Pamela, Samuel Richardson [free ebook reader for ipad .txt] 📗

the method you take of looking yourself into your affairs, must needs take up so much of your time, that I ought to be very careful how I intrude upon you.

Well, said he, but I’ll tell you what has been my last work I have taken it into my consideration, that, at present, my line is almost extinct; and that the chief part of my maternal estate, in case I die without issue, will go to another line, and great part of my personal will fall into such hands, as I shall not care my Pamela should he at the mercy of. I have, therefore, as human life is uncertain, made such a disposition of my affairs, as will make you absolutely independent and happy; as will secure to you the power of doing a great deal of good, and living as a person ought to do, who is my relict; and shall put it out of any body’s power to molest your father and mother, in the provision I design them, for the remainder of their days: And I have finished all this very morning, except to naming trustees for you; and if you have any body you would confide in more than another, I would have you speak.

I was so touched with this mournful instance of his excessive goodness to me, and the thoughts necessarily flowing from the solemn occasion, that I was unable to speak; and at last relieved my mind by a violent fit of weeping; and could only say, clasping my arms around the dear generous man, How shall I support this! So very cruel, yet so very kind!

Don’t, my dear, said he, be concerned at what gives me pleasure. I am not the nearer my end, for having made this disposition; but I think the putting off these material points, when so many accidents every day happen, and life is so precarious, is one of the most inexcusable things in the world. And there are many important points to be thought of, when life is drawing to its utmost verge; and the mind may be so agitated and unfit, that it is a most sad thing to put off, to that time, any of those concerns, which more especially require a considerate and composed frame of temper, and perfect health and vigour, to give directions about. My poor friend, Mr. Carlton, who died in my arms so lately; and had a mind disturbed by worldly considerations on one side; a weakness of body, through the violence of his distemper, on another; and the concerns of still as much more moment, as the soul is to the body, on a third; made so great an impression upon me then, that I was the more impatient to come to this house, where were most of my writings, in order to make the disposition I have now perfected: And since it is grievous to my dear girl, I will myself think of such trustees as shall be most for her benefit. I have only, therefore, to assure you, my dear, that in this instance, as I will do in any other I can think of, I have studied to make you quite easy, free, and independent. And because I shall avoid all occasions, for the future, which may discompose you, I have but one request to make; which is, that if it please God, for my sins, to separate me from my dearest Pamela, you will only resolve not to marry one person; for I would not be such a Herod, as to restrain you from a change of condition with any other, however reluctantly I may think of any other person’s succeeding me in your esteem.

I could not answer, and thought my heart would have burst: And he continued, To conclude at once a subject that is so grievous to you, I will tell you, my Pamela, that this person is Mr. Williams. And now I will acquaint you with my motive for this request; which is wholly owing to my niceness, and to no dislike I have for him, or apprehension of any likelihood that it will be so: but, methinks it would reflect a little upon my Pamela, if she was to give way to such a conduct, as if she had married a man for his estate, when she had rather have had another, had it not been for that; and that now, the world will say, she is at liberty to pursue her inclination, the parson is the man!—And I cannot bear even the most distant apprehension, that I had not the preference with you, of any man living, let me have been what I would, as I have shewn my dear life, that I have preferred her to all her sex, of whatever degree.

I could not speak, might I have had the world; and he took me in his arms, and said, I have now spoken all my mind, and expect no answer; and I see you too much moved to give me one. Only forgive me the mention, since I have told you my motive; which as much affects your reputation, as my niceness; and offer not at an answer;—only say, you forgive me: And I hope I have not one discomposing thing to say to my dearest, for the rest of my life; which I pray God, for both our sakes, to lengthen for many happy years.

Grief still choaked up the passage of my words; and he said, The shower is over, my dear: let us walk out again.—He led me out, and I would have spoken; but he said, I will not hear my dear creature say any thing! To hearken to your assurance of complying with my request, would look as if I doubted you, and wanted it. I am confident I needed only to speak my mind, to be observed by you; and I shall never more think on the subject, if you don’t remind me of it. He then most sweetly changed the discourse.

Don’t you with pleasure, my dear, said he, take in the delightful fragrance that this sweet shower has given to these banks of flowers? Your presence is so enlivening to me, that I could almost fancy, that what we owe to the shower, is owing to that: And all nature, methinks, blooms around me when I have my Pamela by my side. You are a poetess, my dear; and I will give you a few lines, that I made myself on such an occasion as this I am speaking of, the presence of a sweet companion, and the fresh verdure, that, after a shower, succeeding a long drought, shewed itself throughout all vegetable nature. And then, in a sweet and easy accent, (with his dear arms about me as we walked,) he sung me the following verses; of which he afterwards favoured me with a copy:

 

I.

All nature blooms when you appear; The fields their richest liv’ries wear; Oaks, elms, and pines, blest with your view, Shoot out fresh greens, and bud anew. The varying seasons you supply; And, when you’re gone, they fade and die.

II.

Sweet Philomel, in mournful strains, To you appeals, to you complains. The tow’ring lark, on rising wing, Warbles to you, your praise does sing; He cuts the yielding air, and flies To heav’n, to type your future joys.

III.

The purple violet, damask rose, Each, to delight your senses, blows. The lilies ope’, as you appear; And all the beauties of the year Diffuse their odours at your feet, Who give to ev’ry flow’r its sweet.

IV.

For flow’rs and women are allied; Both, nature’s glory, and her pride! Of ev’ry fragrant sweet possest, They bloom but for the fair one’s breast, And to the swelling bosom borne, Each other mutually adorn.

 

Thus sweetly did he palliate the woes, which the generosity of his actions, mixed with the solemness of the occasion, and the strange request he had vouchsafed to make me, had occasioned. And all he would permit me to say, was, that I was not displeased with him!—Displeased with you, dearest sir! said I: Let me thus testify my obligations, and the force all your commands shall have upon me. And I took the liberty to clasp my arms about his neck, and kissed him.

But yet my mind was pained at times, and has been to this hour.—God grant that I may never see the dreadful moment, that shall shut up the precious life of this excellent, generous benefactor of mine! And—but I cannot bear to suppose—I cannot say more on such a deep subject.

Oh! what a poor thing is human life in its best enjoyments! subjected to imaginary evils, when it has no real ones to disturb it; and that can be made as effectually unhappy by its apprehensions of remote contingencies, as if it was struggling with the pangs of a present distress! This, duly reflected upon, methinks, should convince every one, that this world is not a place for the immortal mind to be confined to; and that there must be an hereafter, where the whole soul shall be satisfied.

But I shall get out of my depth; my shallow mind cannot comprehend, as it ought, these weighty subjects: Let me only therefore pray, that, after having made a grateful use of God’s mercies here, I may, with my dear benefactor, rejoice in that happy state, where is no mixture, no unsatisfiedness; and where all is joy, and peace, and love, for evermore!

I said, when we sat at supper, The charming taste you gave me, sir, of your poetical fancy, makes me sure you have more favours of this kind to delight me with, if you please; and may I beg to be indulged on this agreeable head? Hitherto, said he, my life has been too much a life of gayety and action, to be busied so innocently. Some little essays I have now and then attempted; but very few have I completed. Indeed I had not patience nor attention enough to hold me long to any one thing. Now and then, perhaps, I may occasionally shew you what I have essayed. But I never could please myself in this way.

 

Friday.

We were yesterday favoured with the company of almost all the neighbouring gentlemen and their ladies, who, by appointment with one another, met to congratulate our happiness. Nothing could be more obliging, more free and affectionate, than the ladies; nothing more polite than the gentlemen. All was performed (for they came to supper) with decency and order, and much to every one’s satisfaction; which was principally owing to good Mrs. Jervis’s care and skill; who is an excellent manager.

For my part, I was dressed out only to be admired, as it seems: and truly, if I had not known, that I did not make myself, as you, my dear father, once hinted to me, and if I had had the vanity to think as well of myself, as the good company was pleased to do, I might possibly have been proud. But I know, as my Lady Davers said, though in anger, yet in truth, that I am but a poor bit of painted dirt. All that I value myself upon, is, that God has raised me to a condition to be useful, in my generation, to better persons than myself. This is my pride: And I hope this will be all my pride. For what was I of myself!—All the good I can do, is but a poor third-hand good; for my dearest master himself is but the second-hand. God, the all-gracious, the all-good, the all-bountiful, the all-mighty, the all-merciful God, is the first: To him, therefore, be all the glory!

As I expect the happiness, the unspeakable happiness, my ever-dear and ever-honoured father and mother, of enjoying you both here, under