The two women in a corner sat entranced, with streaming eyes.

As soon as they were by themselves, Margaret threw her arms round Catherine’s neck and kissed her.

“Mother, mother, I am not quite a happy woman, but oh!  I am a proud one.”

And she vowed on her knees never by word or deed to let her love come between this young saint and heaven.

The child, who lived to become the great Erasmus, was already winning a famous name at school, when Margaret was stricken with the plague and died.  A fortnight later and Clement left his vicarage and entered the Dominican convent to end life as he began it.  A few days later and he, too, was dead, and the convent counted him a saint.

* * * * *

SAMUEL RICHARDSON

Pamela

Samuel Richardson, the son of a joiner, was born at some place not identified in Derbyshire, England, 1689.  After serving an apprenticeship to a stationer, he entered a printing office as compositor and corrector of the press.  In 1719 Richardson, whose career throughout was that of the industrious apprentice, took up his freedom, and began business as printer and stationer in Salisbury Court, London.  Success attended his venture; he soon published a newspaper, and also obtained the printing of the journals of the House of Commons.  “Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded,” was written as the result of a suggestion by two booksellers that Richardson should compose a volume of familiar letters for illiterate country folk.  It was published towards the end of 1740, and its vogue, in an age particularly coarse and robust, was extraordinary.  Of the many who ridiculed his performance the most noteworthy was Fielding, who produced what Richardson and his friends regarded as the “lewd and ungenerous engraftment of ‘Joseph Andrews.’” The story has many faults, but the portrayal of Pamela herself is accomplished with the success of a master hand.  Richardson died July 4, 1761.

I.—­Pamela to her Parents

MY DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,—­I have great trouble, and some comfort, to acquaint you with.  The trouble is that my good lady died of the illness I mention’d to you, and left us all griev’d for the loss of her; for she was a dear good lady, and kind to all us her servants.  Much I fear’d, that as I was taken by her ladyship to wait upon her person, I should be quite destitute again, and forc’d to return to you and my poor mother, who have enough to do to maintain yourselves; and, as my lady’s goodness had put me to write and cast accounts, and made me a little expert at my needle, and otherwise qualify’d above my degree, it was not every family that could have found a place that your poor Pamela was fit for.  But God, whose graciousness to us we have so often experienc’d, put it into my good lady’s heart, on her death-bed, just an hour before she expir’d, to recommend to my young master all her servants, one by one; and when it came to my turn to be recommended (for I was sobbing and crying at her pillow) she could only say, “My dear son!” and so broke off a little; and then recovering—­“remember my poor Pamela!” and those were some of her last words!  O, how my eyes overflow!  Don’t wonder to see the paper so blotted!