They talk of a kind sort; but, alas! they talk at random: for they come not out at all! How then can they say they are kind? I fear the nurse's constitution is too hale and too rich for the dear baby!-Had I been permitted-but, hush all my repining ifs!—Except one if; and that is— if it be got happily over, it will be best he had it so young, and while at the breast! O madam, madam! The small appearance that there was, is gone in again: and my child, my dear baby, will die! The doctors seem to think so. They want to send for Mr. B, to keep me from him-But I forbid it-For what signifies life, or anything, if I cannot see my baby while he is so dangerously ill! My father and mother are, for the first time, quite cruel to me; they have forbid me, and I never was so desirous of disobeying them before, to attend the darling of my heart. And why?-For fear of this poor face!-For fear I should get it myself!-But I am living low, very low, and have taken proper precautions, by bleeding, and the like, to lessen the distemper's fury, if I should have it: and the rest I leave to Providence. And if Mr. B's value is confined so much to this poor transitory sightliness, he must not break with his countess, I think: and if I am ever so deformed in person, my poor intellects, I hope, will not be impaired, and I shall, if God spare my Billy, be useful in his first education, and be helpful to dear Miss Goodwin-or to any babies-with all my heart-he may make me a humble nurse too!-How peevish, sinfully so, I doubt, does this accident, and their affectionate contradiction make one. 'MY DEAREST LOVE,-I am greatly touched with the ' dear boy's malady, of which I have this moment heard. I desire you instantly to come to me hither, in the chariot, ' with the bearer, Colbrand. I know what your grief must be: but as you can do the child no good, I beg you'll 'oblige me. Everything is in a happy train; but I can 'think of nobody but you, and (for your sake principally, 'but not a little for my own) my boy. I will set out to ( meet you; for I choose not to come myself, lest you should ' endeavour to persuade me to permit your tarrying about him; and I should be sorry to deny you anything. I have taken here handsome apartments for you, till the event, which I pray God may be happy, shall better ' determine me what to do. I will be ever 'Your affectionate and faithful.' Maidstone indeed is not so very far off, but one may hear every day once or twice, by a man and horse; so I will go, to show my obedience, since Mr. B is so intent upon it. But I cannot live if I am not permitted to come back.-Oh! let me be enabled, gracious Father! to close this letter more happily than I have begun it! I have been so dreadfully uneasy at Maidstone, that Mr. B- has been so good as to return with me hither; and I find my baby's case not yet quite desperate.-I am easier now I see him, in presence of his beloved papa-who lets me have all my way, and approves of my preparative method for myself; and he tells me, that since I will have it so, he will indulge me in my attendance on the child, and endeavour to imitate my reliance on God-that is his kind expression,—and leave the issue to Him. And on my telling him, that I feared nothing in the distemper but the loss of his love, he said, in presence of the doctors, and my father and mother, pressing my hand to his lips, My dearest life! make yourself easy under this affliction, and apprehend nothing for yourself: I love you more for your mind than for your face. That and your person will be the same; and were that sweet face to be covered with seams and scars, I will value you the more for the misfortune: And glad I am that I had your picture so well drawn in town, to satisfy those who have heard of your loveliness, what you were, and hitherto are. For myself, my admiration lies deeper; and drawing me to the other end of the room, whisperingly he said, The last uneasiness between us, I now begin to think, was necessary, because it has turned all my delight in you, more than ever, to the perfections of your mind; and so God preserves to me the life of my Pamela, I care not, for my own part, what ravages the distemper makes here; and tapped my cheek. How generous, how noble, how comforting was this!— I will make this use of it; I will now be resigned more and more to this dispensation, and prepare myself for the worst for it is the dispensation of that God who gave me my baby, and all I have! When I retired, the reflections which I made, on supposing the worst, gave birth to the following serious lines (for I cannot live without a pen in my hand), written, as by a third person, suppose a good minister. Your ladyship will be pleased to give them your favourable allowances. Tell me, fond, weeping parent, why Thou fear'st so much thy child should die? 'Tis true, tho' human frailty may, Yet reason can't, have much to say. From hopefull'st youths, to damp our joys! When I went my dear Mr. B from my apartment, to go to my child, met me at the nursery-door, and led me back again. You must not go in again, my dearest. They have just been giving the child other things to try to drive out the malady; and some pustules seem to promise VOL. III. Q on his breast. I made no doubt my baby was then in extremity; and I would have given the world to have shed. a few tears, but I could not. With the most soothing goodness he led me to my desk, and withdrew to attend the dear baby himself;-to see his last gaspings, poor little lamb, I make no doubt! This suspense, and my own strange hardness of heart, that would not give up one tear (for the passage from that to my eyes seemed quite choked up, which used to be so open and ready on other occasions, affecting ones too), produced these lines: Two days have passed, dreadful days of suspense! And now, blessed be God! who has given me hope that our prayers are heard, the pustules come kindly out, very thick in his breast, and on his face; but of a good sort, they tell me. -They won't let me see him; indeed they won't!—What cruel kindness is this! One must believe all they tell one! But, my dear lady, my spirits are so weak; I have such a violent headache, and have such a strange shivering disorder all running down my back, and I was so hot just now, and am so cold at this present-aguishly inclined—I don't know how!—that I must leave off, the post going away, with the assurance that I am, and will be to the last hour of my life, Your ladyship's grateful And obliged sister and servant, LETTER LXXX. Mr. B to Lady Davers. MY DEAR SISTER,-I take very kindly your solicitude for the health of my beloved Pamela. The last line she wrote was to you; for she took to her bed the moment she laid down her pen. I told her your kind message, and wishes for her safety, by my lord's gentleman; and she begged I would write a line to thank you, in her name, for your affectionate regards to her. She is in a fine way to do well: for, with her accustomed prudence, she had begun to prepare herself by a proper regimen, the moment she knew the child's illness was the small-pox. The worst is over with the boy, which keeps up her spirits; and her mother is so excellent a nurse to both, and we are so happy likewise in the care of a skilful physician, Dr. M (who directs and approves of everything the good dame does), that it is a singular providence this malady seized them here, and affords no small comfort to the dear creature herself. When I tell you that, to all appearance, her charming face will not receive any disfigurement by this cruel enemy to beauty, I am sure you will congratulate me upon a felicity so desirable; but were it to be otherwise, if I were capable of slighting a person whose principal beauties are much deeper than the skin, I should deserve to be thought the most unworthy and superficial of husbands. Whatever your notions have been, my ever-ready censuring Lady Davers, of your brother, on a certain affair, I do assure you that I never did, and never can, love any woman as I love my Pamela. It is indeed impossible I can ever love her better than I do; and her outward beauties are far from being indifferent |