be so happy as to deserve it; and I’ll lose no opportunity that shall be afforded me, to show how sincerely I will endeavour to do so.”
She was pleased to rise from her seat: “Give me a kiss, my dear girl; you deserve every thing: and permit me to say Pamela sometimes, as the word occurs: for I am not used to speak in print; and I will call you _sister_ when I think of it, and love you as well as ever sister loved another.”
“These proud and passionate folks,” said Mr. B., “how good they can be, when they reflect a little on what becomes their characters!”
“So, then,” rejoined my lady, “I am to have no merit of my own, I see, do what I will. This is not quite so generous in my brother, as one might expect.”
“Why, you saucy sister–excuse me. Lord Davers–what merit _would_ you assume? Can people merit by doing their duty? And is it so great a praise, that you think fit to own for a sister so deserving a girl as this, whom I take pride in calling my wife?”
“Thou art what thou always wert,” returned my lady; “and were I in this my imputed pride to want an excuse, I know not the creature living, that ought so soon to make one for me, as you.”
“I _do_ excuse you,” said he, “for _that_ very reason, if you please: but it little becomes either your pride, or mine, to do any thing that wants excuse.”
“Mighty moral! mighty grave, truly!–Pamela, friend, sister,–there’s for you!–thou art a happy girl to have made such a reformation in thy honest man’s way of _thinking_ as well as _acting_. But now we are upon this topic, and only friends about us, I am resolved to be even with thee, brother–Jackey, if you are not for another dish, I wish you’d withdraw. Polly Barlow, we don’t want you. Beck, you may stay.” Mr. H. obeyed; and Polly went out; for you must know, Miss, that my Lady Davers will have none of the men-fellows, as she calls them, to attend upon us at tea. And I cannot say but I think her entirely in the right, for several reasons that might be given.
When they were withdrawn, my lady repeated, “Now we are upon this topic of reclaiming and reformation, tell me, thou bold wretch; for you know I have seen all your rogueries in Pamela’s papers; tell me, if ever rake but thyself made such an attempt as thou didst, on this dear good girl, in presence of a virtuous woman, as Mrs. Jervis was always noted to be? As to the other vile creature, Jewkes, ’tis less wonder, although in _that_ thou hadst the impudence of _him_ who set thee to work: but to make thy attempt before Mrs. Jervis, and in spite of _her_ struggles and reproaches, was the very stretch of shameless wickedness.”
Mr. B. seemed a little disconcerted, and said, “Surely, Lady Davers, this is going too far! Look at Pamela’s blushing face, and downcast eye, and wonder at yourself for this question, as much as you do at me for the action you speak of.”
The countess said to me, “My dear Mrs. B., I wonder not at this sweet confusion on so affecting a question!–but, indeed, since it is come in so naturally, I must say, Mr. B., that we have all, and my daughters too, wondered at this, more than at any part of your attempts; because, Sir, we thought you one of the most civilized men in England, and that you could not but wish to have saved appearances at least.”
“Though this is to you, my Pamela, the renewal of griefs; yet hold up your dear face. You may–The triumph was yours–the shame and the blushes ought to be mine–And I will humour my saucy sister in all she would have me say.”
“Nay,” said Lady Davers, “you know the question; I cannot put it stronger.”
“That’s very true,” replied he: “But would you expect I should give you a _reason_ for an attempt that appears to you so very shocking?”
“Nay, Sir,” said the countess, “don’t say _appears_ to Lady Davers; for (excuse me) it will appear so to every one who hears of it.”
“I think my brother is too hardly used,” said Lord Davers; “he has made all the amends he could make:–and _you_, my sister, who were the person offended, forgive him now, I hope; don’t you?”
I could not answer; for I was quite confounded; and made a motion to withdraw: but Mr. B. said, “Don’t go, my dear: though I ought to be ashamed of an action set before me in so full a glare, in presence of Lord Davers and the countess; yet I will not have you stir because I forget how you represented it, and you must tell me.”
“Indeed, Sir, I cannot,” said I; “pray, my dear ladies–pray, my good lord–and, dear Sir, don’t thus _renew my griefs_, as you were pleased justly to phrase it.”
“I have the representation of that scene in my pocket,” said my lady; “for I was resolved, as I told Lady Betty, to shame the wicked wretch with it the first opportunity; and I’ll read it to you; or rather, you shall read it yourself, Bold-face, if you can.”
So she pulled those leaves out of her pocket, wrapped up carefully in a paper. “Here,–I believe he who could act thus, must read it; and, to spare Pamela’s confusion, read it to yourself; for we all know how it was.”
“I think,” said he, taking the papers, “I can say something to abate the heinousness of this heavy charge, or else I should not stand thus at the insolent bar of my sister, answering her interrogatories.”
I send you, my dear Miss Darnford, a transcript of the charge. To be sure, you’ll say, he was a very wicked man.
Mr. B. read it to himself, and said, “This is a dark affair, as here stated; and I can’t say, but Pamela, and Mrs. Jervis too, had great reason to apprehend the worst: but surely readers of it, who were less parties in the supposed attempt, and not determined at all events to condemn me, might have made a more favourable construction for me, than you, Lady Davers, have done in the strong light in which you have set this heinous matter before us.
“However, since my lady,” bowing to the countess, “and Lord Davers seem to expect me particularly to answer this black charge, I will, at a proper time, if agreeable, give you a brief history of my passion for this dear girl; how it commenced and increased, and my own struggles with it, and this will introduce, with some little advantage to myself perhaps, what I have to say, as to this supposed attempt: and at the same time enable you the better to account for some facts which you have read in my pretty accuser’s papers.”
This pleased every one, and they begged him to begin _then_; but he said, it was time we should think of dressing, the morning being far advanced; and if no company came in, he would, in the afternoon, give them the particulars they desired to hear.
The three gentlemen rode out, and returned to dress before dinner: my lady and the countess also took an airing in the chariot. Just as they returned, compliments came from several of the neighbouring ladies to our noble guests, on their arrival in these parts; and to as many as sent, Lady Davers desired their companies for to-morrow afternoon, to tea; but Mr. B. having fallen in with some of the gentlemen likewise, he told me, we should have most of our visiting neighbours at dinner, and desired Mrs. Jervis might prepare accordingly for them.
After dinner Mr. H. took a ride out, attended by Mr. Colbrand, of whom he is very fond, ever since he frightened Lady Davers’s footmen at the Hall, threatening to chine them, if they offered to stop his lady: for, he says, he loves a man of courage: very probably knowing his own defects that way, for my lady often calls him a chicken-hearted fellow. And then Lord and Lady Davers, and the countess, revived the subject of the morning; and Mr. B. was pleased to begin in the manner I shall mention by-and-bye. For here I am obliged to break off.
Now, my dear Miss Darnford, I will proceed.
“I began,” said Mr. B., “very early to take notice of this lovely girl, even when she was hardly thirteen years old; for her charms increased every day, not only in my eye, but in the eyes of all who beheld her. My mother, as _you_ (Lady Davers) know, took the greatest delight in her, always calling her, her Pamela, her good child: and her waiting-maid and her cabinet of rarities were her boasts, and equally shewn to every visitor: for besides the beauty of her figure, and the genteel air of her person, the dear girl had a surprising memory, a solidity of judgment above her years, and a docility so unequalled, that she took all parts of learning which her lady, as fond of instructing her as she of improving by instruction, crowded upon her; insomuch that she had masters to teach her to dance, sing, and play on the spinnet, whom she every day surprised by the readiness wherewith she took every thing.
“I remember once, my mother praising her girl before me, and my aunt B. (who is since dead), I could not but notice her fondness for her, and said, ‘What do you design, Madam, to do _with_ or _for_, this Pamela of yours? The accomplishments you give her will do her more hurt than good; for they will set her so much above her degree, that what you intend as a kindness, may prove her ruin.’
“My aunt joined with me, and spoke in a still stronger manner against giving her such an education: and added, as I well remember, ‘Surely, sister, you do wrong. One would think, if one knew not my nephew’s discreet pride, that you design her for something more than your own waiting-maid.’
“‘Ah! sister,’ said the old lady, ‘there is no fear of what you hint at; his family pride, and stately temper, will secure my son: he has too much of his father in him. And as for Pamela, you know not the girl. She has always in her thoughts, and in her mouth, too, her parents’ mean condition, and I shall do nothing for _them_, at least at present, though they are honest folks, and deserve well, because I will keep the girl humble.’
“‘But what can I do with the little baggage?’ continued my mother; ‘she conquers every thing so fast, and has such a thirst after knowledge, and the more she knows, I verily think, the humbler she is, that I cannot help letting go, as my son, when a little boy, used to do to his kite, as fast as she pulls; and to what height she’ll soar, I can’t tell.
“‘I intended,’ proceeded the good lady, ‘at first, only to make her mistress of some fine needle-work, to qualify her (as she has a delicacy in her person, that makes it a pity ever to put her to hard work) for a genteel place; but she masters that so fast, that now as my daughter is married and gone from me, I am desirous to qualify her to divert and entertain me in my thoughtful hours: and were _you_, sister, to know what she is capable of, and how diverting her innocent prattle is to me, and her natural simplicity, which I encourage her to preserve amidst all she learns, you would not, nor my son neither, wonder at the pleasure I take in her. Shall I call her in?’
“‘I don’t want,’ said I, ‘to have the girl called in: if you, Madam, are diverted with her, that’s enough. To be sure, Pamela is a better companion for a lady, than a monkey or a harlequin: but I fear you’ll set her above herself, and make her vain and pert; and that, at last, in order to support her pride, she may fall into temptations which may be fatal to herself, and others too.’
“‘I’m glad to hear this from my _son_,’ replied the good lady. ‘But the moment I see my favour puffs her up, I shall take other measures.’
“‘Well,’ thought I to myself, ‘I only want to conceal my views from your penetrating eye, my good mother; and I shall one day take as much delight in your girl, and her accomplishments, as you now do; so go on, and improve her as fast as you will. I’ll only now and then talk against her, to blind you; and doubt not that all you do will qualify her the better for my purpose. Only,’ thought I, ‘fly swiftly on, two or three more tardy years, and I’ll nip this bud by the time it begins to open, and place it in my bosom for a year or two at least: for so long, if the girl behaves worthy of her education, I doubt not, she’ll be new to me.–Excuse me, ladies;–excuse me, Lord Davers;–if I am not ingenuous, I had better be silent.”
I will not interrupt this affecting narration, by mentioning my own alternate blushes, confusions, and exclamations, as the naughty man went on; nor the censures, and many _Out upon you’s_ of the attentive ladies, and _Fie, brother’s_, of Lord Davers; nor yet with apologies for the praises on myself, so frequently intermingled–contenting myself to give you, as near as I can recollect, the very sentences of the dear relator. And as to our occasional exclaimings and observations, you may suppose what they were.
“So,” continued Mr. B., “I went on dropping hints against her now and then; and whenever I met her in the passages about the house, or in the garden, avoiding to look at, or to speak to her, as she passed me, curtseying, and putting on a thousand bewitching airs of obligingness and reverence; while I (who thought the best way to demolish the influence of such an education, would be not to alarm her fears on one hand, or to familiarize myself to her on the other, till I came to strike the blow) looked haughty and reserved, and passed by her with a stiff nod at most. Or, if I spoke, ‘How does your lady this morning, girl?–I hope she rested well last night:’ then, covered with blushes, and curtseying at every word, as if she thought herself unworthy of answering my questions, she’d trip away in a kind of confusion, as soon as she had spoken. And once I heard her say to Mrs. Jervis, ‘Dear Sirs, my young master spoke to me, and called me by my name, saying–How slept your lady last night, Pamela?–Was not that very good, Mrs. Jervis?’–‘Ay,’ thought I, ‘I am in the right way, I find: this will do in proper time. Go on, my dear mother, improving as fast as you will: I’ll engage to pull down in three hours, what you’ll be building up in as many years, in spite of all the lessons you can teach her.’
“‘Tis enough for me, that I am establishing in you, ladies, and in you, my lord, a higher esteem for my Pamela (I am but too sensible I shall lose a good deal of my own reputation) in the relation I am now giving you.
“I dressed, grew more confident, and as insolent withal, as if, though I had not Lady Davers’s wit and virtue, I had all her spirit–(excuse me, Lady Davers;) and having a pretty bold heart, which rather put me upon courting than avoiding a danger or difficulty, I had but too much my way with every body; and many a menaced complaint have I _looked down_, with a haughty air, and a promptitude, like that of Colbrand’s to your footmen at the Hall, to clap my hand to my side; which was of the greater service to my bold enterprise, as two or three gentlemen had found I knew how to be in earnest.”
“Ha!” said my lady, “thou wast ever an impudent fellow: and many a vile roguery have I kept from my poor mother.–Yet, to my knowledge, she thought you no saint.”
“Ay, poor lady,” continued he, “she used now-and-then to catechize me; and was _sure_ I was not so good as I ought to be:–‘For, son,’ she would cry, ‘these late hours, these all night works, and to come home so _sober_ cannot be right.-I’m not sure, if I were to know all, (and yet I’m afraid of inquiring after your ways) whether I should not have reason to wish you were brought home in wine, rather than to come in so sober, and so late, as you do.’
“Once, I remember, in the summer-time, I came home about six in the morning, and met the good lady unexpectedly by the garden back-door, of which I had a key to let myself in at all hours. I started, and would have avoided her: but she called me to her, and then I approached her with an air, ‘What brings you, Madam, into the garden at so early an hour?’ turning my face from her; for I had a few scratches on my forehead–with a thorn, or so–which I feared she would be more inquisitive about than I cared she should.
“‘And what makes you,’ said she, ‘so early here, Billy?–What a rakish figure dost thou make!–One time or other these courses will yield you but little comfort, on reflection: would to God thou wast but happily married!’
“‘So, Madam, the old wish!–I’m not so bad as you think me:–I hope I have not merited so great a punishment.’
“These hints I give, not as matter of glory, but shame: yet I ought to tell you all the truth, or nothing. ‘Meantime,’ thought I, (for I used to have some compunction for my vile practices, when cool reflection, brought on by satiety, had taken hold of me) ‘I wish this sweet girl was grown to years of susceptibility, that I might reform this wicked course of life, and not prowl about, disturbing honest folks’ peace, and endangering myself.’ And as I had, by a certain very daring and wicked attempt, in which, however, I did not succeed, set a hornet’s nest about my ears, which I began to apprehend would sting me to death, having once escaped an ambush by dint of mere good luck; I thought it better to remove the seat of my warfare into another kingdom, and to be a little more discreet for the future in my amours. So I went to France a second time, and passed a year there in the best of company, and with some improvement both to my morals and understanding; and had a very few sallies, considering my love of intrigue, and the ample means I had to prosecute successfully all the desires of my heart.
“When I returned, several matches were proposed to me, and my good mother often requested me to make her so happy, as she called it, as to see me married before she died; but I could not endure the thoughts of the state: for I never saw a lady whose temper and education I liked, or with whom I thought I could live tolerably. She used in vain therefore to plead family reasons to me:–like most young fellows, I was too much a self-lover, to pay so great a regard to posterity; and, to say truth, had little solicitude at that time, whether my name were continued or not, in my own descendants. However, I looked upon my mother’s Pamela with no small pleasure, and I found her so much improved, as well in person as behaviour, that I had the less inducement either to renew my intriguing life, or to think of a married state.
“Yet, as my mother had all her eyes about her, as the phrase is, I affected great shyness, both before her, and to the girl; for I doubted not, my very looks would be watched by them both; and what the one discovered would not be a secret to the other; and laying myself open too early to a suspicion, I thought, would but ice the girl over, and make her lady more watchful.
“So I used to go into my mother’s apartment, and come out of it, without taking the least notice of her, but put on stiff airs; and as she always withdrew when I came in, I never made any pretence to keep her there.
“Once, indeed, my mother, on my looking after her, when her back was turned, said, ‘My dear son, I don’t like your eye following my girl so intently.–Only I know that sparkling lustre natural to it, or I should have some fear for my Pamela, as she grows older.’
“‘_I_ look after her. Madam!-_My_ eyes sparkle at such a girl as that! No indeed! She may be your favourite as a waiting-maid; but I see nothing but clumsy curtseys and awkward airs about her. A little rustic affectation of innocence, that to such as cannot see into her, may pass well enough.’
“‘Nay, my dear,’ replied my mother, ‘don’t say that, of all things. She has no affectation, I am sure.’
“‘Yes, she has, in my eye, Madam, and I’ll tell you how it is; you have taught her to assume the airs of a gentlewoman, to dance, and to enter a room with a grace; and yet bid her keep her low birth and family in view: and between the one character, which she wants to get into, and the other she dares not get out of, she trips up and down mincingly, and knows not how to set her feet: so ’tis the same in every gesture: her arms she knows not whether to swim with, or to hold before her, nor whether to hold her head up or down; and so does neither, but hangs it on one side: a little awkward piece of one-and-t’other I think her. And, indeed, you’d do the girl more kindness to put her into your dairy, than to keep her about your person; for she’ll be utterly spoiled, I doubt, for any useful purpose.’
“‘Ah, son!’ said she, ‘I fear, by your description, you have minded her too much in one sense, though not enough in another. ‘Tis not my intention to recommend her to your notice, of all men; and I doubt not, if it please God I live, and she continues a good girl, but she will make a man of some middling, genteel business, very happy.’
“Pamela came in just then, with an air so natural, so humble, and yet so much above herself, that I was forced to turn my head from her, lest my mother should watch my eye again, and I be inclined to do her that justice, which my heart assented to, but which my lips had just before denied her.
“All my difficulty, in apprehension, was my good mother; the effect of whose lessons to her girl, I was not so much afraid of as her vigilance. ‘For,’ thought I, ‘I see by the delicacy of her person, the brilliancy of her eye, and the sweet apprehensiveness that plays about every feature of her face, she must have tinder enough in her constitution, to catch a well-struck spark; and I’ll warrant I shall know how to set her in a blaze, in a few months more.’
“Yet I wanted, as I passed, to catch her attention too: I expected her to turn after me, and look so as to shew a liking towards me; for I had a great opinion of my person and air, which had been fortunately distinguished by the ladies, whom, of course, my vanity made me allow to be very good judges of these outward advantages.
“But to my great disappointment, Pamela never, by any favourable glance, gave the least encouragement to my vanity. ‘Well,’ thought I, ‘this girl has certainly nothing ethereal in her mould: all unanimated clay!–But the dancing and singing airs my mother is teaching her, will better qualify her in time, and another year will ripen her into my arms, no doubt of it. Let me only go on thus, and make her _fear_ me: that will enhance in her mind every favour I shall afterwards vouchsafe to shew her: and never question old _humdrum_ Virtue,’ thought I, ‘but the tempter _without_, and the tempter _within_, will be too many for the perversest nicety that ever the sex boasted.’
“Yet, though I could not once attract her eye towards me, she never failed to draw mine after her, whenever she went by me, or wherever I saw her, except, as I said, in my mother’s presence; and particularly when she had passed me, and could not see me look at her, without turning her head, as I expected so often from her in vain.
“You will wonder, Lord Davers, who, I suppose, was once in love, or you’d never have married such an hostile spirit as my sister’s there-“
“Go on, sauce–box,” said she, “I won’t interrupt you.”
“You will wonder how I could behave so coolly as to escape all discovery so long from a lady so watchful as my mother, and from the apprehensiveness of the girl.
“But, to say nothing of her tender years, and that my love was not of this bashful sort, I was not absolutely determined, so great was my pride, that I ought to think her worthy of being my _mistress_, when I had not much reason, as I thought, to despair of prevailing upon persons of higher birth (were I disposed to try) to live with me upon my own terms. My pride, therefore, kept my passion at bay, as I may say: so far was I from imagining I should ever be brought to what has since happened! But to proceed:
“Hitherto my mind was taken up with the beauties of her person only. My EYE had drawn my HEART after it, without giving myself any trouble about that sense and judgment which my mother was always praising in her Pamela, as exceeding her years and opportunities: but an occasion happened, which, though slight in itself, took the HEAD into the party, and I thought of her, young as she was, with a distinction, that before I had not for her. It was this:
“Being with my mother in her closet, who was talking to me on the old subject, _matrimony_, I saw Pamela’s commonplace book, as I may call it; in which, by her lady’s direction, from time to time, she had transcribed from the Bible, and other good books, such passages as most impressed her as she read–A method, I take it, my dear” (_turning to me_), “of great service to you, as it initiated you into writing with that freedom and ease, which shine in your saucy letters and journals; and to which my present fetters are not a little owing: just as pedlars catch monkeys in the baboon kingdoms, provoking the attentive fools, by their own example, to put on shoes and stockings, till the apes of imitation, trying to do the like, entangle their feet, and so cannot escape upon the boughs of the tree of liberty, on which before they were wont to hop and skip about, and play a thousand puggish tricks.
“I observed the girl wrote a pretty hand, and very swift and free; and affixed her points or stops with so much judgment (her years considered), that I began to have an high opinion of her understanding. Some observations likewise upon several of the passages were so just and solid, that I could not help being tacitly surprised at them.
“My mother watched my eye, and was silent: I seemed not to observe that she did; and after a while, laid down the book, shutting it with great indifference, and talking of another subject.
“Upon this, my mother said, ‘Don’t you think Pamela writes a pretty hand, son?’
“‘I did not mind it much,’ said I, with a careless air. ‘This is her writing, is it?’ taking the book, and opening it again, at a place of Scripture. ‘The girl is mighty pious!’ said I.
“‘I wish _you_ were so, child.’
“‘I wish so too, Madam, if it would please _you_.’
“‘I wish so, for your _own_ sake, child.’
“‘So do I, Madam;’ and down I laid the book again very carelessly.
“‘Look once more in it,’ said she, ‘and see if you can’t open it upon some place that may strike you.’
“I opened it at–‘_Train up a child in the way it should go_,’ &c. ‘I fancy,’ said I, ‘when I was of Pamela’s age, I was pretty near as good as she.’
“‘Never, never,’ said my mother; ‘I am sure I took great pains with you; but, alas I to very little purpose. You had always a violent headstrong will.’
“‘Some allowances for boys and girls, I hope, Madam; but you see I am as good for a man as my sister for a woman.’
“‘No indeed, you are not, I do assure you.’
“‘I am sorry for that. Madam; you give me a sad opinion of myself.'”
“Brazen wretch!” said my lady; “but go on.”
“‘Turn to one of the girl’s observations on some text,’ said my mother.
“I did; and was pleased with it more than I would own. ‘The girl’s well enough,’ said I, ‘for what she is; but let’s see what she’ll be a few years hence. Then will be the trial.’
“‘She’ll be always good, I doubt not.’
“‘So much the better for her. But can’t we talk of any other subject? You complain how seldom I attend you; and when you are always talking of matrimony, or of this low-born, raw girl, it must needs lessen the pleasure of approaching you.’
“But now, as I hinted to you, ladies, and my lord, I had a still higher opinion of Pamela; and esteemed her more worthy of my attempts. ‘For,’ thought I, ‘the girl has good sense, and it will be some pleasure to watch by what gradations she may be made to rise into love, and into a higher life, than that to which she was born.’ And so I began to think she would be worthy in time of being my _mistress,_ which, till now, as I said before, I had been a little scrupulous about.
“I took a little tour soon after this in company of some friends, with whom I had contracted an intimacy abroad, into Scotland and Ireland, they having a curiosity to see those countries, and we spent six or eight months on this expedition; and when I had landed them in France, I returned home, and found my good mother in a very indifferent state of health, but her Pamela arrived to a height of beauty and perfection which exceeded all my expectations. I was so taken with her charms when I first saw her, which was in the garden, with a book in her hand, just come out of a little summer-house, that I then thought of obliging her to go back again, in order to begin a parley with her: but while I was resolving, she tript away with her curtesies and reverences, and was out of my sight before I could determine.
“I was resolved, however, not to be long without her; and Mrs. Jewkes having been recommended to me a little before, by a brother-rake, as a woman of tried fidelity, I asked her if she would be faithful, if I had occasion to commit a pretty girl to her care?
“She hoped, she said, it would be with the lady’s own consent, and she should make no scruple in obeying me.
“So I thought I would way-lay the girl, and carry her first to a little village in Northamptonshire, to an acquaintance of Mrs. Jewkes’s. And when I had brought her to be easy and pacified a little, I designed that Jewkes should attend her to Lincolnshire: for I knew there was no coming at her here, under my mother’s wing, by her own consent, and that to offer terms to her, would be to blow up my project all at once. Besides, I was sensible, that Mrs. Jervis would stand in the way of my proceedings as well as my mother.
“The method I had contrived was quite easy, as I imagined, and such as could not have failed to answer my purpose, as to carrying her off; and I doubted not of making her well satisfied in her good fortune very quickly; for, having a notion of her affectionate duty to her parents, I was not displeased that I could make the terms very easy and happy to them all.
“What most stood in my way, was my mother’s fondness for her: but supposing I had got her favourite in my hands, which appeared to me, as I said, a task very easy to be conquered, I had actually formed a letter for her to transcribe, acknowledging a love-affair, and laying her withdrawing herself so privately, to an implicit obedience to her husband’s commands, to whom she was married that morning, and who, being a young gentleman of genteel family, and dependent on his friends, was desirous of keeping it all a profound secret; and begging, on that account, her lady not to divulge it, so much as to Mrs. Jervis.
“And to prepare for this, and make her escape the more probable, when matters were ripe for my plot, I came in one night, and examined all the servants, and Mrs. Jervis, the latter in my mother’s hearing, about a genteel young man, whom I pretended to find with a pillion on the horse he rode upon, waiting about the back door of the garden, for somebody to come to him; and who rode off, when I came up to the door, as fast as he could. Nobody knew any thing of the matter, and they were much surprised at what I told them: but I begged Pamela might be watched, and that no one would say any thing to her about it.
“My mother said, she had two reasons not to speak of it to Pamela: one to oblige me: the other and chief, because it would break the poor innocent girl’s heart, to be suspected. ‘Poor dear child!’ said she, ‘whither can she go, to be so happy as with me? Would it not be inevitable ruin to her to leave me? There is nobody comes after her: she receives no letters, but now-and-then one from her father and mother, and those she shews me.’
“‘Well,’ replied I, ‘I hope she can have no design; ‘twould be strange if she had formed any to leave so good a mistress; but you can’t be _sure_ all the letters she receives are from her father; and her shewing to you those he writes, looks like a cloak to others she may receive from another hand. But it can be no harm to have an eye upon her. You don’t know, Madam, what tricks there are in the world.’
“‘Not I, indeed; but only this I know, that the girl shall be under no restraint, if she is resolved to leave me, well as I love her.’
“Mrs. Jervis said, she would have an eye upon Pamela, in obedience to my command, but she was sure there was no need; nor would she so much wound the poor child’s peace, as to mention the matter to her.
“This I suffered to blow off, and seemed to my mother to have so good an opinion of her Pamela, that I was sorry, as I told her, I had such a surmise: saying, that though the fellow and the pillion were odd circumstances, yet I dared to say, there was nothing in it: for I doubted not, the girl’s duty and gratitude would hinder her from doing a foolish or rash thing.
“This my mother heard with pleasure: although my motive was but to lay Pamela on the thicker to her, when she was to be told she had escaped.
“She was _glad_ I was not an enemy to the poor child. ‘Pamela has no friend but me,’ continued she; ‘and if I don’t provide for her, I shall have done her more harm than good (as you and your aunt B. have often said,) in the accomplishments I have given her: and yet the poor girl, I see that,’ added she, ‘would not be backward to turn her hand to any thing for the sake of an honest livelihood, were she put to it; which, if it please God to spare me, and she continues good, she never shall be.’
“I wonder not, Pamela, at your tears on this occasion. Your lady was an excellent woman, and deserved this tribute to her memory. All my pleasure now is, that she knew not half my wicked pranks, and that I did not vex her worthy heart in the prosecution of this scheme; which would have given me a severe sting, inasmuch as I might have apprehended, with too much reason, that I had shortened her days by the knowledge of the one and the other.
“I had thus every thing ready for the execution of my project: but my mother’s ill state of health gave me too much concern, to permit me to proceed. And, now-and-then, as my frequent attendance in her illness gave me an opportunity of observing more and more of the girl; her affectionate duty, and continual tears (finding her often on her knees, praying for her mistress,) I was moved to pity her; and while those scenes of my mother’s illness and decline were before me, I would resolve to conquer, if possible, my guilty passion, as those scenes taught me, while their impressions held, justly to call it; and I was much concerned to find it so difficult a task; for, till now, I thought it principally owing to my usual enterprising temper, and a love of intrigue; and that I had nothing to do but to resolve against it, and to subdue it.
“But I was greatly mistaken: for I had insensibly brought myself to admire her in every thing she said or did; and there was so much gracefulness, humility, and innocence in her whole behaviour, and I saw so many melting scenes between her lady and her, that I found I could not master my esteem for her.
“My mother’s illness increasing beyond hopes of recovery, and having settled all her greater affairs, she talked to me of her servants; I asked what she would have done for Pamela and Mrs. Jervis.
“‘Make Mrs. Jervis, my dear son, as happy as you can: she is a gentlewoman born, you know; let her always be treated as such; but for your own sake, don’t make her independent; for then you’ll want a faithful manager. Yet if you marry, and your lady should not value her as she deserves, allow her a competency for the rest of her life, and let her live as she pleases.
“‘As for Pamela, I hope you will be her protector!–She is a good girl: I love her next to you and your dear sister. She is just arriving at a trying time of life. I don’t know what to say for her. What I had designed was, that if any man of a genteel calling should offer, I would give her a little pretty portion, had God spared my life till then. But were she made independent, some idle fellow might snap her up; for she is very pretty: or if she should carry what you give her to her poor parents, as her duty would lead her to do, they are so unhappily involved, that a little matter would be nothing to them, and the poor girl might be to seek again. Perhaps Lady Davers will take her. But I wish she was not so pretty! She may be the bird for which some wicked fowler will spread his snares; or, it may be, every lady will not choose to have such a waiting-maid. You are a young gentleman, and I am sorry to say, not better than I wish you to be–Though I hope my Pamela would not be in danger from her master, who owes all his servants protection, as much as the king does to his subjects. Yet I don’t know how to wish her to stay with you, for your own reputation’s sake, my dear son;–for the world will censure as it lists.–Would to God!’ said she, ‘the dear girl had the small-pox in a mortifying manner: she’d be lovely though in the genteelness of her person and the excellencies of her mind; and more out of danger of suffering from the transcient beauties of countenance. Yet I think,’ added she, ‘she might be safe and happy under Mrs. Jervis’s care; and if you marry, and your lady parts with Mrs. Jervis, let ’em go together, and live as they like. I think that will be the best for both. And you have a generous spirit enough: I will not direct you in the _quantum_. But, my dear son, remember that I am the less concerned, that I have not done for the poor girl myself, because I depend upon you: the manner how fitly to provide for her, has made me defer it till now, that I have so much more important concerns on my hands; life and strength ebbing so fast, that I am hardly fit for any thing, or to wish for any thing, but to receive the last releasing stroke.'”
Here he stopped, being under some concern himself, and we in much more. At last he resumed the subject.
“You will too naturally think, my lord–and you, my good ladies–that the mind must be truly diabolical, that could break through the regard due to the solemn injunctions of a dying parent. They _did_ hold me a good while indeed; and as fast as I found any emotions of a contrary nature rise in my breast, I endeavoured for some time to suppress them, and to think and act as I ought; but the dear bewitching girl every day rose in her charms upon me: and finding she still continued the use of her pen and ink, I could not help entertaining a jealousy, that she was writing to somebody who stood well in her opinion; and my love for her, and my own spirit of intrigue, made it a sweetheart of course. And I could not help watching her emotions; and seeing her once putting a letter she had just folded up, into her bosom, at my entrance into my mother’s dressing-room, I made no doubt of detecting her, and her correspondent; and so I took the letter from her stays, she trembling and curtseying with a sweet confusion: and highly pleased I was to find it contained only innocence and duty to the deceased mistress, and the loving parents, expressing her joy that, in the midst of her grief for losing the one, she was not obliged to return to be a burden to the other; and I gave it her again, with words of encouragement, and went down much better satisfied than I had been with her correspondence.
“But when I reflected upon the innocent simplicity of her style, I was still more in love with her, and formed a stratagem, and succeeded in it, to come at her other letters, which I sent forward, after I had read them, all but three or four, which I kept back, when my plot began to ripen for execution; although the little slut was most abominably free with my character to her parents.
“You will censure me, no doubt, that my mother’s injunctions made not a more lasting impression. But really I struggled hard with myself to give them their due force: and the dear girl, as I said, every day grew lovelier, and more accomplished. Her letters were but so many links to the chains in which she had bound me; and though once I had resolved to part with her to Lady Davers, and you, Madam, had an intention to take her, I could not for my life give her up; and thinking more honourably then of the state of a mistress than I have done since, I could not persuade myself (since I intended to do as handsomely by her as ever man did to a lady in that situation) but that I should do better for her than my mother had wished me to do, and so _more_ than answer all her injunctions, as to the providing for her: and I could not imagine I should meet with a resistance I had seldom encountered from persons much her superiors as to descent; and was amazed at it; for it confounded me in all the notions I had of her sex, which, like a true libertine, I supposed wanted nothing but _importunity_ and _opportunity_, a bold attempter, and a mind not ungenerous. Sometimes I admired her for her virtue; at other times, impetuous in my temper, and unused to control, I could have beat her. She well, I remember, describes the tumults of my soul, repeating what once passed between us, in words like, these:–‘Take the little witch from me, Mrs. Jervis.–I can neither bear, nor forbear her–But stay-you shan’t go–Yet be gone!–No, come back again.’–She thought I was mad, she says in her papers. Indeed I was little less. She says, I took her arm, and griped it black and blue, to bring her back again; and then sat down and looked at her as silly as such a poor girl as she!–Well did she describe the passion I struggled with; and no one can conceive how much my pride made me despise myself at times for the little actions my love for her put me upon, and yet to find that love increasing every day, as her charms and her resistance increased.–I have caught myself in a raging fit, sometimes vowing I would have her, and, at others, jealous that, to secure herself from my attempts, she would throw herself into the arms of some menial or inferior, whom otherwise she would not have thought of.
“Sometimes I soothed, sometimes threatened her; but never was such courage, when her virtue seemed in danger, mixed with so much humility, when her fears gave way to her hopes of a juster treatment.–Then I would think it impossible (so slight an opinion had I of woman’s virtue) that such a girl as this, cottage-born, who owed every thing to my family, and had an absolute dependence upon my pleasure: myself not despicable in person or mind, as I supposed; she unprejudiced in any man’s favour, at an age susceptible of impressions, and a frame and constitution not ice or snow: ‘Surely,’ thought I, ‘all this frost must be owing to the want of fire in my attempts to thaw it: I used to dare more, and succeed better. Shall such a girl as this awe me by her rigid virtue? No, she shall not.’
“Then I would resolve to be more in earnest. Yet my love was a traitor, that was more faithful to _her_ than to _me_; it had more honour in it at bottom than I had designed. Awed by her unaffected innocence, and a virtue I had never before encountered, so uniform and immovable, the moment I _saw_ her I was half disarmed; and I courted her consent to that, which, though I was not likely to obtain, yet it went against me to think of extorting by violence. Yet marriage was never in my thoughts: I scorned so much as to promise it.
“To what numberless mean things did not this unmanly passion subject me!–I used to watch for her letters, though mere prittle-prattle and chit-chat, received them with delight, though myself was accused in them, and stigmatized as I deserved.
“I would listen meanly at her chamber-door, try to overhear her little conversation; in vain attempted to suborn Mrs. Jervis to my purposes, inconsistently talking of honour, when no one step I took, or action I attempted, shewed any thing like it: lost my dignity among my servants; made a party in her favour against me, of every body, but whom my money corrupted, and that hardly sufficient to keep my partisans steady to my interest; so greatly did the virtue of the servants triumph over the vice of the master, when confirmed by such an example!
“I have been very tedious, ladies and my Lord Davers, in my narration: but I am come within view of the point for which I now am upon my trial at your dread tribunal (_bowing to us all_).
“After several endeavours of a smooth and rough nature, in which my devil constantly failed me, and her good angel prevailed, I had talked to Mrs. Jervis to seduce the girl (to whom, in hopes of frightening her, I had given warning, but which she rejected to take, to my great disappointment) to desire to stay; and suspecting Mrs. Jervis played me booty, and rather confirmed her in her coyness, and her desire of leaving me, I was mean enough to conceal myself in the closet in Mrs. Jervis’s room, in order to hear their private conversation; but really not designing to make any other use of my concealment, than to tease her a little, if she should say any thing I did not like; which would give me a pretence to treat her with greater freedoms than I had ever yet done, and would be an introduction to take off from her unprecedented apprehensiveness another time.
“But the dear prattler, not knowing I was there, as she undressed herself, begun such a bewitching chit-chat with Mrs. Jervis, who, I found, but ill kept my secret, that I never was at such a loss what to resolve upon. One while I wished myself, unknown to them, out of the closet, into which my inconsiderate passion had meanly led me; another time I was incensed at the freedom with which I heard myself treated: but then, rigidly considering that I had no business to hearken to their private conversation, and it was such as became _them_, while I ought to have been ashamed to give occasion for it, I excused them both, and admired still more and more the dear prattler.
“In this suspense, the undesigned rustling of my night-gown, from changing my posture, alarming the watchful Pamela, she in a fright came towards the closet to see who was there. What could I then do, but bolt out upon the apprehensive charmer; and having so done, and she running to the bed, screaming to Mrs. Jervis, would not any man have followed her thither, detected as I was? But yet, I said, if she forbore her screaming, I would do her no harm; but if not, she should take the consequence. I found, by their exclamations, that this would pass with both for an attempt of the worst kind; but really I had no such intentions as they feared. When I found myself detected; when the dear frightened girl ran to the bed; when Mrs. Jervis threw herself about her; when they would not give over their hideous squallings; when I was charged by Mrs. Jervis with the worst designs; it was enough to make me go farther than I designed; and could I have prevailed upon Mrs. Jervis to go up, and quiet the maids, who seemed to be rising, upon the other screaming, I believe, had Pamela kept out of her fit, I should have been a little freer with her, than ever I had been; but, as it was, I had no thought but of making as honourable a retreat as I could, and to save myself from being exposed to my whole family: and I was not guilty of any freedoms, that her modesty, unaffrighted, could reproach herself with having suffered; and the dear creature’s fainting fits gave _me_ almost as great apprehensions as I could give _her_.
“Thus, ladies–and, my lord–have I tediously, and little enough to my own reputation, given you my character, and told you more against myself than any _one_ person could accuse me of. Whatever redounds to the credit of my Pamela, redounds in part to my own; and so I have the less regret to accuse myself, since it exalts her. But as to a formed intention to hide myself in the closet, in order to attempt the girl by violence, and in the presence of a good woman, as Mrs. Jervis is, which you impute to me, bad as I was, I was not so vile, so abandoned as that.
“Love, as I said before, subjects its inconsiderate votaries to innumerable meannesses, and unlawful passion to many more. I could not live without this dear girl. I hated the thoughts of matrimony with any body: and to be brought to the state by my mother’s waiting-maid.–‘Forbid it, pride!’ thought I; ‘forbid it, example! forbid it, all my past sneers, and constant ridicule, both on the estate, and on those who descended to inequalities in it! and, lastly, forbid it my family spirit, so visible in Lady Davers, as well as in myself, to whose insults, and those of all the world, I shall be obnoxious, if I take such a step!’
“All this tends to demonstrate the strength of my passion: I could not conquer my love; so I conquered a pride, which every one thought unconquerable; and since I could not make an innocent heart vicious, I had the happiness to follow so good an example; and by this means, a vicious heart is become virtuous. I have the pleasure of rejoicing in the change, and hope I shall do so still more and more; for I really view with contempt my past follies; and it is now a greater wonder to me how I could act as I did, than that I should detest those actions, which made me a curse, instead of a benefit to society. I am not yet so pious as my Pamela; but that is to come; and it is one good sign, that I can truly say, I delight in every instance of her piety and virtue: and now I will conclude my tedious narration.”
Thus he ended his affecting relation: which in the course of it gave me a thousand different emotions; and made me often pray for him, that God will entirely convert a heart so generous and worthy, as his is on most occasions. And if I can but find him not deviate, when we go to London, I shall greatly hope that nothing will affect his morals again.
I have just read over again the foregoing account of himself. As near as I remember (and my memory is the best faculty I have), it is pretty exact; only he was fuller of beautiful similitudes, and spoke in a more flowery style, as I may say. Yet don’t you think, Miss (if I have not done injustice to his spirit), that the beginning of it, especially, is in the saucy air of a man too much alive to such notions? For so the ladies observed in his narration.–Is it very like the style of a true penitent?–But indeed he went on better, and concluded best of all.
But don’t you observe what a dear good lady I had? A thousand blessings on her beloved memory! Were I to live to see my children’s children, they should be all taught to lisp her praises before they could speak. _My_ gratitude should always be renewed in _their_ mouths; and God, and my dear father and mother, my lady, and my master that was, my best friend that is, but principally, as most due, the FIRST, who inspired all the rest, should have their morning, their noontide, and their evening praises, as long as I lived!
I will only observe farther, as to this my third conversation-piece, that my Lord Davers offered to extenuate some parts of his dear brother-in-law’s conduct, which he did not himself vindicate; and Mr. B. was pleased to say, that my lord was always very candid to him, and kind in his allowances for the sallies of ungovernable youth. Upon which my lady said, a little tartly, “Yes, and for a very good reason, I doubt not; for who cares to condemn himself?”
“Nay,” said my lord pleasantly, “don’t put us upon a foot, neither: for what sallies I made before I knew your ladyship, were but like those of a fox, which now and then runs away with a straggling pullet, when nobody sees him, whereas those of my brother were like the invasions of a lion, breaking into every man’s fold, and driving the shepherds, as well as the sheep, before him.”–“Ay,” said my lady, “but I can look round me, and have reason, perhaps, to think the invading lion has come off, little as he deserved it, better than the creeping fox, who, with all his cunning, sometimes suffers for his pilfering theft.”
O, my dear, these gentlemen are strange creatures!–What can they think of themselves? for they say, there is not one virtuous man in five; but I hope, for our sex’s sake, as well as for the world’s sake, all is not true that evil fame reports; for you know every man-trespasser must _find_ or _make_ a woman-trespasser!–And if so, what a world is this!–And how must the innocent suffer from the guilty! Yet, how much better is it to suffer one’s self, than to be the cause of another’s sufferings? I long to hear of you, and must shorten my future accounts, or I shall do nothing but write, and tire _you_ into the bargain, though I cannot my dear father and mother. I am, my dear Miss, _always yours_, P.B.
LETTER XXXI
_From Miss Darnford to Mrs. B._
DEAR MRS. B.,
Every post you more and more oblige us to admire and love you: and let me say, I will gladly receive your letters upon your own terms: only when your worthy parents have perused them, see that I have every line of them again.
Your account of the arrival of your noble guests, and their behaviour to you, and yours to them; your conversation, and wise determination, on the offered title of Baronet; the just applauses conferred upon you by all, particularly the good countess; your breakfast conversation, and the narrative of your saucy abominable _master_, though amiable _husband_; all delight us beyond expression.
Do go on, dear excellent lady, with your charming journals, and let us know all that passes.
As to the state of matters with us, I have desired my papa to allow me to decline Mr. Murray’s addresses. The good man loved me most violently, nay, he could not live without me: life was no life, unless I favoured him: but yet, after a few more of these flights, he is trying to sit down satisfied without my papa’s foolish perverse girl, as Sir Simon calls me, and to transpose his affections to a worthier object, my sister Nancy; and it would make you smile to see how, a little while before he _directly_ applied to her, she screwed up her mouth to my mamma, and, truly, she’d have none of Polly’s leavings; no, not she!–But no sooner did he declare himself in form, than the _gaudy wretch_, as he was before with her, became a _well-dressed_ gentleman;–the _chattering magpie_ (for he talks and laughs much), _quite conversable_, and has something _agreeable_ to say upon _every subject_. Once he would make a good master of the buck-hounds; but now, really, the _more_ one is in his company, the _more polite_ one finds him.
Then, on his part,–he happened to see Miss Polly first; and truly, he could have thought himself very happy in so agreeable a young lady; yet there was always something of majesty (what a stately name for ill nature!) in Miss Nancy, something so awful; that while Miss Polly engaged the affections at first sight, Miss Nancy struck a man with reverence; insomuch, that the one might he loved as a woman, but the other revered as something more: a goddess, no doubt!
I do but think, that when he comes to be lifted up to her celestial sphere, as her fellow constellation, what a figure Nancy and her _ursus major_ will make together; and how will they glitter and shine to the wonder of all beholders!
Then she must make a brighter appearance by far, and a more pleasing one too: for why? She has three thousand _satellites_, or little stars, in her train more than poor Polly can pretend to. Won’t there be a fine twinkling and sparkling, think you, when the greater and lesser bear-stars are joined together?
But excuse me, dear Mrs. B.; this saucy girl has vexed me just now, by her ill-natured tricks; and I am even with her, having thus vented my spite, though she knows nothing of the matter.
So, fancy you see Polly Darnford abandoned by her own fault; her papa angry at her; her mamma pitying her, and calling her silly girl; Mr. Murray, who is a rough lover, growling over his mistress, as a dog over a bone he fears to lose; Miss Nancy, putting on her prudish pleasantry, snarling out a kind word, and breaking through her sullen gloom, for a smile now and then in return; and I laughing at both in my sleeve, and thinking I shall soon get leave to attend you in town, which will be better than twenty humble servants of Mr. Murray’s cast: or, if I can’t, that I shall have the pleasure of your correspondence here, and enjoy, unrivalled, the favour of my dear parents, which this ill-tempered girl is always envying me.
Forgive all this nonsense. I was willing to write something, though worse than nothing, to shew how desirous I am to oblige you, had I a capacity or subject, as you have. But nobody can love you better, or admire you more, of this you may be assured (however unequal in all other respects), than _your_ POLLY DARNFORD.
I send you up some of your papers for the good couple in Kent. Pray, pay my respects to them: and beg they’ll let me have ’em again as soon as they can, by your conveyance.
Our Stamford friends desire their kindest respects; they mention you with delight in every letter.
LETTER XXXII
_The Journal continued._
THURSDAY, FRIDAY EVENING.
My dear Miss Darnford,
I am returned from a very busy day, having had no less than fourteen of our neighbours, gentlemen and ladies, to dinner: the occasion, principally, to welcome our noble guests into these parts; Mr. B. having, as I mentioned before, turned the intended visit into an entertainment, after his usual generous manner.–He and Lord Davers are gone part of the way with them home; and Lord Jackey, mounted with his favourite Colbrand, as an escort to the countess and Lady Davers, who are taking an airing in the chariot. They offered to take the coach, if I would have gone; but being fatigued, I desired to be excused. So I retired to my closet; and Miss Damford, who is seldom out of my thoughts, coming into my mind, I had a new recruit of spirits, which enabled me to resume my pen, and thus I proceed with my journal.
Our company was, the Earl and Countess of D., who are so fashionable a married couple, that the earl made it his boast, and his countess bore it like one accustomed to such treatment, that he had not been in his lady’s company an hour abroad before for seven years. You know his lordship’s character: every body does; and there is not a worse, as report says, in the peerage.
Sir Thomas Atkyns, a single gentleman, not a little finical and ceremonious, and a mighty beau, though of the tawdry sort, and affecting foreign airs; as if he was afraid it would not be judged by any other mark that he had travelled.
Mr. Arthur and his lady, a moderately happy couple, who seem always, when together, to behave as if upon a compromise; that is, that each should take it in turn to say free things of the other; though some of their freedoms are of so cutting a nature, that it looks as if they intended to divert the company at their own expense. The lady, being of a noble family, strives to let every one know that she values herself not a little upon that advantage; but otherwise has many good qualities.
Mr. Brooks and his lady. He is a free joker on serious subjects, but a good-natured man, and says sprightly things with no ill grace: the lady a little reserved, and haughty, though to-day was freer than usual; as was observed at table by
Lady Towers, who is a maiden lady of family, noted for her wit and repartee, and who says many good things, with so little doubt and really so good a grace, that one cannot help being pleased with her. This lady is generally gallanted by
Mr. Martin of the Grove, so called, to distinguish him from a rich citizen of that name, settled in these parts, but being covetous and proud, is seldom admitted among the gentry in their visits or parties of pleasure.
Mr. Dormer, one of a very courteous demeanour, a widower, was another, who always speaks well of his deceased lady, and of all the sex for her sake. Mr. Chapman and his lady, a well-behaved couple, not ashamed to be very tender and observing to each other, but without that censurable fondness which sits so ill upon some married folks in company.
Then there was the dean, our good minister, whom I name last, because I would close with one of the worthiest; and his daughter, who came to supply her mamma’s place, who was indisposed; a well-behaved prudent young lady. And here were our fourteen guests.
The Countess of C., Lord and Lady Davers, Mr. H., my dear Mr. B. and your humble servant, made up the rest of the company. Thus we had a capacious and brilliant circle; and all the avenues to the house were crowded with their equipages.
The subjects of discourse at dinner were various, as you may well suppose; and the circle was too large to fall upon any regular or very remarkable topics. A good deal of sprightly wit, however, flew about, between the Earl of D., Lady Towers, and Mr. Martin, in which that lord suffered as he deserved; for he was no match for the lady, especially as the presence of the dean was a very visible restraint upon him, and Mr. Brooks too: so much awe will the character of a good clergyman always have upon even forward spirits, where he is known to have had an inviolable regard to it himself.–Besides, the good gentleman has, naturally, a genteel and inoffensive vein of raillery, and so was too hard for them at their own weapons. But after dinner, and the servants being withdrawn, Mr. Martin singled me out, as he loves to do, for a subject of encomium, and made some high compliments to my dear Mr. B. upon his choice; and wished (as he often does), he could find just such another for himself.
Lady Towers told him it was a thing as unaccountable as it was unreasonable, that every rake who loved to destroy virtue, should expect to be rewarded with it: and if his _brother_ B. had come off so well, she thought no one else ought to expect it.
Lady Davers said, it was a very just observation: and she thought it a pity there was not a law, that every man who made a harlot of an honest woman, should be obliged to marry one of another’s making.
Mr. B. said, that would be too severe; it would be punishment enough, if he was to marry his own; and especially if he had not seduced her under promise of marriage.
“Then you’d have a man be obliged to stand to his promise, I suppose, Mr. B.?” replied Lady Davers. “Yes, madam.”–“But,” said she, “the proof would be difficult perhaps: and the most unguilty heart of our sex might be least able to make it out.–But what say you, my Lord D.; will you, and my Lord Davers, join to bring a bill into the House of Peers, for the purposes I mentioned? I fancy my brother would give it all the assistance he could in the Lower House.”
“Indeed,” said Mr. B., “if I may be allowed to speak in the plural number, _we_ must not pretend to hold an argument on this subject.–What say you, Mr. H.? Which side are you of?”–“Every gentleman,” replied he, “who is not of the ladies’ side, is deemed a criminal; and I was always of the side that had the power of the gallows.”
“That shews,” returned Lady Towers, “that Mr. H. is more afraid of the _punishment_, than of deserving it.”–“‘Tis well,” said Mr. B.,” that any consideration deters a man of Mr. H.’s time of life. What may be _fear_ now, may improve to _virtue_ in time.”
“Ay,” said Lady Davers, “Jackey is one of his uncle’s _foxes_: he’d be glad to snap up a straggling pullet, if he was not well looked after, perhaps.”–“Pray, my dear,” said Lord Davers, “forbear: you ought not to introduce two different conversations into different companies.”
“Well, but,” said Lady Arthur, “since you seem to have been so hard put to it, as _single_ men, what’s to be done with the married man who ruins an innocent body?–What punishment, Lady Towers, shall we find out for such an one; and what reparation to the injured?” This was said with a particular view to the earl, on a late scandalous occasion; as I afterwards found.
“As to the punishment of the gentleman,” replied Lady Towers, “where the law is not provided for it, it must be left, I believe, to his conscience. It will then one day be heavy enough. But as to the reparation to the woman, so far as it can be made, it will be determinable as the unhappy person _may_ or may _not_ know, that her seducer is a married man: if she knows he is, I think she neither deserves redress nor pity, though it elevate not _his_ guilt. But if the case be otherwise, and _she_ had no means of informing herself that he was married, and he promised to make her his wife, to be sure, though _she_ cannot be acquitted, _he_ deserves the severest punishment that can be inflicted.–What say you, Mrs. B.?”
“If I must speak, I think that since custom now exacts so little regard to virtue from men, and so much from women, and since the designs of the former upon the latter are so flagrantly avowed and known, the poor creature, who suffers herself to be seduced, either by a _single_ or _married_ man, _with_ promises, or _without_, has only to sequester herself from the world, and devote the rest of her days to penitence and obscurity. As to the gentleman,” added I, “he must, I doubt, be left to his conscience, as you say, Lady Towers, which he will one day have enough to do to pacify.”
“Every young lady has not your angelic perfection, Madam,” said Mr. Dormer. “And there are cases in which the fair sex deserve compassion, ours execration. Love may insensibly steal upon a soft heart; when once admitted, the oaths, vows, and protestations of the favoured object, who declaims against the deceivers of his sex, confirm her good opinion of him, till having lull’d asleep her vigilance, in an unguarded hour he takes advantage of her unsuspecting innocence. Is not such a poor creature to be pitied? And what punishment does not such a seducer deserve?”
“You have put, Sir,” said I, “a moving case, and in a generous manner. What, indeed, does not such a deceiver deserve?”–“And the more,” said Mrs. Chapman, “as the most innocent heart is generally the most credulous.”–“Very true,” said my countess; “for such an one as would do no harm to others, seldom suspects any _from_ others; and her lot is very unequally cast; admired for that very innocence which tempts some brutal ravager to ruin it.”–“Yet, what is that virtue,” said the dean, “which cannot stand the test?”
“But,” said Lady Towers, very satirically, “whither, ladies, are we got? We are upon the subject of virtue and honour. Let us talk of something in which the _gentlemen_ can join with us. This is such an one, you see, that none but the dean and Mr. Dormer can discourse upon.”–“Let us then,” retorted Mr. Martin, “to be even with _one_ lady at least find a subject that will be _new_ to her: and that is CHARITY.”
“Does what I said concern Mr. Martin more than any other gentleman,” returned Lady Towers, “that he is disposed to take offence at it?”
“You must pardon me, Lady Towers,” said Mr. B., “but I think a lady should never make a motion to wave such subjects as those of virtue and honour; and less still, in company, where there is so much occasion, as she seems to think, for enforcing them.”
“I desire not to wave the subject, I’ll assure you,” replied she. “And if, Sir, you think it may do good, we will continue it for the sakes of all you gentlemen” (looking round her archly), “who are of opinion you may be benefited by it.”
A health to the king and royal family, brought on public affairs and politics; and the ladies withdrawing to coffee and tea, I have no more to say as to this conversation, having repeated all that I remember was said to any purpose.
SATURDAY MORNING
The countess being a little indisposed. Lady Davers and I took an airing this morning in the chariot, and had a long discourse together. Her ladyship was pleased to express great favour and tenderness towards me; gave me much good advice, as to the care she would have me take of myself; and told me, that her hopes, as well as her brother’s, all centred in my welfare; and that the way I was in made her love me better and better.
She was pleased to tell me, how much she approved of the domestic management; and to say, that she never saw such regularity and method in any family in her life, where was the like number of servants: every one, she said, knew their duty, and did it without speaking to, in such silence, and with so much apparent cheerfulness and delight, without the least hurry or confusion, that it was her surprise and admiration: but kindly would have it that I took too much care upon me. “Yet,” said she, “I don’t see but you are always fresh and lively, and never seem tired or fatigued; and are always dressed and easy, so that no company find you unprepared, or unfit to receive them, come when they will, whether it be to breakfast or dinner.”
I told her ladyship, I owed all this and most of the conduct for which she was pleased to praise me, to her dear brother, who, at the beginning of my happiness, gave me several cautions and instructions for my behaviour; which had been the rule of my conduct ever since, and I hoped ever would be:–“To say nothing,” added I, “which yet would be very unjust, of the assistance I received from worthy Mrs. Jervis, who is an excellent manager.”
_Good Creature_, _Sweet Pamela_, and _Charming Girl_, were her common words; and she was pleased to attribute to me a graceful and unaffected ease, and that I have a natural dignity in my person and behaviour, which at once command love and reverence; so that, my dear Miss Darnford, I am in danger of being proud. For you must believe, that her ladyship’s approbation gives me great pleasure; and the more, as I was afraid, before she came, I should not have come on near so well in her opinion. As the chariot passed along, she took great notice of the respects paid me by people of different ranks, and of the blessings bestowed upon me, by several, as we proceeded; and said, she should fare well, and be rich in good wishes, for being in my company.
“The good people who know us, _will_ do so, Madam,” said I; “but I had rather have their silent prayers than their audible ones; and I have caused some of them to be told so. What I apprehend is, that you will be more uneasy to-morrow, when at church you’ll see a good many people in the same way. Indeed my story, and your dear brother’s tenderness to me, are so much talked of, that many strangers are brought hither to see us: ’tis the only thing,” continued I (and so it is, Miss), “that makes me desirous to go to London; for by the time we return, the novelty, I hope, will cease.” Then I mentioned some verses of Mr. Cowley, which were laid under my cushion in our seat at church, two Sundays ago, by some unknown hand; and how uneasy they have made me. I will transcribe them, my dear, and give you the particulars of our conversation on that occasion. The verses are these:
“Thou robb’st my days of bus’ness and delights, Of sleep thou robb’st my nights.
Ah! lovely thief! what wilt thou do? What! rob me of heaven too?
Thou ev’n my prayers dost steal from me, And I, with wild idolatry,
Begin to GOD, and end them all to thee.
No, to what purpose should I speak?
No, wretched heart, swell till you break. She cannot love me, if she would,
And, to say truth, ’twere pity that she should. No, to the grave thy sorrow bear,
As silent as they will be there;
Since that lov’d hand this mortal wound does give, So handsomely the thing contrive
That she may guiltless of it live; So perish, that her killing thee
May a chance-medley, and no murder, be.”
I had them in my pocket, and read them to my lady; who asked me, if her brother had seen them? I told her, it was he that found them under the cushion I used to sit upon; but did not shew them to me till I came home; and that I was so vexed at them, that I could not go to church in the afternoon.
“What should you be vexed at, my dear?” said she: “how could you help it? My brother was not disturbed at them, was he?”–“No, indeed,” replied I: “he chid _me_ for being so; and was pleased to make me a fine compliment upon it; that he did not wonder that every body who saw me loved me. But I said, this was all that wicked wit is good for, to inspire such boldness in bad hearts, which might otherwise not dare to set pen to paper to affront any one. But pray, Madam,” added I, “don’t own I have told you of them, lest the least shadow of a thought should arise, that I was prompted by some vile secret vanity, to tell your ladyship of them, when I am sure, they have vexed me more than enough. For is it not a sad thing, that the church should be profaned by such actions, and such thoughts, as ought not to be brought into it? Then, Madam, to have any wicked man _dare_ to think of one with impure notions! It gives me the less opinion of myself, that I should be so much as _thought of_ as the object of any wicked body’s wishes. I have called myself to account upon it, whether any levity in my looks, my dress, my appearance, could embolden such an offensive insolence. And I have thought upon this occasion better of Julius Caesar’s delicacy than I did, when I read of it; who, upon an attempt made on his wife, to which, however, it does not appear she gave the least encouragement, said to those who pleaded for her against the divorce he was resolved upon, _that the wife of Caesar ought not to be suspected_.–Indeed, Madam,” continued I, “it would extremely shock me, but to know that any wicked heart had conceived a design upon me; upon _me_, give me leave to repeat, whose only glory and merit is, that I have had the grace to withstand the greatest of trials and temptations, from a gentleman more worthy to be beloved, both for person and mind, than any man in England.”
“Your observation, my dear, is truly delicate, and such as becomes your mind and character. And I really think, if any lady in the world is secure from vile attempts, it must be you; not only from your story, so well known, and the love you bear to your man, and his merit to you, but from the prudence, and natural _dignity_, I will say, of your behaviour, which, though easy and cheerful, is what would strike dead the hope of any presumptuous libertine the moment he sees you.”
“How can I enough,” returned I, and kissed her hand, “acknowledge your ladyship’s polite goodness in this compliment? But, my lady, you see by the very instance I have mentioned, that a liberty is taken, which I cannot think of without pain.”
“I am pleased with your delicacy, my dear, as I said before. You can never err, whilst thus watchful over your conduct: and I own you have the more reason for it, as you have married a mere Julius Caesar, an open-eyed rake” (that was her word), “who would, on the least surmise, though ever so causeless on your part, have all his passions up in arms, in fear of liberties being offered like those he has not scrupled to take.”–“O but, Madam,” said I, “he has given me great satisfaction in one point; for you must think I should not love him as I ought, if I had not a concern for his future happiness, as well as for his present; and that is, he has assured me, that in all the liberties he has taken, he never attempted a married lady, but always abhorred the thought of so great an evil.”–“‘Tis pity,” said her ladyship, “that a man who could conquer his passions _so far_, could not subdue them entirely. This shews it was in his own power to do so; and increases his crime: and what a wretch is he, who scrupling, under pretence of conscience or honour, to attempt ladies _within_ the pale, boggles not to ruin a poor creature _without_; although he knows, he thereby, most probably, for ever deprived her of that protection, by preventing her marriage, which even among such rakes as himself, is deemed, he owns, inviolable; and so casts the poor creature headlong into the jaws of perdition.”
“Ah! Madam,” replied I, “this was the very inference I made upon the occasion.”–“And what could he say?”–“He said, my inference was just; but called me _pretty preacher_;–and once having cautioned me not to be over-serious to him, so as to cast a gloom, as he said, over our innocent enjoyments, I never dare to urge matters farther, when he calls me by that name.”
“Well,” said my lady, “thou’rt an admirable girl! God’s goodness was great to our family, when it gave thee to it. No wonder,” continued she, “as my brother says, every body that sees you, and has heard your character, loves you. And this is some excuse for the inconsiderate folly even of this unknown transcriber.”–“Ah! Madam,” replied I, “but is it not a sad thing, that people, if they must take upon them to like one’s behaviour in general, should have the _worst_, instead of the _best_ thoughts upon it? If I were as good as I _ought_ to be, and as some _think_ me, must they wish to make me bad for that reason?”
Her ladyship was pleased to kiss me as we sat. “My charming Pamela, my _more than sister,_.”–(Did she say?)–Yes, she did say so! and made my eyes overflow with joy to hear the sweet epithet. “How your