Wednesday Morning.

My Master sent me a Message just now, that he was so much better, that he would take a Turn after Breakfast, in the Chariot, and would have me give him my Company! I hope I shall know how to be humble, and comport myself as I should do under all these Favours.

Mrs. Jewkes is one of the most obliging Creatures in the World; and I have such Respects shewn me by every one, as if I was as great as Lady Davers.—But now, if this should all end in the Sham-marriage!—It cannot be, I hope. Yet the Pride of Greatness and Ancestry, and such-like, is so strongly set out in Lady Davers’s Letter, that I cannot flatter myself to be so happy as all these desirable Appearances make for me. Should I be now deceived, I should be worse off than ever. But I shall see what Light this new Honour will procure me!—So I’ll get ready. But I won’t, I think, change my Garb. Should I do it, it would look as if I would be nearer on a Level with him: And yet, should I not, it may be thought a Disgrace to him; but I will, I think, open the Portmanteau, and, for the first time, since I came hither, put on my best Silk Night-gown. But then that will be making myself a sort of Right to the Cloaths I had renounced; and I am not yet quite sure I shall have no other Crosses to encounter. So I will go as I am; for tho’ ordinary, I am as clean as a Penny, tho’ I say it. So I’ll e’en go as I am, except he orders otherwise. Yet Mrs. Jewkes says, I ought to dress as fine as I can!—But I say, I think not. As my Master is up, and at Breakfast, I will venture down to ask him how he will have me be.—

Well, he is kinder and kinder, and, thank God, purely recover’d!—How charmingly he looks, to what he did Yesterday! Blessed be God for it!

He arose and came to me, and took me by the Hand, and would set me down by him; and he said. My charming Girl seem’d going to speak. What would you say?—Sir, said I, (a little asham’d) I think it is too great an Honour to go into the Chariot with you! No, my dear Pamela, said he; the Pleasure of your Company will be greater than the Honour of mine; and so say no more on that Head.

But, Sir, said I, I shall disgrace you to go thus. You will grace a Prince, my Fair-one, said the good kind, kind Gentleman! in that Dress, or any you shall chuse. And you look so pretty, that if you shall not catch Cold, in that round-ear’d Cap, you shall go just as you are. But, Sir, said I, then you’ll be pleased to go a By-way, that it mayn’t be seen you do so much Honour to your Servant. O my good Girl, said he, I doubt you are afraid of yourself being talk’d of, more than me. For I hope, by degrees, to take off the World’s Wonder, and teach them to expect what is to follow, as a Due to my Pamela.

O the dear good Man! There’s for you, my dear Father and Mother!—Did I not do well now to come back!—O could I get rid of my Fears of this Sham-marriage, (for all this is not yet inconsistent with that frightful Scheme) I should be too happy!

So I came up, with great Pleasure, for my Gloves; and now wait his kind Commands. Dear, dear Sir! said I to myself, as if I was speaking to him, for God’s sake let me have no more Trials and Reverses; for I could not bear it now, I verily think!

At last the welcome Message came, that my Master was ready; and so I went down as fast as I could; and he, before all the Servants, handed me in, as if I was a Lady; and then came in himself. Mrs. Jewkes begg’d he would take care he did not catch Cold, as he had been ill. And I had the Pride to hear his new Coachman say, to one of his Fellow-servants, They are a charming Pair, I am sure! ’tis pity they should be parted!—O my dear Father and Mother! I fear your Girl will grow as proud as any thing! And especially you will think I have Reason to guard against it, when you read the kind Particulars I am going to relate.

He order’d Dinner to be ready by Two; and Abraham, who succeeds John, went behind the Coach. He bid Robin drive gently, and told me, he wanted to talk to me about his Sister Davers, and other Matters. Indeed, at first setting out, he kissed me a little too often, that he did; and I was afraid of Robin’s looking back, thro’ the Fore-glass, and People seeing us as they passed; but he was exceedingly kind to me, in his Words, as well. At last, he said,

You have, I doubt not, read, over and over, my Sister’s sawcy Letter; and find, as I told you, that you are no more obliged to her than I am. You see she intimates that some People had been with her; and who should they be but the officious Mrs. Jervis, and Mr. Longman, and Jonathan! And so that has made me take the Measures I did in dismissing them my Service.—I see, said he, you are going to speak on their Behalfs; but your Time is not come to do that, if ever I shall permit it.

My Sister, says he, I have been beforehand with; for I have renounced her. I am sure I have been a kind Brother to her; and gave her to the Value of 3000 l. more than her Share came to by my Father’s Will, when I enter’d upon my Estate. And the Woman, surely, was beside herself with Passion and Insolence, when she wrote me such a Letter; for well she knew I would not bear it. But you must know, Pamela, that she is much incensed, that I will give no Ear to a Proposal of hers, of a Daughter of my Lord——who, said he, neither in Person or Mind, or Acquirements, even with all her Opportunities, is to be named in a Day with my Pamela. But yet you see the Plea, my Girl, which I made to you before, of this Pride of Condition, and the World’s Censure, which, I own, sticks a little too close with me still. For a Woman shines not forth to the Publick as a Man; and the World sees not your Excellencies and Perfections: If it did, I should intirely stand acquitted by the severest Censurers. But it will be taken in the Lump; that here is Mr. B——, with such and such an Estate, has married his Mother’s Waiting-maid; not considering there is not a Lady in the Kingdom that can outdo her, or better support the Condition to which she will be raised, if I should marry her. And, said he, putting his Arm round me, and again kissing me, I pity my dear Girl too, for her Part in this Censure; for, here will she have to combat the Pride and Slights of the neighbouring Gentry all around us. Sister Davers, you see, will never be reconciled to you. The other Ladies will not visit you; and you will, with a Merit transcending them all, be treated as if unworthy their Notice. Should I now marry my Pamela, how will my Girl relish all this? Won’t these be cutting things to my Fair-one? For, as to me, I shall have nothing to do, but, with a good Estate in Possession, to brazen out the Matter, of my former Jokes on this Subject, with my Companions of the Chace, the Green, and the Assemblée; stand their rude Jests for once or twice, and my Fortune will create me always Respect enough, I warrant you. But, I say, what will my poor Girl do, as to her Part, with her own Sex? For some Company you must keep. My Station will not admit it to be with my common Servants; and the Ladies will fly your Acquaintance; and still, tho’ my Wife, will treat you as my Mother’s Waiting-maid.—What says my Girl to this?

You may well guess, my dear Father and Mother, how transporting these kind, these generous and condescending Sentiments were to me!—I thought I had the Harmony of the Spheres all around me; and every Word that dropt from his Lips, was as sweet as the Honey of Hybla to me.—Oh! Sir, said I, how inexpressibly kind and good is all this! Your poor Servant has a much greater Struggle than this to go thro’, a more knotty Difficulty to overcome.

What is that? said he, a little impatiently: I will not forgive your Doubts now!—No, Sir, said I, I cannot doubt; but it is, how I shall support, how I shall deserve, your Goodness to me!—Dear Girl! said he, and hugg’d me to his Breast, I was afraid you would have made me angry again; but that I would not be; because I see you have a grateful Heart; and this your kind and chearful Return, after such cruel Usage as you had experienced in my House, enough to make you detest the Place, has made me resolve to bear any thing in you, but Doubts of my Honour, at a Time when I am pouring out my Soul, with a true and affectionate Ardour, before you.

But, good Sir, said I, my greatest Concern will be for the rude Jests you will have to encounter with yourself, for thus stooping beneath yourself. For as to me, considering my lowly Estate, and little Merit, even the Slights and Reflections of the Ladies will be an Honour to me: And I shall have the Pride to place more than half their Ill-will, to their Envy at my Happiness. And if I can, by the most chearful Duty, and resigned Obedience, have the Pleasure to be agreeable to you, I shall think myself but too happy, let the World say what it will.

He said, You are very good, my dearest Girl: But how will you bestow your Time, when you will have no Visits to receive or pay? No Parties of Pleasure to join in? No Card-tables to employ your Winter Evenings, and even, as the Taste is, half the Day, Summer and Winter? And you have often play’d with my Mother too, and so know how to perform a Part there, as well as in the other Diversions: And I’ll assure you, my Girl, I shall not desire you to live without such Amusements, as any Wife might expect, were I to marry a Lady of the first Quality.

O, Sir, said I, you are all Goodness! How shall I bear it!—But do you think, Sir, in such a Family as yours, a Person, whom you shall honour with the Name of Mistress of it, will not find useful Employments for her Time, without looking abroad for any others?

In the first Place, Sir, if you will give me Leave, I will myself look into such Parts of the Family Oeconomy, as may not be beneath the Rank to which I shall have the Favour of being exalted, if any such there can be; and this, I hope, without incurring the Ill-will of any honest Servant.

Then, Sir, I will ease you of as much of your Family Accounts, as I possibly can, when I have convinced you, that I am to be trusted with them; and, you know, Sir, my late good Lady made me her Treasurer, her Almoner, and every thing.

Then, Sir, if I must needs be visiting or visited, and the Ladies won’t honour me so much, or even if they would now-and-then, I will receive and pay Visits, if your Goodness will allow me so to do, to the sick Poor in the Neighbourhood around you; and administer to their Wants and Necessities, in such small Matters, as may not be hurtful to your Estate, but comfortable to them; and intail upon you their Blessings, and their Prayers for your dear Health and Welfare.

Then I will assist your Housekeeper, as I used to do, in the making Jellies, Comfits, Sweetmeats, Marmalades, Cordials; and to pot, and candy, and preserve, for the Uses of the Family. And to make myself all the fine Linen of it, for yourself and me.

Then, Sir, if you will sometimes indulge me with your Company, I will take an Airing in your Chariot now-and-then: And when you shall return home from your Diversions on the Green, or from the Chace, or where-ever you shall please to go, I shall have the Pleasure of receiving you with Duty, and a chearful Delight; and, in your Absence, count the Moments till you return; and you will, maybe, fill up the sweetest Part of my Time, with your agreeable Conversation, for an Hour or two now-and-then; and be indulgent to the impertinent Over-flowings of my grateful Heart, for all your Goodness to me.

The Breakfasting-time, the Preparation for Dinner, and sometimes to entertain your chosen Friends, and the Company you shall bring home with you, Gentlemen, if not Ladies, and the Supperings, will fill up a great Part of the Day, in a very necessary manner.

And, may-be, Sir, now and then a good-humour’d Lady will drop in; and, I hope, if they do, I shall so behave myself, as not to add to the Disgrace you will have brought upon yourself; for indeed, I will be very circumspect, and try to be as discreet as I can; and as humble too, as shall be consistent with your Honour.

Cards, ’tis true, I can play at, in all the usual Games, that our Sex indulge in; but this I am not fond of, and shall never desire to use them, but as it may encourage such Ladies, as you may wish to see, not to abandon your House for want of an Amusement they are used to.

Musick, which my good Lady taught me, will fill up some Intervals, if I should have any.

And then, Sir, you know, I love Reading, and Scribbling; and tho’ all the latter will be employ’d in the Family Accounts, between the Servants and me, and me and your good Self; yet Reading is a Pleasure to me, that I shall be unwilling to give up, at proper times, for the best Company in the World, except yours. And, O Sir! that will help to polish my Mind, and make me worthier of your Company and Conversation; and, with the Explanations you will give me, of what I shall not understand, will be a sweet Employment, and Improvement too.

But one thing, Sir, I ought not to forget, because it is the chief; my Duty to God, will, I hope, always employ some good Portion of my Time, with Thanks for his superlative Goodness to me; and to pray for you and myself: For you, Sir, for a Blessing on you, for your great Goodness to such an unworthy Creature: For myself, that I may be enabled to discharge my Duty to you, and be found grateful for all the Blessings I shall receive at the Hands of Providence, by means of your Generosity and Condescension.

With all this, Sir, said I, can you think I shall be at a Loss to pass my Time? But, as I know, that every Slight to me, if I come to be so happy, will be, in some measure, a Slight to you, I will beg of you, Sir, not to let me go very fine in Dress; but appear only so, as that you may not be ashamed of it, after the Honour I shall have of being called by your worthy Name: For well I know, Sir, that nothing so much excites the Envy of my own Sex, as seeing a Person set above them in Appearance, and in Dress. And that would bring down upon me an hundred sawcy Things, and low-born Brats, and I can’t tell what!

There I stopt; for I had prattled a great deal; and he said, clasping me to him, Why stops my dear Pamela?—Why does she not proceed? I could dwell upon your Words all the Day long; and you shall be the Directress of your own Pleasures, and your own Time, so sweetly do you chuse to employ it: And thus shall I find some of my own bad Actions aton’d for by your exemplary Goodness, and God will bless me for your sake!

O, said he, what Pleasure you give me in this sweet Foretaste of my Happiness! I will now defy the sawcy, busy Censurers of the World, and bid them know your Excellence, and my Happiness, before they, with unhallow’d Lips, presume to judge of my Actions, and your Merit!—And, let me tell you, my Pamela, that I can add my Hopes of a still more pleasing Amusement; and what your bashful Modesty would not permit you to hint; and which I will no otherwise touch upon, lest it should seem, to your Nicety, to detract from the present Purity of my good Intentions, than to say, I hope to have superadded to all these, such an Employment, as will give me a View of perpetuating my happy Prospects, and my Family at the same time; of which I am almost the only Male.

I blushed, I believe, yet could not be displeased at the decent and charming manner with which he insinuated this distant Hope: And Oh! judge for me, how my Heart was affected with all these things!

He was pleased to add another charming Reflection, which shew’d me the noble Sincerity of his kind Professions. I do own to you, my Pamela, said he, that I love you with a purer Flame than ever I knew in my whole Life! A Flame, to which I was a Stranger, and which commenced for you in the Garden; tho’ you, unkindly, by your unseasonable Doubts, nipp’d the opening Bud, while it was too tender to bear the cold Blasts of Slight or Negligence. And I know more sincere Joy and Satisfaction in this sweet Hour’s Conversation with you, than all the guilty Tumults of my former Passion ever did, or (had even my Attempts succeeded) ever could have afforded me.

O, Sir, said I, expect not Words, from your poor Servant, equal to these most generous Professions. Both the Means, and the Will, I now see, are given to you, to lay me under an everlasting Obligation! How happy shall I be, if, tho’ I cannot be worthy of all this Goodness and Condescension, I can prove myself not intirely unworthy of it! But I can only answer for a grateful Heart; and if ever I give you Cause wilfully, (and you will generously allow for involuntary Imperfections) to be disgusted with me, may I be an Out-cast from your House and Favour, and as much repudiated, as if the Law had divorced me from you!

But, Sir, continued I, tho’ I was so unseasonable as I was in the Garden, you would, I flatter myself, had you then heard me, have pardon’d my Imprudence, and own’d I had some Cause to fear, and to wish to be with my poor Father and Mother; and this I the rather say, that you should not think me capable of returning Insolence for your Goodness; or appearing foolishly ungrateful to you, when you was so kind to me.

Indeed, Pamela, said he, you gave me great Uneasiness; for I love you too well not to be jealous of the least Appearance of your Indifference to me, or Preference of any other Person, not excepting your Parents themselves. This made me resolve not to hear you; for I had not got over my Reluctance to Marriage; and a little Weight, you know, turns the Scale, when it hangs in an equal Balance. But yet, you see, that tho’ I could part with you, while my Anger held, yet the Regard I had then newly profess’d for your Virtue, made me resolve not to offer to violate it; and you have seen likewise, that the painful Struggle I underwent when I began to reflect, and to read your moving Journal, between my Desire to recal you, and my Doubt, that you would return, (tho’ yet I resolved not to force you to it) had like to have cost me a severe Illness: But your kind and chearful Return has dispelled all my Fears, and given me Hope, that I am not indifferent to you; and you see how your Presence has chas’d away my Illness.

I bless God for it, said I; but since you are so good as to encourage me, and will not despise my Weakness, I will acknowledge, that I suffer’d more than I could have imagined, till I experienced it, in being banish’d your Presence in so much Anger; and the more still was I affected, when you answer’d so generously, the wicked Mrs. Jewkes in my Favour, at my leaving your House: For this. Sir, awaken’d all my Reverence for you; and you saw I could not forbear, not knowing what I did, to break boldly in upon you, and acknowledge your Goodness on my Knees. ’Tis true, my dear Pamela, said he, we have sufficiently tortur’d one another; and the only Comfort that can result from it, will be, reflecting upon the Matter coolly and with Pleasure, when all these Storms are overblown, (as I hope they now are) and we sit together secur’d in each other’s good Opinion, recounting the uncommon Gradations, by which we have ascended to the Summit of that Felicity, which I hope we shall shortly arrive at.

Mean-time, said the good Gentleman, let me hear what my dear Girl would have said in her Justification, could I have trusted myself with her, as to her Fears, and the Reason of her wishing herself from me, at a Time that I had begun to shew my Fondness for her, in a manner that I thought would have been agreeable to her and Virtue.

I pulled out of my Pocket the Gypsey Letter; but I said, before I shew’d it to him, I have this Letter, Sir, to shew you, as what, I believe you will allow, must have given me the greatest Disturbance: But first, as I know not who is the Writer, and it seems to be in a disguis’d Hand, I would beg it as a Favour, that if you guess who it is, which I cannot, it may not turn to their Prejudice, because it was written very probably with no other View than to serve me.

He took it, and read it. And it being signed Somebody, he said, Yes, this is indeed from Somebody; and, disguis’d as the Hand is, I know the Writer: Don’t you see by the Setness of some of these Letters, and a little Secretary Cut here and there, especially in that c, and that r, that it is the Hand of a Person bred in the Law-way? Why, Pamela, said he, ’tis old Longman’s Hand. An officious Rascal as he is!—But I have done with him! O Sir, said I, it would be too insolent in me to offer (so much am I myself overwhelm’d with your Goodness) to defend any body that you are angry with; yet, Sir, so far as they have incurr’d your Displeasure for my sake, and for no other Want of Duty or Respect, I could wish—But I dare not say more.—

But, said he, as to the Letter, and the Information it contains:—Let me know, Pamela, when you receiv’d this? On the Friday, Sir, said I, that you was gone to the Wedding at Stamford. —How could it be convey’d to you, said he, unknown to Mrs. Jewkes, when I gave her such a strict Charge to attend you, and you yourself promis’d me, you would not throw yourself in the Way of such Intelligence! For, said he, when I went to Stamford, I knew from a private Intimation given me, that there would be an Attempt made to see you, or give you a Letter, by somebody, if not to get you away; but was not certain from what Quarter, whether from my Sister Davers, Mrs. Jervis, Mr. Longman, or John Arnold, or your Father; and as I was then but struggling with myself, whether to give way to my honourable Inclinations, or to free you, and let you go to your Father, that I might avoid the Danger I found myself in of the former (for I had absolutely resolved never to wound again even your Ears with any Proposals of a contrary Nature); that was the Reason I desir’d you to permit Mrs. Jewkes, to be so much on her Guard till I came back, when I thought I should have decided this disputed Point within myself, between my Pride and my Inclinations.

This, good Sir, said I, accounts well to me, for your Conduct in that Case, and for what you said to me and Mrs. Jewkes on that Occasion; and I see more and more how much I may depend upon your Honour and Goodness to me.—But I will tell you all the Truth. And then I recounted to him the whole Affair of the Gypsey, and how the Letter was put among the loose Grass, &c. And he said, The Man who thinks a thousand Dragons sufficient to watch a Woman, when her Inclination takes a contrary Bent, will find all too little; and she will engage the Stones in the Street, or the Grass in the Field, to act for her, and help on her Correspondence. If the Mind, said he, be not engag’d, I see there is hardly any Confinement sufficient for the Body; and you have told me a very pretty Story; and, as you never gave me any Reason to question your Veracity, even in your severest Trials, I make no doubt of the Truth of what you have now mentioned. And I will in my Turn give you such a Proof of mine, that you shall find it carry Conviction with it.

You must know then, my Pamela, that I had actually form’d such a Project, so well inform’d was this old rascally Somebody; and the Time was fix’d, for the very Person describ’d in this Letter, to be here; and I had thought he should have read some Part of the Ceremony (as little as was possible, to deceive you) in my Chamber; and so I hop’d to have you mine upon Terms that then would have been much more agreeable to me than real Matrimony. And I did not in Haste intend you the Mortification of being undeceiv’d; so that we might have liv’d for Years, perhaps, very lovingly together; and I had, at the same time been at Liberty to confirm or abrogate it, as I pleas’d.

O Sir, said I, I am out of Breath with the Thoughts of my Danger. But what good Angel prevented this deep-laid Design to be executed?

Why, your good Angel, Pamela, said he; for when I began to consider that it would have made you miserable, and me not happy; that if you should have a dear little one, it would be out of my own Power to legitimate it, if I should wish it to inherit my Estate; and that, as I am almost the last of my Family, and most of what I possess must descend to a strange Line, and disagreeable and unworthy Persons; notwithstanding that I might, in this Case, have Issue of my own Body: When I further consider’d your untainted Virtue, what Dangers and Trials you had undergone, by my Means, and what a world of Troubles I had involv’d you in, only because you were beautiful and virtuous, which had excited all my Passion for you; and reflected also upon your try’d Prudence and Truth, I, tho’ I doubted not effecting this my last Plot, resolv’d to overcome myself; and however I might suffer in struggling with my Affection for you, to part with you, rather than to betray you under so black a Veil. Besides, said he, I remember’d how much I had exclaim’d against and censur’d an Action of this kind, that had been attributed to one of the first Men of the Law, and of the Kingdom, as he afterwards became; and that it was but treading in a Path that another had mark’d out for me; and, as I was assur’d, with no great Satisfaction to himself, when he came to reflect; my foolish Pride was a little piqu’d with this, because I lov’d to be, if I was out of the way, my own Original, as I may call it: On all these Considerations it was, that I rejected this Project, and sent Word to the Person, that I had better consider’d of the Matter, and would not have him come, till he heard farther from me: And, in this Suspense, I suppose, some of your Confederates, Pamela, (for we have been a Couple of Plotters, tho’ your Virtue and Merit have engag’d you faithful Friends and Partisans, which my Money and Promises could hardly do) one way or other got Knowledge of it, and gave you this Notice; but perhaps, it would have come too late, had not your white Angel got the better of my black one, and inspir’d me with Resolutions to abandon the Project just as it was to be put in Execution. But yet I own, that, from these Appearances, you was but too well justify’d in your Fears, on this odd way of coming at this Intelligence; and I have only one thing to blame you for, that tho’ I was resolv’d not to hear you in your own Defence, yet, as you have so ready a Talent at your Pen, you might have clear’d your Part of this Matter up to me by a Line or two; and when I had known what seeming good Grounds you had for pouring cold Water on a young Flame, that was just then rising to an honourable Expansion, I should not have imputed it, as I was apt to do, to unseasonable Insult for my Tenderness to you on one hand; to perverse Nicety on the other; or to, what I was most alarm’d by, and concern’d for. Prepossession for some other Person. And this would have sav’d us both much Fatigue, I of Mind, you of Body.

And indeed, Sir, said I, of Mind too; and I could not better manifest this, than by the Chearfulness with which I obey’d your Recalling me to your Presence.

Ay, that my dear Pamela, said he, and clasp’d me in his Arms, was the kind, the inexpressibly kind Action that has rivetted my Affections to you, and gives me to pour out, in this free and unreserv’d manner, my whole Soul in your Bosom.

I said, I had the less Merit in this my Return, because I was driven by an irresistible Impulse to it, and could not help it if I would.

This, said he, (and honour’d me, by kissing my Hand) is engaging indeed, if I may hope that my Pamela’s gentle Inclination for her Persecutor, was the strongest Motive to her Return; and I so much value a voluntier Love, in the Person I would wish for my Wife, that I would have even Prudence and Interest, hardly nam’d, in Comparison with it. And can you return me sincerely the honest Compliment I now make you, that as in the Act that I hope shall soon unite us together, it is impossible that I should have any View to my Interest; and, that Love, true Love, is the only Motive by which I am directed; that, were I not what I am, you could give me the Preference to any other Person in the World that you know, notwithstanding all that has pass’d between us? Why, said I, should your so much obligated Pamela refuse to answer this kind Question? Cruel, as I have thought you, and dangerous your Views to my Honesty; You, Sir, are the only Person living that ever was more than indifferent to me; and before I knew this was what I blush now to call it, I could not hate you, or wish you ill, tho’ from my Soul, the Attempts you made, were shocking and most distasteful to me.

I am satisfy’d, my Pamela, said he; nor do I want to see those Papers that you have kindly written for to your Father; tho’ I still wish to see them too, for the sake of the sweet manner in which you write your Sentiments; and to have before me the whole Series of your Sufferings, that I may know whether all my future Kindness is able to recompense you for them.

In this manner, my dear Father and Mother, did your happy Daughter find herself bless’d by her generous Master! An ample Recompence for all her Sufferings, did I think this sweet Conversation only. A hundred tender Things he express’d besides, that tho’ they never can escape my Memory, yet would be too tedious to write down. O how I bless’d God, and, I hope, ever shall, for all his gracious Favours to his unworthy Handmaid! What a happy Change is this. And who knows but my kind, my generous Master may put it in my Power, when he shall see me not quite unworthy of it, to be a Means, without injuring him, to dispense around me, to many Persons, the happy Influences of the Condition to which I shall be, by his kind Favour, exalted? Doubly blest shall I be, in particular, if I can return the hundredth Part of the Obligations I owe to such honest good Parents, to whose pious Instructions and Examples, under God, I owe all my present Happiness and future Prospects.—O the Joy that fills my Mind on these proud Hopes! on these delightful Prospects!—It is too mighty for me; and I must sit down to ponder all these Things, and to admire and bless the Goodness of that Providence, which has, thro’ so many intricate Mazes, made me tread the Paths of Innocence, and so amply rewarded me, for what it has itself enabled me do! All Glory to God alone be ever given for it, by your poor enraptur’d Daughter!—

I will now continue my most pleasing Relation.

As the Chariot was returning home from this sweet Airing, he said, From all that has pass’d between us, in this pleasing Turn, my Pamela will see, and will believe, that the Trials to her Virtue are all over from me: But perhaps, there will be some few yet to come to her Patience and Humility. For I have, at the earnest Importunity of Lady Darnford, and her Daughters, promised them a Sight of my beloved Girl: And so I intend to have their whole Family, and Lady Jones, and Mrs. Peters’s Family, to dine with me once in a few Days. And as I believe you would hardly chuse at present to grace the Table on the Occasion, till you can do it in your own Right, I would be glad you will not refuse coming down to us, if I desire it; for I would preface our Nuptials, said the dear Gentleman! O what a sweet Word was that!—with the good Opinion of these Gentry of your Merits, and to see you, and your sweet Manner, will be enough for that Purpose; and so, by degrees, prepare my Neighbours for what is to follow: And they already have your Character from me, and are dispos’d to admire you.

Sir, said I, after all that has pass’d, I should be unworthy if I could not say, that I can have no Will but yours; and however awkwardly I shall behave in such Company, weigh’d down with the Sense of your Obligations, on one Side, and my own Unworthiness, with their Observations, on the other, I will not scruple to obey you.

I am oblig’d to you, Pamela, said he; and pray be only dress’d as you are; for, as they know your Condition, and I have told them the Story of your present Dress, and how you came by it, one of the young Ladies begs it as a Favour, that they may see you just as you are: And I am the rather pleas’d it should be so, because they will perceive you owe nothing to Dress, and make a much better Figure with your own native Stock of Loveliness, than the greatest Ladies do in the most splendid Attire, and stuck out with the most glittering Jewels.

O Sir, said I, your Goodness beholds your poor Servant in a Light greatly beyond her Merit! But it must not be expected that others, Ladies especially, will look at me with your favourable Eyes: But, nevertheless, I should be best pleas’d to wear always this humble Garb, till you, for your own sake, shall order it otherwise: For, oh! Sir, said I, I hope it will be always my Pride to glory most in your Goodness; and it will be a Pleasure to me to shew every one, that, with respect to my Happiness in this Life, I am intirely the Work of your Bounty; and to let the World see from what a lowly Original you have rais’d me to Honours, that the greatest Ladies would rejoice in.

Admirable Pamela, said he, excellent Girl!——Surely thy Sentiments are superior to those of all thy Sex!—I might have addressed a hundred fine Ladies; but never, surely, could have had Reason to admire one as I do you.

As, my dear Father and Mother, I repeat these generous Sayings, only as they are the Effect of my Master’s Goodness, and am far from presuming to think I deserve one of them; so I hope you will not attribute it to my Vanity; for, I do assure you, I think I ought rather to be more humble, as I am more oblig’d: For it must be always a Sign of a poor Condition to receive Obligations one cannot repay; as it is of a rich Mind, when it can confer them, without expecting or needing a Return. It is, on one side, the State of the human Creature compar’d, on the other, to the Creator; and so, with due Deference, may be said to be God-like, and that is the highest that can be said.

The Chariot brought us home at near the Hour of Two, and, blessed be God, my Master is pure and well, and chearful; and that makes me hope he does not repent him of his Goodness. He handed me out of the Chariot, and to the Parlour, with the same Goodness, that he shew’d when he put me in it, before several of the Servants. Mrs. Jewkes came to inquire how he did. Quite well, Mrs. Jewkes, said he, quite well; I thank God, and this good Girl, for it!—I am glad of it, said she; but I hope you are not the worse for my Care, and my Doctoring you!—No, but the better Mrs. Jewkes, said he, you have much oblig’d me by both.

Then he said, Mrs. Jewkes, you and I have used this good Girl very hardly—I was afraid, Sir, said she, I should be the Subject of her Complaints.—I assure you, said he, she has not open’d her Lips about you. We have had quite a different Subject to talk of; and I hope she will forgive us both: you especially, she must; because you have done nothing but by my Orders. But I only mean, that the necessary Consequence of those Orders has been very grievous to my Pamela: And now comes our Part to make her Amends, if we can.

Sir, said she, I always said to Madam, (as she call’d me) that you was very good, and very forgiving. No, said he, I have been stark naught, and it is she, I hope, will be very forgiving. But all this Preamble is to tell you, Mrs. Jewkes, that now I desire you’ll study to oblige her, as much as (to obey me) you was forc’d to disoblige her before. And you’ll remember, that in every thing she is to be her own Mistress.

Yes, said she, and mine too, I suppose, Sir? Ay, said the generous Gentleman, I believe it will be so in a little Time.—Then, said she, I know how it will go with me! And so put her Handkerchief to her Eyes.—Pamela, said my Master, comfort poor Mrs. Jewkes.

This was very generous, already to seem to put her in my Power; and I took her by the Hand, and said, I shall never take upon myself, Mrs. Jewkes, to make a bad Use of any Opportunities that may be put into my Hands, by my generous Master; nor shall I ever wish to do you Prejudice, if I might: For I shall consider, that what you have done, was in Obedience to a Will which it will become me also to submit to; and so, tho’ we shall be acted very differently as to the Effects, yet as these Effects proceed from one Cause, it shall be always reverenced by me.

See there, Mrs. Jewkes, said my Master, we are both in generous Hands; and indeed, if she did not pardon you, I should think she but half forgave me, because you acted by my Instructions.—Well, said she, God bless you both together, since it must be so; and I will double my Diligence to oblige my Lady, as I find she will soon be.

O my dear Father and Mother, now pray for me on another Score! for fear I should grow too proud, and be giddy and foolish with all these promising Things, so soothing to the Vanity of my Years and Sex. But even to this Hour can I pray, that God would remove from me all these delightful Prospects, if they should so corrupt my Mind, as to make me proud, and vain, and not acknowledge, with thankful Humility, the blessed Providence which has so visibly conducted me thro’ the dangerous Paths I have trod, to this happy Moment.

My Master was pleas’d to say, that he thought I might as well dine with him, as he was alone. But, I said, I begg’d he would excuse me, for fear so much Excess of Goodness and Condescension, all at once, should turn my Head; and that he would by slower Degrees bring on my Happiness, lest I should not know how to bear it.

Persons that doubt themselves, said he, seldom do amiss. And if there was any Fear of what you say, you could not have had it in your Thoughts: For none but the Presumptuous, the Conceited, and the Thoughtless, err capitally. But nevertheless, said he, I have such an Opinion of your Prudence, that I shall generally think what you do right, because it is you that do it.

Sir, said I, your kind Expressions shall not be thrown away upon me, if I can help it; for they will task me, with the Care of endeavouring to deserve your good Opinion, and your Approbation, as the best Rule of my Conduct.

Being then about to go up Stairs, Permit me, Sir, said I, (looking about me, with some Confusion, to see nobody was there) thus on my Knees to thank you, as I often wanted to do in the Chariot, for all your Goodness to me, which shall never, I hope, be cast away upon me. And so I had the Boldness to kiss his Hand.

I wonder, since how I came to be so forward; but what could I do?—My poor grateful Heart was like a too full River, which overflows its Banks; and it carry’d away my Fear and my Shamefacedness, as that does all before it, on the Surface of the Waters!

He clasp’d me in his Arms, with Transport, and condescendingly kneel’d by me, and kissing me, said, O my dear obliging good Girl, on my Knee, as you on yours, I vow to you everlasting Truth and Fidelity; and may God but bless us both with half the Pleasures that seem to lie before us, and we shall have no Reason to envy the Felicity of the greatest Princes! O Sir, said I, how shall I support so much Goodness!—I am poor, indeed, in every thing, compar’d to you! And how far, very far, do you, in every generous Way, leave me behind you!

He rais’d me, and as I bent towards the Door, led me to the Stairs Foot, and saluting me there again, I went up to my Closet, and threw myself on my Knees in Raptures of Joy, and bless’d that gracious God, who had thus chang’d my Distress to Happiness, and so abundantly rewarded me for all the Sufferings I had pass’d thro’.—And Oh! how light, how very light, do all those Sufferings now appear, which then my repining Mind made so formidable to me!—Hence, in every State of Life, and in all the Changes and Chances of it, for the future, will I trust in Providence, who knows what is best for us, and frequently turns the very Evils we most dread, to be the Causes of our Happiness, and of our Deliverance from greater!—My Experiences, young as I am, as to this great Point of Reliance in God, are strong, tho’ my Judgment in general may be weak and unformed; but you’ll excuse these Reflections, because they are your beloved Daughter’s; and, so far as they are not amiss, derive themselves from the Benefit of yours and my late good Lady’s Examples and Instructions.

I have wrote a vast deal in a little Time. And shall only say, to conclude this delightful Wednesday, That in the Afternoon my good Master was so well, that he rode out on Horseback, and came home about Nine at Night; and then came up to me, and seeing me with Pen and Ink before me in my Closet, said, I come only to tell you I am very well, my Pamela, and, as I have a Letter or two to write, I will leave you to proceed in yours, as I suppose that was your Employment; (for I had put by my Paper at his coming up) and so he saluted me, bid me Good-night, and went down; and I finish’d down to this Place before I went to-bed. Mrs. Jewkes told me, if it was more agreeable to me, she would lie in another Room; but I said, No thank you, Mrs. Jewkes; pray let me have your Company And she made me a fine Curchee, and thank’d me.—How Times are alter’d!

Thursday.

This Morning my Master came up to me, and talk’d with me on various Subjects for a good while together in the most kind manner. Among other Things, he ask’d me, if I chose to order any new Cloaths against my Marriage; (O how my Heart flutters when he mentions this Subject so freely!) I said, I left every thing to his good Pleasure, only repeating my Request, for the Reasons afore-given, that I might not be too fine.

He said, I think, my Dear, it shall be very private: I hope you are not afraid of a Sham-marriage; and pray get the Service by Heart, that you may see nothing is omitted. I glow’d between Shame and Delight. O how I felt my Cheeks burn!

I said I fear’d nothing, I apprehended nothing, but my own Unworthiness. Said he, I think it shall be done within these Fourteen Days, from this Day, at this House. O how I trembled; but not with Grief, you may believe!—What says my Girl? Have you to object against any Day of the next Fourteen? because my Affairs require me to go to my other House, and I think not to stir from this, till I am happy in you?

I have no Will but yours, said I, (all glowing like the Fire, as I could feel:) But, Sir, did you say in the House? Ay, said he; for I care not how privately it be done; and it must be very publick if we go to Church. It is a Holy Rite, Sir, said I, and would be better, methinks, in a Holy Place.

I see, (said he, most kindly) my lovely Maid’s Confusion; and your trembling Tenderness shews, I ought to oblige you all I may. Therefore, I will order my own little Chapel, which has not been us’d for two Generations, for any thing but a Lumber-room, because our Family seldom resided here long together, to be clear’d and clean’d, and got ready for the Ceremony, if you dislike your own Chamber, or mine.

Sir, said I, that will be better than the Chamber; and I hope it will never be lumber’d again, but kept to the Use, for which, as I presume, it has been consecrated. O yes, said he, it has been consecrated, and that many Ages ago, in my Great Great-grandfather’s Time, who built that and the good old House together.

But now, my good Girl, if I do not too much add to your sweet Confusion, shall it be in the first Seven Days, or the second, of this Fortnight? I look’d down, quite out of Countenance. Tell me, said he?

In the Second, if you please, Sir, said I.—As you please, said he, most kindly; but I should thank you, Pamela, if you chuse the first. I’d rather, Sir, if you please, said I, have the second. Well, said he, be it so; but don’t defer it to the last Day of the Fourteen.

Pray, Sir, said I, since you embolden me to talk on this important Subject, may I not send my dear Father and Mother word of my Happiness?—Yes, you may, said he; but charge them to keep it secret, till you or I direct the contrary. And I told you I would see no more of your Papers; but I meant, I would not without your Consent: But if you will shew them to me, (and now I have no other Motive for my Curiosity, but the Pleasure I take in reading what you write) I shall acknowledge it as a Favour.

If, Sir, said I, you will be pleas’d to let me write over again one Sheet, I will, tho’ I had rely’d upon your Word, and not wrote them for your Perusal. What is that, said he? tho’ I cannot consent to it beforehand: For I more desire to see them, because they are your true Sentiments at the Time, and because they were not written for my Perusal. Sir, said I, What I am loth you should see, are very severe Reflections on the Letter I receiv’d by the Gypsey, when I apprehended your Design of the Sham-marriage; tho’ there are other things I would not have you see; but that is the worst. It can’t be worse, said he, my dear Sauce-box, than I have seen already; and, I will allow your treating me in ever so black a Manner on that Occasion, because it must have a very black Appearance to you.—Well, Sir, said I, I think I will obey you, before Night. But don’t alter a Word, said he. I won’t, Sir, reply’d I, since you order it.

While we were talking, Mrs. Jewkes came up, and said Thomas was return’d. O, said my Master, let him bring up the Papers. For he hop’d, and so did I, that you had sent them by him. But it was a great Balk, when he came up and said, Sir, Mr. Andrews did not care to deliver them; and would have it, that his Daughter was forc’d to write that Letter to him: And indeed, Sir, said he, the old Gentleman took on sadly, and would have it that his Daughter was undone, or else, he said, she would not have turn’d back, when on her Way, (as I told him she did, said Thomas) instead of coming to them. I began to be afraid now that all would be bad for me again.

Well, Tom, said he, don’t mince the Matter. Tell me, before Mrs. Andrews, what they said. Why, Sir, both he and Goody Andrews, after they had conferr’d together upon your Letter, Madam, came out, weeping bitterly, that griev’d my very Heart; and they said, Now all was over with their poor Daughter; and either she had wrote that Letter by Compulsion, or had yielded to your Honour, so they said, and was, or would be ruin’d!

My Master seem’d vex’d, as I fear’d. And I said, Pray, Sir, be so good to excuse the Fears of my honest Parents! They cannot know your Goodness to me.

And so, (said he, without answering me,) they refus’d to deliver the Papers? Yes, and please your Honour, said Thomas, tho’ I told them, that you, Madam, of your own Accord, on a Letter I had brought you, very chearfully wrote what I carry’d. But the old Gentleman, said, Why, Wife, there are in these Papers twenty Things nobody should see but ourselves, and especially not the ’Squire. O the poor Girl has had so many Stratagems to contend with, that now, at last, she has met with one that has been too hard for her. And can it be possible for us to account for her setting out to come to us, in such Post-haste, and when she had got above Halfway, to send us this Letter, and to go back again of her own Accord, as you say; when we know that all her Delight would have been to come to us, and to escape from the Perils she has been so long contending with? And then, and please your Honour, he said, he could not bear this; for his Daughter was ruin’d, to be sure, before now. And so, said he, the good old Couple sat themselves down, and Hand-in-hand, leaning upon each other’s Shoulder, did nothing but lament.—I was, said he, piteously griev’d; but all I could say could not comfort them; nor would they give me the Papers; tho’ I told them I should deliver them only to Mrs. Andrews herself. And so, and please your Honour, I was forced to come away without them.

My good Master saw me all bath’d in Tears at this Description of your Distress and Fears for me, and he said, I would not have you take on so. I am not angry with your Father in the main; he is a good Man; and I would have you write out of Hand, and it shall be sent by the Post, to Mr. Atkins, who lives within two Miles of your Father, and I’ll inclose it in a Cover of mine, in which I’ll desire Mr. Atkins, the Moment it comes to his Hand, to convey it safely to your Father or Mother: And say nothing of their sending the Papers, that it may not make them uneasy; for I want not now to see them on any other Score than that of mere Curiosity; and that will do at any Time. And so saying, he saluted me, before Thomas, and with his own Handkerchief wip’d my Eyes; and said to Thomas, The good old Folks are not to be blam’d in the main. They don’t know my honourable Intentions by their dear Daughter: Who, Tom, will, in a little Time, be your Mistress; tho’ I shall keep the Matter private some Days, and would not have it spoken of by my Servants out of my House.

Thomas said, God bless your Honour. You know best. And I said, O Sir, you are all Goodness!—How kind is this, to forgive the Disappointment, instead of being angry, as I fear’d you would. Thomas then withdrew. And my Master said, I need not remind you of writing out of Hand, to make the good Folks easy: And I will leave you to yourself for that Purpose; only send me down such of your Papers, as you are willing I should see, with which I shall entertain myself for an Hour or two. But one Thing, added he, I forgot to tell you, the neighbouring Gentry I mentioned, will be here to-morrow to dine with me; and I have order’d Mrs. Jewkes to prepare for them. And must I, Sir, said I, be shewn to them? O yes, said he, that’s the chief Reason of their coming. And you’ll see no body equal to yourself; don’t be concern’d.

All that follow’d was so kind of his Side, being our Chariot Conference, as above, on Wednesday Morning, and how good he has been ever since, that I thought I would go no farther; for I was a little asham’d to be so very open on that tender and most grateful Subject; tho’ his great Goodness to me deserves all the Acknowledgments I can possibly make.

And when I had look’d these out, I carried them down myself into the Parlour to him, and said, putting them into his Hands, Your Allowances, good Sir, as heretofore; and if I have been too open and free in my Reflections or Declarations; let my Fears on one Side, and my Sincerity on the other, be my Excuse. You are very obliging, my good Girl, said he. You have nothing to apprehend from my Thoughts, any more than from my Actions.

So I went up, and wrote the Letter to you, briefly acquainting you with my present Happiness, and my Master’s Goodness, and expressing that Gratitude of Heart, which I owe to the kindest Gentleman in the World, and assuring you, that I should soon have the Pleasure of sending back to you, not only those Papers, but all that succeeded them to this Time, as I know you delight to amuse yourself in your Leisure Hours with my Scribble; and I said, carrying it down to my Master, before I seal’d it, Will you please, Sir, to take the Trouble of reading what I write to my dear Parents? Thank you Pamela, said he, and set me on his Knee, while he read it, and seem’d much pleas’d with it, and giving it me again, you are very happy, said he, my beloved Girl, in your Style and Expressions: And the affectionate Things you say of me, are inexpressibly obliging; and again, with this Kiss, said he, do I confirm for Truth all that you have promis’d for my Intentions in this Letter.—O what Halcyon Days are these? God continue them!—A Change now, would kill me quite.

He went out in his Chariot in the Afternoon; and in the Evening return’d, and sent me Word, he would be glad of my Company for a little Walk in the Garden; and down I went that very Moment.

He came to meet me. So, said he, how does my dear Girl do now?—Who do you think I have seen since I have been out?—I don’t know, Sir, said I. Why, said he, there is a Turning in the Road, about five Miles off, that goes round a Meadow, that has a pleasant Footway, by the Side of a little Brook, and a double Row of Limes on each Side, where now and then the Gentry in the Neighbourhood, walk, and angle, and divert themselves—I’ll shew it you next Opportunity—And I stept out of my Chariot, to walk cross this Meadow, and bid Robin meet me with it on the further Part of it. And who should I ’spy there, walking, with a Book in his Hand, reading, but your humble Servant Mr. Williams?—Don’t blush, Pamela, said he—As his Back was to me, I thought I would speak to the Man, and before he saw me, I said, How do you, old Acquaintance? (for, said he, you know we were of one College for a Twelvemonth). I thought the Man would have jump’d into the Brook, he gave such a Start at hearing my Voice, and seeing me.

Poor Man! said I. Ay, said he, but not too much of your poor Man, in that soft Accent, neither, Pamela.—Said I, I am sorry my Voice is so startling to you, Mr. Williams. What are you reading? Sir, said he, and stammer’d with the Surprize, It is the French Telemachus; for I am about perfecting myself, if I can, in the French Tongue—Thought I, I had rather so, than perfecting my Pamela in it.—You do well, reply’d I.—Don’t you think that yonder Cloud may give us a small Shower? and it did a little begin to wet.—He said, he believ’d not much.

If, said I, you are for the Village, I’ll give you a Cast; for I shall call at Sir Simon’s, in my Return from the little Round I am taking. He ask’d me If it was not too great a Favour?—No, said I, don’t talk of that; let us walk to the further Opening there, and we shall meet my Chariot.

So, Pamela, continued my Master, we fell into Conversation, as we walk’d. He said, he was very sorry he had incurr’d my Displeasure; and the more, as he had been told, by Lady Jones, who had it from Sir Simon’s Family, that I had a more honourable View than at first was apprehended. I said, We Fellows of Fortune, Mr. Williams, take sometimes a little more Liberty with the World than we ought to do; wantoning, very probably, as you contemplative Folks would say, in the Sun-beams of a dangerous Affluence, and cannot think of confining ourselves to the common Paths, tho’ the safest and most eligible, after all. And you may believe I could not very well like to be supplanted in a View that lay next my Heart; and that by an old Acquaintance, whose Good, before this Affair, I was studious to promote.

I would only say, Sir, said he, that my first Motive was intirely such as became my Function: And, very politely, said my Master, he added, And I am very sure, that however inexcusable I might seem in the Progress of the Matter, yourself, Sir, would have been sorry to have it said, you had cast your Thoughts on a Person, that nobody could have wish’d for but yourself.

Well, Mr. Williams, said I, I see you are a Man of Gallantry as well as Religion: But what I took most amiss was, that, if you thought me doing a wrong Thing, you did not expostulate with me, as your Function might allow you, upon it; but immediately determin’d to counterplot me, and to turn as much an Intriguer for a Parson, as I was for a Laick, and attempt to secure to yourself a Prize, you would have robb’d me of, and that from my own House. But the Matter is at an End, and I retain not any Malice upon it, tho’ you did not know, but I should, at last, do honourably by her, as I actually intend.

I am sorry for myself, Sir, said he, that I should so unhappily incur your Displeasure; but I rejoice for her sake in your honourable Intentions: Give me Leave only to say, That if you make Mrs. Andrews your Lady, she will do Credit to your Choice with every body that sees her, or comes to know her; and for Person and Mind both, you may challenge the County.

In this manner, said my Master, did the Parson and I confabulate; and I set him down at his Lodgings in the Village. But he kept your Secret, Pamela, and would not own, that you gave Encouragement to his Address as to Matrimony.

Indeed, Sir, said I, he could not say that I did; and I hope you believe me. I do, I do, said he; but ’tis still my Opinion, that if, when I saw Plots set up against my Plots, I had not, as I had, discover’d the Parson, it might have gone to a Length that would have put our present Situation out of both our Powers.

Sir, said I, when you consider that my utmost Presumption could not make me hope for the Honour you now seem to design me; that therefore, I had no Prospect before me but Dishonour; and was so hardly us’d into the Bargain, I should have seem’d very little in Earnest in my Professions of Honesty, if I had not endeavour’d to get away: But yet I resolv’d not to think of Marriage; for I never saw the Man I could love, till your Goodness embolden’d me to look up to you.

I should, my dear Pamela, said he, make a very ill Compliment to my Vanity, if I did not believe you; tho’ at the same time, Justice calls upon me to own, that it is, all Things consider’d, beyond my Merit.

There was a sweet noble Expression for your poor Daughter, my dear Father and Mother!—And from my Master too!

I was glad to hear this Account of the Interview between Mr. Williams and himself; but I dar’d not to say so. I hope in Time he will be re-instated in his good Graces.

He was so good as to tell me, he had given Orders for the Chapel to be clear’d. O how I look forward with inward Joy, yet with Fear and Trembling!

Friday.

About Twelve o’Clock came Sir Simon, and his Lady and two Daughters, and Lady Jones, and a Sister-in-law of hers, and Mr. Peters, and his Spouse and Niece. Mrs. Jewkes, who is more and more obliging, was much concern’d I was not dress’d in some of my best Cloaths, and made me many Compliments.

They all went into the Garden for a Walk, before Dinner, and, I understood, were so impatient to see me, that my Master took them into the largest Alcove, after they had walk’d two or three Turns, and stept himself to me. Come, my Pamela, said he, the Ladies can’t be satisfy’d without seeing you, and I desire you’ll come. I said, I was asham’d; but I would obey him. Said he, The two young Ladies are dress’d out in their best Attire; but they make not such an Appearance as my charming Girl in this ordinary Garb.—Sir, said I, shan’t I follow you there? for I can’t bear you should do me so much Honour. Well, said he, I’ll go before you. And he bid Mrs. Jewkes bring a Bottle or two of Sack, and some Cake. So he went down to them.

This Alcove fronts the longest Gravel Walk in the Garden, so that they saw me all the Way I came, for a good Way; and my Master told me afterwards, with Pleasure, all they said of me.

Will you forgive the little vain Slut your Daughter, if I tell you all, as he was pleas’d to tell me? He said, ’spying me first, Look there, Ladies, comes my pretty Rustick!—They all, I saw, which dash’d me, stood at the Windows and in the Door-way, looking full at me.

My Master told me, that Lady Jones said, She is a charming Creature, I see that, at this Distance. And Sir Simon, it seems, who has been a sad Rake in his younger Days, swore he never saw so easy an Air, so fine a Shape, and so graceful a Presence.—The Lady Darnford said, I was a sweet Girl. And Mrs. Peters said very handsome Things. Even the Parson said, I should be the Pride of the County. O dear Sirs! all this was owing to the Light my good Master’s Favour plac’d me in, which made me shine out in their Eyes beyond my Deserts. He said the young Ladies blush’d, and envy’d me.

When I came near, he saw me dash’d and confus’d and was so good to meet me, Give me your Hand, said he, my good Girl, you walk too fast (for indeed I wanted to be out of their gazing). I did so, with a Curchee, and he led me up the Steps of the Alcove, and in a most Gentleman-like Manner presented me to the Ladies, and they all saluted me, and said, They hop’d to be better acquainted with me; and Lady Darnford was pleas’d to say, I should be the Flower of their Neighbourhood. Sir Simon said, Good Neighbour, by your Leave, and saluting me, added, Now will I say, that I have kiss’d the loveliest Maiden in England. But for all this, methought I ow’d him a Grudge for a Tell-tale, tho’ all had turn’d out so happily. Mr. Peters very gravely follow’d his Example, and said, like a Bishop, God bless you, fair Excellence. Said Lady Jones, Pray, dear Madam, sit down by me. And they all sat down; but I said, I would stand, if they pleas’d. No, Pamela, said my Master, Pray sit down with these good Ladies, my Neighbours:—They will indulge it to you, for my sake, till they know you better; and for your own, when they are acquainted with you. Sir, said I, I shall be proud to deserve their Indulgence.

They all so gaz’d at me, that I could not look up; for I think it is one of the Distinctions of Persons of Condition, and well-bred People, to put bashful Bodies out of Countenance. Well, Sir Simon, said my Master, what say you now to my pretty Rustick?—He swore a great Oath, that he should better know what to say to me if he was as young as himself. Lady Darnford said, You will never leave, Sir Simon.

Said my Master, You are a little confus’d, my good Girl, and out of Breath; but I have told all my kind Neighbours here a good deal of your Story, and your Excellence. Yes, said Lady Darnford, my dear Neighbour, as I will call you; we that are here present have all heard of your uncommon Story. Madam, said I, you have then heard what must make your kind Allowance for me very necessary. No, said Mrs. Peters, we have heard what will always make you valued as an Honour to our Sex, and as a worthy Pattern for all the young Ladies in the County. You are very good, Madam, said I, to make me able to look up, and be thankful for the Honour you are all pleas’d to do me.

Mrs. Jewkes came in with the Canary, brought by Nan, to the Alcove, and some Cake on a Silver Salver; and I said, Mrs. Jewkes, let me be your Assistant; I will serve the Ladies with the Cake. And so I took the Salver, and went round to the good Company with it, ending with my Master. The Lady Jones said, she never was serv’d with such a Grace, and it was giving me too much Trouble. O Madam, said I, I hope my good Master’s Favour will never make me forget that it is my Duty to wait upon his Friends.—Master, sweet one, said Sir Simon, I hope you won’t always call the ’Squire by that Name, for fear it should become a Fashion for all our Ladies to do the like thro’ the County. I, Sir, said I, shall have many Reasons to continue this Style, which cannot affect your good Ladies.

Sir Simon, said Lady Jones, you are very arch upon us; but I see very well, that it will be the Interest of all the Gentlemen, to bring their Ladies into an Intimacy with one that can give them such a good Example. I am sure then, Madam, said I, it must be after I have been polish’d and improv’d by the Honour of such an Example as yours.

They all were very good and affable, and the young Lady Darnford, who had wish’d to see me in this Dress, said, I beg your Pardon, dear Miss, as she call’d me; but I had heard how sweetly this Garb became you, and was told the History of it; and I begg’d it as a Favour that you might oblige us with your Appearance in it. I am much oblig’d to your Ladyship, said I, that your kind Prescription was so agreeable to my Choice. Why, said she, was it your Choice then?—I am glad of that: Tho’ I am sure your Person must give and not take Ornament from any Dress.

You are very kind, Madam, said I: But there will be the less Reason to fear I should forget the high Obligations I shall have to the kindest of Gentlemen, when I can delight to shew the humble Degree from which his Goodness has rais’d me.—My dear Pamela, said my Master, if you proceed at this Rate, I must insist upon your first Seven Days. You know what I mean. Sir, said I, you are all Goodness!

They drank a Glass of Sack each, and Sir Simon would make me do so; saying, It is a Reflection, Madam, upon all the Ladies, if you don’t do as they do. No, Sir Simon, said I, that can’t be, because the Ladies Journey hither makes a Glass of Canary a proper Cordial for them. But I won’t refuse; because I will do myself the Honour of drinking good Health to you, and all this worthy Company.

Said good Lady Darnford, to my Master, I hope, Sir, we shall have Mrs. Andrews’s Company at Table. He said, very obligingly, Madam, it is her Time now: and I will leave it to her Choice. If my good Ladies, then, will forgive me, Sir, said I, I had rather be excused. They all said, I must not be excused. I begg’d I might. Your Reason for it, my dear Pamela, said my Master? as the Ladies request it, I wish you would oblige them. Sir, reply’d I, your Goodness will make me, every Day, worthier of the Honour the Ladies do me; and when I can persuade myself that I am more worthy of it than at present, I shall with great Joy embrace all the Opportunities they will be pleased to give me.

Mrs. Peters whisper’d Lady Jones, as my Master told me afterwards; Did you ever see such Excellence, such Prudence, and Discretion? Never in my Life, said the other good Lady. She will adorn, she was pleas’d to say, her Distinction. Ay, said Mrs. Peters, she would adorn any Station in Life.

My good Master was highly delighted, generous Gentleman as he is! with the favourable Opinion of the Ladies; and I took the more Pleasure in it, because their Favour seem’d to lessen the Disgrace of his stooping so much beneath him.

Lady Darnford said, We will not oppress you; tho’ we could almost blame your too punctilious Exactness; but if we excuse Mrs. Andrews at Dinner, we must insist upon her Company at the Card-table, and at a Dish of Tea: For we intend to pass the whole Day with you, Sir, as we told you. What say you to that, Pamela, said my Master? Sir, reply’d I, whatever you and the Ladies please, I will chearfully do. They said I was very obliging. But Sir Simon rapt out an Oath, and said, that they might dine together if they would; but he would dine with me, and nobody else. For, said he, I say, ’Squire, as Parson Williams said, (by which I found my Master had told them the Story) you must not think you have chosen one that nobody can like but yourself

The young Ladies said, If I pleas’d, they would take a Turn about the Garden with me. I answer’d I would very gladly attend them; and so we three, and Lady Jones’s Sister-in-law, and Mr. Peters’s Niece, walk’d together. They were very affable, kind and obliging; and we soon enter’d into a good deal of Familiarity; and I found Miss Darnford a very agreeable Person. Her Sister was a little more on the Reserve; and I afterwards heard, that, about a Year before, she should fain have had my Master make his Addresses to her; but tho’ Sir Simon is reckon’d rich, she was not thought a sufficient Fortune for him. And now, to have him look down so low as me, must be a sort of Mortification to a poor young Lady!—and I pity’d her—Indeed I did!—I wish all young Persons of my Sex could be as happy as I am likely to be.

My Master told me afterwards, that I left the other Ladies, and Sir Simon and Mr. Peters, full of my Praises; so that they could hardly talk of any thing else: one launching out upon my Complexion, another upon my Eyes, my Hand, and, in short, for you’ll think me sadly proud, upon my whole Person, and Behaviour; and they all magnify’d my Readiness and Obligingness in my Answers, and the like: And I was glad of it, as I said, for my good Master’s sake, who seem’d quite pleas’d and rejoic’d. God bless him, for his Goodness to me!

Dinner not being ready, the young Ladies propos’d a Tune upon the Spinnet. I said, I believ’d it was not in Tune. They said, they knew it was but a few Months ago. If it is, said I, I wish I had known it; tho’ indeed, Ladies, added I, since you know my Story, I must own, that my Mind has not been long in Tune, to make use of it. So they would make me play upon it, and sing to it; which I did, a Song my dear good Lady had learn’d me, and us’d to be pleas’d with, and which she brought with her from Bath. And the Ladies were much taken with the Song, and were so kind as to approve my Performance: And Miss Darnford was pleas’d to compliment me, that I had all the Accomplishments of my Sex. I said, I had had a good Lady, in my Master’s Mother, who had spar’d no Pains nor Cost to improve me. She said, she wish’d the ’Squire could be prevail’d upon to give a Ball on an approaching happy Occasion, that we might have a Dancing-match, &c.—But I can’t say I do; tho’ I did not say so; for these Occasions I think are too solemn for the Principals, at least of our Sex, to take Part in, especially if they have the same Thoughts of the Solemnity that I have: For indeed, tho’ I am in such an enviable Prospect of Happiness, I must own to you, my dear Parents, that I have something very awful upon my Mind, when I think of the Matter, and shall more and more, as it draws nearer and nearer. This is the Song.

About four o’Clock. My Master just came up to me, and said, If you should see Mr. Williams below, do you think, Pamela, you should not be surpriz’d?—No, Sir, said I, I hope not. Why should I? Expect, said he, a Stranger then, when you come down to us in the Parlour; for the Ladies are preparing themselves for the Card-table, and they insist upon your Company—You have a mind, Sir, said I, I believe, to try all my Courage. Why, said he, does it want Courage to see him? No, Sir, said I, not at all. But I was grievously dash’d to see all those strange Ladies and Gentlemen; and now to see Mr. Williams before them, as some of them refus’d his Application for me, when I wanted to get away, it will a little shock me, to see them smile, in recollecting what has pass’d of that kind. Well, said he, guard your Heart against Surprizes, tho’ you shall see, when you come down, a Man that I can allow you to love dearly; tho’ hardly preferably to me.

This surprizes me much. I am afraid he begins to be jealous of me. What will become of me, (for he look’d very seriously) if any Turn should happen now!—My Heart akes! I know not what’s the Matter. But I will go down as brisk as I can, that nothing may be imputed to me. Yet I wish this Mr. Williams had not been there now when they are all there; because of their Fleers at him and me. Otherwise I should be glad to see the poor Gentleman; for indeed I think him a good Man, and he has suffer’d for my sake.

So, I am sent for down to Cards. I’ll go; but wish I may continue their good Opinions of me: For I shall be very awkward. My Master, by his serious Question, and bidding me guard my Heart against Surprizes, tho’ I should see, when I came down, a Man he can allow me to love dearly, tho’ hardly better than he, has quite alarm’d me, and made me sad!—I hope he loves me!—But whether he does or not, I am in for it now, over Head and Ears, I doubt, and can’t help loving him; ’tis a Folly to deny it. But to be sure I cannot love any Man preferably to him. I shall soon know what he means.

Now, my dear Mother, must I write to you. Well might my good Master say so mysteriously as he did, about guarding my Heart against Surprizes. I never was so surpriz’d in my Life; and never could see a Man I lov’d so dearly!—O my dear Mother, it was my dear, dear Father, and not Mr. Williams, that was below ready to receive and to bless your Daughter; and both my Master and he enjoin me to write how the whole Matter was, and what my Thoughts were on this joyful Occasion.

I will take the Matter from the Beginning, that God directed his Feet to this House, to this Time, as I have had it from Mrs. Jewkes, from my Master, my Father, the Ladies, and my own Heart and Conduct, as far as I know of both; because they command it, and you will be pleased with my Relation; and so, as you know how I came by the Connection, will make one uniform Relation of it.

It seems then, that my dear Father and you were so uneasy to know the Truth of the Story that Thomas had told you, and fearing I was betrayed, and quite undone, that he got Leave of Absence, and set out the Day after Thomas was there; and so, on Friday Morning, he got to the neighbouring Town; and there he heard, that the Gentry in the Neighbourhood were at my Master’s, at a great Entertainment. He put on a clean Shirt and Neckcloth, that he brought in his Pocket, at an Alehouse there, and got shav’d; and so, after he had eat some Bread and Cheese, and drank a Can of Ale, he set out for my Master’s House, with a heavy Heart, dreading for me, and in much fear of being browbeaten. He had, it seems, asked, at the Alehouse, what Family the ’Squire had down here, in hopes to hear something of me; and they said, A Housekeeper, two Maids, and, at present, two Coachmen, and two Grooms, a Footman, and a Helper. Was that all? he said. They told him, There was a young Creature there, belike, who was, or was to be, his Mistress, or somewhat of that Nature; but had been his Mother’s Waiting-maid. This, he said, grieved his Heart, and made out what he fear’d.

So he went on, and, about Three o’Clock in the Afternoon, came to the Gate; and ringing there, Sir Simon’s Coachman went to the Iron-gate; and he ask’d for the Housekeeper; tho’ from what I had wrote, in his Heart, he could not abide her. She sent for him in, little thinking who he was, and ask’d him, in the little Hall, what his Business with her was?—Only, Madam, said he, whether I cannot speak one Word with the ’Squire? No, Friend, said she; he is engaged with several Gentlemen and Ladies. Said he, I have Business with his Honour, of greater Consequence to me than either Life or Death; and Tears stood in his Eyes.

At that she went into the great Parlour, where my Master was talking very pleasantly with the Ladies; and she said, Sir, here is a good tight old Man, that wants to see you on Business of Life and Death, he says, and is very earnest. Ay, said he, Who can that be!—Let him stay in the little Hall, and I’ll come to him presently. They all seem’d to stare; and Sir Simon said, No more nor less, I dare say, my good Friend, but a Bastard Child. If it is, said Lady Jones, bring it in to us. I will, said he.

Mrs. Jewkes tells me, my Master was much surpriz’d, when he saw who it was; and she much more, when my dear Father said,—Good God! give me Patience! but, as great as you are, Sir, I must ask for my Child! And burst out into Tears. O what Trouble have I given you both! My Master said, taking him by the Hand, Don’t be uneasy, Goodman Andrews, your Daughter is in the way to be happy!

This alarm’d my dear Father, and he said, What! then is she dying? And trembled he could scarce stand. My Master made him sit down; and sat down by him, and said, No, God be praised! she is very well; and pray be comforted; I cannot bear to see you thus apprehensive; but she has wrote you a Letter to assure you, that she has Reason to be well satisfied and happy.

Ah! Sir, said he, you told me once she was in London, waiting on a Bishop’s Lady, when all the time she was a severe Prisoner here.—Well, that’s all over now, Goodman Andrews, said my Master: but the Times are alter’d; for now the sweet Girl has taken me Prisoner; and, in a few Days, I shall put on the pleasantest Fetters that ever Man wore.

O, Sir, said he, you are too pleasant for my Griefs. My Heart’s almost broke. But may I not see my poor Child? You shall presently, said he; for she is coming down to us; and since you won’t believe me, I hope you will her.

I will ask you, good Sir, said he, but one Question till then, that I may know how to look upon her when I see her. Is she honest? Is she virtuous?—As the new-born Babe, Mr. Andrews, said my good Master; and, in twelve Days time, I hope, will be my Wife!—

O flatter me not, good your Honour, said he: It cannot be! it cannot be!—I fear you have deluded her with strange Hopes; and would make me believe Impossibilities!—Mrs. Jewkes, said he, do you tell my dear Pamela’s good Father, when I go out, all you know concerning me, and your Mistress that is to be. Mean time, make much of him, and set out what you have; and make him drink a Glass of what he likes best. If this be Wine, added he, fill me a Bumper.

She did so; and he took my Father by the Hand, and said, Believe me, good Man, and be easy; for I can’t bear to see you tortur’d in this cruel Suspense: Your dear Daughter is the beloved of my Soul. I am glad you are come! For you’ll see us all in the same Story. And here’s your Dame’s Health; and God bless you both, for being the happy Means of procuring for me so great a Blessing! And so he drank a Bumper to this most obliging Health.

What do I hear! it cannot surely be! said my Father. And your Honour is too good, I hope, to mock a poor old Man!—This ugly Story, Sir, of the Bishop, runs in my Head!—But you say, I shall see my dear Child!—And I shall see her honest!—If not, poor as I am, I would not own her!

My Master bid Mrs. Jewkes not let me know yet, that my Father was come, and went to the Company, and said, I have been agreeably surpriz’d. Here is honest old Goodman Andrews come full of Grief, to see his Daughter; for he fears she is seduced; and tells me, good honest Man, that, poor as he is, he will not own her, if she be not virtuous. O, said they all, with one Voice almost, dear Sir! shall we not see the good old Man you have so praised for his plain good Sense and honest Heart? If, said he, I thought Pamela would not be too much affected with the Surprize, I would make you all witness to their first Interview; for never did Daughter love a Father, or a Father a Daughter, as they two do one another. Miss Darnford, and all the Ladies, and the Gentlemen too, begg’d it might be so. But was not this very cruel, my dear Mother? For well might they think I should not support myself in such an agreeable Surprize.

He said, kindly, I have but one Fear, that the dear Girl may be too much affected. O, said Lady Darnford, we’ll all help to keep up her Spirits. Says he, I’ll go up and prepare her; but won’t tell her of it. So he came up to me, as I have said, and amus’d me about Mr. Williams, to half prepare me for some Surprize; tho’ that could not have been any thing to this. And he left me, as I said, in that Suspense, at his mystical Words, saying, he would send to me, when they were going to Cards.

My Master went from me to my Father, and asked if he had eaten any thing. No, said Mrs. Jewkes; the good Man’s Heart’s so full, he cannot eat, nor do any thing, till he has seen his dear Daughter. That shall soon be, said my Master. I will have you come in with me; for she is going to sit down with my Guests, to a Game at Quadrille; and I will send for her down. O, Sir, said my Father, don’t, don’t let me; I am not fit to appear before your Guests; let me see my Daughter by myself, I beseech you. Said he, They all know your honest Character, Goodman Andrews, and long to see you, for Pamela’s sake.

So he took my Father by the Hand, and led him in, against his Will, to the Company. They were all very good. My Master kindly said, Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you one of the honestest Men in England; my good Pamela’s Father. Mr. Peters went to him, and took him by the Hand, and said, We are all glad to see you, Sir; you are the happiest Man in the World in a Daughter, that we never saw before to Day; but cannot enough admire her.

Said my Master, This Gentleman, Goodman Andrews, is the Minister of the Parish; but is not young enough for Mr. Williams. This cutting Joke, my poor Father said, made him fear, for a Moment, that all was a Jest.—Sir Simon also took him by the Hand, and said, Ay, you have a sweet Daughter, Honesty; we are all in Love with her. And the Ladies came, and said very fine things: Lady Darnford particularly, That he might think himself the happiest Man in England, in such a Daughter. If, and please you, Madam, said he, she be but vertuous, ’tis all in all: For all the rest is Accident. But, I doubt, his Honour has been too much upon the Joke with me. No, said Mrs. Peters, we are all Witness that he intends very honourably by her.—It is some Comfort, said he, and wiped his Eyes, that such good Ladies say so!—But I wish I could see her.

They would have had him sit down by them, but he would only sit behind the Door, in the Corner of the Room, so that one could not soon see him, as one came in; because the Door open’d against him, and hid him almost. The Ladies all sat down; and my Master said, Desire Mrs. Jewkes to step up; and tell Mrs. Andrews the Ladies wait for her. So down I came.

Miss Darnford rose, and met me at the Door, and said, Well, Miss, we long’d for your Company. I did not see my dear Father; and, it seems, his Heart was too full to speak; and he got up, and sat down three or four times successively, unable to come to me, or to say any thing. The Ladies looked that way; but I would not, supposing it was Mr. Williams. And they made me sit down between Lady Darnford and Lady Jones; and asked me, what we should play at? I said, At what your Ladyships please. I wonder’d to see them smile, and look upon me, and to that Corner of the Room; but I was afraid of looking that way, for fear of seeing Mr. Williams; tho’ my Face was that way too, and the Table before me.

Said my Master, Did you send your Letter away to the Post-house, my good Girl, for your Father? To be sure, Sir, said I, I did not forget that. I took the Liberty to desire Mr. Thomas to carry it. What, said he, I wonder, will the good old Couple say to it? O Sir, said I, your Goodness will be a Cordial to their dear honest Hearts! At that, my dear Father, not able to contain himself, nor yet to stir from the Place, gush’d out into a Flood of Tears, which he, good Soul! had been struggling with, it seems; and cry’d out, O my dear Child!

I knew the Voice, and lifting up my Eyes, and seeing my Father, gave a Spring, overturn’d the Table, without Regard to the Company, and threw myself at his Feet, O my Father! my Father! said I, can it be!—Is it you? Yes, it is! It is! O bless your happy—Daughter! I would have said, and down I sunk.

My Master, seem’d concern’d.—I fear’d, said he, that the Surprize would be too much for her Spirits; and all the Ladies run to me, and made me drink a Glass of Water; and I found myself incircled in the Arms of my dearest Father.—O tell me, said I, every thing! How long have you been here? When did you come? How does my honour’d Mother? and half a dozen Questions more, before he could answer one.

They permitted me to retire, with my Father; and then I pour’d forth all my Vows, and Thanksgivings to God for this additional Blessing; and confirm’d all my Master’s Goodness to his scarce-believing Amazement. And we kneeled together, blessing God, and blessing one another, for several ecstatick Minutes; and my Master coming in soon after, my dear Father said, O Sir, what a Change is this! May God reward you! may God bless you in this World and the next!

May God bless us all! said he. But how does my sweet Girl! I have been in Pain for you!—I am sorry I did not apprize you before hand.

O Sir, said I, it was You! and all you do must be good.—But this was a Blessing so unexpected!

Well, said he, you have given Pain to all the Company. They will be glad to see you, when you can; for you have spoiled all their Diversion: And yet painfully delighted them at the same time. Mr. Andrews, said he, you make this House your own; and the longer you stay, the more welcome you’ll be. After you have a little compos’d yourself, my dear Girl, step in to us again. I am glad to see you so well so soon. And so he left us.

See you, my dear Father, said I, what Goodness there is in this once naughty Master! O pray for him! and pray for me, that I may deserve it!

How long has this happy Change been wrought, said he, my dear Child!—O, said I, several happy Days!—I have wrote down every thing; and you’ll see, from the Depth of Misery, what God has done for your happy Daughter!

Blessed be his Name! said he. But do you say he will marry you! Can it be, that such a brave Gentleman will make a Lady of the Child of such a poor Man as I? O the Goodness of God! How will your poor dear Mother be able to support these happy Tidings? I will set out to-morrow, to acquaint her with it. For I am but half happy till the dear good Woman shares it with me!—To be sure, my dear Child, we ought to go into some far Country, to hide ourselves, that we may not disgrace you by our Poverty!

O my dear Father, said I, now you are unkind for the first Time. Your Poverty has been my Glory, and my Riches; and I have nothing to brag of, but that I ever thought it an Honour to me, rather than a Disgrace; because you were always so honest, that your Child might well boast of such a Parentage!

In this manner, my dear Mother, did we pass the happy Moments, till Miss Darnford came to me, and said, How do you do, dear Miss? I rejoice to see you well! Pray let us have your Company. And, said she, taking my Father’s Hand, and yours too, good Mr. Andrews.

This was very obliging, I told her; and we went to the great Parlour; and my Master took my Father by the Hand, and made him sit down by him, and drink a Glass of Wine with him. Mean time, I made my Excuses to the Ladies, as well as I could; which they readily granted me. But Sir Simon, after his comical manner, put his Hands on my Shoulders, Let me see, let me see, said he, where your Wings grow; for I never saw any body fly like you?—Why, said he, you have broke Lady Jones’s Shins with the Table. Shew her else, Madam.

His Pleasantry made them laugh. And I said, I was very sorry for my Extravagancy: And if it had not been my Master’s Doings, I should have said, it was a Fault to permit me to be so surprized, and put out of myself, before such good Company. They said, All was very excusable; and they were glad I suffer’d no more by it. They were so kind, as to excuse me at Cards, and play’d by themselves; and I went, by my Master’s Command, and sat on the other Side, in the happiest Place I ever was blest with, between two of the dearest Men in the World to me, and each holding one of my Hands;—my Father, every now-and-then, with Tears in his Eyes, blessing God, and saying, Could I ever have hoped this!

I asked him, if he had been so kind as to bring the Papers with him? He said he had, and looked at me, as who should say, Must I give them to you now?—I said, Be pleased to let me have them. He pulled them from his Pocket; and I stood up, and, with my best Duty, gave them into my Master’s Hands. He said, Thank you, Pamela. Your Father shall take all with him, to see what a sad Fellow I have been, as well as the present happier Alteration. But I must have them all again, for the Writer’s sake.

The Ladies and Gentlemen would make me govern the Tea-table, whatever I could do; and Abraham attended me, to serve the Company. My Master and my Father sat together, and drank a Glass or two of Wine instead of Tea; and Sir Simon jok’d with my Master, and said, I warrant you would not be such a Woman’s Man, as to drink Tea, for ever so much, with the Ladies. But your Time’s coming, and, I doubt not, you’ll be made as conformable as I.

My Master was very urgent with them to stay Supper; and, at last, they comply’d, on Condition that I would grace the Table, as they were pleased to call it. I begg’d to be excus’d. My Master said, Don’t be excus’d, Pamela, since the Ladies desire it. And besides, said he, we won’t part with your Father; and so you may as well stay with us.

I was in hope my Father and I might sup by ourselves, or only with Mrs. Jewkes. And Miss Darnford, who is a most obliging young Lady, said, We will not part with you; indeed we won’t.

When Supper was brought in, Lady Darnford took me by the Hand, and said to my Master, Sir, by your Leave; and would have plac’d me at the Upper-end of the Table. Pray, pray, Madam, said I, excuse me, I cannot do it, indeed I cannot. Pamela, said my Master, to the great Delight of my good Father, as I could see by his Looks, Oblige Lady Darnford, since she desires it. It is but a little before your Time, you know.

Dear, good Sir, said I, pray don’t command it! Let me sit by my Father, pray! Why, said Sir Simon, here’s ado indeed; Sit down at the Upper-end, as you should do! and your Father shall sit by you there. This put my dear Father upon Difficulties. And my Master said, Come, I’ll place you all: And so put Lady Darnford at the Upper-end, Lady Jones at her Right-hand, and Mrs. Peters on the other; and he placed me between the two young Ladies; but very genteely put Miss Darnford below her younger Sister; saying, Come, Miss, I put you here, because you shall hedge in this little Cuckow; for I take notice, with Pleasure, of your Goodness to her; and besides, all you very young Ladies should sit together. This seem’d to please both Sisters; for had the youngest Miss been put there, it might have piqu’d her, as matters had been formerly, to be placed below me; whereas Miss Darnford giving Place to her younger Sister, made it less odd she should to me; especially with that handsome Turn of the dear Man, as if I was a Cuckow, and to be hedg’d in.

My Master kindly said, Come, Mr. Andrews, you and I will sit together. And so took his Place at the Bottom of the Table, and set my Father on his Right-hand; and Sir Simon would sit on his Left. For, said he, Parson, I think the Petticoats should sit together; and so do you sit down by that Lady (his Sister). A boiled Turkey standing by me, my Master said, Cut up that Turkey, Pamela, if it be not too strong Work for you, that Lady Darnford may not have too much Trouble. So I carv’d it in a Trice, and helped the Ladies. Miss Darnford said, I would give something to be so dextrous a Carver. O Miss, said I, my late good Lady would always make me do these things, when she entertained her Female Friends; as she used to do on particular Days.

Ay, said my Master, I remember my poor Mother would often say, if I, or any body at Table, happen’d to be a little out in Carving, I’ll send up for my Pamela, to shew you how to carve. Said Lady Jones, Mrs. Andrews has every Accomplishment of her Sex. She is quite wonderful for her Years. Miss Darnford said, And I can tell you, Madam, that she plays sweetly upon the Spinnet, and sings as sweetly to it; for she has a fine Voice. Foolish, said Sir Simon, who, that hears her speak, knows not that? and who, that sees her Fingers, believes not that they were made to touch any Key? O, Parson! said he, ’tis well you’re by, or I should have had a Blush from the Ladies. I hope not, Sir Simon, said Lady Jones; for a Gentleman of your Politeness, would not say any thing that would make Ladies blush.—No, no, said he, for the World: But if I had, it would have been as the Poet says,

When the Company went away, Lady Darnford, Lady Jones, and Mrs. Peters, severally invited my Master, and me with him, to their Houses; and begg’d he would permit me, at least, to come before we left these Parts. And they said, We hope, when the happy Knot is ty’d, you will induce the ’Squire to reside more among us. We were always glad, said Lady Darnford, when he was here; but now shall have double Reason. O what grateful things were these to the Ears of my good Father!

When the Company was gone, my Master ask’d my Father, if he smoak’d; he said, No. He made us both sit down by him; and he said, I have been telling this sweet Girl, that, in Fourteen Days, and two of them are gone, she must fix on one, to make me happy: And have left it to her to chuse either one of the first or the last Seven. My Father held up his Hands and Eyes; God bless your Honour, said he, is all I can say! Now, Pamela, said my Master, taking my Hand, don’t let a little wrong-timed Bashfulness take place, without any other Reason, because I should be glad to go to Bedfordshire as soon as I could; and I would not return till I carry my Servants there a Mistress, who should assist me to repair the Mischiefs she has made in it.

I could not look up for Confusion. And my Father said, My dear Child, I need not, I am sure, prompt your Obedience in whatever will most oblige so good a Master. What says my Pamela? said my Master. She does not use to be at a Loss for Expression. Sir, said I, were I too sudden, it would look as if I doubted whether you would hold in your Mind, and was not willing to give you Time for Reflection. But otherwise, to be sure, I ought to resign myself implicitly to your Will.

Said he, I want not Time for Reflection. For I have often told you, and that long ago, I could not live without you. And my Pride of Condition made me both tempt and terrify you to other Terms; but your Virtue was Proof against all Temptation, and was not to be aw’d by Terrors: Wherefore, as I could not conquer my Passion for you, I corrected myself, and resolved, since you would not be mine upon my Terms, you should upon your own: And now I desire you not on any other, I assure you. And, I think, the sooner it is done, the better. What say you, Mr. Andrews? Sir, said he, there is so much Goodness of your Side, and, blessed be God! so much Prudence of my Daughter’s, that I must be quite silent. But when it is done, I and my poor Wife, shall have nothing to do, but to pray for you both, and to look back with Wonder and Joy, on the Ways of Providence.

This, said my Master, is Friday Night; and suppose, my Girl, it be next Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday Morning?—Say, my Pamela.

Will you, Sir, said I, excuse me till to-morrow for an Answer?—I will, said he. And he touch’d the Bell, and called for Mrs. Jewkes. Where, said he, does Mr. Andrews lie to-night? You’ll take care of him: He’s a very good Man; and will bring a Blessing upon every House he sets his Foot in.

My dear Father wept for Joy; and I could not refrain keeping him Company. And my Master saluting me, bid us Good-night, and retir’d. And I waited upon my dear Father, and was so full of Prattle, of my Master’s Goodness, and my future Prospects, that I believed afterwards I was turned all into Tongue. But he indulged me, and was transported with Joy; and went to-bed, and dreamt of nothing but Jacob’s Ladder, and Angels ascending and descending, to bless him, and his Daughter.

Saturday.

I Rose up early in the Morning; but found my Father was up before me, and was gone to walk in the Garden. I went to him: And with what Delight, with what Thankfulness, did we go over every Scene of it, that had before been so dreadful to me! The Fish-Pond, the Back-door, and every Place: O what Reason had we for Thankfulness and Gratitude!

About Seven o’Clock, my good Master join’d us, in his Morning-gown and Slippers; and looking a little heavy, I said, Sir, I fear you had not good Rest last Night. That is your Fault, Pamela, said he: After I went from you, I must needs look into your Papers, and could not leave them till I had read them thro’; and so ’twas Three o’Clock before I went to sleep. I wish, Sir, said I, you had had better Entertainment. The worst Part of it, said he, was what I had brought upon myself; and you have not spar’d me. Sir, said I—He interrupting me, said, Well, I forgive you. You had too much Reason for it. But I find, plain enough, that if you had got away, you would soon have been Williams’s Wife: And I can’t see how it could well have been otherwise. Indeed, Sir, said I, I had no Notion of it, or of being any body’s. I believe so, said he; but it must have come on as a Thing of Course; and I see your Father was for it. Sir, said he, I little thought of the Honour your Goodness would confer upon her; and I thought that would be a Match above what we could do for her, a great deal. But when I found she was not for it, I resolved not to urge her; but leave all to God’s Grace, and her own Prudence.

I see, said he, all was sincere, honest, and open; and I speak of it, if it had been done, as a thing that could hardly well be avoided; and I am quite satisfied. But, said he, I must observe, as I have an hundred times, with Admiration, what a prodigious Memory, and easy and happy Manner of Narration this excellent Girl has! And tho’ she is full of her pretty Tricks and Artifices, to escape the Snares I had laid for her, yet all is innocent, lovely, and uniformly beautiful. You are exceedingly happy in a Daughter; and, I hope, I shall be so in a Wife.—Or, said my Father, may she not have that Honour!—I fear it not, said he; and hope I shall deserve it of her.

But, Pamela, said my Master, I am sorry to find, in some Parts of your Journal, that Mrs. Jewkes carry’d her Orders a little too far. And I the more take Notice of it, because you have not complain’d to me of her Behaviour, as she might have expected for some Parts of it. Tho’ a good deal was occasion’d by my strict Orders.—But she had the Insolence to strike my Girl! I find. Sir, said I, I was a little provoking, I believe; but as we forgave one another, I was the less intitled to complain of her.

Well, said he, you are very good; but if you have any particular Resentment, I will indulge it so far, as that she shall hereafter have nothing to do where you are. Sir, said I, you are so kind, that I ought to forgive every body; and when I see that God has brought about my Happiness by the very Means that I thought then my great Grievance; I ought to bless those Means, and forgive all that was disagreeable to me at the time, for the great Good that has issued from it.—That, said he, and kissed me, is sweetly consider’d! and it shall be my Part to make you Amends for what you have suffer’d, that you may still think lighter of the one, and have Cause to rejoice in the other.

My dear Father’s Heart was full; and he said, with his Hands folded, and lifted up, Pray, Sir, let me go,—let me go,—to my dear Wife! and tell her all these blessed things, while my Heart holds! for it is ready to burst with Joy! Good Man! said my Master,—I love to hear this honest Heart of yours speaking at your Lips. I injoin you, Pamela, to continue your Relation, as you have Opportunity; and tho’ your Father be here, write to your Mother, that this wondrous Story be perfect, and we, your Friends, may read and admire you more and more. Ay, pray, pray do, my dear Child, said my Father. And this is the Reason that I write on, my dear Mother, when I thought not to do it, because my Father could tell you all that passed while he was here.

My Master took notice of my Psalm, and was pleas’d to commend it; and said, That I had very charitably turn’d the last Verses, which, in the Original, was full of heavy Curses, to a Wish, that shew’d I was not of an implacable Disposition; tho’ my then Usage might have excused it, if I had. But, said he, I think you shall sing it to me tomorrow.

After we have breakfasted, added he, if you have no Objection, Pamela, we’ll take an Airing together; and it shall be in the Coach, because we’ll have your Father’s Company. He would have excus’d himself; but my Master would have it so. But he was much ashamed, because he was not in a Dress for my Master’s Company.

My Master would make us both breakfast with him, on Chocolate; and he said, I would have you, Pamela, begin to dress as you used to do; for now, at least, you may call your two other Bundles your own; and if you want any thing against the approaching Occasion, private, as I design it, I’ll send to Lincoln for it, by a special Messenger. I said, My good Lady’s Bounty, and his own, had set me much above my Degree, and I had very good things of all Sorts; and I did not desire any other, because I would not excite the Censure of the Ladies. That would be a different thing, he was pleased to say, when he publickly own’d his Nuptials, after we came to the other House. But at present, if I was satisfied, he would not make Words with me.

I hope, Mr. Andrews, said he to my Father, you’ll not leave us till you see the Affair over, and then you’ll be sure I mean honourably; and besides, Pamela will be induced to set the Day sooner. O Sir, said he, I bless God, I have no Reason to doubt your meaning honourably; and I hope you’ll excuse me, if I set out on Monday Morning, very early, to my dear Wife, and make her as happy as I am.

Why, Pamela, said my good Master, may it not be perform’d on Tuesday, and then your Father, may-be, will stay?—I should have been glad to have had it to-morrow, added he; but I have sent Monsieur Colbrand for a Licence, that you may have no Scruple unanswer’d; and he can’t very well be back before to-morrow Night, or Monday Morning.

This was most agreeable News. I said, Sir, I know my dear Father will want to be at home. And as you was so good to give me a Fortnight from last Thursday, I should be glad you’ll be pleased to indulge me with some Day in the second Seven. Well, said he, I will not be too urgent; but the sooner you fix, the better. Mr. Andrews, we must leave something to these Jephtha’s Daughters in these Cases, he was pleased to say: I suppose the little bashful Folly, which, in the happiest Circumstances, may give a kind of Regret to quit the Maiden State, and an Aukwardness at the Entrance of a new one, is a Reason with Pamela; and so she shall name her Day. Sir, said he, you are all Goodness.

I went up soon after, and new dress’d myself, taking Possession, in a happy Moment, I hope, of my two Bundles, as my good Master was pleased to call them, (alluding to my former Division of those good things my Lady and himself bestow’d upon me) and so put on fine Linen, silk Shoes, and fine white Cotton Stockens, a fine quilted Coat, a delicate green mantua silk Gown and Coat; a French Necklace, and a lac’d Head, and Handkerchief, and clean Gloves; and taking my Fan in my Hand, I, like a little proud Hussy, looked in the Glass, and thought myself a Gentlewoman once more; but I forgot not to thank God, for being able to put on this Dress with so much Comfort.

Mrs. Jewkes would help to dress me, and complimented me highly, saying, among other things, that now I looked like her Lady indeed! And as, she said, the little Chapel was ready, and Divine Service would be read in it to-morrow, she wished the happy Knot might then be ty’d. Said she, Have you not seen the Chapel, Madam, since it has been cleaned out?—No, said I; but are we to have Service in it to-morrow, do you say?—I am glad of that; for I have been a sad Heathen lately, sore against my Will!—But who is to officiate?—Somebody, reply’d she, Mr. Peters will send. You tell me very good News, said I, Mrs. Jewkes. I hope it will never be a Lumber-room again.—Ay, said she, I can tell you more good News; for the two Miss Darnford’s, and Lady Jones, are to be here at the Opening of it; and will stay and dine with you. My Master, said I, has not told me that. You must alter your Stile, Madam, said she. It must not be Master, now, sure!—O, return’d I, that is a Language I shall never forget. He shall always be my Master; and I shall think myself more and more his Servant.

My poor Father did not know I went up to dress myself; and he said, his Heart misgave him, when he saw me first, for fear I was made a Fool of, and that here was some fine Lady that was to be my Master’s true Wife. And he stood in Admiration, and said, O, my dear Child, how well will you become your happy Condition! Why you look like a Lady already!—I hope, my dear Father, said I, and boldly kissed him, I shall always be your dutiful Daughter, whatever my Condition be.

My Master sent me word he was ready; and when he saw me, said, Dress as you will, Pamela, you’re a charming Girl; and so handed me to the Coach, and would make my Father and me sit both on the Fore-side; and sat backwards, over-against me; and bid the Coachman drive to the Meadow; that is, where he once met Mr. Williams.

The Conversation was most agreeable to me, and to my dear Father, as we went; and he more and more exceeded in Goodness and Generosity; and, while I was gone up to dress, he had presented my Father with twenty Guineas; desiring him to buy himself and my Mother such Apparel, as they should think proper; and lay it all out: But I knew not this till after that we came home; my Father having no Opportunity to tell me of it.

He was pleased to tell me of the Chapel being got in tolerable Order; and said, it look’d very well; and against he came down next, it should be all new white-wash’d, and painted, and lin’d; and a new Pulpit-cloth, Cushion, Desk, &c. and that it should always be kept in order for the future. He told me, the two Miss Darnford’s, and Lady Jones, would dine with him on Sunday; And with their Servants and mine, said he, we shall make a tolerable little Congregation. And, added he, have I not well contriv’d, to shew you, that the Chapel is really a little House of God, and has been consecrated, before we solemnize our Nuptials in it?—O, Sir, reply’d I, your Goodness to me is inexpressible! Mr. Peters, said he, offer’d to come and officiate in it; but would not stay to dine with me, because he has Company at his own House; and so I intend that Divine Service shall be perform’d in it, by one to whom I shall make some yearly Allowance, as a sort of Chaplain.—You look serious, Pamela, added he; I know you think of your Friend Williams. Indeed, Sir, said I, if you won’t be angry, I did. Poor Man! I am sorry I have been the Cause of his disobliging you.

When we came to the Meadow, where the Gentry have their Walk sometimes, the Coach stopt, and my Master alighted, and led me to the Brook-side; and it is a very pretty Summer Walk. He asked my Father, if he chose to walk out, or go on in the Coach, to the further End. He, poor Man, chose to go in the Coach, for fear, he said, any Gentry should be walking there; and he told me, he was most of the way upon his Knees, in the Coach, thanking God for his gracious Mercies and Goodness; and begging a Blessing upon my good Master and me.

I was quite astonish’d, when we came into the shady Walk, to see Mr. Williams there. See there, said my Master, there’s poor Williams, taking his solitary Walk again, with his Book. And it seems, it was so contriv’d; for Mr. Peters had been, as I since find, desir’d to tell him, to be in that Walk at such an Hour in the Morning.

So, old Acquaintance, said my Master, again have I met you in this Place? What Book are you now reading? He said, It was Boileau’s Lutrin. Said my Master, You see I have brought with me my little Fugitive, that would have been: While you are perfecting yourself in French, I am trying to learn English; and hope soon to be Master of it.

Mine, Sir, said he, is a very beautiful Piece of French: But your English has no Equal.

You are very polite, Mr. Williams, said my Master. And he that does not think as you do, deserves no Share in her. Why, Pamela, added he, very generously, why so strange, where you have once been so familiar? I do assure you both, that I mean not, by this Interview, to insult Mr. Williams, or confuse you. Then I said, Mr. Williams, I am very glad to see you well; and tho’ the generous Favour of my good Master has happily changed the Scene, since you and I last saw one another, I am nevertheless very glad of an Opportunity to acknowledge, with Gratitude, your good Intentions, not so much to serve me, as me, but as a Person that then had great Reason to believe herself in Distress. And, I hope, Sir, added I, to my Master, your Goodness will permit me to say this.

You, Pamela, said he, may make what Acknowledgments you please to Mr. Williams’s good Intentions; and I would have you speak as you think; but I do not apprehend myself to be quite so much oblig’d to those Intentions.

Sir, said Mr. Williams, I beg leave to say, I knew well, that, by Education, you was no Libertine; nor had I Reason to think you so by Inclination; and when you came to reflect, I hoped you would not be displeased with me. And this was no small Motive to me, at first, to do as I did.

Ay, but, Mr. Williams, said my Master, could you think, that I should have had Reason to thank you, if, above all her Sex, I loved one Person, and you had robbed me of her, and marry’d her yourself?—And then, said he, you are to consider, that she was of long Acquaintance with me, and a quite new one to you; that I had sent her down to my own House, for better securing her; and that you, who had Access to my House, could not effect your Purpose, without being guilty, in some sort, of a Breach of the Laws of Hospitality and Friendship. As to my Designs upon her, I own they had not the best Appearance; but still I was not answerable to Mr. Williams on that Score; much less could you be excus’d, to invade a Property so very dear to me, and to endeavour to gain an Interest in her Affections, tho’ you could not be certain, that Matters would not turn out as they have actually done.

I own, said he, that some Parts of my Conduct seem exceptionable, as you state it. But, Sir, I am but a young Man. I meant no Harm. I had no Interest, I am sure, to incur your Displeasure; and when you think of every thing, and the inimitable Graces of Person, and Perfections of Mind, that adorn this excellent Lady, (so he called me) you will, perhaps, find your Generosity allow something as an Extenuation of a Fault, which your Anger would not permit as an Excuse.

I have done, said my Master; nor did I meet you here to be angry with you. Pamela knew not that she should see you; and now you are both present, I would ask you, Mr. Williams, If, now you know my honourable Designs towards this good Girl, you can really be almost, I will not say quite, as well pleased with the Friendship of my Wife, as you could be with the Favour of Mrs. Andrews?

Sir, said he, I will answer you truly. I think I could have preferr’d, with her, any Condition that could have befallen me, had I consider’d only myself. But, Sir, I was very far from having any Encouragement to expect her Favour, and I had much more Reason to believe, that if she could have hoped for your Goodness, her Heart was too much pre-engaged, to think of any body else. And give me Leave further to say, Sir, That tho’ I tell you sincerely my Thoughts, were I only to consider myself, yet when I consider her Good, and her Merit, I should be highly ungenerous, were it put to my Choice, if I could not wish her in a Condition so much superior to what I could do for her, and so very answerable to her Merit.

Pamela, said my Master, you are obliged to Mr. Williams, and ought to thank him: He has distinguished well. But as for me, who had like to have lost you by his means, I am glad the Matter was not left to his Choice. Mr. Williams, said he, I give you Pamela’s Hand, because I know it will be pleasing to her, in Token of her Friendship and Esteem for you; and I give you mine, that I will not be your Enemy. But yet I must say, that I think I owe this proper Manner of your Thinking more to your Disappointment, than to the Generosity you talk of.

Mr. Williams kissed my Hand, as my Master gave it him; and my Master said, Sir, you will go home and dine with me, and I’ll shew you my little Chapel; and do you, Pamela, look upon yourself at Liberty to number Mr. Williams in the List of your Friends.

How generous, how noble was this! Mr. Williams (and so had I) had Tears of Pleasure in his Eyes. I was silent; but Mr. Williams said, Sir, I shall be taught, by your Generosity, to think myself inexcusably wrong, in every Step I took, that could give you Offence; and my future Life shall shew my respectful Gratitude.

We walked on till we came to the Coach, where was my dear Father. Pamela, said my Master, tell Mr. Williams who that good Man is. O, Mr. Williams! said I, it is my dear Father; And, my Master was pleased to say, one of the honestest Men in England. Pamela owes every thing that she is to be, as well as her Being, to him; for, I think, she would not have brought me to this, nor made so great Resistance, but for the good Lessons, and religious Education she imbib’d from him.

Mr. Williams said, taking my Father’s Hand, You see, good Mr. Andrews, with inexpressible Pleasure, the Fruits of your pious Care; and now are in a way, with your beloved Daughter, to reap the happy Effects of it.—I am overcome, said my dear Father, with his Honour’s Goodness. But I can only say, I bless God, and bless him.

Mr. Williams and I being nearer the Coach than my Master; and he offering to draw back, to give way to him, he kindly said, Pray, Mr. Williams, oblige Pamela with your Hand; and step in yourself. He bow’d, and took my Hand, and my Master made him step in, and sit next me, all that ever he could do, and sat himself over-against him, next my Father, who sat against me.

And he said, Mr. Andrews, I told you Yesterday, that the Divine you saw, was not Mr. Williams; I now tell you, this Gentleman is: And tho’ I have been telling him, I think not myself obliged to his Intentions; yet I will own, that Pamela and you are; and tho’ I won’t promise to love him, I would have you.

Sir, said Mr. Williams, you have a way of overcoming, that hardly all my Reading affords an Instance of the like; and it is the more noble, as it is on this Side, as I presume, the happy Ceremony; which, great as your Fortune is, will lay you under an Obligation to so much Virtue and Beauty, when she becomes yours; for you will then have a Treasure that Princes might envy.

Said my generous Master, (God bless him!) Mr. Williams, it is impossible that you and I should long live at Variance, when our Sentiments agree so well together, on Subjects the most material.

I was quite confused; and my Master seeing it, took my Hand, and said, Look up, my good Girl! and collect yourself—Don’t injure Mr. Williams and me so much, as to think we are capping Compliments, as we used to do Verses, at School. I dare answer for us both, that we say not a Syllable we don’t think.

O, Sir, said I, how unequal am I to all this Goodness! Every Moment that passes, adds to the Weight of the Obligations you oppress me with.

Think not too much of that, said he, most generously Mr. Williams’s Compliments to you have great Advantage of mine: For, tho’ equally sincere, I have a great deal to say, and to do, to compensate the Sufferings I have made you undergo; and, at last, must sit down, dissatisfied, because those will never be aton’d by all I can do for you.

He saw my dear Father quite unable to support these affecting Instances of his Goodness; and he let go my Hand, and took his, and said, seeing his Tears, I wonder not, my dear Pamela’s Father, that your honest Heart springs thus to your Eyes, to see all her Trials at an End. I will not pretend to say, that I had formerly either Power or Will to act thus. But since I began to resolve on the Change you see, I have reap’d so much Pleasure in it, that my own Interest will keep me steady. For, till within these few Days, I knew not what it was to be happy.

Poor Mr. Williams, with Tears of Joy in his Eyes, said; How happily, Sir, have you been touched by the Divine Grace, before you have been hurried into the Commission of Sins, that the deepest Penitence could hardly have aton’d for!—God has enabled you to stop short of the Evil; and you have nothing to do, but to rejoice in the Good, which now will be doubly so, because you can receive it without the least inward Reproach.

You do well, said he, to remind me, that I owe all this to the Grace of God. I bless Him for it; and I thank this good Man for his excellent Lessons. I thank his dear Daughter for following them: And, I hope, from her good Example, and your Friendship, Mr. Williams, in time, to be half as good as my Tutoress. And that, said he, I believe you’ll own, will make me, without Disparagement to any Gentleman, the best Fox-hunter in England.—Mr. Williams was going to speak: And he said, You put on so grave a Look, Mr. Williams, that, I believe, what I have said, with you practical good Folks, is liable to Exception: But I see we were become quite grave; and we must not be too serious neither.

What a happy Creature, my dear Mother, is your Pamela!—O may my thankful Heart, and the good Use I may be enabled to make of the Blessings before me, be a Means to continue this delightful Prospect to a long Date, for the sake of the dear good Gentleman, who thus becomes the happy Instrument, in the Hands of Providence, to bless all he smiles upon! To be sure, I shall never enough acknowledge the Value he is pleased to express for my Unworthiness, in that he has prevented my Wishes, and, unask’d, sought the Occasion of being reconciled to a good Man, who, for my sake, had incurred his Displeasure; and whose Name he could not, a few Days before, permit to pass thro’ my Lips: But see the wonderful Ways of Providence! The very things that I most dreaded his seeing or knowing, the Contents of my Papers, have, as I hope, satisfy’d all his Scruples, and been a Means to promote my Happiness.

Henceforth let not us poor short-sighted Mortals pretend to rely on our own Wisdom; or vainly think, that we are absolutely to direct for ourselves. I have abundant Reason, I am sure, to say, that when I was most disappointed, I was nearer my Happiness. For, had I made my Escape, which was so often my chief Point of View, and what I had placed my Heart upon, I had escaped the Blessings now before me, and fallen, perhaps headlong, into the Miseries I would have avoided! And yet, after all, it was necessary I should take the Steps I did, to bring on this wonderful Turn! O the unsearchable Wisdom of God!—And how much ought I to adore the Divine Goodness, and humble myself, who am made a poor Instrument, as, I hope, not only to magnify his Graciousness to this fine Gentleman and myself; but to dispense Benefits to others? Which God of his Mercy grant!

In the agreeable manner I have mentioned, did we pass the Time in our second happy Tour; and I thought Mrs. Jewkes would have sunk into the Ground, when she saw Mr. Williams brought in the Coach with us, and treated so kindly. We dined together in a most pleasant, and easy, and frank manner; and I found I needed not, from my Master’s Generosity, to be under any Restraint, as to my Conduct to this good Clergyman; for he, so often as he fansy’d I was reserv’d, mov’d me to be free with him, and to him; and several times called upon me to help my Father and Mr. Williams; and seem’d to take great Delight in seeing me carve and help round, as indeed he does in every thing I do.

After Dinner we went and looked into the Chapel; which is a very pretty one, and very decent; and when finish’d, as he designs it, against his next coming down, will be a very pretty Place.

My Heart, my dear Mother, when I first sat my Foot in it, throbb’d a good deal, with awful Joy, at the Thoughts of the Solemnity, which, I hope, will be, in a few Days, performed here. And when I came up towards the little pretty Altar-piece, while they were looking at a Communion-picture, and saying it was prettily done, I gently stept into a Corner, out of Sight, and poured out my Soul to God, on my Knees, in Thankfulness and Supplication, that, after having been so long absent from Divine Service, the first time that I enter’d into a House dedicated to His Honour, should be with such blessed Prospects before me; and begging of God to continue me humble, and to make me not unworthy of his Mercies; and that he would be pleased to bless the next Author of it, my good Master.

I heard my Master say, Where’s Pamela? And so I broke off sooner than I would, and went up to him.

He said, Mr. Williams, I hope I have not so offended you, by my Conduct past, (for really it is what I ought to be ashamed of) as that you will refuse to officiate, and to give us your Instructions here tomorrow. Mr. Peters was so kind, for the first time, to offer it; but I know it would be inconvenient for him; and besides, I was willing to make this Request to you an Introduction to our Reconciliation.

Sir, said he, most willingly, and most gratefully will I obey you. Tho’, if you expect a Discourse, I am wholly unprepar’d for the Occasion. I would not have it, reply’d he, pointed to any particular Occasion; but if you have one upon the Text,—There is more Joy in Heaven over one Sinner that repenteth, than over Ninety-nine just Persons that need not Repentance; and if it makes me not such a sad Fellow as to be pointed at by mine and the Ladies Servants we shall have here, I shall be well content. ’Tis a general Subject, added he, makes me speak of that; but any one you please will do; for you cannot make a bad Choice, I am sure.

Sir, said he, I have one upon that Text; but I am ready to think, that a Thanksgiving one, which I made on a great Mercy to myself, if I may be permitted to make my own Acknowledgments of your Favour the Subject of a Discourse, will be suitable to my grateful Sentiments. It is on the Text,—Now lettest thou thy Servant depart in Peace; for my Eyes have seen thy Salvation.

That Text, said I, will be a very suitable one for me. Not so, Pamela, said my Master; because I don’t let you depart in Peace; but I hope you will stay here with Content.

O but, Sir, said I, I have seen God’s Salvation!—I am sure, added I, if any body ever had Reason, I have, to say, with the blessed Virgin, My Soul doth magnify the Lord; for he hath regarded the low Estate of his Handmaiden,—and exalted one of low Degree.

Said my good Father, I am sure, if there were Time for it, the Book of Ruth would afford a fine Subject for the Honour done my dear Child.

Why, good Mr. Andrews, said my Master, should you say so?—I know that Story, and Mr. Williams will confirm what I say, that my good Girl here will confer at least as much Honour as she will receive.

Sir, said I, you are inexpressibly generous; but I shall never think so. Why, my Pamela, said he, that’s another thing: It will be best for me to think you will; and it will be kind in you to think you shan’t; and then we shall have always an excellent Rule to regulate our Conduct by to one another.

Was not this finely, nobly, wisely said, my dear Mother?—O what a blessed thing it is to be match’d to a Man of Sense and Generosity!—How edifying!—How!—But what shall I say!—I am at a Loss for Words.

Mr. Williams said, When we came out of the little Chapel, he would go home, and look over his Discourses, for one for the next Day. My Master said, I have one thing to say, before you go.—When my Jealousy, on Account of this good Girl, put me upon such a vindictive Conduct to you, you know I took a Bond for the Money I had caused you to be troubled for: I really am ashamed of the Matter; because I never intended, when I presented it to you, to have it again, you may be sure: But I knew not what might happen between you and her, nor how far Matters might have gone between you; and so I was willing to have that in Awe over you. And, I think, it is no extraordinary Present, therefore, to give you up your Bond again, cancell’d. And so he took it from his Pocket, and gave it him. I think, added he, all the Charges attending it, and the Trouble you had, were defray’d by my Attorney: I order’d that they should. They were, Sir, said he; and Ten thousand Thanks to you for this Goodness, and the kind manner in which you do it!—If you will go, Mr. Williams, said he, shall my Chariot carry you home? No, Sir, answer’d he, I thank you. My Time will be so well employ’d all the way in thinking of your Favours, that I chuse to meditate upon them, as I walk home.

My dear Father was very uneasy about his Habit, for appearing at Chapel next Day, because of Miss Darnfords, and the Servants, for fear, poor Man, he should disgrace my Master; and he told me, when he was mentioning this, my Master’s kind Present of Twenty Guineas for Cloaths, for you both; which made my Heart truly joyful. But Oh! to be sure, I never can deserve the hundredth Part of his Goodness!—It is almost a hard thing to lie under the Weight of such deep Obligations on one side; and such a Sense of one’s own Unworthiness of the other!—O! what a Godlike Power is that of doing Good!—I envy the Rich and the Great for nothing else!

My Master coming to us just then, I said, Oh! Sir, will your Bounty know no Limits! My dear Father has told me what you have given him!—A Trifle, Pamela, said he; a little Earnest only of my Kindness.—Say no more of it. But did I not hear the good Man expressing some sort of Concern for somewhat? Hide nothing from me, Pamela. Only, Sir, said I, he knew not how to absent himself from Divine Service, and yet is afraid of disgracing you by appearing.

Fie, Mr. Andrews, said he, I thought you knew that the outward Appearance was nothing. I wish I had as good a Habit inwardly, as you have. But I’ll tell you, Pamela, your Father is not much thinner than I am, nor much shorter; he and I will walk up together to my Wardrobe; tho’ it is not so well stor’d here, as in Bedfordshire.

And so, said he, pleasantly, Don’t you pretend to come near us, till I call you; for you must not yet see how Men dress and undress themselves. O, Sir, said my Father, I beg to be excused. I am sorry you are told. So am not I, said my Master: Pray come along with me.

He carry’d him up Stairs, and shew’d him several Suits; and would have had him take his Choice. My poor Father was quite confounded: For my Master saw not any he thought too good, and my Father none that he thought bad enough. And my good Master, at last, (he fixing his Eye upon a fine Drab, which he thought looked the plainest) would help him to try the Coat and Waistcoat on himself; and indeed, one would not have thought it, because my Master is taller, and rather plumper, as I thought; but, as I saw afterwards, they fitted him very well: And being plain, and lined with the same Colour, and made for travelling in a Coach, pleased my poor Father much. He gave him the whole Suit, and calling up Mrs. Jewkes, said, Let these Cloaths be well aired against to-morrow Morning. Mr. Andrews brought only with him his common Apparel; not thinking to stay Sunday with us. And pray see for some of my Stockens; and whether none of my Shoes will fit him; and see also for some of my Linen; for we have put the good Man quite out of his Course, by keeping him Sunday over. He was then pleased to give him the silver Buckles out of his own Shoes. So, my good Mother, you must expect to see my dear Father a great Beau. Wig, said my Master, he wants none; for his own venerable white Locks are better than all the Perukes in England.—But I am sure I have Hats enow somewhere. I’ll take care of every thing, Sir, said Mrs. Jewkes.—And my poor Father, when he came to me, could not refrain Tears. I know not how, said he, to comport myself under these great Favours. O my Child, it is all owing to God’s Goodness, and your Virtue.