Jewkes had
promised
me.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v21 - Rab to Rus
Triumphal arches of 'flow-
ers and evergreens were erected on the pier, where an enthusias-
tic crowd greeted her. The flag of Norway and Sweden floated
over her hotel. Barnum, her manager, kept up the interest in
the songstress by all sorts of clever advertising until the day of
the sale of the tickets for the first concert, when fabulous prices
were paid for seats. She sang at Castle Garden; and the
accounts of the pressing crowd that gathered outside on the
occasion of her first appearance, call to mind a national party
convention rather than a host assembled to do homage to the
greatest interpreter of the art of song. Her singing of operatic
selections struck lovers of music with amazement and delight;
but when she burst forth in one of her national airs, the great
audience was thrilled, and their hearts vibrated with emotions
that took them for the moment away from earth.
## p. 12225 (#267) ##########################################
12225
.
SAMUEL RICHARDSON
(1689-1761)
T IS a remarkable fact that the writer who may fairly be
called the father of the modern analytic novel of society,
wrote his first and most famous book with a utilitarian
object in view, with no thought of making a novel,-and moreover,
was over fifty years of age when this story of 'Pamela' was penned.
By producing this piece of fiction, Richardson founded a school, and
gave a new impulse and direction to modern fiction.
Samuel Richardson was born in a Derbyshire village in 1689, and
got his only education at the local school. His father was a joiner.
When seventeen he was apprenticed to a
London printer, serving his seven years
faithfully. This employment was followed
by six years more of hard work as journey-
man. In 1719 he set up a Fleet Street
printing-office of his own, and wrote pref-
aces and dedications to the works of oth-
ers. It was in this way that 'Pamela' had
its origin; for Richardson in 1739 composed
a series of 'Familiar Letters,' to help those
too illiterate to write for themselves,- a
sort of Servant-Girl's Guide, and the novel
was a result.
Richardson was always a diligent worker,
a man of thrift and character, whose rise in
SAMUEL RICHARDSON
his profession was well earned. He widened the circle of his friends,
and married the daughter of his former employer. He extended his
business connections by printing the Daily Journal, the Daily Gazet-
teer, and the Briton. His friendship with the Duke of Wharton
was influential in his advancement. In 1754 he was appointed to the
important post of Master of the Stationers' Company. During his last
years he was an invalid, and passed much of his time at his country-
seat, reading from his own work to a circle of female admirers. Few
men have received more adulation of this sort than Richardson; and
while he had his share of amiable vanity, it is to his credit that he
remained in character unsophisticated, kind, and generous. He died
in his home July 4th, 1761.
XXI-765
## p. 12226 (#268) ##########################################
12226
SAMUEL RICHARDSON
As a boy at school Richardson amused his schoolmates by making
up extemporaneous romances; and when but thirteen years old, such
was his talent as a letter-writer that the village girls employed him
to write their love epistles. This is described amusingly in his
autobiography.
"As a bashful and not forward boy, I was an early favorite with all the
young women of taste and reading in the neighborhood. Half a dozen of
them, when met to work with their needles, used when they got a book they
liked, and thought I should, to borrow me to read to them; their mothers
sometimes with them: and both mothers and daughters used to be pleased
with the observations they put me upon making. I was not more than
thirteen when three of these young women, having a high opinion of my taci-
turnity, revealed to me their love secrets, in order to induce me to give them
copies to write after or correct, for answers to their lovers' letters; nor did
any of them ever know that I was the secretary of the others. I have been
directed to chide, and even repulse, when an offense was either taken or
given, at the very time that the heart of the chider or repulser was open
before me, overflowing with esteem and affection, and the fair repulser, dread-
ing to be taken at her word, directing this word or that expression to be
softened or changed. One, highly gratified with her lover's fervor and vows
of everlasting love, has said when I have asked her direction: 'I cannot
tell you what to write, but'- her heart on her lips-'you cannot write too
kindly. All her fear was only lest she should incur slight for her kindness. »
Excellent training this, it will be seen, for the future novelist and
portrayer of the soul feminine. 'Pamela,' which appeared in 1742,
can be recognized as the child of this youthful employ, and similar
experiences in maturity. It narrates the trials of a serving-maid of
that name, whose virtue is assailed by the son of the lady who em-
ploys her. Through a long series of temptations and efforts, includ-
ing an abduction, she refuses to yield; until finally, finding he can
get her in no other way, the quasi-hero condescends to marry her,
and is naïvely lauded by Richardson for the act. The novel's sub-
title, 'Virtue Rewarded,' expresses the author's feeling. Pamela's
hard-headed, practical valuation of her character as a purchasable
commodity, as well as the elegant rascality of the lover, give the
present-day reader a keen sense of the comparatively low state of
social morals in eighteenth-century England. But the story is full
of human interest; and one follows the long-suffering, and be it con-
fessed, long-winded Pamela, with genuine sympathy.
Having depicted the servant-girl type in his first story, Richardson
essayed in his second-'Clarissa, or the History of a Young Lady,'
which appeared half a dozen years later, in 1748-to draw with equal
accuracy the young woman of gentility, also in sore straits through
the love-passion. Clarissa is seduced and ruined by Lovelace — who
## p. 12227 (#269) ##########################################
SAMUEL RICHARDSON
12227
has given his name to the genus fine-gentleman profligate. Here
again, with certain allowances for the change in times and customs,
Richardson has succeeded in making a powerful tale, though a very
slow-moving one to the modern taste. The lachrymose dénouement
is an eighteenth-century prototype of a whole train of latter-day fic-
tion after it became fashionable to end a novel ill. In his final story,
'The History of Sir Charles Grandison' (1753), he turns from painting
heroines in order to limn a hero, with whom he most egregiously
fails. Sir Charles is an impossible prig and pattern-plate; the reader
cannot accept him as true, nor stomach him as in any wise admi-
rable. Surrounded by an adoring bevy of women, he struts about
like a turkey-cock, and is twice as ridiculous. In George Meredith's
'The Egoist,' Willoughby is Grandison, with the significant difference
that the later story-teller consciously satirizes the character, while
Richardson takes him in full seriousness. Of these three main works,
then, two are masterpieces when viewed in relation to their time
and the prior poor estate of English fiction. The third is a compara-
tive failure. All of them, it should be understood, are cast in the
epistolary form. Novels in the shape of letters have bred fast since,
and the device is now pretty well outworn; but in the middle of the
last century this way of telling a story had the charm of novelty.
It is a method lending itself well to Richardson's leisurely, at times
tedious, gait.
Richardson's popularity with the fair sex was immense after the
appearance of his novels; nor was this confined to one class. That
brilliant worldling, Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, testifies that the
chambermaids of all nations wept over Pamela; while ladies of
quality knelt sobbing at Richardson's feet, begging him to spare
Clarissa. The situation is not without humor for us to-day; and
indeed the modern reader can afford to smile at the mawkish senti-
mentality and utilitarian morals of a book like 'Pamela. ' But the
story is epoch-making in English fiction. It does a new thing. A
girl of the lower class is painted at full length, as if she were worth
attention-painted sympathetically; and in this and the subsequent
stories the interest is made to depend upon the development of
character, rather than upon objective incident as in the case of De
Foe's 'Robinson Crusoe,' which came some twenty years earlier. In
this Richardson struck the modern note, and started the analytic
tendency, which has unceasingly dominated the modern novel since
his day. Hence Richardson's important place in the evolution of
fiction of our speech.
Again, it was in the spirit of parody and satire that Fielding,
his greater fellow novelist, began his career by writing 'Joseph An-
drews'; so that Richardson, in a sense, may be regarded as inspiring
## p. 12228 (#270) ##########################################
12228
SAMUEL RICHARDSON
the author of Tom Jones. ' The former's influence was felt largely
in foreign fiction, particularly in that of Germany and France.
Richardson's 'Life and Correspondence,' with a Memoir by Mrs. Bar-
bauld, appeared in 1804.
PAMELA IMMURED BY HER LOVER
From Pamela'
THURSDAY.
TH
HIS Completes a terrible week since my setting out, as I hoped.
to see you, my dear father and mother.
My impatience was great to walk in the garden, to see
if anything had offered answerable to my hopes; but this wicked
Mrs. Jewkes would not let me go without her, and said she
was not at leisure. We had a great many words about it: I told
her it was very hard I could not be trusted to walk by myself
in the garden for a little air, but must be dogged and watched
worse than a thief.
"I remember," said she, "your asking Mr. Williams if there
were any gentry in the neighborhood. This make me suspect
you want to go away to them, to tell your dismal story, as you
call it. "
«<
"Why," said I, are you afraid I should confederate with
them to commit a robbery upon my master? "
«< Maybe I am," said she; "for to rob him of yourself would
be the worst that could happen to him, in his opinion. "
"And pray," said I, walking on, "how came I to be his prop-
erty? what right has he to me, but such as a thief may plead to
stolen goods? "
>>>
"Why, was ever the like heard!
says she.
"This is down-
right rebellion, I protest! Well, well, lambkin" (which the fool-
ish woman often calls me), "if I was in his place, he should not
have his property in you so long questionable. »
"Why, what would you do," said I, "if you were he? »
"Not stand shill-I shall-I, as he does, but put you and him-
self both out of pain. "
"Why, Jezebel," said I (I could not help it), "would you ruin
me by force ? »
Upon this she gave me a deadly slap upon the shoulder.
"Take that," said she: "whom do you call Jezebel? "
## p. 12229 (#271) ##########################################
SAMUEL RICHARDSON
12229
I was so surprised (for you never beat me, my dear father and
mother, in your lives), that I was like one thunder-struck, and
looked round as if I wanted somebody to help me; but alas, I
had nobody! and said, rubbing my shoulder, "Is this also in
your instructions? Alas for me! am I to be beaten too? " And
so I fell a-crying, and threw myself upon the grass-walk we were
upon.
Said she in a great pet, "I won't be called such names,
I'll assure you. Marry come up! I see you have a spirit: you
must and shall be kept under. I'll manage such little provoking
things as you, I warrant ye! Come, come: we'll go indoors, and
I'll lock you up; you shall have no shoes, nor anything else, if
this be the case. "
I did not know what to do. . This was a cruel thing to me: I
blamed myself for my free speech; for now I had given her some
pretense for severity, and had by my pertness ruined the only
project I had left.
The gardener saw the scene: but she called to him, "Well,
Jacob, what do you stare at? Pray mind what you are upon. "
And away he walked to another quarter, out of sight.
"Well," thought I, "I must put on the dissembler a little, I
see. »
She took my hand roughly. "Come, get up," said she, "and
come in a' doors. I'll Jezebel you, I will! »
"Why, dear Mrs. Jewkes-" said I.
"None of your dears and your coaxing," said she: "why not
Jezebel again? "
She was in a passion, I saw; and I was out of my wits. I
have often heard women blamed for their tongues. I wished
mine had been shorter.
"But I can't go in," said I; "indeed I can't. "
"Why," said she, "can't you? I'll warrant I can take such a
thin body as you under my arm, and carry you in, if you won't
walk. You don't know my strength. ".
"Yes, but I do," said I, "too well; and will you not use me
worse when I come in? " So I arose; and she muttered to herself
all the way,—she to be a Jezebel with me, that had used me so
well, and such like.
When I came near the house, I said, sitting down upon a
bench, "Well, I will not go in until you say you forgive me,
## p. 12230 (#272) ##########################################
12230
SAMUEL RICHARDSON
Mrs. Jewkes. If you will forgive me calling you that name, I
will forgive your beating me. "
She sat down by me, and seemed in a great pucker, and said,
"Well, come, I will forgive you this time;" and so kissed me as
a mark of reconciliation.
"But pray," said I, "tell me where I am to walk or go, and
give me what liberty you can; and when I know the most you
can favor me with, you shall see I will be as content as I can,
and not ask you for more. "
"Aye," said she, "this is something like: I wish I could give
you all the liberty you desire; for you must think it no pleasure
to me to tie you to my petticoat, as it were, and not let you
stir without me. But people that will do their duties must have
some trouble; and what I do is to serve as good a master as
lives. »
"Yes," said I, "to every one but me. "
"He loves you too well, to be sure," said she; "that's the
reason! so you ought to bear it. Come," said she, "don't let
the servant see you have been crying, nor tell her any tales;
for you won't tell them fairly, I'm sure. I'll send her to
you, and you shall take another walk in the garden, if you will:
maybe it will get you a stomach for your dinner; for you don't
eat enough to keep life and soul together. You are a beauty to
the bone, or you could not look so well as you do, with so
little stomach, so little rest, and so much pining and whining
for nothing at all. "
"Well," thought I, "say what thou wilt, so I can be rid of
thy bad tongue and company; and I hope to find some opportu-
nity now to come at my sunflower. " But I walked the other way
to take that in my return, to avoid suspicion.
I forced my discourse to the maid, but it was all upon gen-
eral things; for I found she is asked after everything I say or do.
When I came near the place, as I had been devising, I said,
"Pray step to the gardener, and ask him to gather a salad for
me to dinner. »
She called out, "Jacob! "
Said I, "He can't hear you so far off: and pray tell him I
should like a cucumber too, if he has one. "
When she had stepped about a bowshot from me, I popt
down, and whipt my fingers under the upper tile; and pulled out
## p. 12231 (#273) ##########################################
SAMUEL RICHARDSON
12231
a letter without direction, and thrust it into my bosom, trem-
bling for joy. She was with me before I could secure it; and I
was in such a taking that I feared I should discover myself.
"You seem frightened, madam," said she.
"Why," said I, with a lucky thought, (alas! your poor daugh.
ter will make an intriguer by-and-by; but I hope an innocent
one! ) "I stooped to smell at the sunflower, and a great nasty
worm ran into the ground, that startled me; for I can't abide
worms. "
Said she, "Sunflowers don't smell. "
"So I find," I replied. And then we walked in.
Mrs. Jewkes said, "Well, you have made haste now. You
shall go another time. "
I went to my closet, locked myself in, and opening my letter,
found in it these words:-
-:
I am infinitely concerned in your distress. I most heartily wish it
may be in my power to serve and save so much innocence, beauty,
and merit. My whole dependence is upon Mr. B. , and I have a near
view of being provided for by his favor to me. But yet I would
sooner forfeit all my hopes in him (trusting to God for the rest) than
not assist you, if possible. I never looked upon Mr. B. in the light
he now appears in. I am entirely of opinion you should, if possible,
get out of his hands, and especially as you are in very bad ones in
Mrs. Jewkes's.
We have here the widow Lady Jones; mistress of a good fortune,
and a woman of virtue, I believe. We have also Sir Simon Darn-
ford, and his lady, who is a good woman; and they have two daugh-
ters, virtuous young ladies. All the rest are but middling people,
and traders, at best. I will try, if you please, either Lady Jones or
Lady Darnford, if they'll permit you to take refuge with them. I see
no probability of keeping myself concealed in this matter, but will,
as I said, risk all things to serve you; for never saw I sweetness and
innocence like yours: your hard case has attached me entirely to
you; for I well know, as you so happily express, if I can serve you
in this case, I shall thereby perform all the acts of religion in one.
As to Lady Davers, I will convey a letter, if you please; but it
must not be from our post-house, I give you caution: for the man
owes all his bread to Mr. B. , and his place too; and I believe, from
something that dropped from him over a can of ale, has his instruc-
tions. You don't know how you are surrounded: all which confirms
me in your opinion that no honor is meant you, let what will be
professed; and I am glad you want no caution on that head.
## p. 12232 (#274) ##########################################
12232
SAMUEL RICHARDSON
Give me leave to say, that I had heard much in your praise, but
I think greatly short of what you deserve, both as to person and
mind: my eyes convince me of the one, your letter of the other.
For fear of losing the present lucky opportunity, I am longer than
otherwise I should be. But I will not enlarge any further than to
assure you that I am, to the best of my power, your faithful friend
and servant,
ARTHUR WILLIAMS.
I will come once every morning, and once every evening, after
school-time, to look for your letters. I'll come in, and return with-
out going into the house if I see the coast clear; otherwise, to avoid
suspicion, I'll come in.
I instantly, in answer to this pleasing letter, wrote as fol-
lows:-
Reverend Sir:
Oh, how suited to your function and your character is your kind
letter! God bless you for it! I now think I am beginning to be
happy. I should be very sorry to have you suffer on my account;
but I hope it will be made up to you a hundredfold by that God
whom you so faithfully serve.
Any way you think best I shall be pleased with; for I know not
the persons, nor in what manner to apply to them.
I should think, sir, if either of these ladies would give me leave,
I might get out by. favor of your key. As it is impossible, watched
as I am, to know when it can be, suppose, sir, you could get one
made by it, and put it the next opportunity under the sunflower.
If, sir, I had this key, I could, if these ladies would not shelter me,
run away anywhere: and if I was once out of the house, they could
have no pretense to force me in again; for I have done no harm,
and hope to make my story good to any impassionate body: by this
way you need not be known. Torture should not wring it from me,
I assure you.
I inclose you a letter of a deceitful wretch (for I can intrust you
with anything), poor John Arnold. Perhaps by his means something
may be discovered; for he seems willing to atone for his treach-
ery to me by the intimation of future services. I leave the hint to
you to improve upon. I am, Reverend Sir, your forever obliged and
faithful servant.
I hope, sir, by your favor, I could send a little packet now and
then to my poor father and mother. I have about five or six guin-
eas: shall I put half in your hands, to defray the charge of a man
and horse, or any other incidents?
## p. 12233 (#275) ##########################################
SAMUEL RICHARDSON
12233
I am just come off from a walk in the garden, and have
deposited my letter: we took a turn in the garden to angle, as
Mrs.
Jewkes had promised me. She baited the hook, I held it,
and soon hooked a lovely carp.
"I'll try my fortune," said she, and took the rod.
"Do," answered I; "and I will plant life, if I can, while you
are destroying it. I have some horse-beans, and will go and
stick them in one of the borders, to see how long they will be
coming up; and I will call them my garden. "
So you see, dear father and mother, that this furnishes me
with a good excuse to look after my garden another time; and
if the mold should look a little fresh, it won't be so much sus-
pected: she mistrusted nothing of this; and I went and stuck
in here and there my beans, for about the length of six yards,
on each side of the sunflower, and easily deposited my letter.
And not a little proud am I of this. Sure something will do at
last.
FRIDAY, SATURDAY.
I HAVE just now told of a trick of mine; now I'll tell you a
trick of this wicked woman's.
She came up to me and said, "I have a bill I cannot change
till to-morrow, and a tradesman wants his money sadly; I don't
love to turn poor tradesmen away without their money: have
you any about you? "
"I have a little," replied I: "how much will do? "
"Oh," said she, "I want eight pounds. "
"Alack! " said I, "I have only between five and six. "
"Lend me that," said she, "till to-morrow. ”
I did so, and she went down-stairs; and when she came up,
she laughed and said, "Well, I have paid the tradesman. ”
"I hope," said I, "you'll give it me to-morrow. "
At this she laughing said, "To tell the truth, lambkin, I didn't
want it. I only feared your making bad use of it: and now I
can trust Nan with you a little oftener, especially as I have got
the key of your portmanteau; so that you can neither corrupt
her with money nor fine things. "
And now I have not five shillings left to support me, if I
can get away.
The more I think of this, the more I regret it,
and blame myself.
## p. 12234 (#276) ##########################################
12234
SAMUEL RICHARDSON
This night the postman brought a letter for Mrs. Jewkes, in
which one was inclosed for me; she brought it up to me, and
said, "Well, my good master don't forget us: he has sent you a
letter; and see what he writes to me. "
that he hoped her fair charge was well, happy,
So she read
and contented. "Aye, to be sure," said I, "I can't but choose! "
That he did not doubt her care and kindness to me; that I was
dear to him, and she could not use me too well; and the like.
"There's a master," said she: "sure you will love and pray for
him! "
I desired her to read the rest. "No," said she, "but I won't. "
"Then," said I, "are there any orders for taking my shoes away,
and for beating me? " "No," said she, "nor about Jezebel nei-
ther. " "Well," returned I, "I cry truce; for I have no mind to
be beat again. " "I thought," said she,
"I thought," said she, "we had forgiven one
another. "
My letter is as follows:-
—
My dear Pamela:
I begin to repent already that I have bound myself, by prom-
ise, not to see you till you give me leave; for I think the time very
tedious. Can you place so much confidence in me as to invite me
down? Assure yourself that your generosity shall not be thrown
away upon me. I would press this, as I am uneasy for your uneasi-
ness; for Mrs. Jewkes acquaints me that you take your restraint very
heavily, and neither eat, drink, nor rest well. I have too great an
interest in your health, not to wish to shorten the time of this trial;
which will be the consequence of my coming down to you. John too
has intimated to me your concern, with a grief that hardly gave him
leave for utterance,- a grief that a little alarmed my tenderness for
you. I will only say one thing: that if you will give me leave to
attend you at the hall (consider who it is that requests this from you
as a favor), I solemnly declare that you shall have cause to be pleased
with this obliging mark of your confidence and consideration for
me. If I find Mrs. Jewkes has not behaved to you with the respect
due to one I so tenderly love, I will put it entirely in your power to
discharge her the house, if you think proper; and Mrs. Jervis, of
who else you please, shall attend you in her place. This I say on a
hint John gave me, as if you resented something from that quarter.
Dearest Pamela, answer favorably this earnest request of one that can-
not live without you, and on whose honor to you, you may absolutely
depend; and so much the more, as you place a confidence in it. I
am, and assuredly ever will be, your faithful and affectionate, etc.
## p. 12235 (#277) ##########################################
SAMUEL RICHARDSON
12235
You will be glad, I know, to hear that your father and mother
are well, and easy upon your last letter. That gave me a pleasure
I am resolved you shall not repent. Mrs. Jewkes will convey to me
your answer.
I but slightly read this letter for the present, to give way to
one I had hopes of finding by this time from Mr. Williams.
took an evening turn, as I called it, in Mrs. Jewkes's company;
and walking by the place, I said, "Do you think, Mrs. Jewkes,
any of my beans can have struck since yesterday? "
She laughed and said, "You are a poor gardener, but I love
to see you divert yourself. " She passing on, I found my good
friend had provided for me; and slipping it in my bosom (for
her back was towards me) - "Here," said I (having a bean in
my hand), "is one of them; but it has not stirred. " "No, to be
sure," said she; and then turned upon me a most wicked jest,
unbecoming the mouth of a woman, about planting, etc. When
I came in I went to my closet, and read as follows:
I am sorry to inform you that I have had a repulse from Lady
Jones. She is concerned at your case, she says, but don't like to
make herself enemies.
I applied to Lady Darnford, and told, in the most pathetic manner,
your sad story, and showed her your more pathetic letter. I found
her well disposed: but she would advise with Sir Simon, who is
not a man of an extraordinary character for virtue; for he said to
his lady in my presence, "Why, what is all this, my dear, but that
our neighbor has a mind to his mother's waiting-maid! And if he
takes care she wants for nothing, I don't see any great injury will
be done to her. He hurts no family by this. " (So, my dear father
and mother, it seems poor people's honesty is to go for nothing. )
"And I think, Mr. Williams, you of all men should not engage in
this affair, against your friend and patron. "
I have hinted your case to Mr. Peters, the minister of this parish;
but I am concerned to say that he imputed selfish views to me, as if
I would make an interest in your affections by my zeal.
I represented the different circumstances of your affair: that other
women lived evilly by their own consent; but to serve you was to
save an innocence that had but few examples. I then showed him
your letter.
He said it was prettily written; he was sorry for you; and that
your good intentions ought to be encouraged. "But what," said he,
"would you have me do, Mr. Williams? »
## p. 12236 (#278) ##########################################
12236
SAMUEL RICHARDSON
"Why, suppose, sir," said I, "you give her shelter in your house
with your spouse and niece, till she can get to her friends? "
"What, and embroil myself with a man of Mr. B. 's power and
fortune? No! not I, I assure you. "
I am greatly concerned for you, I assure you; but am not dis-
couraged by this ill success, let what will come of it, if I can serve
you.
I don't hear as yet that Mr. B. is coming. I am glad of your hint
as to that unhappy fellow John Arnold. Something perhaps will
strike out from that, which may be useful. As to your packets,
if you seal them up and lay them in the usual place, if you find it
not suspected, I will watch an opportunity to convey them; but if
they are large, you had best be very cautious. This evil woman, I
find, mistrusts me.
I have just heard that the gentleman is dying, whose living Mr.
B. has promised me. I have almost a scruple to take it, as I am
acting so contrary to his desire; but I hope he'll one day thank me
for it.
I believe when we hear he is coming, it will be best to make use
of the key, which I shall soon procure you: I can borrow a horse for
you, to wait within half a mile of the back door, over the pasture,
and will contrive by myself, or somebody, to have you conducted
some miles distant, to one of the villages thereabouts; so don't be
discomforted, I beseech you.
I am, Mrs. Pamela, your faithful friend, etc.
I made a thousand sad reflections upon the former part of this
honest gentleman's kind letter; and but for the hopes he gave
me at last, should have given up my case as quite desperate. I
then wrote to thank him most gratefully for his kind endeavors;
and that I would wait the happy event I might hope for from
his kind assistance in the key and the horse.
I had no time to take a copy of this letter, I was so watched.
But when I had it in my bosom I was easy. And so I went to
seek out Mrs. Jewkes, and told her I would hear her advice upon
the letter I had received from my master; which point of confi-
dence in her pleased her not a little.
"Aye," said she, "now this is something like; and we'll take
a turn in the garden, or where you please. " I pretended it was
indifferent to me; and so we walked into the garden.
I began to talk to her of the letter, but was far from acquaint-
ing her with all the contents; only that he wanted my consent
to come down, and hoped that she used me kindly, and the like.
## p. 12237 (#279) ##########################################
SAMUEL RICHARDSON
12237
And I said, "Now, Mrs. Jewkes, let me have your advice as to
this. "
"Why then," said she, "I will give it you freely: e'en send
for him to come down. It will highly oblige him, and I dare-
say you will fare the better for it. "
"Well," said I, "I will write him a letter, because he expects
an answer, or maybe he will make a pretense to come down.
How can it go? " "I'll take care of that," said she: "it is in my
instructions. " "Aye," thought I, "so I doubt, by the hint Mr.
Williams gave me about the post-house. "
I wrote to my master as follows:
Honored Sir:
When I consider how easily you might have made me happy,
since all I desire is to be permitted to go to my poor father and
mother; when I reflect upon your former proposal to me in relation
to a certain person, not one word of which is now mentioned; and
upon my being in that strange manner run away with, and still
kept here a miserable prisoner, do you think, sir (pardon your poor
servant's freedom: my fears make me bold),- do you think, I say,
that your general assurances of honor to me can have the effect
they ought to have? O good sir! I too much apprehend that your
notions of honor and mine are very different from one another; I
have no other hope but in your continual absence. If you have any
proposals to make me that are consistent with your honorable profes-
sions, in my humble sense of the word, a few lines will communicate
them to me, and I will return such an answer as befits me.
If
Whatever rashness you may impute to me, I cannot help it; but I
wish I may not be forced upon any that otherwise would not enter
my thoughts. Forgive, sir, my plainness; I should be loth to behave
to my master unbecomingly: but I must say, sir, my innocence is so
dear to me that all other considerations must be dispensed with.
you mean honorably, why should you not let me know it plainly?
Why, sir, I humbly ask, why all this if you mean honorably? It is
not for me to expostulate too freely with you, sir, so greatly my
superior. Pardon me, I hope you will; but as to seeing you, I cannot
bear the dreadful apprehension. Whatever you have to propose to
me, whatever you intend, let my assent be that of a free person, and
not of a sordid slave, who is to be threatened and frightened into a
compliance with measures which your conduct seems to imply. My
restraint is hard upon me; I am very uneasy under it. Shorten it,
I beseech you, or— But I will dare to say no more than that I am
your greatly oppressed, unhappy servant.
## p. 12238 (#280) ##########################################
12238
SAMUEL RICHARDSON
After I had taken a copy of this, I folded it up: and Mrs.
Jewkes coming just as I had done, sat down by me; and said,
when she saw me directing it, "I wish you would tell me if you
have taken my advice, and consented to my master's coming
down. "
"If it will oblige you,” said I, "I will read it to you. "
"That's good," said she; "then I'll love you dearly. "
Said I, "Then you must not offer to alter one word. ”
"I won't," replied she.
So I read it to her. She praised me much for my wording
of it; but said she thought I pushed the matter very close, and
it would better bear talking than writing about. She wanted an
explanation or two about a certain person; but I said she must
take it as she heard it.
"Well, well," said she, "I make no doubt you understand one
another, and will do so more and more. "
I sealed up the letter, and she undertook to convey it.
MISS BYRON'S RESCUE FROM ABDUCTION, BY SIR CHARLES
GRANDISON
RELATED IN A LETTER FROM MISS BYRON TO HER FRIEND MISS SELBY
From Sir Charles Grandison'
A$
S THE chariot drove by houses, I cried out for help. But
under pretense of preventing my taking cold, Sir Hargrave
tied a handkerchief over my face, head, and mouth, having
first muffled me up in the cloak; and with his right arm thrown
round me, kept me fast on the seat: and except that now and
then my struggling head gave me a little opening, I was blinded.
On the road, just after I had screamed, and made another
effort to get my hands free, I heard voices: and immediately the
chariot stopped. Then how my heart was filled with hope! But
alas! it was momentary. I heard one of his men say, "The
best of husbands, I assure you, sir; and she is the worst of
wives. " I screamed again. "Aye, scream and be d-d! Poor
gentleman, I pity him with all my heart. " And immediately the
coachman drove on again. The vile wretch laughed.
I was ready to faint several times. I begged for air; and
when we were in an open road, and I suppose there was nobody
in sight he vouchsafed to pull down the blinding handkerchief,
## p. 12239 (#281) ##########################################
SAMUEL RICHARDSON
12239
but kept it over my mouth; so that, except now and then that I
struggled it aside with my head (and my neck is very stiff with
my efforts to free my face), I could only make a murmuring
kind of noise. The curtain of the fore-glass was pulled down,
and generally the canvas on both sides drawn up. But I was
sure to be made acquainted when we came near houses, by his
care again to blind and stifle me up. A little before we were
met by my deliverer, I had, by getting one hand free, unmuffled
myself so far as to see (as I had guessed once or twice before
by the stone pavements) that we were going through a town:
and then I again vehemently screamed; but he had the cruelty
to thrust a handkerchief into my mouth, so that I was almost
strangled, and my mouth was hurt, and is still sore.
At one place the chariot drove out of the road, over rough
ways and little hillocks, as I thought, by its rocking; and then,
it stopping, he let go my hands and endeavored to soothe me.
He begged I would be pacified; and offered, if I would for-
bear crying out for help, to leave my eyes unmuffled all the rest
of the way.
But I would not, I told him, give such a sanction
to his barbarous violence. On the chariot's stopping, one of his
men came up, and put a handkerchief into his master's hands,
in which were some cakes and sweetmeats, and gave him also
a bottle of sack, with a glass. Sir Hargrave was very urgent
with me to take some of the sweetmeats and to drink a glass of
the wine; but I had neither stomach nor will to touch either.
He eat himself very cordially. God forgive me! I wished in
my heart there were pins and needles in every bit he put into
his mouth. He drank two glasses of the wine. Again he urged
I said I hoped I had eat and drank my last.
me.
I saw that I was upon a large, wild, heath-like place, between
two roads, as it seemed. I asked nothing about my journey's
end. All I had to hope for as to an escape (though then I began
to despair of it) was upon the road, or in some town. My jour-
ney's end, I knew, must be the beginning of new trials; for I
was resolved to suffer death rather than to marry him.
The chariot had not many minutes got into the great road
again, over the like rough and sometimes plashy ground, when
it stopped on a dispute between the coachman and the coachman
of another chariot-and-six, as it proved. Sir Hargrave looked
out of his chariot to see the occasion of this stop; and then I
## p. 12240 (#282) ##########################################
12240
SAMUEL RICHARDSON
found means to disengage one hand. I heard a gentleman's
voice directing his own coachman to give way. I then pushed
up the handkerchief with my disengaged hand from my mouth,
and pulled it down from over my eyes, and cried out for help-
«< Help, for God's sake! "
A man's voice (it was my delivere's, as it happily proved) bid
Sir Hargrave's coachman proceed at his peril. Sir Hargrave, with
terrible oaths and curses, ordered him to proceed, and to drive
through all opposition.
The gentleman called Sir Hargrave by his name, and charged
him with being upon a bad design. The vile wretch said he had
only secured a runaway wife, eloped to, and intending to elope
from, a masquerade, to her adulterer: [horrid! ] He put aside
the cloak, and appealed to my dress. The gentleman would not
be satisfied with Sir Hargrave's story. He would speak to me,
and asked me, with an air that promised deliverance, if I were
Sir Hargrave's wife?
"No, no, no, no! " I could only say.
For my own part, I could have no scruple, distressed as I
was, and made desperate, to throw myself into the protection,
and even into the arms, of my deliverer, though a very fine
young gentleman. But you may better conceive than I can
express the terror I was in when Sir Hargrave drew his sword
and pushed at the gentleman, with such words as denoted (for I
could not look that way) he had done him mischief. But when I
found my oppressor pulled out of the chariot by the brave, the
gallant man (which was done with such force as made the chariot
rock), and my protector safe, I was as near fainting with joy as
before I had been with terror. I had shaken off the cloak, and
untied the handkerchief. He carried me in his arms (I could
not walk) to his own chariot. I heard Sir Hargrave curse, swear,
and threaten. I was glad, however, he was not dead.
"Mind him not, madam-fear him not! " said Sir Charles
Grandison. [You know his noble name, my Lucy.
ers and evergreens were erected on the pier, where an enthusias-
tic crowd greeted her. The flag of Norway and Sweden floated
over her hotel. Barnum, her manager, kept up the interest in
the songstress by all sorts of clever advertising until the day of
the sale of the tickets for the first concert, when fabulous prices
were paid for seats. She sang at Castle Garden; and the
accounts of the pressing crowd that gathered outside on the
occasion of her first appearance, call to mind a national party
convention rather than a host assembled to do homage to the
greatest interpreter of the art of song. Her singing of operatic
selections struck lovers of music with amazement and delight;
but when she burst forth in one of her national airs, the great
audience was thrilled, and their hearts vibrated with emotions
that took them for the moment away from earth.
## p. 12225 (#267) ##########################################
12225
.
SAMUEL RICHARDSON
(1689-1761)
T IS a remarkable fact that the writer who may fairly be
called the father of the modern analytic novel of society,
wrote his first and most famous book with a utilitarian
object in view, with no thought of making a novel,-and moreover,
was over fifty years of age when this story of 'Pamela' was penned.
By producing this piece of fiction, Richardson founded a school, and
gave a new impulse and direction to modern fiction.
Samuel Richardson was born in a Derbyshire village in 1689, and
got his only education at the local school. His father was a joiner.
When seventeen he was apprenticed to a
London printer, serving his seven years
faithfully. This employment was followed
by six years more of hard work as journey-
man. In 1719 he set up a Fleet Street
printing-office of his own, and wrote pref-
aces and dedications to the works of oth-
ers. It was in this way that 'Pamela' had
its origin; for Richardson in 1739 composed
a series of 'Familiar Letters,' to help those
too illiterate to write for themselves,- a
sort of Servant-Girl's Guide, and the novel
was a result.
Richardson was always a diligent worker,
a man of thrift and character, whose rise in
SAMUEL RICHARDSON
his profession was well earned. He widened the circle of his friends,
and married the daughter of his former employer. He extended his
business connections by printing the Daily Journal, the Daily Gazet-
teer, and the Briton. His friendship with the Duke of Wharton
was influential in his advancement. In 1754 he was appointed to the
important post of Master of the Stationers' Company. During his last
years he was an invalid, and passed much of his time at his country-
seat, reading from his own work to a circle of female admirers. Few
men have received more adulation of this sort than Richardson; and
while he had his share of amiable vanity, it is to his credit that he
remained in character unsophisticated, kind, and generous. He died
in his home July 4th, 1761.
XXI-765
## p. 12226 (#268) ##########################################
12226
SAMUEL RICHARDSON
As a boy at school Richardson amused his schoolmates by making
up extemporaneous romances; and when but thirteen years old, such
was his talent as a letter-writer that the village girls employed him
to write their love epistles. This is described amusingly in his
autobiography.
"As a bashful and not forward boy, I was an early favorite with all the
young women of taste and reading in the neighborhood. Half a dozen of
them, when met to work with their needles, used when they got a book they
liked, and thought I should, to borrow me to read to them; their mothers
sometimes with them: and both mothers and daughters used to be pleased
with the observations they put me upon making. I was not more than
thirteen when three of these young women, having a high opinion of my taci-
turnity, revealed to me their love secrets, in order to induce me to give them
copies to write after or correct, for answers to their lovers' letters; nor did
any of them ever know that I was the secretary of the others. I have been
directed to chide, and even repulse, when an offense was either taken or
given, at the very time that the heart of the chider or repulser was open
before me, overflowing with esteem and affection, and the fair repulser, dread-
ing to be taken at her word, directing this word or that expression to be
softened or changed. One, highly gratified with her lover's fervor and vows
of everlasting love, has said when I have asked her direction: 'I cannot
tell you what to write, but'- her heart on her lips-'you cannot write too
kindly. All her fear was only lest she should incur slight for her kindness. »
Excellent training this, it will be seen, for the future novelist and
portrayer of the soul feminine. 'Pamela,' which appeared in 1742,
can be recognized as the child of this youthful employ, and similar
experiences in maturity. It narrates the trials of a serving-maid of
that name, whose virtue is assailed by the son of the lady who em-
ploys her. Through a long series of temptations and efforts, includ-
ing an abduction, she refuses to yield; until finally, finding he can
get her in no other way, the quasi-hero condescends to marry her,
and is naïvely lauded by Richardson for the act. The novel's sub-
title, 'Virtue Rewarded,' expresses the author's feeling. Pamela's
hard-headed, practical valuation of her character as a purchasable
commodity, as well as the elegant rascality of the lover, give the
present-day reader a keen sense of the comparatively low state of
social morals in eighteenth-century England. But the story is full
of human interest; and one follows the long-suffering, and be it con-
fessed, long-winded Pamela, with genuine sympathy.
Having depicted the servant-girl type in his first story, Richardson
essayed in his second-'Clarissa, or the History of a Young Lady,'
which appeared half a dozen years later, in 1748-to draw with equal
accuracy the young woman of gentility, also in sore straits through
the love-passion. Clarissa is seduced and ruined by Lovelace — who
## p. 12227 (#269) ##########################################
SAMUEL RICHARDSON
12227
has given his name to the genus fine-gentleman profligate. Here
again, with certain allowances for the change in times and customs,
Richardson has succeeded in making a powerful tale, though a very
slow-moving one to the modern taste. The lachrymose dénouement
is an eighteenth-century prototype of a whole train of latter-day fic-
tion after it became fashionable to end a novel ill. In his final story,
'The History of Sir Charles Grandison' (1753), he turns from painting
heroines in order to limn a hero, with whom he most egregiously
fails. Sir Charles is an impossible prig and pattern-plate; the reader
cannot accept him as true, nor stomach him as in any wise admi-
rable. Surrounded by an adoring bevy of women, he struts about
like a turkey-cock, and is twice as ridiculous. In George Meredith's
'The Egoist,' Willoughby is Grandison, with the significant difference
that the later story-teller consciously satirizes the character, while
Richardson takes him in full seriousness. Of these three main works,
then, two are masterpieces when viewed in relation to their time
and the prior poor estate of English fiction. The third is a compara-
tive failure. All of them, it should be understood, are cast in the
epistolary form. Novels in the shape of letters have bred fast since,
and the device is now pretty well outworn; but in the middle of the
last century this way of telling a story had the charm of novelty.
It is a method lending itself well to Richardson's leisurely, at times
tedious, gait.
Richardson's popularity with the fair sex was immense after the
appearance of his novels; nor was this confined to one class. That
brilliant worldling, Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, testifies that the
chambermaids of all nations wept over Pamela; while ladies of
quality knelt sobbing at Richardson's feet, begging him to spare
Clarissa. The situation is not without humor for us to-day; and
indeed the modern reader can afford to smile at the mawkish senti-
mentality and utilitarian morals of a book like 'Pamela. ' But the
story is epoch-making in English fiction. It does a new thing. A
girl of the lower class is painted at full length, as if she were worth
attention-painted sympathetically; and in this and the subsequent
stories the interest is made to depend upon the development of
character, rather than upon objective incident as in the case of De
Foe's 'Robinson Crusoe,' which came some twenty years earlier. In
this Richardson struck the modern note, and started the analytic
tendency, which has unceasingly dominated the modern novel since
his day. Hence Richardson's important place in the evolution of
fiction of our speech.
Again, it was in the spirit of parody and satire that Fielding,
his greater fellow novelist, began his career by writing 'Joseph An-
drews'; so that Richardson, in a sense, may be regarded as inspiring
## p. 12228 (#270) ##########################################
12228
SAMUEL RICHARDSON
the author of Tom Jones. ' The former's influence was felt largely
in foreign fiction, particularly in that of Germany and France.
Richardson's 'Life and Correspondence,' with a Memoir by Mrs. Bar-
bauld, appeared in 1804.
PAMELA IMMURED BY HER LOVER
From Pamela'
THURSDAY.
TH
HIS Completes a terrible week since my setting out, as I hoped.
to see you, my dear father and mother.
My impatience was great to walk in the garden, to see
if anything had offered answerable to my hopes; but this wicked
Mrs. Jewkes would not let me go without her, and said she
was not at leisure. We had a great many words about it: I told
her it was very hard I could not be trusted to walk by myself
in the garden for a little air, but must be dogged and watched
worse than a thief.
"I remember," said she, "your asking Mr. Williams if there
were any gentry in the neighborhood. This make me suspect
you want to go away to them, to tell your dismal story, as you
call it. "
«<
"Why," said I, are you afraid I should confederate with
them to commit a robbery upon my master? "
«< Maybe I am," said she; "for to rob him of yourself would
be the worst that could happen to him, in his opinion. "
"And pray," said I, walking on, "how came I to be his prop-
erty? what right has he to me, but such as a thief may plead to
stolen goods? "
>>>
"Why, was ever the like heard!
says she.
"This is down-
right rebellion, I protest! Well, well, lambkin" (which the fool-
ish woman often calls me), "if I was in his place, he should not
have his property in you so long questionable. »
"Why, what would you do," said I, "if you were he? »
"Not stand shill-I shall-I, as he does, but put you and him-
self both out of pain. "
"Why, Jezebel," said I (I could not help it), "would you ruin
me by force ? »
Upon this she gave me a deadly slap upon the shoulder.
"Take that," said she: "whom do you call Jezebel? "
## p. 12229 (#271) ##########################################
SAMUEL RICHARDSON
12229
I was so surprised (for you never beat me, my dear father and
mother, in your lives), that I was like one thunder-struck, and
looked round as if I wanted somebody to help me; but alas, I
had nobody! and said, rubbing my shoulder, "Is this also in
your instructions? Alas for me! am I to be beaten too? " And
so I fell a-crying, and threw myself upon the grass-walk we were
upon.
Said she in a great pet, "I won't be called such names,
I'll assure you. Marry come up! I see you have a spirit: you
must and shall be kept under. I'll manage such little provoking
things as you, I warrant ye! Come, come: we'll go indoors, and
I'll lock you up; you shall have no shoes, nor anything else, if
this be the case. "
I did not know what to do. . This was a cruel thing to me: I
blamed myself for my free speech; for now I had given her some
pretense for severity, and had by my pertness ruined the only
project I had left.
The gardener saw the scene: but she called to him, "Well,
Jacob, what do you stare at? Pray mind what you are upon. "
And away he walked to another quarter, out of sight.
"Well," thought I, "I must put on the dissembler a little, I
see. »
She took my hand roughly. "Come, get up," said she, "and
come in a' doors. I'll Jezebel you, I will! »
"Why, dear Mrs. Jewkes-" said I.
"None of your dears and your coaxing," said she: "why not
Jezebel again? "
She was in a passion, I saw; and I was out of my wits. I
have often heard women blamed for their tongues. I wished
mine had been shorter.
"But I can't go in," said I; "indeed I can't. "
"Why," said she, "can't you? I'll warrant I can take such a
thin body as you under my arm, and carry you in, if you won't
walk. You don't know my strength. ".
"Yes, but I do," said I, "too well; and will you not use me
worse when I come in? " So I arose; and she muttered to herself
all the way,—she to be a Jezebel with me, that had used me so
well, and such like.
When I came near the house, I said, sitting down upon a
bench, "Well, I will not go in until you say you forgive me,
## p. 12230 (#272) ##########################################
12230
SAMUEL RICHARDSON
Mrs. Jewkes. If you will forgive me calling you that name, I
will forgive your beating me. "
She sat down by me, and seemed in a great pucker, and said,
"Well, come, I will forgive you this time;" and so kissed me as
a mark of reconciliation.
"But pray," said I, "tell me where I am to walk or go, and
give me what liberty you can; and when I know the most you
can favor me with, you shall see I will be as content as I can,
and not ask you for more. "
"Aye," said she, "this is something like: I wish I could give
you all the liberty you desire; for you must think it no pleasure
to me to tie you to my petticoat, as it were, and not let you
stir without me. But people that will do their duties must have
some trouble; and what I do is to serve as good a master as
lives. »
"Yes," said I, "to every one but me. "
"He loves you too well, to be sure," said she; "that's the
reason! so you ought to bear it. Come," said she, "don't let
the servant see you have been crying, nor tell her any tales;
for you won't tell them fairly, I'm sure. I'll send her to
you, and you shall take another walk in the garden, if you will:
maybe it will get you a stomach for your dinner; for you don't
eat enough to keep life and soul together. You are a beauty to
the bone, or you could not look so well as you do, with so
little stomach, so little rest, and so much pining and whining
for nothing at all. "
"Well," thought I, "say what thou wilt, so I can be rid of
thy bad tongue and company; and I hope to find some opportu-
nity now to come at my sunflower. " But I walked the other way
to take that in my return, to avoid suspicion.
I forced my discourse to the maid, but it was all upon gen-
eral things; for I found she is asked after everything I say or do.
When I came near the place, as I had been devising, I said,
"Pray step to the gardener, and ask him to gather a salad for
me to dinner. »
She called out, "Jacob! "
Said I, "He can't hear you so far off: and pray tell him I
should like a cucumber too, if he has one. "
When she had stepped about a bowshot from me, I popt
down, and whipt my fingers under the upper tile; and pulled out
## p. 12231 (#273) ##########################################
SAMUEL RICHARDSON
12231
a letter without direction, and thrust it into my bosom, trem-
bling for joy. She was with me before I could secure it; and I
was in such a taking that I feared I should discover myself.
"You seem frightened, madam," said she.
"Why," said I, with a lucky thought, (alas! your poor daugh.
ter will make an intriguer by-and-by; but I hope an innocent
one! ) "I stooped to smell at the sunflower, and a great nasty
worm ran into the ground, that startled me; for I can't abide
worms. "
Said she, "Sunflowers don't smell. "
"So I find," I replied. And then we walked in.
Mrs. Jewkes said, "Well, you have made haste now. You
shall go another time. "
I went to my closet, locked myself in, and opening my letter,
found in it these words:-
-:
I am infinitely concerned in your distress. I most heartily wish it
may be in my power to serve and save so much innocence, beauty,
and merit. My whole dependence is upon Mr. B. , and I have a near
view of being provided for by his favor to me. But yet I would
sooner forfeit all my hopes in him (trusting to God for the rest) than
not assist you, if possible. I never looked upon Mr. B. in the light
he now appears in. I am entirely of opinion you should, if possible,
get out of his hands, and especially as you are in very bad ones in
Mrs. Jewkes's.
We have here the widow Lady Jones; mistress of a good fortune,
and a woman of virtue, I believe. We have also Sir Simon Darn-
ford, and his lady, who is a good woman; and they have two daugh-
ters, virtuous young ladies. All the rest are but middling people,
and traders, at best. I will try, if you please, either Lady Jones or
Lady Darnford, if they'll permit you to take refuge with them. I see
no probability of keeping myself concealed in this matter, but will,
as I said, risk all things to serve you; for never saw I sweetness and
innocence like yours: your hard case has attached me entirely to
you; for I well know, as you so happily express, if I can serve you
in this case, I shall thereby perform all the acts of religion in one.
As to Lady Davers, I will convey a letter, if you please; but it
must not be from our post-house, I give you caution: for the man
owes all his bread to Mr. B. , and his place too; and I believe, from
something that dropped from him over a can of ale, has his instruc-
tions. You don't know how you are surrounded: all which confirms
me in your opinion that no honor is meant you, let what will be
professed; and I am glad you want no caution on that head.
## p. 12232 (#274) ##########################################
12232
SAMUEL RICHARDSON
Give me leave to say, that I had heard much in your praise, but
I think greatly short of what you deserve, both as to person and
mind: my eyes convince me of the one, your letter of the other.
For fear of losing the present lucky opportunity, I am longer than
otherwise I should be. But I will not enlarge any further than to
assure you that I am, to the best of my power, your faithful friend
and servant,
ARTHUR WILLIAMS.
I will come once every morning, and once every evening, after
school-time, to look for your letters. I'll come in, and return with-
out going into the house if I see the coast clear; otherwise, to avoid
suspicion, I'll come in.
I instantly, in answer to this pleasing letter, wrote as fol-
lows:-
Reverend Sir:
Oh, how suited to your function and your character is your kind
letter! God bless you for it! I now think I am beginning to be
happy. I should be very sorry to have you suffer on my account;
but I hope it will be made up to you a hundredfold by that God
whom you so faithfully serve.
Any way you think best I shall be pleased with; for I know not
the persons, nor in what manner to apply to them.
I should think, sir, if either of these ladies would give me leave,
I might get out by. favor of your key. As it is impossible, watched
as I am, to know when it can be, suppose, sir, you could get one
made by it, and put it the next opportunity under the sunflower.
If, sir, I had this key, I could, if these ladies would not shelter me,
run away anywhere: and if I was once out of the house, they could
have no pretense to force me in again; for I have done no harm,
and hope to make my story good to any impassionate body: by this
way you need not be known. Torture should not wring it from me,
I assure you.
I inclose you a letter of a deceitful wretch (for I can intrust you
with anything), poor John Arnold. Perhaps by his means something
may be discovered; for he seems willing to atone for his treach-
ery to me by the intimation of future services. I leave the hint to
you to improve upon. I am, Reverend Sir, your forever obliged and
faithful servant.
I hope, sir, by your favor, I could send a little packet now and
then to my poor father and mother. I have about five or six guin-
eas: shall I put half in your hands, to defray the charge of a man
and horse, or any other incidents?
## p. 12233 (#275) ##########################################
SAMUEL RICHARDSON
12233
I am just come off from a walk in the garden, and have
deposited my letter: we took a turn in the garden to angle, as
Mrs.
Jewkes had promised me. She baited the hook, I held it,
and soon hooked a lovely carp.
"I'll try my fortune," said she, and took the rod.
"Do," answered I; "and I will plant life, if I can, while you
are destroying it. I have some horse-beans, and will go and
stick them in one of the borders, to see how long they will be
coming up; and I will call them my garden. "
So you see, dear father and mother, that this furnishes me
with a good excuse to look after my garden another time; and
if the mold should look a little fresh, it won't be so much sus-
pected: she mistrusted nothing of this; and I went and stuck
in here and there my beans, for about the length of six yards,
on each side of the sunflower, and easily deposited my letter.
And not a little proud am I of this. Sure something will do at
last.
FRIDAY, SATURDAY.
I HAVE just now told of a trick of mine; now I'll tell you a
trick of this wicked woman's.
She came up to me and said, "I have a bill I cannot change
till to-morrow, and a tradesman wants his money sadly; I don't
love to turn poor tradesmen away without their money: have
you any about you? "
"I have a little," replied I: "how much will do? "
"Oh," said she, "I want eight pounds. "
"Alack! " said I, "I have only between five and six. "
"Lend me that," said she, "till to-morrow. ”
I did so, and she went down-stairs; and when she came up,
she laughed and said, "Well, I have paid the tradesman. ”
"I hope," said I, "you'll give it me to-morrow. "
At this she laughing said, "To tell the truth, lambkin, I didn't
want it. I only feared your making bad use of it: and now I
can trust Nan with you a little oftener, especially as I have got
the key of your portmanteau; so that you can neither corrupt
her with money nor fine things. "
And now I have not five shillings left to support me, if I
can get away.
The more I think of this, the more I regret it,
and blame myself.
## p. 12234 (#276) ##########################################
12234
SAMUEL RICHARDSON
This night the postman brought a letter for Mrs. Jewkes, in
which one was inclosed for me; she brought it up to me, and
said, "Well, my good master don't forget us: he has sent you a
letter; and see what he writes to me. "
that he hoped her fair charge was well, happy,
So she read
and contented. "Aye, to be sure," said I, "I can't but choose! "
That he did not doubt her care and kindness to me; that I was
dear to him, and she could not use me too well; and the like.
"There's a master," said she: "sure you will love and pray for
him! "
I desired her to read the rest. "No," said she, "but I won't. "
"Then," said I, "are there any orders for taking my shoes away,
and for beating me? " "No," said she, "nor about Jezebel nei-
ther. " "Well," returned I, "I cry truce; for I have no mind to
be beat again. " "I thought," said she,
"I thought," said she, "we had forgiven one
another. "
My letter is as follows:-
—
My dear Pamela:
I begin to repent already that I have bound myself, by prom-
ise, not to see you till you give me leave; for I think the time very
tedious. Can you place so much confidence in me as to invite me
down? Assure yourself that your generosity shall not be thrown
away upon me. I would press this, as I am uneasy for your uneasi-
ness; for Mrs. Jewkes acquaints me that you take your restraint very
heavily, and neither eat, drink, nor rest well. I have too great an
interest in your health, not to wish to shorten the time of this trial;
which will be the consequence of my coming down to you. John too
has intimated to me your concern, with a grief that hardly gave him
leave for utterance,- a grief that a little alarmed my tenderness for
you. I will only say one thing: that if you will give me leave to
attend you at the hall (consider who it is that requests this from you
as a favor), I solemnly declare that you shall have cause to be pleased
with this obliging mark of your confidence and consideration for
me. If I find Mrs. Jewkes has not behaved to you with the respect
due to one I so tenderly love, I will put it entirely in your power to
discharge her the house, if you think proper; and Mrs. Jervis, of
who else you please, shall attend you in her place. This I say on a
hint John gave me, as if you resented something from that quarter.
Dearest Pamela, answer favorably this earnest request of one that can-
not live without you, and on whose honor to you, you may absolutely
depend; and so much the more, as you place a confidence in it. I
am, and assuredly ever will be, your faithful and affectionate, etc.
## p. 12235 (#277) ##########################################
SAMUEL RICHARDSON
12235
You will be glad, I know, to hear that your father and mother
are well, and easy upon your last letter. That gave me a pleasure
I am resolved you shall not repent. Mrs. Jewkes will convey to me
your answer.
I but slightly read this letter for the present, to give way to
one I had hopes of finding by this time from Mr. Williams.
took an evening turn, as I called it, in Mrs. Jewkes's company;
and walking by the place, I said, "Do you think, Mrs. Jewkes,
any of my beans can have struck since yesterday? "
She laughed and said, "You are a poor gardener, but I love
to see you divert yourself. " She passing on, I found my good
friend had provided for me; and slipping it in my bosom (for
her back was towards me) - "Here," said I (having a bean in
my hand), "is one of them; but it has not stirred. " "No, to be
sure," said she; and then turned upon me a most wicked jest,
unbecoming the mouth of a woman, about planting, etc. When
I came in I went to my closet, and read as follows:
I am sorry to inform you that I have had a repulse from Lady
Jones. She is concerned at your case, she says, but don't like to
make herself enemies.
I applied to Lady Darnford, and told, in the most pathetic manner,
your sad story, and showed her your more pathetic letter. I found
her well disposed: but she would advise with Sir Simon, who is
not a man of an extraordinary character for virtue; for he said to
his lady in my presence, "Why, what is all this, my dear, but that
our neighbor has a mind to his mother's waiting-maid! And if he
takes care she wants for nothing, I don't see any great injury will
be done to her. He hurts no family by this. " (So, my dear father
and mother, it seems poor people's honesty is to go for nothing. )
"And I think, Mr. Williams, you of all men should not engage in
this affair, against your friend and patron. "
I have hinted your case to Mr. Peters, the minister of this parish;
but I am concerned to say that he imputed selfish views to me, as if
I would make an interest in your affections by my zeal.
I represented the different circumstances of your affair: that other
women lived evilly by their own consent; but to serve you was to
save an innocence that had but few examples. I then showed him
your letter.
He said it was prettily written; he was sorry for you; and that
your good intentions ought to be encouraged. "But what," said he,
"would you have me do, Mr. Williams? »
## p. 12236 (#278) ##########################################
12236
SAMUEL RICHARDSON
"Why, suppose, sir," said I, "you give her shelter in your house
with your spouse and niece, till she can get to her friends? "
"What, and embroil myself with a man of Mr. B. 's power and
fortune? No! not I, I assure you. "
I am greatly concerned for you, I assure you; but am not dis-
couraged by this ill success, let what will come of it, if I can serve
you.
I don't hear as yet that Mr. B. is coming. I am glad of your hint
as to that unhappy fellow John Arnold. Something perhaps will
strike out from that, which may be useful. As to your packets,
if you seal them up and lay them in the usual place, if you find it
not suspected, I will watch an opportunity to convey them; but if
they are large, you had best be very cautious. This evil woman, I
find, mistrusts me.
I have just heard that the gentleman is dying, whose living Mr.
B. has promised me. I have almost a scruple to take it, as I am
acting so contrary to his desire; but I hope he'll one day thank me
for it.
I believe when we hear he is coming, it will be best to make use
of the key, which I shall soon procure you: I can borrow a horse for
you, to wait within half a mile of the back door, over the pasture,
and will contrive by myself, or somebody, to have you conducted
some miles distant, to one of the villages thereabouts; so don't be
discomforted, I beseech you.
I am, Mrs. Pamela, your faithful friend, etc.
I made a thousand sad reflections upon the former part of this
honest gentleman's kind letter; and but for the hopes he gave
me at last, should have given up my case as quite desperate. I
then wrote to thank him most gratefully for his kind endeavors;
and that I would wait the happy event I might hope for from
his kind assistance in the key and the horse.
I had no time to take a copy of this letter, I was so watched.
But when I had it in my bosom I was easy. And so I went to
seek out Mrs. Jewkes, and told her I would hear her advice upon
the letter I had received from my master; which point of confi-
dence in her pleased her not a little.
"Aye," said she, "now this is something like; and we'll take
a turn in the garden, or where you please. " I pretended it was
indifferent to me; and so we walked into the garden.
I began to talk to her of the letter, but was far from acquaint-
ing her with all the contents; only that he wanted my consent
to come down, and hoped that she used me kindly, and the like.
## p. 12237 (#279) ##########################################
SAMUEL RICHARDSON
12237
And I said, "Now, Mrs. Jewkes, let me have your advice as to
this. "
"Why then," said she, "I will give it you freely: e'en send
for him to come down. It will highly oblige him, and I dare-
say you will fare the better for it. "
"Well," said I, "I will write him a letter, because he expects
an answer, or maybe he will make a pretense to come down.
How can it go? " "I'll take care of that," said she: "it is in my
instructions. " "Aye," thought I, "so I doubt, by the hint Mr.
Williams gave me about the post-house. "
I wrote to my master as follows:
Honored Sir:
When I consider how easily you might have made me happy,
since all I desire is to be permitted to go to my poor father and
mother; when I reflect upon your former proposal to me in relation
to a certain person, not one word of which is now mentioned; and
upon my being in that strange manner run away with, and still
kept here a miserable prisoner, do you think, sir (pardon your poor
servant's freedom: my fears make me bold),- do you think, I say,
that your general assurances of honor to me can have the effect
they ought to have? O good sir! I too much apprehend that your
notions of honor and mine are very different from one another; I
have no other hope but in your continual absence. If you have any
proposals to make me that are consistent with your honorable profes-
sions, in my humble sense of the word, a few lines will communicate
them to me, and I will return such an answer as befits me.
If
Whatever rashness you may impute to me, I cannot help it; but I
wish I may not be forced upon any that otherwise would not enter
my thoughts. Forgive, sir, my plainness; I should be loth to behave
to my master unbecomingly: but I must say, sir, my innocence is so
dear to me that all other considerations must be dispensed with.
you mean honorably, why should you not let me know it plainly?
Why, sir, I humbly ask, why all this if you mean honorably? It is
not for me to expostulate too freely with you, sir, so greatly my
superior. Pardon me, I hope you will; but as to seeing you, I cannot
bear the dreadful apprehension. Whatever you have to propose to
me, whatever you intend, let my assent be that of a free person, and
not of a sordid slave, who is to be threatened and frightened into a
compliance with measures which your conduct seems to imply. My
restraint is hard upon me; I am very uneasy under it. Shorten it,
I beseech you, or— But I will dare to say no more than that I am
your greatly oppressed, unhappy servant.
## p. 12238 (#280) ##########################################
12238
SAMUEL RICHARDSON
After I had taken a copy of this, I folded it up: and Mrs.
Jewkes coming just as I had done, sat down by me; and said,
when she saw me directing it, "I wish you would tell me if you
have taken my advice, and consented to my master's coming
down. "
"If it will oblige you,” said I, "I will read it to you. "
"That's good," said she; "then I'll love you dearly. "
Said I, "Then you must not offer to alter one word. ”
"I won't," replied she.
So I read it to her. She praised me much for my wording
of it; but said she thought I pushed the matter very close, and
it would better bear talking than writing about. She wanted an
explanation or two about a certain person; but I said she must
take it as she heard it.
"Well, well," said she, "I make no doubt you understand one
another, and will do so more and more. "
I sealed up the letter, and she undertook to convey it.
MISS BYRON'S RESCUE FROM ABDUCTION, BY SIR CHARLES
GRANDISON
RELATED IN A LETTER FROM MISS BYRON TO HER FRIEND MISS SELBY
From Sir Charles Grandison'
A$
S THE chariot drove by houses, I cried out for help. But
under pretense of preventing my taking cold, Sir Hargrave
tied a handkerchief over my face, head, and mouth, having
first muffled me up in the cloak; and with his right arm thrown
round me, kept me fast on the seat: and except that now and
then my struggling head gave me a little opening, I was blinded.
On the road, just after I had screamed, and made another
effort to get my hands free, I heard voices: and immediately the
chariot stopped. Then how my heart was filled with hope! But
alas! it was momentary. I heard one of his men say, "The
best of husbands, I assure you, sir; and she is the worst of
wives. " I screamed again. "Aye, scream and be d-d! Poor
gentleman, I pity him with all my heart. " And immediately the
coachman drove on again. The vile wretch laughed.
I was ready to faint several times. I begged for air; and
when we were in an open road, and I suppose there was nobody
in sight he vouchsafed to pull down the blinding handkerchief,
## p. 12239 (#281) ##########################################
SAMUEL RICHARDSON
12239
but kept it over my mouth; so that, except now and then that I
struggled it aside with my head (and my neck is very stiff with
my efforts to free my face), I could only make a murmuring
kind of noise. The curtain of the fore-glass was pulled down,
and generally the canvas on both sides drawn up. But I was
sure to be made acquainted when we came near houses, by his
care again to blind and stifle me up. A little before we were
met by my deliverer, I had, by getting one hand free, unmuffled
myself so far as to see (as I had guessed once or twice before
by the stone pavements) that we were going through a town:
and then I again vehemently screamed; but he had the cruelty
to thrust a handkerchief into my mouth, so that I was almost
strangled, and my mouth was hurt, and is still sore.
At one place the chariot drove out of the road, over rough
ways and little hillocks, as I thought, by its rocking; and then,
it stopping, he let go my hands and endeavored to soothe me.
He begged I would be pacified; and offered, if I would for-
bear crying out for help, to leave my eyes unmuffled all the rest
of the way.
But I would not, I told him, give such a sanction
to his barbarous violence. On the chariot's stopping, one of his
men came up, and put a handkerchief into his master's hands,
in which were some cakes and sweetmeats, and gave him also
a bottle of sack, with a glass. Sir Hargrave was very urgent
with me to take some of the sweetmeats and to drink a glass of
the wine; but I had neither stomach nor will to touch either.
He eat himself very cordially. God forgive me! I wished in
my heart there were pins and needles in every bit he put into
his mouth. He drank two glasses of the wine. Again he urged
I said I hoped I had eat and drank my last.
me.
I saw that I was upon a large, wild, heath-like place, between
two roads, as it seemed. I asked nothing about my journey's
end. All I had to hope for as to an escape (though then I began
to despair of it) was upon the road, or in some town. My jour-
ney's end, I knew, must be the beginning of new trials; for I
was resolved to suffer death rather than to marry him.
The chariot had not many minutes got into the great road
again, over the like rough and sometimes plashy ground, when
it stopped on a dispute between the coachman and the coachman
of another chariot-and-six, as it proved. Sir Hargrave looked
out of his chariot to see the occasion of this stop; and then I
## p. 12240 (#282) ##########################################
12240
SAMUEL RICHARDSON
found means to disengage one hand. I heard a gentleman's
voice directing his own coachman to give way. I then pushed
up the handkerchief with my disengaged hand from my mouth,
and pulled it down from over my eyes, and cried out for help-
«< Help, for God's sake! "
A man's voice (it was my delivere's, as it happily proved) bid
Sir Hargrave's coachman proceed at his peril. Sir Hargrave, with
terrible oaths and curses, ordered him to proceed, and to drive
through all opposition.
The gentleman called Sir Hargrave by his name, and charged
him with being upon a bad design. The vile wretch said he had
only secured a runaway wife, eloped to, and intending to elope
from, a masquerade, to her adulterer: [horrid! ] He put aside
the cloak, and appealed to my dress. The gentleman would not
be satisfied with Sir Hargrave's story. He would speak to me,
and asked me, with an air that promised deliverance, if I were
Sir Hargrave's wife?
"No, no, no, no! " I could only say.
For my own part, I could have no scruple, distressed as I
was, and made desperate, to throw myself into the protection,
and even into the arms, of my deliverer, though a very fine
young gentleman. But you may better conceive than I can
express the terror I was in when Sir Hargrave drew his sword
and pushed at the gentleman, with such words as denoted (for I
could not look that way) he had done him mischief. But when I
found my oppressor pulled out of the chariot by the brave, the
gallant man (which was done with such force as made the chariot
rock), and my protector safe, I was as near fainting with joy as
before I had been with terror. I had shaken off the cloak, and
untied the handkerchief. He carried me in his arms (I could
not walk) to his own chariot. I heard Sir Hargrave curse, swear,
and threaten. I was glad, however, he was not dead.
"Mind him not, madam-fear him not! " said Sir Charles
Grandison. [You know his noble name, my Lucy.
