SUNDAY.
I Am just now quite astonish’d!—I hope all is right!—But I have a strange Turn to acquaint you with. Mr. Williams and Mrs. Jewkes came to me both together; he in Ecstacies, she with a strange fluttering sort of Air. Well, said she, Mrs. Pamela, I give you Joy! I give you Joy!—Let nobody speak but me! Then she sat down, as out of Breath, puffing and blowing. Why every thing turns as I said it would, said she! Why there is to be a Match between you and Mr. Williams! Well, I always thought it. Never was so good a Master! Go to, go to, naughty mistrustful Mrs. Pamela, nay, Mrs. Williams, said the forward Creature, I may as good as call you, you ought on your Knees to beg his Pardon a thousand times for mistrusting him.
She was going on; but I said, Don’t torture me thus, I beseech you, Mrs. Jewkes. Let me know all!—Ah! Mr. Williams, said I, take care, take care!—Mistrustful again, said she! why, Mr. Williams, shew her your Letter; and I will shew her mine: They were brought by the same Hand.
I trembled at the Thoughts of what this might mean; and said, You have so surpriz’d me, that I cannot stand, nor hear, nor read! Why did you come up in such a manner to attack such weak Spirits? Said he, to Mrs. Jewkes, Shall we leave our Letters with Mrs. Pamela, and let her recover from her Surprize? Ay, said she, with all my Heart; here is nothing but flaming Honour and Good-will! And so saying, they left me their Letters, and withdrew.
My Heart was quite sick with the Surprize; so that I could not presently read them, notwithstanding my Impatience; but after a while, recovering, I found the Contents thus strange and wonderful.
Mr. Williams,
The Death of Mr. Fownes has now given me the Opportunity I have long wanted to make you happy, and that in a double respect. For I shall soon put you in Possession of his Living, and, if you have the Art of making yourself well receiv’d, of one of the loveliest Wives in England. She has not been used (as she has reason to think) according to her Merit; but when she finds herself under the Protection of a Man of Virtue and Probity, and a happy Competency to support Life in the manner to which she has been of late Years accustom’d, I am persuaded she will forgive those seeming Hardships which have pav’d the Way to so happy a Lot, as I hope it will be to you both. I have only to account for and excuse the odd Conduct I have been guilty of, which I shall do, when I see you: But as I shall soon set out for London, I believe it will not be yet this Month. Mean time, if you can prevail with Pamela, you need not suspend for that your mutual Happiness; only, let me have Notice of it first, and that she approves of it; which ought to be, in so material a Point, intirely at her Option, as I assure you, on the other hand, I would have it on yours, that nothing may be wanting to complete your Happiness. I am
Your humble Servant.
Was ever the like heard!—Lie still, my throbbing Heart, divided, as thou art, between thy Hopes and thy Fears!—But this is the Letter Mrs. Jewkes left with me.
Mrs. Jewkes,
Youhave been very careful and diligent in the Task, which, for Reasons I shall hereafter explain, I had impos’d upon you. Your Trouble is now almost at an End; for I have wrote my Intentions to Mr. Williams so particularly, that I need say the less here, because he will not scruple, I believe, to let you know the Contents of my Letter. I have only one Thing to mention, that if you find what I have hinted to him in the least measure disagreeable to either, that you assure them both that they are at intire Liberty to pursue their own Inclinations. I hope you continue your Civilities to the mistrustful, uneasy Pamela, who now will begin to think better of hers and
Your Friend, &c.
I had hardly time to transcribe these Letters, tho’ writing so much, I write pretty fast, before they both came up again, in high Spirits; and Mr. Williams said, I am glad at my Heart, Madam, that I was before-hand in my Declarations to you: This generous Letter has made me the happiest Man on Earth; and, Mrs. Jewkes, you may be sure, that if I can procure this Fair-one’s Consent, I shall think myself—I interrupted the good Man, and said, Ah! Mr. Williams, take care, take care; don’t let—There I stopt, and Mrs. Jewkes said, Still mistrustful!—I never saw the like in my Life!—But I see, said she, I was not wrong while my old Orders lasted, to be wary of you both.—I should have had a hard Task to prevent you, I find; for, as the Saying is, Nought can restrain Consent of Twain14.
I doubted not her taking hold of his joyful Indiscretion.—I took her Letter, and said, Here, Mrs. Jewkes, is yours; I thank you for it; but I have been so long in a Maze, that I can say nothing of this for the present. Time will bring all to Light.—Sir, said I, here is yours: May every thing turn to your Happiness! I give you Joy of my Master’s Goodness in the Living—It will be dying, said he, not a Living, without you.—Forbear, Sir, said I: While I’ve a Father and Mother, I am not my own Mistress, poor as they are: And I’ll see myself quite at Liberty before I shall think myself fit to make a Choice.
Mrs. Jewkes held up her Eyes and Hands, and said, Such Art, such Caution, such Cunning for thy Years!—Well!—Why, said I, (that he might be more on his Guard, tho’ I hope there cannot be Deceit in this; ’twould be strange Villainy, and that is a hard Word, if there should!) I have been so used to be made a Fool of by Fortune, that I hardly can tell how to govern myself; and am almost an Infidel as to Mankind.—But I hope, I may be wrong; henceforth, Mrs. Jewkes, you shall regulate my Opinions as you please, and I will consult you in every thing——(that I think proper, said I to myself)—for to be sure, tho’ I may forgive her, I can never love her.
She left Mr. Williams and me, a few Minutes, together; and I said, Consider, Sir, consider what you have done. ’Tis impossible, said he, there can be Deceit. I hope so, said I; but what Necessity was there for you to talk of your former Declaration? Let this be as it will, that could do no Good, especially before this Woman. Forgive me, Sir; they talk of Womens Promptness of Speech; but indeed I see an honest Heart is not always to be trusted with itself in bad Company.
He was going to reply; but, tho’ her Task is said to be Almost (I took Notice of that Word) at an End, she came up to us again; and said, Well, I had a good mind to shew you the way to Church tomorrow. I was glad of this, because, tho’, in my present doubtful Situation, I should not have chosen it, yet I would have encourag’d her Proposal, to be able to judge by her being in Earnest or otherwise, whether one might depend upon the rest. But Mr. Williams again indiscreetly help’d her to an Excuse; by saying, that it was now best to defer it one Sunday, and till Matters were riper for my Appearance; and she readily took hold of it.
After all, I hope the best; but if this should turn out to be a Plot, I fear nothing but a Miracle can save me. But, sure the Heart of Man is not capable of such black Deceit. Besides, Mr. Williams has it under his own Hand, and he dare not but be in Earnest; and then again, tho’ to be sure he has been very wrong to me, yet his Education, and Parents Example, have neither of them taught him such very black Contrivances. So I will hope for the best!—
Mr. Williams, Mrs. Jewkes and I, have been all three walking together in the Garden; and she pull’d out her Key, and we walk’d a little in the Pasture to look at the Bull, an ugly, grim, surly Creature, that hurt the poor Cook-maid, who is got pretty well again. Mr. Williams pointed at the Sun-flower, but I was forc’d to be very reserved to him; for the poor Gentlemen has no Guard, no Caution at all.
We have just supp’d together, all three; and I cannot yet think but all must be right.—Only I am resolv’d not to marry, if I can help it; and I will give no Encouragement, I am resolv’d, at least, till I am with you.
Mr. Williams said, before Mrs. Jewkes, he would send a Messenger with a Letter to my Father and Mother!—I think the Man has no Discretion in the World: But I desire you will give no Answer till I have the Pleasure and Happiness, which now I hope for soon, of seeing you. He will, in sending my Pacquet, send a most tedious Parcel of Stuff, of my Oppressions, my Distresses, my Fears; and so I will send this with it (for Mrs. Jewkes gives me Leave to send a Letter to my Father, which looks well); and I am glad I can conclude, after all my Sufferings, with my Hopes, to be soon with you, which I know will give you Comfort; and so I rest, begging the Continuance of your Prayers, and Blessings,
Your ever dutiful Daughter.
My dear Father and Mother,
I Have so much Time upon my Hands, that I must write on to employ myself. The Sunday Evening, where I left off, Mrs. Jewkes asked me, If I chose to lie by myself? I said, Yes, with all my Heart, if she pleased. Well, said she, after tonight you shall. I ask’d her for more Paper, and she gave me a little Bottle of Ink, eight Sheets of Paper, which she said was all her Store, (for now she would get me to write for her to our Master, if she had Occasion) and six Pens, with a Piece of Sealing-wax. This looks mighty well!
She press’d me, when she came to Bed, very much, to give Encouragement to Mr. Williams, and said many Things in his Behalf; and blam’d my Shyness to him, &c. I told her, I was resolv’d to give no Encouragement till I had talk’d to my Father and Mother. She said, she fancy’d I thought of somebody else, or I could never be so insensible. I assur’d her, as I could do very safely, that there was not a Man on Earth I wish’d to have; and, as to Mr. Williams, he might do better by far, and I had proposed so much Happiness in living with my poor Father and Mother, that I could not think of any Scheme of Life, with Pleasure, till I had try’d that. I ask’d her for my Money; and she said it was above in her strong Box, but that I shall have it to-morrow. All these Things look well, as I said.
Mr. Williams would go home this Night, tho’ late, because he would dispatch a Messenger to you with a Letter he had propos’d from himself, and my Pacquet. But pray don’t encourage him, as I said; for he is much too heady and precipitate as to this Matter, in my way of thinking; tho’, to be sure, he is a very good Man, and I am much oblig’d to him.
Monday Morning.
Alas-a-day! we have bad News from poor Mr. Williams. He has had a sad Mischance; fallen among Rogues in his Way home last Night; but by good Chance has sav’d my Papers. This is the Account he gives of it to Mrs. Jewkes.
Good Mrs. Jewkes,
I Have had a sore Misfortune in going from you; when I had got as near the Town as the Dam, and was going to cross the Wooden-bridge, two Fellows got hold of me, and swore bitterly they would kill me, if I did not give them what I had. They romag’d my Pockets, and took from me my Snuff-Box, my Seal-ring, and Half a Guinea, and some Silver, and Half-pence; also my Handkerchief, and two or three Letters I had in my Pocket. By good Fortune the Letter Mrs. Pamela gave me was in my Bosom, and so that escap’d; but they bruis’d my Head, and Face, and cursing me for having no more Money, tipt me into the Dam, Crying, Lie there, Parson, till to-morrow! My Shins and Knees were bruis’d much in the Fall against one of the Stumps; and I had like to have been suffocated in Water and Mud. To be sure, I shan’t be able to stir out this Day or two. For I am a fearful Spectacle! My Hat and Wig I was forc’d to leave behind me, and go home a Mile and a Half without; but they were found next Morning, and brought me, with my Snuff-box, which the Rogues must have dropt. My Cassock is sadly torn, as is my Band. To be sure, I was much frighted; for a Robbery in these Parts has not been known many Years. Diligent Search is making after the Rogues. My humblest Respects to good Mrs. Pamela. If she pities my Misfortunes, I shall be the sooner well, and fit to wait on her and you. This did not hinder me in writing a Letter, tho’ with great Pain, as I do this;’ [To be sure this good Man can keep no Secret!] ‘and sending it away by a Man and Horse, this Morning. I am, good Mrs. Jewkes,
Your most obliged humble Servant.
God be prais’d it is no worse! and I find I have got no Cold, tho’ miserably wet from Top to Toe. My Fright, I believe, prevented me catching Cold; for I was not rightly myself for some Hours, and know not how I got home. I will write a Letter of Thanks this Night, if I am able, to my kind Patron for his inestimable Goodness to me. I wish I was enabled to say all I hope, with regard to the better Part of his Bounty to me, incomparable Mrs. Pamela.
The wicked Brute fell a laughing when she had read this Letter, till her fat Sides shook; said she, I can but think how the poor Parson look’d, after parting with his pretty Mistress in such high Spirits, when he found himself at the Bottom of the Dam! And what a Figure he must cut in his tatter’d Band and Cassock, and without Hat and Wig, when he got home. I warrant, said she, he was in a sweet Pickle!---I said, I thought it was very barbarous to laugh at such a Misfortune: But she said, As he was safe, she laughed; otherwise she should have been sorry: And she was glad to see me so concern’d for him---It look’d promising, she said.
I heeded not her Reflection; but as I have been used to Causes for Mistrusts, I cannot help saying, that I don’t like this thing: And their taking his Letters most alarms me.—How happy it was, they miss’d my Pacquet! I know not what to think of it!—But why should I let every Accident break my Peace? But yet it will do so while I stay here.
Mrs. Jewkes is mightily at me, to go with her in the Chariot, to visit Mr. Williams. She is so officious to bring on the Affair between us, that being a cunning, artful Woman, I know not what to make of it: I have refused her absolutely; urging, that except I intended to encourage his Suit, I ought not to do it. And she is gone without me.
I have strange Temptations to get away in her Absence, for all these fine Appearances. ’Tis sad to have no body to advise with!—I know not what to do. But, alas for me! I have no Money, if I should, to buy any body’s Civilities, or to pay for Necessaries or Lodging. But I’ll go into the Garden, and resolve afterwards.---
I have been in the Garden, and to the Back-door; and there I stood, my Heart up at my Mouth. I could not see I was watch’d; so this looks well. But if any thing should go bad afterwards, I should never forgive myself, for not taking this Opportunity. Well, I will go down again, and see if all is clear, and how it looks out at the Back-door in the Pasture.
To be sure, there is Witchcraft in this House; and I believe Lucifer is bribed, as well as all about me, and is got into the Shape of that nasty grim Bull, to watch me!—For I have been down again; and ventur’d to open the Door, and went out about a Bow-shoot into the Pasture; but there stood that horrid Bull, staring me full in the Face, with fiery Saucer Eyes, as I thought. So, I got in again; for fear he should come at me. Nobody saw me, however.—Do you think there are such things as Witches and Spirits? If there be, I believe in my Heart, Mrs. Jewkes has got this Bull of her Side. But yet, what could I do without Money or a Friend?—O this wicked Woman! to trick me so! Every thing, Man, Woman and Beast, is in a Plot against your poor Pamela, I think!—Then I know not one Step of the Way, nor how far to any House or Cottage; and whether I could gain Protection, if I got to a House: And now the Robbers are abroad too, I may run into as great Danger, as I want to escape from; nay, greater much, if these promising Appearances hold: And sure my Master cannot be so black as that they should not!—What can I do?—I have a good mind to try for it once more; but then I may be pursued and taken; and it will be worse for me; and this wicked Woman will beat me, and take my Shoes away, and lock me up.
But after all, if my Master should mean well, he can’t be angry at my Fears, if I should escape; and nobody can blame me; and I can more easily be induced with you, when all my Apprehensions are over, to consider his Proposal of Mr. Williams, than I could here; and he pretends he will leave me at my Choice: Why then should I be afraid? I will go down again, I think! But yet my Heart misgives me, because of the Difficulties before me, in escaping; and being so poor and so friendless!—O good God! the Preserver of the Innocent! direct me what to do!—Well, I have just now a sort of strange Persuasion upon me, that I ought to try to get away, and leave the Issue to Providence. So, once more!—I’ll see, at least, if this Bull be still there!
Alack-a-day! what a Fate is this! I have not the Courage to go, neither can I think to stay. But I must resolve. The Gardener was in Sight last time! so made me come up again. But I’ll contrive to send him out of the way, if I can!—For if I never should have such another Opportunity, I could not forgive myself. Once more I’ll venture. God direct my Footsteps, and make smooth my Path and my Way to Safety!
Well, here I am, come back again! frighted like a Fool, out of all my Purposes! O how terrible every thing appears to me! I had got twice as far again, as I was before, out of the Back-door; and I looked, and saw the Bull, as I thought, between me and the Door; and another Bull coming towards me the other way: Well, thought I, here is double Witchcraft, to be sure! Here is the Spirit of my Master in one Bull; and Mrs. Jewkes’s in the other; and now I am gone, to be sure! O help! cry’d I, like a Fool, and run back to the Door, as swift as if I flew. When I had got the Door in my Hand, I ventur’d to look back, to see if these supposed Bulls were coming; and I saw they were only two poor Cows, a grazing in distant Places, that my Fears had made all this Rout about. But as every thing is so frightful to me, I find I am not fit to think of my Escape: For I shall be as much frighted at the first strange Man that I meet with. And I am persuaded, that Fear brings one into more Dangers, than the Caution, that goes along with it, delivers one from.
I then locked the Door, and put the Key in my Pocket, and was in a sad Quandary; but I was soon determined; for the Maid Nan came in Sight, and asked, If any thing was the matter, that I was so often up and down Stairs? God forgive me; but I had a sad Lye at my Tongue’s End; said I, Tho’ Mrs. Jewkes is sometimes a little hard upon me, yet I know not where I am without her: I go up, and I come down to walk about in the Garden; and not having her, know scarcely what to do with myself. Ay, said the Idiot, she is main good Company, Madam; no wonder you miss her.
So here I am again; and here likely to be; for I have no Courage to help myself any-where else. O why are poor foolish Maidens try’d with such Dangers, when they have such weak Minds to grapple with them!—I will, since it is so, hope the best: But yet I cannot but observe how grievously every thing makes against me: For here are the Robbers; tho’ I fell not into their Hands myself, yet they gave me as much Terror, and had as great an Effect upon my Fears, as if I had: And here is the Bull; it has as effectually frighten’d me, as if I had been hurt by it instead of the Cook-maid; and so they join’d together, as I may say, to make a very Dastard of me. But my Folly was the worst of all; for that depriv’d me of my Money; for had I had that, I believe I should have ventur’d the other Two.
Monday Afternoon.
So, Mrs. Jewkes is returned from her Visit: Well, said she, I would have you set your Heart at Rest; for Mr. Williams will do very well again. He is not half so badly off as he fancy’d. O these Scholars, said she, they have not the Hearts of Mice! He has only a few Scratches on his Face; which, said she, I suppose he got by grabbling among the Gravel, at the Bottom of the Dam, to try to find a Hole in the Ground, to hide himself from the Robbers. His Shin and his Knee are hardly to be seen to ail any thing. He says in his Letter, he was a frightful Spectacle: He might be so indeed, when he first came in a-doors; but he looks well enough now; and, only for a few Groans now-and-then, when he thinks of his Danger, I see nothing is the matter with him. So, Mrs. Pamela, said she, I would have you be very easy about it. I am glad of it, said I, for all your Jokes, Mrs. Jewkes.
Well, said she, he talks of nothing but you; and when I told him, I would fain have persuaded you to come with me, the Man was out of his Wits with his Gratitude to me; and so has laid open all his Heart to me, and told me all that has passed, and was contriving between you two. This alarm’d me prodigiously; and the rather, as I saw, by two or three Instances, that his honest Heart could keep nothing, believing every one as undesigning as himself. I said, but yet with a heavy Heart, Ah, Mrs. Jewkes, Mrs. Jewkes, this might have done with me, had he had any thing that he could have told you of! But you know well enough, that had we been disposed, we had no Opportunity for it, from your watchful Care and Circumspection. No, said she, that’s very true, Mrs. Pamela; not so much as for that Declaration that he own’d before me, he had found Opportunity, for all my Watchfulness, to make you. Come, come, said she, no more of these Shams with me! You have an excellent Head-piece for your Years; but may-be I am as cunning as you.—However, said she, all is well now; because my Watchments are now over, by my Master’s Direction. How have you employ’d yourself in my Absence?
I was so troubled at what might have passed between Mr. Williams and her, that I could not hide it. And she said, Well, Mrs. Pamela, since all Matters are likely to be so soon and so happily ended, let me advise you to be a little less concern’d at his Discoveries; and make me your Confident, as he has done, and I shall think you have some Favour for me and Reliance upon me; and perhaps you might not repent it.
She was so earnest, that I mistrusted she did this to pump me; and I knew how, now, to account for her Kindness to Mr. Williams, in her Visit to him; which was only to get out of him what she could. Why, Mrs. Jewkes, said I, is all this fishing about for something, where there is nothing, if there be an End of your Watchments, as you call them? Nothing, said she, but Womanish Curiosity, I’ll assure you; for one is naturally led to find out Matters, where there is such Privacy intended. Well, said I, pray let me know what he has said; and then I’ll give you an Answer to your Curiosity. I don’t care, said she, whether you do or not; for I have as much as I wanted from him; and I despair of getting out of you any thing you han’t a mind I should know, my little cunning Dear.—Well, said I, let him have said what he would, I care not; for I am sure he can say no Harm of me; and so let us change the Talk.
I was the easier indeed; because, for all her Pumps, she gave no Hints of the Key and the Door, &c. which had he communicated to her, she would not have forborn giving me a Touch of.—And so we gave up one another, as despairing to gain our Ends of each other. But I am sure he must have said more than he should.—And I am the more apprehensive all is not right, because she has now been actually, these two Hours, shut up a-writing; tho’ she pretended she had given me up all her Stores of Paper, &c. and that I should write for her. I begin to wish I had ventur’d every thing, and gone off, when I might. O when will this State of Doubt and Uneasiness end!
She has just been with me, and says she shall send a Messenger to Bedfordshire; and he shall carry a Letter of Thanks for me, if I will write it, for my Master’s Favour to me. Indeed, said I, I have no Thanks to give, till I am with my Father and Mother: And besides, I sent a Letter, as you know; but have had no Answer to it. She said, she thought that his Letter was sufficient to Mr. Williams; and the least I could do, was to thank him, if but in two Lines. No need of it, said I; for I don’t intend to have Mr. Williams: What then is that Letter to me?—Well, said she, I see thou art quite unfathomable!
I don’t like all this. O my foolish Fears of Bulls and Robbers!—For now all my Uneasiness begins to double upon me. O what has this uncautious Man said? That, no doubt, is the Subject of her long Letter.
I will close this Day’s writing, with just saying, that she is mighty silent and reserved, to what she was, and says nothing but No, or Yes, to what I ask. Something must be hatching, I doubt!—I the rather think so, because I find she does not keep her word with me, about lying by myself, and my Money; to both which Points, she return’d suspicious Answers, saying, as to the one, Why you are mighty earnest for your Money: I shan’t run away with it: And to the other, Good lack! you need not be so willing, as I know of, to part with me for a Bedfellow, till you are sure of one you like better. This cut me to the Heart!—And at the same time stopt my Mouth.
Tuesday, Wednesday.
Mr.Williams has been here; but we have had no Opportunity to talk together: He seem’d confounded at Mrs. Jewkes’s Change of Temper, and Reservedness, after her kind Visit, and their Freedom with one another, and much more at what I am going to tell you. He asked, if I would take a Turn in the Garden with Mrs. Jewkes and him. No, said she, I can’t go. Said he, May not Mrs. Pamela take a Walk?—No, said she; I desire she won’t. Why, said he, Mrs. Jewkes? I am afraid I have some-how disobliged you. Not at all, said she; but I suppose you will soon be at Liberty to walk together as much as you please: And I have sent a Messenger for my last Instructions, about this and more weighty Matters; and when they come, I shall leave you to do as you both will; but till then, it is no matter how little you are together. This alarm’d us both; and he seem’d quite struck of a Heap, and put on, as I thought, a self-accusing Countenance. So I went behind her Back, and held my two Hands together, flat, with a Bit of Paper, I had, between them, and looked at him; and he seemed to take me, as I intended, intimating the renewing of the Correspondence by the Tiles.
So I left them both together, and retired to my Closet, to write a Letter for the Tiles; but having no Time for a Copy, I will give you the Substance only.
I expostulated with him on his too great Openness and Easiness to fall into Mrs. Jewkes’s Snares; told him my Apprehensions of foul Play; and gave briefly the Reasons which moved me: Begg’d to know what he had said; and intimated, that I thought there was the highest Reason to resume our Project of the Escape by the Back-door. I put this in the usual Place, in the Evening, and now wait with Impatience for an Answer.
Thursday.
I Have the following Answer:
Dearest Madam,
I Am utterly confounded, and must plead guilty to all your just Reproaches. O that I was Master of half your Caution and Discretion! I hope, after all, this is only a Touch of this ill Woman’s Temper, to shew her Power and Importance: For I think Mr. B. neither can nor dare deceive me in so black a manner. I would expose him all the World over, if he did. But it is not, cannot be in him. I have received a Letter from John Arnold; in which he tells me, that the ’Squire is preparing for his London Journey; and believes, afterwards, he will come into these Parts. But he says, Lady Davers is at their House, and is to accompany her Brother to London, or meet him there, he knows not which. He professes great Zeal and Affection to your Service. But I find he refers to a Letter he sent me before, but which is not come to my Hand. I think there can be no Treachery; for it is a particular Friend at Gainsborough that I have order’d him to direct to; and this is come safe to my Hands by this means; for well I know, I durst trust nothing to Brett, at the Post-house here. This gives me a little Pain; but I hope all will end well, and we shall soon hear, if it be necessary to pursue our former Intentions. If it be, I will lose no Time to provide a Horse for you, and another for myself; for I can never do either God or myself better Service, tho’ I were to forego all my Expectations for it here. I am
Your most faithful humble Servant.
I was too free indeed with Mrs. Jewkes, led to it by her Dissimulation, and by her Concern to make me happy with you. I hinted, that I would not have scrupled to have procured your Deliverance by any means; and that I had proposed to you, as the only honourable one, Marriage with me. But I assured her, tho’ she would hardly believe me, that you discouraged my Application. Which is too true! But not a Word of the Back-door, Key, &c.
Mrs. Jewkes continues still sullen and ill-natur’d; and I am afraid, almost, to speak to her. She watches me as close as ever, and pretends to wonder why I shun her Company as I do.
I have just put under the Tiles these Lines; inspired by my Fears, which are indeed very strong; and, I doubt, not without Reason.
Sir,
Every thing gives me additional Disturbance. The miss’d Letter of John Arnold’s makes me suspect a Plot. Yet am I loth to think myself of so much Importance, as to suppose every one in a Plot against me. Are you sure, however, the London Journey is not to be a Lincolnshire one? May not John, who has been once a Traitor, be so again?—Why need I be thus in doubt?—If I could have this Horse, I would turn the Reins on his Neck, and trust to Providence to guide him for my Safeguard! For I would not indanger you, now just upon the Edge of your Preferment. Yet, Sir, I fear your fatal Openness will make you suspected as accessary, let us be ever so cautious.
Were my Life in question, instead of my Honesty, I would not wish to involve you, or any body, in the least Difficulty for so worthless a poor Creature. But, O Sir! my Soul is of equal Importance with the Soul of a Princess; though my Quality is inferior to that of the meanest Slave.
Save then, my Innocence, good God, and preserve my Mind spotless; and happy shall I be to lay down my worthless Life, and see an End to all my Troubles and Anxieties!
Forgive my Impatience: But my presaging Mind bodes horrid Mischiefs!—Every thing looks dark around me; and this Woman’s impenetrable Sullenness and Silence, without any apparent Reason, from a Conduct so very contrary, bids me fear the worst.—Blame me, Sir, if you think me wrong; and let me have your Advice what to do: which will oblige
Your most afflicted Servant.
FRIDAY.
I Have this half-angry Answer; but, what is more to me than all the Letters in the World could be, yours, my dear Father, inclosed.
Madam,
I Think you are too apprehensive by much. I am sorry for your Uneasiness. You may depend upon me, and all I can do. But I make no doubt of the London Journey, nor of ohn’s Contrition and Fidelity. I have just received, from my Gainsborough Friend, this Letter, as I suppose, from your good Father, in a Cover, as directed for me, as I had desired. I hope it contains nothing to add to your Uneasiness. Pray, dearest Madam, lay aside your Fears, and wait a few Days for the Issue of Mrs. Jewkes’s Letter, and mine of Thanks to the ’Squire. Things, I hope, must be better than you expect. God Almighty will not desert such Piety and Innocence; and be this your Comfort and Reliance. Which is the best Advice that can at present be given, by
‘Your most faithful humble Servant.
N.B. The Father’s Letter was as follows:
My dearest Daughter,
God has at length heard our Prayers, and we are overwhelmed with his Goodness. O what Sufferings, what Trials hast thou gone thro’! and, blessed be God, who enabled thee, what Temptations hast thou withstood! We have not yet had Leisure to read thro’ your long Accounts of all your Hardships. I say long, because I wonder how you could find Time and Opportunity for them; but otherwise, they are the Delight of our spare Hours; and we shall read them over and over, as long as we live, with Thankfulness to God, who has given us so virtuous and so discreet a Daughter. How happy is our Lot, in the midst of our Poverty! O let none ever think Children a Burden to them; when the poorest Circumstances can produce so much Riches in a Pamela! Persist, my dear Daughter, in the same excellent Course; and we shall not envy the highest Estate, but defy them to produce such a Daughter as ours.
I said, we had not read thro’ all yours in Course. We were too impatient, and so turn’d to the End; where we find your Virtue within View of its Reward, and your Master’s Heart turn’d to see the Folly of his Ways, and the Injury he had intended to our dear Child. For, to be sure, my Dear, he would have ruin’d you, if he could. But seeing your Virtue, God has touched his Heart; and he has, no doubt, been edified by your good Example.
We don’t see that you can do any way so well, as to come into the present Proposal, and make Mr. Williams, the worthy Mr. Williams, God bless him!—happy. And tho’ we are poor, and can add no Merit, no Reputation, no Fortune to our dear Child, but rather must be a Disgrace to her, as the World will think; yet I hope I do not sin in my Pride, to say, that there is no good Man, of a common Degree (especially as your late Lady’s Kindness gave you such good Opportunities, which, by God’s Grace, you have so well improv’d) but may think himself happy in you. But, as you say, you had rather not marry at present, far be it from us to offer Violence to your Inclinations. So much Prudence as you have shewn in all your Conduct, would make it very wrong in us to mistrust it in this, or to offer to direct you in your Choice. But, alas! my Child, what can we do for you?—To partake our hard Lot, and involve yourself into as hard a Life, would not help us; but add to our Afflictions. But it is time enough to talk of these things, when we have the Pleasure you now put us in Hope of, of seeing you with us; which God grant. Amen, Amen, say
Your most indulgent Parents, Amen!
Our humblest Service and Thanks to the worthy Mr. Williams. Again, we say, God bless him for ever!
O what a deal have we to say to you! God give us a happy Meeting! We understand the ’Squire is setting out for London. He is a fine Gentleman, and has Wit at Will. I wish he was as good. But I hope he will now reform.
O what inexpressible Comfort, my dear Father, has your Letter given me. You ask, What can you do for me!—What is it you cannot do for your Child!—You can give her the Advice she has so much wanted, and still wants, and will always want; you can confirm her in the Paths of Virtue, into which you first initiated her; and you can pray for her, with Hearts so sincere and pure, that are not to be met with in Palaces!—Oh! how I long to throw myself at your Feet, and receive, from your own Lips, the Blessings of such good Parents!—But, alas! how are my Prospects again over-clouded to what they were when I closed my last Parcel!—More Trials, more Dangers, I fear, must your poor Pamela be engaged in: But thro’ God’s Goodness, and your Prayers, I hope, at last, to get well out of all my Difficulties; and the rather, as they are not the Effect of my own Vanity or Presumption!
But I will proceed with my hopeless Story. I saw Mr. Williams was a little nettled at my Impatience; and so I wrote to assure him I would be as easy as I could, and directed by him; especially as my Father, whose Respects I mentioned, had assured me, my Master was setting out for London; which he must have some-how from his own Family, or he would not have written me word of it.
SATURDAY, SUNDAY.
Mr.Williams has been here both these Days, as usual; but is very indifferently received still by Mrs. Jewkes; and, to avoid Suspicion, I left them together, and went up to my Closet, most of the Time he was here. He and she, I found by her, had a Quarrel; and she seems quite out of Humour with him; but I thought it best not to say any thing. And he said, he would very little trouble the House, till he had an Answer to his Letter from the ’Squire. And she return’d, The less, the better. Poor Man! he has got but little by his Openness, and making Mrs. Jewkes his Confident, as she bragged, and would have had me to do likewise. I am more and more satisfied there is Mischief brewing, and shall begin to hide my Papers, and be circumspect. She seems mighty impatient for an Answer to her Letter to my Master.
14.) Compare to Vanto 28 of Sir John Harington’s English translation of The Frenzy of Orlando (1591), then a popular Italian epic poem written by Ludovico Ariosto. Lovelace recalls the same section from Arisoto in Richardson's later novel Clarissa (Keymer & Wakely 529). Read the episode in the Appendix.