chapel next day, because of Misses Darnford and the servants, for fear,
poor man, he should disgrace my master; and he told me, when he was
mentioning this, of my master’s kind present of twenty guineas for
clothes, for you both; which made my heart truly joyful. But oh! to be
sure, I can never deserve the hundredth part of his goodness!—It is
almost a hard thing to be under the weight of such deep obligations on
one side, and such a sense of one’s own unworthiness on 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 so much thinner
than I am, nor much shorter; he and I will walk up together to my
wardrobe; though it is not so well stored here, as in Bedfordshire.
And so, said he, pleasantly, don’t you pretend to come near us, till I
call for 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
were told. So am not I, said my master: Pray come along with me.
He carried him up stairs, and shewed 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 fixed 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 clothes 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 stockings, and whether any 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 enough 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 the divine goodness, and your virtue.
Sunday.
This blessed day all the family seemed to take delight to equip
themselves for the celebration of the Sabbath in the little chapel; and
Lady Jones and Mr. Williams came in her chariot, and the two Misses
Darnford in their own. And we breakfasted together in a most agreeable
manner. My dear father appeared quite spruce and neat, and was quite
caressed by the three ladies. As we were at breakfast, my master told
Mr. Williams, We must let the Psalms alone, he doubted, for want of a
clerk: but Mr. Williams said, No, nothing should be wanting that he
could supply. My father said, If it might be permitted him, he would,
as well as he was able, perform that office; for it was always what he
had taken delight in. And as I knew he had learnt psalmody formerly, in
his youth, and had constantly practised it in private, at home, on
Sunday evenings, (as well as endeavoured to teach it in the little
school he so unsuccessfully set up, at the beginning of his
misfortunes, before he took to hard labour,) I was in no pain for his
undertaking it in this little congregation. They seemed much pleased
with this; and so we went to chapel, and made a pretty tolerable
appearance; Mrs. Jewkes, and all the servants, attending, but the cook:
And I never saw divine service performed with more solemnity, nor
assisted at with greater devotion and decency; my master, Lady Jones,
and the two misses, setting a lovely example.
My good father performed his part with great applause, making the
responses, as if he had been a practised parish-clerk; and giving the
xxiiid psalm,
[The Lord is only my support,
And he that doth me feed:
How can I then lack any thing
Whereof I stand in need?
In pastures green he feedeth me,
Where I do safely lie;
And after leads me to the streams,
Which run most pleasantly.
And when I find myself near lost,
Then home he doth me take;
Conducting me in his right paths,
E’en for his own name’s sake.
And tho’ I were e’en at death’s door,
Yet would I fear no ill:
For both thy rod and shepherd’s crook
Afford me comfort still.
Thou hast my table richly spread
In presence of my foe:
Thou hast my head with balm refresh’d,
My cup doth overflow.
And finally, while breath doth last,
Thy grace shall me defend:
And in the house of God will I
My life for ever spend.]
which consisted of but three staves, we had it all; and he read the
line, and began the tune with a heart so entirely affected with the
duty, that he went through it distinctly, calmly, and fervently at the
same time; so that Lady Jones whispered me, That good man were fit for
all companies, and present to every laudable occasion: And Miss
Darnford said, God bless the dear good man!—You must think how I
rejoiced in my mind.
I know, my dear mother, you can say most of the shortest psalms by
heart; so I need not transcribe it, especially as your chief treasure
is a bible; and a worthy treasure it is. I know nobody makes more or
better use of it.
Mr. Williams gave us an excellent discourse on liberality and
generosity, and the blessings attending the right use of riches, from
the xith chapter of Proverbs, ver. 24, 25. There is that scattereth,
and yet increaseth; and there is that withholdeth more than is meet,
but it tendeth to poverty. The liberal soul shall be made fat: And he
that watereth, shall be watered also himself. And he treated the
subject in so handsome a manner, that my master’s delicacy, who, at
first, was afraid of some personal compliments, was not offended. Mr.
Williams judiciously keeping to generals; and it was an elegant and
sensible discourse, as my master said.
My father was in the clerk’s place, just under the desk; and Lady
Jones, by her footman, whispered him to favour us with another psalm,
when the sermon was ended. He thinking, as he said afterwards, that the
former was rather of the longest, chose the shortest in the book, which
you know is the cxviith.
[O all ye nations of the world,
Praise ye the Lord always:
And all ye people every where
Set forth his noble praise.
For great his kindness is to us;
His truth doth not decay:
Wherefore praise ye the Lord our God;
Praise ye the Lord alway.]
My master thanked Mr. Williams for his excellent discourse, and so did
the ladies; as also did I most heartily: and he was pleased to take my
dear father by the hand, as did also Mr. Williams, and thanked him. The
ladies, likewise, made him their compliments; and the servants all
looked upon him with countenances of respect and pleasure.
At dinner, do what I could, I was forced to take the upper end of the
table; and my master sat at the lower end, between Mr. Williams and my
father. And he said, Pamela, you are so dexterous, that I think you may
help the ladies yourself; and I will help my two good friends. I should
have told you, though, that I dressed myself in a flowered satin, that
was my lady’s, and looked quite fresh and good, and which was given me,
at first, by my master; and the ladies, who had not seen me out of my
homespun before, made me abundance of fine compliments, as soon as they
saw me first.
Talking of the Psalms just after dinner, my master was very naughty, if
I may so say: For he said to my father, Mr. Andrews, I think in the
afternoon, as we shall have only prayers, we may have one longer psalm;
and what think you of the cxxxviith? O, good sir! said I, pray, pray,
not a word more! Say what you will, Pamela, said he, you shall sing it
to us, according to your own version, before these good ladies go away.
My father smiled, but was half concerned for me; and said, Will it
bear, and please your honour?—O ay, said he, never fear it; so long as
Mrs. Jewkes is not in the hearing.
This excited all the ladies’ curiosity; and Lady Jones said, She would
be loath to desire to hear any thing that would give me concern; but
should be glad I would give leave for it. Indeed, madam, said I, I must
beg you won’t insist upon it. I cannot bear it.—You shall see it,
indeed, ladies, said my master; and pray, Pamela, not always as you
please, neither.—Then, pray sir, said I, not in my hearing, I
hope.—Sure, Pamela, returned he, you would not write what is not fit to
be heard!—But, sir, said I, there are particular cases, times, and
occasions, that may make a thing passable at one time, that would not
be tolerable at another. O, said he, let me judge of that, as well as
you, Pamela. These ladies know a good part of your story; and, let me
tell you, what they know is more to your credit than mine; so that if I
have no averseness to reviving the occasion, you may very well bear it.
Said he, I will put you out of your pain, Pamela: here it is: and took
it out of his pocket.
I stood up, and said, Indeed, sir, I can’t bear it; I hope you’ll allow
me to leave the room a minute, if you will read it. Indeed but I won’t,
answered he. Lady Jones said, Pray, good sir, don’t let us hear it, if
Mrs. Andrews be so unwilling. Well, Pamela, said my master, I will put
it to your choice, whether I shall read it now, or you will sing it by
and by. That’s very hard, sir, said I. It must be one, I assure you,
said he. Why then, sir, replied I, you must do as you please; for I
cannot sing it.
Well, then, said my master, I find I must read it; and yet, added he,
after all, I had as well let it alone, for it is no great reputation to
myself. O then, said Miss Darnford, pray let us hear it, to choose.
Why then, proceeded he, the case was this: Pamela, I find, when she was
in the time of her confinement, (that is, added he, when she was taken
prisoner, in order to make me one; for that is the upshot of the
matter,) in the journal she kept, which was intended for nobody’s
perusal but her parents, tells them, that she was importuned, one
Sunday, by Mrs. Jewkes, to sing a psalm; but her spirits not
permitting, she declined it: But after Mrs. Jewkes was gone down, she
says, she recollected, that the cxxxviith psalm was applicable to her
own case; Mrs. Jewkes having often, on other days, in vain, besought
her to sing a song: That thereupon she turned it more to her own
supposed case; and believing Mrs. Jewkes had a design against her
honour, and looking upon her as her gaoler, she thus gives her version
of this psalm. But pray, Mr. Williams, do you read one verse of the
common translation, and I will read one of Pamela’s. Then Mr. Williams,
pulling out his little pocket Common-Prayer-Book, read the first two
stanzas:
I.
When we did sit in Babylon,
The rivers round about;
Then in remembrance of Sion,
The tears for grief burst out.
II.
We hang’d our harps and instruments
The willow trees upon:
For in that place, men, for that use,
Had planted many a one.
My master then read:
I.
When sad I sat in B——n-hall,
All guarded round about,
And thought of ev’ry absent friend,
The tears for grief burst out.
II.
My joys and hopes all overthrown,
My heart-strings almost broke,
Unfit my mind for melody,
Much more to bear a joke.
The ladies said, It was very pretty; and Miss Darnford, That somebody
else had more need to be concerned than the versifier.
I knew, said my master, I should get no credit by shewing this. But let
us read on, Mr. Williams. So Mr. Williams read:
III.
Then they, to whom we pris’ners were,
Said to us, tauntingly,
Now let us hear your Hebrew songs,
And pleasant melody.
Now this, said my master, is very near; and read:
III.
Then she, to whom I prisoner was,
Said to me tauntingly,
Now cheer your heart, and sing a song,
And tune your mind to joy.
Mighty sweet, said Mr. Williams. But let us see how the next verse is
turned. It is this:
IV.
Alas! said we; who can once frame
His heavy heart to sing
The praises of our living God,
Thus under a strange king?
Why, said my master, it is turned with beautiful simplicity, thus:
IV.
Alas! said I, how can I frame
My heavy heart to sing,
Or tune my mind, while thus enthrall’d
By such a wicked thing?
Very pretty, said Mr. Williams. Lady Jones said, O, dear madam! could
you wish that we should be deprived of this new instance of your genius
and accomplishments?
O! said my dear father, you will make my good child proud. No, said my
master very generously, Pamela can’t be proud. For no one is proud to
hear themselves praised, but those who are not used to it.—But proceed,
Mr. Williams. He read:
V.
But yet, if I Jerusalem
Out of my heart let slide;
Then let my fingers quite forget
The warbling harp to guide.
Well, now, said my master, for Pamela’s version:
V.
But yet, if from my innocence
I ev’n in thought should slide,
Then let my fingers quite forget
The sweet spinnet to guide.
Mr. Williams read:
VI.
And let my tongue, within my mouth,
Be ty’d for ever fast,
If I rejoice, before I see
Thy full deliv’rance past.
This, also, said my master, is very near:
VI.
And let my tongue, within my mouth,
Be lock’d for ever fast,
If I rejoice, before I see
My full deliv’rance past.
Now, good sir, said I, oblige me; don’t read any further: pray don’t! O
pray, madam, said Mr. Williams, let me beg to have the rest read; for I
long to know whom you make the Sons of Edom, and how you turn the
Psalmist’s execrations against the insulting Babylonians.
Well, Mr. Williams, replied I, you should not have said so. O, said my
master, that is one of the best things of all. Poor Mrs. Jewkes stands
for Edom’s Sons; and we must not lose this, because I think it one of
my Pamela’s excellencies, that, though thus oppressed, she prays for no
harm upon the oppressor. Read, Mr. Williams, the next stanza. So he
read:
VII.
Therefore, O Lord! remember now
The cursed noise and cry,
That Edom’s sons against us made,
When they ras’d our city.
VIII.
Remember, Lord, their cruel words,
When, with a mighty sound,
They cried, Down, yea down with it,
Unto the very ground!
Well, said my master, here seems, in what I am going to read, a little
bit of a curse indeed, but I think it makes no ill figure in the
comparison.
VII.
And thou, Almighty! recompense
The evils I endure
From those who seek my sad disgrace,
So causeless, to procure.
And now, said he, for Edom’s Sons. Though a little severe in the
imputation.
VIII.
Remember, Lord, this Mrs. Jewkes,
When with a mighty sound,
She cries, Down with her chastity,
Down to the very ground!
Sure, sir, said I, this might have been spared! But the ladies and Mr.
Williams said, No, by no means! And I see the poor wicked woman has no
favourers among them.
Now, said my master, read the Psalmist’s heavy curses: and Mr. Williams
read:
IX.
Ev’n so shalt thou, O Babylon!
At length to dust be brought:
And happy shall that man be call’d,
That our revenge hath wrought.
X.
Yea, blessed shall the man be call’d
That takes thy little ones,
And dasheth them in pieces small
Against the very stones.
Thus he said, very kindly, has my Pamela turned these lines:
IX.
Ev’n so shalt thou, O wicked one!
At length to shame be brought;
And happy shall all those be call’d,
That my deliv’rance wrought.
X.
Yea, blessed shall the man be call’d
That shames thee of thy evil,
And saves me from thy vile attempts,
And thee, too, from the d—l.
I fancy this blessed man, said my master smiling, was, at that time,
hoped to be you, Mr. Williams, if the truth was known. Sir, said he,
whoever it was intended for then, it can be nobody but your good self
now.
I could hardly hold up my head for the praises the kind ladies were
pleased to heap upon me. I am sure, by this, they are very partial in
my favour; all because my master is so good to me, and loves to hear me
praised; for I see no such excellence in these lines, as they would
make me believe, besides what is borrowed from the Psalmist.
We all, as before, and the cook-maid too, attended the prayers of the
church in the afternoon; and my dear father concluded with the
following stanzas of the cxlvth psalm; suitably magnifying the holy
name of God for all mercies; but did not observe, altogether, the
method in which they stand; which was the less necessary, he thought,
as he gave out the lines.
The Lord is just in all his ways:
His works are holy all:
And he is near all those that do
In truth upon him call.
He the desires of all them
That fear him, will fulfil;
And he will hear them when they cry,
And save them all he will.
The eyes of all do wait on thee;
Thou dost them all relieve:
And thou to each sufficient food,
In season due, dost give.
Thou openest thy plenteous hand,
And bounteously dost fill
All things whatever, that do live,
With gifts of thy good will.
My thankful mouth shall gladly speak
The praises of the Lord:
All flesh, to praise his holy name,
For ever shall accord.
We walked in the garden till tea was ready; and as he went by the
back-door, my master said to me, Of all the flowers in the garden, the
sun-flower is the fairest!—O, sir, said I, let that be now forgot! Mr.
Williams heard him say so, and seemed a little out of countenance:
Whereupon my master said, I mean not to make you serious, Mr. Williams;
but we see how strangely things are brought about. I see other scenes
hereabouts, that, in my Pamela’s dangers, give me more cause of
concern, than any thing you ever did should give you. Sir, said he, you
are very generous.
My master and Mr. Williams afterwards walked together for a quarter of
an hour; and talked about general things, and some scholastic subjects;
and joined us, very well pleased with one another’s conversation.
Lady Jones said, putting herself on one side of me, as my master was on
the other, But pray, sir, when is the happy time to be? We want it
over, that we may have you with us as long afterwards as you can. Said
my master, I would have it to-morrow, or next day at farthest, if
Pamela will: for I have sent for a license, and the messenger will be
here to-night, or early in the morning, I hope. But, added he, pray,
Pamela, do not take beyond Thursday. She was pleased to say, Sure it
will not be delayed by you, madam, more than needs!—Well, said he, now
you are on my side, I will leave you with her to settle it: and, I
hope, she will not let little bashful niceties be important with her;
and so he joined the two misses.
Lady Jones told me, I was to blame, she would take upon her to say, if
I delayed it a moment; because she understood Lady Davers was very
uneasy at the prospect, that it would be so; and if any thing should
happen, it would be a sad thing!—Madam, said I, when he was pleased to
mention it to me first, he said it should be in fourteen days; and
afterwards, asked me if I would have it in the first or the second
seven? I answered—for how could I do otherwise?—In the second. He
desired it might not be the last day of the second seven. Now, madam,
said I, as he was then pleased to speak his mind, no doubt, I would
not, for any thing, seem too forward.
Well, but, said she, as he now urges you in so genteel and gentlemanly
a manner for a shorter day, I think, if I was in your place, I would
agree to it. She saw me hesitate and blush, and said, Well, you know
best; but I say only what I would do. I said, I would consider of it;
and if I saw he was very earnest, to be sure I should think I ought to
oblige him.
Misses Darnford were begging to be at the wedding, and to have a ball:
and they said, Pray, Mrs. Andrews, second our requests, and we shall be
greatly obliged to you. Indeed, ladies, said I, I cannot promise that,
if I might.—Why so? said they.—Because, answered I—I know not what! But
I think one may, with pleasure, celebrate an anniversary of one’s
nuptials; but the day itself—Indeed, ladies, I think it is too solemn a
business, for the parties of our sex to be very gay upon: it is a quite
serious and awful affair: and I am sure, in your own cases, you would
be of my mind. Why, then, said Miss Darnford, the more need one has to
be as light-hearted and merry as one can.
I told you, said my master, what sort of an answer you’d have from
Pamela. The younger miss said, She never heard of such grave folks in
her life, on such an occasion: Why, sir, said she, I hope you’ll sing
psalms all day, and miss will fast and pray! Such sackcloth and ashes
doings, for a wedding, did I never hear of!—She spoke a little
spitefully, I thought; and I returned no answer. I shall have enough to
do, I reckon, in a while, if I am to answer every one that will envy
me!
We went in to tea; and all that the ladies could prevail upon my master
for, was a dancing match before he left this county: But Miss Darnford
said, It should then be at their house; for, truly, if she might not be
at the wedding, she would be affronted, and come no more hither, till
we had been there.
When they were gone, my master would have had my father stay till the
affair was over; but he begged he might set out as soon as it was light
in the morning; for, he said, my mother would be doubly uneasy at his
stay; and he burned with impatience to let her know all the happy
things that had befallen her daughter. When my master found him so
desirous to go, he called Mr. Thomas, and ordered him to get a
particular bay horse ready betimes in the morning, for my father, and a
portmanteau, to put his things in; and to attend him a day’s journey:
And if, said he, Mr. Andrews chooses it, see him safe to his own home:
And, added he, since that horse will serve you, Mr. Andrews, to ride
backwards and forwards, to see us, when we go into Bedfordshire, I make
you a present of it, with the accoutrements. And, seeing my father
going to speak, he added, I won’t be said nay. O how good was this!
He also said a great many kind things at supper-time, and gave him all
the papers he had of mine; but desired, when he and my mother had read
them, that he would return them to him again. And then he said, So
affectionate a father and daughter may, perhaps, be glad to be alone
together; therefore remember me to your good wife, and tell her, it
will not be long, I hope, before I see you together; on a visit to your
daughter, at my other house: and so I wish you good night, and a good
journey, if you go before I see you. And then he shook hands, and left
my dear father almost unable to speak, through the sense of his favours
and goodness.
You may believe, my dear mother, how loath I was to part with my good
father; and he was also unwilling to part with me; but he was so
impatient to see you, and tell you the blessed tidings, with which his
heart overflowed, that I could hardly wish to detain him.
Mrs. Jewkes brought two bottles of cherry-brandy, and two of
cinnamon-water, and some cake; and they were put up in the portmanteau,
with my father’s newly presented clothes; for he said, He would not,
for any thing, be seen in them in his neighbourhood, till I was
actually known, by every body, to be married; nor would he lay out any
part of the twenty guineas till then neither, for fear of reflections;
and then he would consult me as to what he would buy. Well, said I, as
you please, my dear father; and I hope now we shall often have the
pleasure of hearing from one another, without needing any art or
contrivances.
He said, He would go to bed betimes, that he might be up as soon as it
was light; and so he took leave of me, and said, He would not love me,
if I got up in the morning to see him go; which would but make us both
loath to part, and grieve us both all day.