Tantissimi classici della letteratura e della cultura politica,
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Abbe Prevost - MANON LESCAUT
Alcott, Louisa M. - AN OLDFASHIONED GIRL
Alcott, Louisa M. - LITTLE MEN
Alcott, Louisa M. - LITTLE WOMEN
Alcott, Louisa May - JACK AND JILL
Alcott, Louisa May - LIFE LETTERS AND JOURNALS
Andersen, Hans Christian - FAIRY TALES
Anonimo - BEOWULF
Ariosto, Ludovico - ORLANDO ENRAGED
Aurelius, Marcus - MEDITATIONS
Austen, Jane - EMMA
Austen, Jane - MANSFIELD PARK
Austen, Jane - NORTHANGER ABBEY
Austen, Jane - PERSUASION
Austen, Jane - PRIDE AND PREJUDICE
Austen, Jane - SENSE AND SENSIBILITY
Authors, Various - LETTERS OF ABELARD AND HELOISE
Authors, Various - SELECTED ENGLISH LETTERS
Autori Vari - THE WORLD ENGLISH BIBLE
Bacon, Francis - THE ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING
Balzac, Honore de - EUGENIE GRANDET
Balzac, Honore de - FATHER GORIOT
Baroness Orczy - THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL
Barrie, J. M. - PETER AND WENDY
Barrie, James M. - PETER PAN
Bierce, Ambrose - THE DEVIL'S DICTIONARY
Blake, William - SONGS OF INNOCENCE AND EXPERIENCE
Boccaccio, Giovanni - DECAMERONE
Brent, Linda - INCIDENTS IN THE LIFE OF A SLAVE GIRL
Bronte, Charlotte - JANE EYRE
Bronte, Charlotte - VILLETTE
Buchan, John - GREENMANTLE
Buchan, John - MR STANDFAST
Buchan, John - THE 39 STEPS
Bunyan, John - THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS
Burckhardt, Jacob - THE CIVILIZATION OF THE RENAISSANCE IN ITALY
Burnett, Frances H. - A LITTLE PRINCESS
Burnett, Frances H. - LITTLE LORD FAUNTLEROY
Burnett, Frances H. - THE SECRET GARDEN
Butler, Samuel - EREWHON
Carlyle, Thomas - PAST AND PRESENT
Carlyle, Thomas - THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
Cellini, Benvenuto - AUTOBIOGRAPHY
Cervantes - DON QUIXOTE
Chaucer, Geoffrey - THE CANTERBURY TALES
Chesterton, G. K. - A SHORT HISTORY OF ENGLAND
Chesterton, G. K. - THE BALLAD OF THE WHITE HORSE
Chesterton, G. K. - THE INNOCENCE OF FATHER BROWN
Chesterton, G. K. - THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH
Chesterton, G. K. - THE MAN WHO WAS THURSDAY
Chesterton, G. K. - THE WISDOM OF FATHER BROWN
Chesterton, G. K. - TWELVE TYPES
Chesterton, G. K. - WHAT I SAW IN AMERICA
Chesterton, Gilbert K. - HERETICS
Chopin, Kate - AT FAULT
Chopin, Kate - BAYOU FOLK
Chopin, Kate - THE AWAKENING AND SELECTED SHORT STORIES
Clark Hall, John R. - A CONCISE ANGLOSAXON DICTIONARY
Clarkson, Thomas - AN ESSAY ON THE SLAVERY AND COMMERCE OF THE HUMAN SPECIES
Clausewitz, Carl von - ON WAR
Coleridge, Herbert - A DICTIONARY OF THE FIRST OR OLDEST WORDS IN THE ENGLISH
Coleridge, S. T. - COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS
Coleridge, S. T. - HINTS TOWARDS THE FORMATION OF A MORE COMPREHENSIVE THEORY
Coleridge, S. T. - THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER
Collins, Wilkie - THE MOONSTONE
Collodi - PINOCCHIO
Conan Doyle, Arthur - A STUDY IN SCARLET
Conan Doyle, Arthur - MEMOIRS OF SHERLOCK HOLMES
Conan Doyle, Arthur - THE HOUND OF THE BASKERVILLES
Conan Doyle, Arthur - THE RETURN OF SHERLOCK HOLMES
Conan Doyle, Arthur - THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
Conrad, Joseph - HEART OF DARKNESS
Conrad, Joseph - LORD JIM
Conrad, Joseph - NOSTROMO
Conrad, Joseph - THE NIGGER OF THE NARCISSUS
Conrad, Joseph - TYPHOON
Crane, Stephen - LAST WORDS
Crane, Stephen - MAGGIE
Crane, Stephen - THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE
Crane, Stephen - WOUNDS IN THE RAIN
Dante - THE DIVINE COMEDY: HELL
Dante - THE DIVINE COMEDY: PARADISE
Dante - THE DIVINE COMEDY: PURGATORY
Darwin, Charles - THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF CHARLES DARWIN
Darwin, Charles - THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES
Defoe, Daniel - A GENERAL HISTORY OF THE PYRATES
Defoe, Daniel - A JOURNAL OF THE PLAGUE YEAR
Defoe, Daniel - CAPTAIN SINGLETON
Defoe, Daniel - MOLL FLANDERS
Defoe, Daniel - ROBINSON CRUSOE
Defoe, Daniel - THE COMPLETE ENGLISH TRADESMAN
Defoe, Daniel - THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF ROBINSON CRUSOE
Deledda, Grazia - AFTER THE DIVORCE
Dickens, Charles - A CHRISTMAS CAROL
Dickens, Charles - A TALE OF TWO CITIES
Dickens, Charles - BLEAK HOUSE
Dickens, Charles - DAVID COPPERFIELD
Dickens, Charles - DONBEY AND SON
Dickens, Charles - GREAT EXPECTATIONS
Dickens, Charles - HARD TIMES
Dickens, Charles - LETTERS VOLUME 1
Dickens, Charles - LITTLE DORRIT
Dickens, Charles - MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT
Dickens, Charles - NICHOLAS NICKLEBY
Dickens, Charles - OLIVER TWIST
Dickens, Charles - OUR MUTUAL FRIEND
Dickens, Charles - PICTURES FROM ITALY
Dickens, Charles - THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD
Dickens, Charles - THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP
Dickens, Charles - THE PICKWICK PAPERS
Dickinson, Emily - POEMS
Dostoevsky, Fyodor - CRIME AND PUNISHMENT
Dostoyevsky, Fyodor - THE BROTHERS KARAMAZOV
Du Maurier, George - TRILBY
Dumas, Alexandre - THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO
Dumas, Alexandre - THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK
Dumas, Alexandre - THE THREE MUSKETEERS
Eliot, George - DANIEL DERONDA
Eliot, George - MIDDLEMARCH
Eliot, George - SILAS MARNER
Eliot, George - THE MILL ON THE FLOSS
Engels, Frederick - THE CONDITION OF THE WORKING-CLASS IN ENGLAND IN 1844
Equiano - AUTOBIOGRAPHY
Esopo - FABLES
Fenimore Cooper, James - THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS
Fielding, Henry - TOM JONES
France, Anatole - THAIS
France, Anatole - THE GODS ARE ATHIRST
France, Anatole - THE LIFE OF JOAN OF ARC
France, Anatole - THE SEVEN WIVES OF BLUEBEARD
Frank Baum, L. - THE PATCHWORK GIRL OF OZ
Frank Baum, L. - THE WONDERFUL WIZARD OF OZ
Franklin, Benjamin - AUTOBIOGRAPHY
Frazer, James George - THE GOLDEN BOUGH
Freud, Sigmund - DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
Galsworthy, John - COMPLETE PLAYS
Galsworthy, John - STRIFE
Galsworthy, John - STUDIES AND ESSAYS
Galsworthy, John - THE FIRST AND THE LAST
Galsworthy, John - THE FORSYTE SAGA
Galsworthy, John - THE LITTLE MAN
Galsworthy, John - THE SILVER BOX
Galsworthy, John - THE SKIN GAME
Gaskell, Elizabeth - CRANFORD
Gaskell, Elizabeth - MARY BARTON
Gaskell, Elizabeth - NORTH AND SOUTH
Gaskell, Elizabeth - THE LIFE OF CHARLOTTE BRONTE
Gay, John - THE BEGGAR'S OPERA
Gentile, Maria - THE ITALIAN COOK BOOK
Gilbert and Sullivan - PLAYS
Goethe - FAUST
Gogol - DEAD SOULS
Goldsmith, Oliver - SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER
Goldsmith, Oliver - THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD
Grahame, Kenneth - THE WIND IN THE WILLOWS
Grimm, Brothers - FAIRY TALES
Harding, A. R. - GINSENG AND OTHER MEDICINAL PLANTS
Hardy, Thomas - A CHANGED MAN AND OTHER TALES
Hardy, Thomas - FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD
Hardy, Thomas - JUDE THE OBSCURE
Hardy, Thomas - TESS OF THE D'URBERVILLES
Hardy, Thomas - THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE
Hartley, Cecil B. - THE GENTLEMEN'S BOOK OF ETIQUETTE
Hawthorne, Nathaniel - LITTLE MASTERPIECES
Hawthorne, Nathaniel - THE SCARLET LETTER
Henry VIII - LOVE LETTERS TO ANNE BOLEYN
Henry, O. - CABBAGES AND KINGS
Henry, O. - SIXES AND SEVENS
Henry, O. - THE FOUR MILLION
Henry, O. - THE TRIMMED LAMP
Henry, O. - WHIRLIGIGS
Hindman Miller, Gustavus - TEN THOUSAND DREAMS INTERPRETED
Hobbes, Thomas - LEVIATHAN
Homer - THE ILIAD
Homer - THE ODYSSEY
Hornaday, William T. - THE EXTERMINATION OF THE AMERICAN BISON
Hume, David - A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE
Hume, David - AN ENQUIRY CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING
Hume, David - DIALOGUES CONCERNING NATURAL RELIGION
Ibsen, Henrik - A DOLL'S HOUSE
Ibsen, Henrik - AN ENEMY OF THE PEOPLE
Ibsen, Henrik - GHOSTS
Ibsen, Henrik - HEDDA GABLER
Ibsen, Henrik - JOHN GABRIEL BORKMAN
Ibsen, Henrik - ROSMERHOLM
Ibsen, Henrik - THE LADY FROM THE SEA
Ibsen, Henrik - THE MASTER BUILDER
Ibsen, Henrik - WHEN WE DEAD AWAKEN
Irving, Washington - THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW
James, Henry - ITALIAN HOURS
James, Henry - THE ASPERN PAPERS
James, Henry - THE BOSTONIANS
James, Henry - THE PORTRAIT OF A LADY
James, Henry - THE TURN OF THE SCREW
James, Henry - WASHINGTON SQUARE
Jerome, Jerome K. - THREE MEN IN A BOAT
Jerome, Jerome K. - THREE MEN ON THE BUMMEL
Jevons, Stanley - POLITICAL ECONOMY
Johnson, Samuel - A GRAMMAR OF THE ENGLISH TONGUE
Jonson, Ben - THE ALCHEMIST
Jonson, Ben - VOLPONE
Joyce, James - A PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST AS A YOUNG MAN
Joyce, James - CHAMBER MUSIC
Joyce, James - DUBLINERS
Joyce, James - ULYSSES
Keats, John - ENDYMION
Keats, John - POEMS PUBLISHED IN 1817
Keats, John - POEMS PUBLISHED IN 1820
King James - THE BIBLE
Kipling, Rudyard - CAPTAINS COURAGEOUS
Kipling, Rudyard - INDIAN TALES
Kipling, Rudyard - JUST SO STORIES
Kipling, Rudyard - KIM
Kipling, Rudyard - THE JUNGLE BOOK
Kipling, Rudyard - THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING
Kipling, Rudyard - THE SECOND JUNGLE BOOK
Lawrence, D. H - THE RAINBOW
Lawrence, D. H - THE WHITE PEACOCK
Lawrence, D. H - TWILIGHT IN ITALY
Lawrence, D. H. - AARON'S ROD
Lawrence, D. H. - SONS AND LOVERS
Lawrence, D. H. - THE LOST GIRL
Lawrence, D. H. - WOMEN IN LOVE
Lear, Edward - BOOK OF NONSENSE
Lear, Edward - LAUGHABLE LYRICS
Lear, Edward - MORE NONSENSE
Lear, Edward - NONSENSE SONG
Leblanc, Maurice - ARSENE LUPIN VS SHERLOCK HOLMES
Leblanc, Maurice - THE ADVENTURES OF ARSENE LUPIN
Leblanc, Maurice - THE CONFESSIONS OF ARSENE LUPIN
Leblanc, Maurice - THE HOLLOW NEEDLE
Leblanc, Maurice - THE RETURN OF ARSENE LUPIN
Lehmann, Lilli - HOW TO SING
Leroux, Gaston - THE MAN WITH THE BLACK FEATHER
Leroux, Gaston - THE MYSTERY OF THE YELLOW ROOM
Leroux, Gaston - THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA
London, Jack - MARTIN EDEN
London, Jack - THE CALL OF THE WILD
London, Jack - WHITE FANG
Machiavelli, Nicolo' - THE PRINCE
Malthus, Thomas - PRINCIPLE OF POPULATION
Mansfield, Katherine - THE GARDEN PARTY AND OTHER STORIES
Marlowe, Christopher - THE JEW OF MALTA
Marryat, Captain - THE CHILDREN OF THE NEW FOREST
Maupassant, Guy De - BEL AMI
Melville, Hermann - MOBY DICK
Melville, Hermann - TYPEE
Mill, John Stuart - PRINCIPLES OF POLITICAL ECONOMY
Milton, John - PARADISE LOST
Mitra, S. M. - HINDU TALES FROM THE SANSKRIT
Montaigne, Michel de - ESSAYS
Montgomery, Lucy Maud - ANNE OF GREEN GABLES
More, Thomas - UTOPIA
Nesbit, E. - FIVE CHILDREN AND IT
Nesbit, E. - THE PHOENIX AND THE CARPET
Nesbit, E. - THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
Nesbit, E. - THE STORY OF THE AMULET
Newton, Isaac - OPTICKS
Nietsche, Friedrich - BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL
Nietsche, Friedrich - THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA
Nightingale, Florence - NOTES ON NURSING
Owen, Wilfred - POEMS
Ozaki, Yei Theodora - JAPANESE FAIRY TALES
Pascal, Blaise - PENSEES
Pellico, Silvio - MY TEN YEARS IMPRISONMENT
Perrault, Charles - FAIRY TALES
Pirandello, Luigi - THREE PLAYS
Plato - THE REPUBLIC
Poe, Edgar Allan - THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS 1
Poe, Edgar Allan - THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS 2
Poe, Edgar Allan - THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS 3
Poe, Edgar Allan - THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS 4
Poe, Edgar Allan - THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS 5
Poe, Edgar Allan - THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER
Potter, Beatrix - THE TALE OF PETER RABBIT
Proust, Marcel - SWANN'S WAY
Radcliffe, Ann - A SICILIAN ROMANCE
Ricardo, David - ON THE PRINCIPLES OF POLITICAL ECONOMY AND TAXATION
Richardson, Samuel - PAMELA
Rider Haggard, H. - ALLAN QUATERMAIN
Rider Haggard, H. - KING SOLOMON'S MINES
Rousseau, J. J. - THE ORIGIN AND FOUNDATION OF INEQUALITY AMONG MANKIND
Ruskin, John - THE SEVEN LAMPS OF ARCHITECTURE
Schiller, Friedrich - THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN
Schiller, Friedrich - THE PICCOLOMINI
Schopenhauer, Arthur - THE ART OF CONTROVERSY
Schopenhauer, Arthur - THE WISDOM OF LIFE
Scott Fitzgerald, F. - FLAPPERS AND PHILOSOPHERS
Scott Fitzgerald, F. - TALES OF THE JAZZ AGE
Scott Fitzgerald, F. - THE BEAUTIFUL AND DAMNED
Scott Fitzgerald, F. - THIS SIDE OF PARADISE
Scott, Walter - IVANHOE
Scott, Walter - QUENTIN DURWARD
Scott, Walter - ROB ROY
Scott, Walter - THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR
Scott, Walter - WAVERLEY
Sedgwick, Anne Douglas - THE THIRD WINDOW
Sewell, Anna - BLACK BEAUTY
Shakespeare, William - COMPLETE WORKS
Shakespeare, William - HAMLET
Shakespeare, William - OTHELLO
Shakespeare, William - ROMEO AND JULIET
Shelley, Mary - FRANKENSTEIN
Shelley, Percy Bysshe - A DEFENCE OF POETRY AND OTHER ESSAYS
Shelley, Percy Bysshe - COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS
Sheridan, Richard B. - THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL
Sienkiewicz, Henryk - QUO VADIS
Smith, Adam - THE WEALTH OF NATIONS
Smollett, Tobias - TRAVELS THROUGH FRANCE AND ITALY
Spencer, Herbert - ESSAYS ON EDUCATION AND KINDRED SUBJECTS
Spyri, Johanna - HEIDI
Sterne, Laurence - A SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY
Sterne, Laurence - TRISTRAM SHANDY
Stevenson, Robert Louis - A CHILD'S GARDEN OF VERSES
Stevenson, Robert Louis - ESSAYS IN THE ART OF WRITING
Stevenson, Robert Louis - KIDNAPPED
Stevenson, Robert Louis - NEW ARABIAN NIGHTS
Stevenson, Robert Louis - THE BLACK ARROW
Stevenson, Robert Louis - THE STRANGE CASE OF DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE
Stevenson, Robert Louis - TREASURE ISLAND
Stoker, Bram - DRACULA
Strindberg, August - LUCKY PEHR
Strindberg, August - MASTER OLOF
Strindberg, August - THE RED ROOM
Strindberg, August - THE ROAD TO DAMASCUS
Strindberg, August - THERE ARE CRIMES AND CRIMES
Swift, Jonathan - A MODEST PROPOSAL
Swift, Jonathan - A TALE OF A TUB
Swift, Jonathan - GULLIVER'S TRAVELS
Swift, Jonathan - THE BATTLE OF THE BOOKS AND OTHER SHORT PIECES
Tagore, Rabindranath - FRUIT GATHERING
Tagore, Rabindranath - THE GARDENER
Tagore, Rabindranath - THE HUNGRY STONES AND OTHER STORIES
Thackeray, William - BARRY LYNDON
Thackeray, William - VANITY FAIR
Thackeray, William Makepeace - THE BOOK OF SNOBS
Thackeray, William Makepeace - THE ROSE AND THE RING
Thackeray, William Makepeace - THE VIRGINIANS
Thoreau, Henry David - WALDEN
Tolstoi, Leo - A LETTER TO A HINDU
Tolstoy, Lev - ANNA KARENINA
Tolstoy, Lev - WAR AND PEACE
Trollope, Anthony - AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY
Trollope, Anthony - BARCHESTER TOWERS
Trollope, Anthony - FRAMLEY PARSONAGE
Trollope, Anthony - THE EUSTACE DIAMONDS
Trollope, Anthony - THE MAN WHO KEPT HIS MONEY IN A BOX
Trollope, Anthony - THE WARDEN
Trollope, Anthony - THE WAY WE LIVE NOW
Twain, Mark - LIFE ON THE MISSISSIPPI
Twain, Mark - SPEECHES
Twain, Mark - THE ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN
Twain, Mark - THE ADVENTURES OF TOM SAWYER
Twain, Mark - THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER
Vari, Autori - THE MAGNA CARTA
Verga, Giovanni - SICILIAN STORIES
Verne, Jules - 20000 LEAGUES UNDER THE SEAS
Verne, Jules - A JOURNEY TO THE CENTRE OF THE EARTH
Verne, Jules - ALL AROUND THE MOON
Verne, Jules - AROUND THE WORLD IN 80 DAYS
Verne, Jules - FIVE WEEKS IN A BALLOON
Verne, Jules - FROM THE EARTH TO THE MOON
Verne, Jules - MICHAEL STROGOFF
Verne, Jules - THE MYSTERIOUS ISLAND
Voltaire - PHILOSOPHICAL DICTIONARY
Vyasa - MAHABHARATA
Wallace, Edgar - SANDERS OF THE RIVER
Wallace, Edgar - THE DAFFODIL MYSTERY
Wallace, Lew - BEN HUR
Webster, Jean - DADDY LONG LEGS
Wedekind, Franz - THE AWAKENING OF SPRING
Wells, H. G. - KIPPS
Wells, H. G. - THE INVISIBLE MAN
Wells, H. G. - THE ISLAND OF DOCTOR MOREAU
Wells, H. G. - THE STOLEN BACILLUS AND OTHER INCIDENTS
Wells, H. G. - THE TIME MACHINE
Wells, H. G. - THE WAR OF THE WORLDS
Wells, H. G. - WHAT IS COMING
Wharton, Edith - THE AGE OF INNOCENCE
White, Andrew Dickson - FIAT MONEY INFLATION IN FRANCE
Wilde, Oscar - A WOMAN OF NO IMPORTANCE
Wilde, Oscar - AN IDEAL HUSBAND
Wilde, Oscar - DE PROFUNDIS
Wilde, Oscar - LADY WINDERMERE'S FAN
Wilde, Oscar - SALOME
Wilde, Oscar - SELECTED POEMS
Wilde, Oscar - THE BALLAD OF READING GAOL
Wilde, Oscar - THE CANTERVILLE GHOST
Wilde, Oscar - THE HAPPY PRINCE AND OTHER TALES
Wilde, Oscar - THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST
Wilde, Oscar - THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GREY
Wilde, Oscar - THE SOUL OF MAN
Wilson, Epiphanius - SACRED BOOKS OF THE EAST
Wollstonecraft, Mary - A VINDICATION OF THE RIGHTS OF WOMAN
Woolf, Virgina - NIGHT AND DAY
Woolf, Virgina - THE VOYAGE OUT
Woolf, Virginia - JACOB'S ROOM
Woolf, Virginia - MONDAY OR TUESDAY
Wordsworth, William - POEMS
Wordsworth, William - PROSE WORKS
Zola, Emile - THERESE RAQUIN
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ISTRUZIONI D'USO DETTAGLIATE
PAMELA, OR, VIRTUE REWARDED.
By Samuel Richardson.
Published in 1740.
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 mentioned to you,
and left us all much grieved for the loss of her; for she was a dear
good lady, and kind to all us her servants. Much I feared, that as I
was taken by her ladyship to wait upon her person, I should be quite
destitute again, and forced 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 qualified 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 experienced at a pinch,
put it into my good lady's heart, on her death-bed, just an hour before
she expired, 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 these
were some of her last words! O how my eyes run--Don't wonder to see the
paper so blotted.
Well, but God's will must be done!--And so comes the comfort, that I
shall not be obliged to return back to be a clog upon my dear parents!
For my master said, I will take care of you all, my good maidens; and
for you, Pamela, (and took me by the hand; yes, he took my hand before
them all,) for my dear mother's sake, I will be a friend to you, and you
shall take care of my linen. God bless him! and pray with me, my dear
father and mother, for a blessing upon him, for he has given mourning
and a year's wages to all my lady's servants; and I having no wages as
yet, my lady having said she should do for me as I deserved, ordered the
housekeeper to give me mourning with the rest; and gave me with his own
hand four golden guineas, and some silver, which were in my old lady's
pocket when she died; and said, if I was a good girl, and faithful and
diligent, he would be a friend to me, for his mother's sake. And so I
send you these four guineas for your comfort; for Providence will not
let me want: And so you may pay some old debt with part, and keep the
other part to comfort you both. If I get more, I am sure it is my duty,
and it shall be my care, to love and cherish you both; for you have
loved and cherished me, when I could do nothing for myself. I send them
by John, our footman, who goes your way: but he does not know what he
carries; because I seal them up in one of the little pill-boxes, which
my lady had, wrapt close in paper, that they mayn't chink; and be sure
don't open it before him.
I know, dear father and mother, I must give you both grief and pleasure;
and so I will only say, Pray for your Pamela; who will ever be
Your most dutiful DAUGHTER.
I have been scared out of my senses; for just now, as I was folding up
this letter in my late lady's dressing-room, in comes my young master!
Good sirs! how was I frightened! I went to hide the letter in my bosom;
and he, seeing me tremble, said, smiling, To whom have you been writing,
Pamela?--I said, in my confusion, Pray your honour forgive me!--Only to
my father and mother. He said, Well then, let me see how you are come on
in your writing! O how ashamed I was!--He took it, without saying more,
and read it quite through, and then gave it me again;--and I said, Pray
your honour forgive me!--Yet I know not for what: for he was always
dutiful to his parents; and why should he be angry that I was so to
mine? And indeed he was not angry; for he took me by the hand, and said,
You are a good girl, Pamela, to be kind to your aged father and mother.
I am not angry with you for writing such innocent matters as these:
though you ought to be wary what tales you send out of a family.--Be
faithful and diligent; and do as you should do, and I like you the
better for this. And then he said, Why, Pamela, you write a very pretty
hand, and spell tolerably too. I see my good mother's care in your
learning has not been thrown away upon you. She used to say you loved
reading; you may look into any of her books, to improve yourself, so you
take care of them. To be sure I did nothing but courtesy and cry,
and was all in confusion, at his goodness. Indeed he is the best of
gentlemen, I think! But I am making another long letter: So will only
add to it, that I shall ever be Your dutiful daughter, PAMELA ANDREWS.
[In answer to the preceding.]
Your letter was indeed a great trouble, and some comfort, to me and your
poor mother. We are troubled, to be sure, for your good lady's death,
who took such care of you, and gave you learning, and, for three or
four years past, has always been giving you clothes and linen, and every
thing that a gentlewoman need not be ashamed to appear in. But our chief
trouble is, and indeed a very great one, for fear you should be brought
to anything dishonest or wicked, by being set so above yourself. Every
body talks how you have come on, and what a genteel girl you are; and
some say you are very pretty; and, indeed, six months since, when I saw
you last, I should have thought so myself, if you was not our child. But
what avails all this, if you are to be ruined and undone!--Indeed, my
dear Pamela, we begin to be in great fear for you; for what signify all
the riches in the world, with a bad conscience, and to be dishonest! We
are, 'tis true, very poor, and find it hard enough to live; though once,
as you know, it was better with us. But we would sooner live upon the
water, and, if possible, the clay of the ditches I contentedly dig, than
live better at the price of our child's ruin.
I hope the good 'squire has no design: but when he has given you so much
money, and speaks so kindly to you, and praises your coming on; and, oh,
that fatal word! that he would be kind to you, if you would do as you
should do, almost kills us with fears.
I have spoken to good old widow Mumford about it, who, you know, has
formerly lived in good families; and she puts us in some comfort; for
she says it is not unusual, when a lady dies, to give what she has about
her person to her waiting-maid, and to such as sit up with her in her
illness. But, then, why should he smile so kindly upon you? Why should
he take such a poor girl as you by the hand, as your letter says he has
done twice? Why should he stoop to read your letter to us; and commend
your writing and spelling? And why should he give you leave to read his
mother's books?--Indeed, indeed, my dearest child, our hearts ache for
you; and then you seem so full of joy at his goodness, so taken with
his kind expressions, (which, truly, are very great favours, if he
means well) that we fear--yes, my dear child, we fear--you should be too
grateful,--and reward him with that jewel, your virtue, which no riches,
nor favour, nor any thing in this life, can make up to you.
I, too, have written a long letter, but will say one thing more; and
that is, that, in the midst of our poverty and misfortunes, we have
trusted in God's goodness, and been honest, and doubt not to be happy
hereafter, if we continue to be good, though our lot is hard here; but
the loss of our dear child's virtue would be a grief that we could not
bear, and would bring our grey hairs to the grave at once.
If, then, you love us, if you wish for God's blessing, and your own
future happiness, we both charge you to stand upon your guard: and,
if you find the least attempt made upon your virtue, be sure you leave
every thing behind you, and come away to us; for we had rather see you
all covered with rags, and even follow you to the churchyard, than
have it said, a child of ours preferred any worldly conveniences to her
We accept kindly your dutiful present; but, till we are out of pain,
cannot make use of it, for fear we should partake of the price of our
poor daughter's shame: so have laid it up in a rag among the thatch,
over the window, for a while, lest we should be robbed. With our
blessings, and our hearty prayers for you, we remain,
Your careful, but loving Father and Mother,
JOHN AND ELIZABETH ANDREWS.
I must needs say, your letter has filled me with trouble, for it has
made my heart, which was overflowing with gratitude for my master's
goodness, suspicious and fearful: and yet I hope I shall never find him
to act unworthy of his character; for what could he get by ruining such
a poor young creature as me? But that which gives me most trouble is,
that you seem to mistrust the honesty of your child. No, my dear father
and mother, be assured, that, by God's grace, I never will do any thing
that shall bring your grey hairs with sorrow to the grave. I will die a
thousand deaths, rather than be dishonest any way. Of that be assured,
and set your hearts at rest; for although I have lived above myself for
some time past, yet I can be content with rags and poverty, and bread
and water, and will embrace them, rather than forfeit my good name,
let who will be the tempter. And of this pray rest satisfied, and think
better of Your dutiful DAUGHTER till death.
My master continues to be very affable to me. As yet I see no cause to
fear any thing. Mrs. Jervis, the housekeeper, too, is very civil to
me, and I have the love of every body. Sure they can't all have designs
against me, because they are civil! I hope I shall always behave so as
to be respected by every one; and that nobody would do me more hurt than
I am sure I would do them. Our John so often goes your way, that I will
always get him to call, that you may hear from me, either by writing,
(for it brings my hand in,) or by word of mouth.
For the last was to my father, in answer to his letter; and so I will
now write to you; though I have nothing to say, but what will make me
look more like a vain hussy, than any thing else: However, I hope I
shan't be so proud as to forget myself. Yet there is a secret pleasure
one has to hear one's self praised. You must know, then, that my Lady
Davers, who, I need not tell you, is my master's sister, has been a
month at our house, and has taken great notice of me, and given me good
advice to keep myself to myself. She told me I was a pretty wench, and
that every body gave me a very good character, and loved me; and bid me
take care to keep the fellows at a distance; and said, that I might do,
and be more valued for it, even by themselves.
But what pleased me much was, what I am going to tell you; for at table,
as Mrs. Jervis says, my master and her ladyship talking of me, she told
him she thought me the prettiest wench she ever saw in her life; and
that I was too pretty to live in a bachelor's house; since no lady he
might marry would care to continue me with her. He said, I was vastly
improved, and had a good share of prudence, and sense above my
years; and that it would be pity, that what was my merit should be my
misfortune.--No, says my good lady, Pamela shall come and live with me,
I think. He said, with all his heart; he should be glad to have me so
well provided for. Well, said she, I'll consult my lord about it. She
asked how old I was; and Mrs. Jervis said, I was fifteen last February.
O! says she, if the wench (for so she calls all us maiden servants)
takes care of herself, she'll improve yet more and more, as well in her
person as mind.
Now, my dear father and mother, though this may look too vain to be
repeated by me; yet are you not rejoiced, as well as I, to see my master
so willing to part with me?--This shews that he has nothing bad in his
heart. But John is just going away; and so I have only to say, that I
am, and will always be,
Your honest as well as dutiful DAUGHTER.
Pray make use of the money. You may now do it safely.
MY DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
John being to go your way, I am willing to write, because he is so
willing to carry any thing for me. He says it does him good at his heart
to see you both, and to hear you talk. He says you are both so sensible,
and so honest, that he always learns something from you to the purpose.
It is a thousand pities, he says, that such worthy hearts should not
have better luck in the world! and wonders, that you, my father, who are
so well able to teach, and write so good a hand, succeeded no better in
the school you attempted to set up; but was forced to go to such hard
labour. But this is more pride to me, that I am come of such honest
parents, than if I had been born a lady.
I hear nothing yet of going to Lady Davers; and I am very easy at
present here: for Mrs. Jervis uses me as if I were her own daughter,
and is a very good woman, and makes my master's interest her own. She is
always giving me good counsel, and I love her next to you two, I think,
best of any body. She keeps so good rule and order, she is mightily
respected by us all; and takes delight to hear me read to her; and all
she loves to hear read, is good books, which we read whenever we are
alone; so that I think I am at home with you. She heard one of our men,
Harry, who is no better than he should be, speak freely to me; I think
he called me his pretty Pamela, and took hold of me, as if he would have
kissed me; for which, you may be sure, I was very angry: and she took
him to task, and was as angry at him as could be; and told me she was
very well pleased to see my prudence and modesty, and that I kept all
the fellows at a distance. And indeed I am sure I am not proud, and
carry it civilly to every body; but yet, methinks, I cannot bear to be
looked upon by these men-servants, for they seem as if they would look
one through; and, as I generally breakfast, dine, and sup, with Mrs.
Jervis, (so good she is to me,) I am very easy that I have so little to
say to them. Not but they are civil to me in the main, for Mrs. Jervis's
sake, who they see loves me; and they stand in awe of her, knowing her
to be a gentlewoman born, though she has had misfortunes. I am going on
again with a long letter; for I love writing, and shall tire you. But,
when I began, I only intended to say, that I am quite fearless of any
danger now: and, indeed, cannot but wonder at myself, (though your
caution to me was your watchful love,) that I should be so foolish as
to be so uneasy as I have been: for I am sure my master would not demean
himself, so as to think upon such a poor girl as I, for my harm. For
such a thing would ruin his credit, as well as mine, you know: who, to
be sure, may expect one of the best ladies in the land. So no more at
present, but that I am
Your ever dutiful DAUGHTER.
DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
My master has been very kind since my last; for he has given me a suit
of my late lady's clothes, and half a dozen of her shifts, and six fine
handkerchiefs, and three of her cambric aprons, and four holland ones.
The clothes are fine silk, and too rich and too good for me, to be sure.
I wish it was no affront to him to make money of them, and send it to
you: it would do me more good.
You will be full of fears, I warrant now, of some design upon me, till I
tell you, that he was with Mrs. Jervis when he gave them me; and he gave
her a mort of good things, at the same time, and bid her wear them in
remembrance of her good friend, my lady, his mother. And when he gave me
these fine things, he said, These, Pamela, are for you; have them made
fit for you, when your mourning is laid by, and wear them for your good
mistress's sake. Mrs. Jervis gives you a very good word; and I would
have you continue to behave as prudently as you have done hitherto, and
every body will be your friend.
I was so surprised at his goodness, that I could not tell what to say.
I courtesied to him, and to Mrs. Jervis for her good word; and said, I
wished I might be deserving of his favour, and her kindness: and nothing
should be wanting in me, to the best of my knowledge.
O how amiable a thing is doing good!--It is all I envy great folks for.
I always thought my young master a fine gentleman, as every body says he
is: but he gave these good things to us both with such a graciousness,
as I thought he looked like an angel.
Mrs. Jervis says, he asked her, If I kept the men at a distance? for, he
said, I was very pretty; and to be drawn in to have any of them, might
be my ruin, and make me poor and miserable betimes. She never is wanting
to give me a good word, and took occasion to launch out in my praise,
she says. But I hope she has said no more than I shall try to deserve,
though I mayn't at present. I am sure I will always love her, next to
you and my dear mother. So I rest
Your ever dutiful DAUGHTER.
Since my last, my master gave me more fine things. He called me up to my
late lady's closet, and, pulling out her drawers, he gave me two suits
of fine Flanders laced headclothes, three pair of fine silk shoes, two
hardly the worse, and just fit for me, (for my lady had a very little
foot,) and the other with wrought silver buckles in them; and several
ribands and top-knots of all colours; four pair of white fine cotton
stockings, and three pair of fine silk ones; and two pair of rich stays.
I was quite astonished, and unable to speak for a while; but yet I was
inwardly ashamed to take the stockings; for Mrs. Jervis was not there:
If she had, it would have been nothing. I believe I received them very
awkwardly; for he smiled at my awkwardness, and said, Don't blush,
Pamela: Dost think I don't know pretty maids should wear shoes and
I was so confounded at these words, you might have beat me down with a
feather. For you must think, there was no answer to be made to this: So,
like a fool, I was ready to cry; and went away courtesying and blushing,
I am sure, up to the ears; for, though there was no harm in what he
said, yet I did not know how to take it. But I went and told all to Mrs.
Jervis, who said, God put it into his heart to be good to me; and I must
double my diligence. It looked to her, she said, as if he would fit me
in dress for a waiting-maid's place on Lady Davers's own person.
But still your kind fatherly cautions came into my head, and made all
these gifts nothing near to me what they would have been. But yet, I
hope, there is no reason; for what good could it do to him to harm such
a simple maiden as me? Besides, to be sure no lady would look upon
him, if he should so disgrace himself. So I will make myself easy; and,
indeed, I should never have been otherwise, if you had not put it into
my head; for my good, I know very well. But, may be, without these
uneasinesses to mingle with these benefits, I might be too much puffed
up: So I will conclude, all that happens is for our good; and God bless
you, my dear father and mother; and I know you constantly pray for a
blessing upon me; who am, and shall always be,
Your dutiful DAUGHTER.
I cannot but renew my cautions on your master's kindness, and his free
expression to you about the stockings. Yet there may not be, and I hope
there is not, any thing in it. But when I reflect, that there possibly
may, and that if there should, no less depends upon it than my child's
everlasting happiness in this world and the next; it is enough to make
one fearful for you. Arm yourself, my dear child, for the worst; and
resolve to lose your life sooner than your virtue. What though the
doubts I filled you with, lessen the pleasure you would have had in your
master's kindness; yet what signify the delights that arise from a few
paltry fine clothes, in comparison with a good conscience?
These are, indeed, very great favours that he heaps upon you, but so
much the more to be suspected; and when you say he looked so amiably,
and like an angel, how afraid I am, that they should make too great an
impression upon you! For, though you are blessed with sense and prudence
above your years, yet I tremble to think, what a sad hazard a poor
maiden of little more than fifteen years of age stands against the
temptations of this world, and a designing young gentleman, if he should
prove so, who has so much power to oblige, and has a kind of authority
to command, as your master.
I charge you, my dear child, on both our blessings, poor as we are, to
be on your guard; there can be no harm in that. And since Mrs. Jervis is
so good a gentlewoman, and so kind to you, I am the easier a great deal,
and so is your mother; and we hope you will hide nothing from her, and
take her counsel in every thing. So, with our blessings, and assured
prayers for you, more than for ourselves, we remain,
Your loving FATHER AND MOTHER.
Be sure don't let people's telling you, you are pretty, puff you up; for
you did not make yourself, and so can have no praise due to you for
it. It is virtue and goodness only, that make the true beauty. Remember
DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
I am sorry to write you word, that the hopes I had of going to wait on
Lady Davers, are quite over. My lady would have had me; but my master,
as I heard by the by, would not consent to it. He said her nephew might
be taken with me, and I might draw him in, or be drawn in by him; and he
thought, as his mother loved me, and committed me to his care, he ought
to continue me with him; and Mrs. Jervis would be a mother to me. Mrs.
Jervis tells me the lady shook her head, and said, Ah! brother! and that
was all. And as you have made me fearful by your cautions, my heart
at times misgives me. But I say nothing yet of your caution, or my own
uneasiness, to Mrs. Jervis; not that I mistrust her, but for fear she
should think me presumptuous, and vain and conceited, to have any fears
about the matter, from the great distance between such a gentleman, and
so poor a girl. But yet Mrs. Jervis seemed to build something upon Lady
Davers's shaking her head, and saying, Ah! brother! and no more. God, I
hope, will give me his grace: and so I will not, if I can help it, make
myself too uneasy; for I hope there is no occasion. But every little
matter that happens, I will acquaint you with, that you may continue to
me your good advice, and pray for
Your sad-hearted PAMELA.
You and my good father may wonder you have not had a letter from me in
so many weeks; but a sad, sad scene, has been the occasion of it. For to
be sure, now it is too plain, that all your cautions were well grounded.
O my dear mother! I am miserable, truly miserable!--But yet, don't be
frightened, I am honest!--God, of his goodness, keep me so!
O this angel of a master! this fine gentleman! this gracious benefactor
to your poor Pamela! who was to take care of me at the prayer of his
good dying mother; who was so apprehensive for me, lest I should be
drawn in by Lord Davers's nephew, that he would not let me go to Lady
Davers's: This very gentleman (yes, I must call him gentleman, though he
has fallen from the merit of that title) has degraded himself to offer
freedoms to his poor servant! He has now shewed himself in his true
colours; and, to me, nothing appear so black, and so frightful.
I have not been idle; but had writ from time to time, how he, by sly
mean degrees, exposed his wicked views; but somebody stole my letter,
and I know not what has become of it. It was a very long one. I fear, he
that was mean enough to do bad things, in one respect, did not stick at
this. But be it as it will, all the use he can make of it will be, that
he may be ashamed of his part; I not of mine: for he will see I was
resolved to be virtuous, and gloried in the honesty of my poor parents.
I will tell you all, the next opportunity; for I am watched very
narrowly; and he says to Mrs. Jervis, This girl is always scribbling;
I think she may be better employed. And yet I work all hours with
my needle, upon his linen, and the fine linen of the family; and am,
besides, about flowering him a waistcoat.--But, oh! my heart's broke
almost; for what am I likely to have for my reward, but shame and
disgrace, or else ill words, and hard treatment! I'll tell you all soon,
and hope I shall find my long letter.
Your most afflicted DAUGHTER.
May-be, I he and him too much: but it is his own fault if I do. For why
did he lose all his dignity with me?
Well, I can't find my letter, and so I'll try to recollect it all, and
be as brief as I can. All went well enough in the main for some time
after my letter but one. At last, I saw some reason to suspect; for he
would look upon me, whenever he saw me, in such a manner, as shewed not
well; and one day he came to me, as I was in the summer-house in the
little garden, at work with my needle, and Mrs. Jervis was just gone
from me; and I would have gone out, but he said, No don't go, Pamela;
I have something to say to you; and you always fly me when I come near
you, as if you were afraid of me.
I was much out of countenance, you may well think; but said, at last, It
does not become your good servant to stay in your presence, sir, without
your business required it; and I hope I shall always know my place.
Well, says he, my business does require it sometimes; and I have a mind
you should stay to hear what I have to say to you.
I stood still confounded, and began to tremble, and the more when he
took me by the hand; for now no soul was near us.
My sister Davers, said he, (and seemed, I thought, to be as much at a
loss for words as I,) would have had you live with her; but she would
not do for you what I am resolved to do, if you continue faithful and
obliging. What say'st thou, my girl? said he, with some eagerness;
had'st thou not rather stay with me, than go to my sister Davers? He
looked so, as filled me with affrightment; I don't know how; wildly, I
I said, when I could speak, Your honour will forgive me; but as you have
no lady for me to wait upon, and my good lady has been now dead this
twelvemonth, I had rather, if it would not displease you, wait upon Lady
I was proceeding, and he said, a little hastily--Because you are a
little fool, and know not what's good for yourself. I tell you I will
make a gentlewoman of you, if you be obliging, and don't stand in your
own light; and so saying, he put his arm about me, and kissed me!
Now, you will say, all his wickedness appeared plainly. I struggled and
trembled, and was so benumbed with terror, that I sunk down, not in a
fit, and yet not myself; and I found myself in his arms, quite void
of strength; and he kissed me two or three times, with frightful
eagerness.--At last I burst from him, and was getting out of the
summer-house; but he held me back, and shut the door.
I would have given my life for a farthing. And he said, I'll do you no
harm, Pamela; don't be afraid of me. I said, I won't stay. You won't,
hussy! said he: Do you know whom you speak to? I lost all fear, and all
respect, and said, Yes, I do, sir, too well!--Well may I forget that I
am your servant, when you forget what belongs to a master.
I sobbed and cried most sadly. What a foolish hussy you are! said he:
Have I done you any harm? Yes, sir, said I, the greatest harm in the
world: You have taught me to forget myself and what belongs to me,
and have lessened the distance that fortune has made between us, by
demeaning yourself, to be so free to a poor servant. Yet, sir, I will be
bold to say, I am honest, though poor: and if you was a prince, I would
not be otherwise.
He was angry, and said, Who would have you otherwise, you foolish slut!
Cease your blubbering. I own I have demeaned myself; but it was only to
try you. If you can keep this matter secret, you'll give me the better
opinion of your prudence; and here's something, said he, putting some
gold in my hand, to make you amends for the fright I put you in. Go,
take a walk in the garden, and don't go in till your blubbering is over:
and I charge you say nothing of what is past, and all shall be well, and
I'll forgive you.
I won't take the money, indeed, sir, said I, poor as I am I won't take
it. For, to say truth, I thought it looked like taking earnest, and so
I put it upon the bench; and as he seemed vexed and confused at what he
had done, I took the opportunity to open the door, and went out of the
He called to me, and said, Be secret; I charge you, Pamela; and don't go
in yet, as I told you.
O how poor and mean must those actions be, and how little must they make
the best of gentlemen look, when they offer such things as are unworthy
of themselves, and put it into the power of their inferiors to be
greater than they!
I took a turn or two in the garden, but in sight of the house, for fear
of the worst; and breathed upon my hand to dry my eyes, because I would
not be too disobedient. My next shall tell you more.
Pray for me, my dear father and mother: and don't be angry I have not
yet run away from this house, so late my comfort and delight, but now my
terror and anguish. I am forced to break off hastily.
Your dutiful and honest DAUGHTER.
Well, I will now proceed with my sad story. And so, after I had dried
my eyes, I went in, and began to ruminate with myself what I had best to
do. Sometimes I thought I would leave the house and go to the next
town, and wait an opportunity to get to you; but then I was at a loss to
resolve whether to take away the things he had given me or no, and how
to take them away: Sometimes I thought to leave them behind me, and only
go with the clothes on my back, but then I had two miles and a half,
and a byway, to the town; and being pretty well dressed, I might come to
some harm, almost as bad as what I would run away from; and then may-be,
thought I, it will be reported, I have stolen something, and so was
forced to run away; and to carry a bad name back with me to my dear
parents, would be a sad thing indeed!--O how I wished for my grey russet
again, and my poor honest dress, with which you fitted me out, (and hard
enough too it was for you to do it!) for going to this place, when I
was not twelve years old, in my good lady's days! Sometimes I thought of
telling Mrs. Jervis, and taking her advice, and only feared his command
to be secret; for, thought I, he may be ashamed of his actions, and
never attempt the like again: And as poor Mrs. Jervis depended upon him,
through misfortunes, that had attended her, I thought it would be a sad
thing to bring his displeasure upon her for my sake.
In this quandary, now considering, now crying, and not knowing what to
do, I passed the time in my chamber till evening; when desiring to be
excused going to supper, Mrs. Jervis came up to me, and said, Why must I
sup without you, Pamela? Come, I see you are troubled at something; tell
me what is the matter.
I begged I might be permitted to be with her on nights; for I was afraid
of spirits, and they would not hurt such a good person as she. That
was a silly excuse, she said; for why was not you afraid of spirits
before?--(Indeed I did not think of that.) But you shall be my
bed-fellow with all my heart, added she, let your reason be what it
will; only come down to supper. I begged to be excused; for, said I,
I have been crying so, that it will be taken notice of by my
fellow-servants; and I will hide nothing from you, Mrs. Jervis, when we
She was so good to indulge me; but made haste to come up to bed; and
told the servants, that I should be with her, because she could not
rest well, and would get me to read her to sleep; for she knew I loved
reading, she said.
When we were alone, I told her all that had passed; for I thought,
though he had bid me not, yet if he should come to know I had told, it
would be no worse; for to keep a secret of such a nature, would be, as
I apprehended, to deprive myself of the good advice which I never wanted
more; and might encourage him to think I did not resent it as I ought,
and would keep worse secrets, and so make him do worse by me. Was I
right, my dear mother?
Mrs. Jervis could not help mingling tears with my tears; for I cried all
the time I was telling her the story, and begged her to advise me what
to do; and I shewed her my dear father's two letters, and she praised
the honesty and editing of them, and said pleasing things to me of you
both. But she begged I would not think of leaving my service; for,
said she, in all likelihood, you behaved so virtuously, that he will
be ashamed of what he has done, and never offer the like to you again:
though, my dear Pamela, said she, I fear more for your prettiness than
for anything else; because the best man in the land might love you:
so she was pleased to say. She wished it was in her power to live
independent; then she would take a little private house, and I should
live with her like her daughter.
And so, as you ordered me to take her advice, I resolved to tarry to see
how things went, except he was to turn me away; although, in your first
letter, you ordered me to come away the moment I had any reason to be
apprehensive. So, dear father and mother, it is not disobedience, I
hope, that I stay; for I could not expect a blessing, or the good fruits
of your prayers for me, if I was disobedient.
All the next day I was very sad, and began my long letter. He saw me
writing, and said (as I mentioned) to Mrs. Jervis, That girl is always
scribbling; methinks she might find something else to do, or to that
purpose. And when I had finished my letter, I put it under the toilet in
my late lady's dressing-room, whither nobody comes but myself and Mrs.
Jervis, besides my master; but when I came up again to seal it, to my
great concern, it was gone; and Mrs. Jervis knew nothing of it; and
nobody knew of my master's having been near the place in the time; so I
have been sadly troubled about it: But Mrs. Jervis, as well as I, thinks
he has it, some how or other; and he appears cross and angry, and seems
to shun me, as much as he said I did him. It had better be so than
But he has ordered Mrs. Jervis to bid me not pass so much time in
writing; which is a poor matter for such a gentleman as he to take
notice of, as I am not idle other ways, if he did not resent what he
thought I wrote upon. And this has no very good look.
But I am a good deal easier since I lie with Mrs. Jervis; though, after
all, the fears I live in on one side, and his frowning and displeasure
at what I do on the other, make me more miserable than enough.
O that I had never left my little bed in the loft, to be thus exposed
to temptations on one hand, or disgusts on the other! How happy was I
awhile ago! How contrary now!--Pity and pray for
My DEAREST CHILD,
Our hearts bleed for your distress, and the temptations you are exposed
to. You have our hourly prayers; and we would have you flee this evil
great house and man, if you find he renews his attempts. You ought to
have done it at first, had you not had Mrs. Jervis to advise with. We
can find no fault in your conduct hitherto: But it makes our hearts ache
for fear of the worst. O my child! temptations are sore things,--but
yet, without them, we know not ourselves, nor what we are able to do.
Your danger is very great; for you have riches, youth, and a fine
gentleman, as the world reckons him, to withstand; but how great will be
your honour to withstand them! And when we consider your past conduct,
and your virtuous education, and that you have been bred to be more
ashamed of dishonesty than poverty, we trust in God, that He will enable
you to overcome. Yet, as we can't see but your life must be a burthen to
you, through the great apprehensions always upon you; and that it may be
presumptuous to trust too much to our own strength; and that you are
but very young; and the devil may put it into his heart to use some
stratagem, of which great men are full, to decoy you: I think you had
better come home to share our poverty with safety, than live with so
much discontent in a plenty, that itself may be dangerous. God direct
you for the best! While you have Mrs. Jervis for an adviser and
bed-fellow, (and, O my dear child! that was prudently done of you,)
we are easier than we should be; and so committing you to the divine
Your truly loving, but careful,
FATHER and MOTHER.
DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
Mrs. Jervis and I have lived very comfortably together for this
fortnight past; for my master was all that time at his Lincolnshire
estate, and at his sister's, the Lady Davers. But he came home
yesterday. He had some talk with Mrs. Jervis soon after, and mostly
about me. He said to her, it seems, Well, Mrs. Jervis, I know Pamela has
your good word; but do you think her of any use in the family? She told
me she was surprised at the question, but said, That I was one of the
most virtuous and industrious young creatures that ever she knew. Why
that word virtuous, said he, I pray you? Was there any reason to suppose
her otherwise? Or has any body taken it into his head to try her?--I
wonder, sir, says she, you ask such a question! Who dare offer any thing
to her in such an orderly and well-governed house as yours, and under a
master of so good a character for virtue and honour? Your servant, Mrs.
Jervis, says he, for your good opinion: but pray, if any body did, do
you think Pamela would let you know it? Why, sir, said she, she is a
poor innocent young creature, and I believe has so much confidence in
me, that she would take my advice as soon as she would her mother's.
Innocent! again, and virtuous, I warrant! Well, Mrs. Jervis, you abound
with your epithets; but I take her to be an artful young baggage; and
had I a young handsome butler or steward, she'd soon make her market of
one of them, if she thought it worth while to snap at him for a husband.
Alack-a-day, sir, said she, it is early days with Pamela; and she does
not yet think of a husband, I dare say: and your steward and butler are
both men in years, and think nothing of the matter. No, said he, if they
were younger, they'd have more wit than to think of such a girl; I'll
tell you my mind of her, Mrs. Jervis: I don't think this same favourite
of yours so very artless a girl as you imagine. I am not to dispute with
your honour, said Mrs. Jervis; but I dare say, if the men will let her
alone, she'll never trouble herself about them. Why, Mrs. Jervis, said
he, are there any men that will not let her alone, that you know of?
No, indeed, sir, said she; she keeps herself so much to herself, and yet
behaves so prudently, that they all esteem her, and shew her as great a
respect as if she was a gentlewoman born.
Ay, says he, that's her art, that I was speaking of: but, let me tell
you, the girl has vanity and conceit, and pride too, or I am mistaken;
and, perhaps, I could give you an instance of it. Sir, said she, you can
see farther than such a poor silly woman as I am; but I never saw any
thing but innocence in her--And virtue too, I'll warrant ye! said he.
But suppose I could give you an instance, where she has talked a little
too freely of the kindnesses that have been shewn her from a certain
quarter; and has had the vanity to impute a few kind words, uttered in
mere compassion to her youth and circumstances, into a design upon her,
and even dared to make free with names that she ought never to mention
but with reverence and gratitude; what would you say to that?--Say, sir!
said she, I cannot tell what to say. But I hope Pamela incapable of such
Well, no more of this silly girl, says he; you may only advise her,
as you are her friend, not to give herself too much licence upon the
favours she meets with; and if she stays here, that she will not write
the affairs of my family purely for an exercise to her pen, and her
invention. I tell you she is a subtle, artful gipsy, and time will shew
Was ever the like heard, my dear father and mother? It is plain he did
not expect to meet with such a repulse, and mistrusts that I have told
Mrs. Jervis, and has my long letter too, that I intended for you; and
so is vexed to the heart. But I can't help it. I had better be thought
artful and subtle, than be so, in his sense; and, as light as he makes
of the words virtue and innocence in me, he would have made a less angry
construction, had I less deserved that he should do so; for then, may
be, my crime should have been my virtue with him naughty gentleman as he
I will soon write again; but must now end with saying, that I am, and
shall always be, Your honest DAUGHTER.
I broke off abruptly my last letter; for I feared he was coming; and so
it happened. I put the letter in my bosom, and took up my work, which
lay by me; but I had so little of the artful, as he called it, that I
looked as confused as if I had been doing some great harm.
Sit still, Pamela, said he, mind your work, for all me.--You don't tell
me I am welcome home, after my journey to Lincolnshire. It would be
hard, sir, said I, if you was not always welcome to your honour's own
I would have gone; but he said, Don't run away, I tell you. I have a
word or two to say to you. Good sirs, how my heart went pit-a-pat!
When I was a little kind to you, said he, in the summer-house, and you
carried yourself so foolishly upon it, as if I had intended to do you
great harm, did I not tell you you should take no notice of what passed
to any creature? and yet you have made a common talk of the matter, not
considering either my reputation, or your own.--I made a common talk of
it, sir! said I: I have nobody to talk to, hardly.
He interrupted me, and said, Hardly! you little equivocator! what do you
mean by hardly? Let me ask you, have not you told Mrs. Jervis for one?
Pray your honour, said I, all in agitation, let me go down; for it is
not for me to hold an argument with your honour. Equivocator, again!
said he, and took my hand, what do you talk of an argument? Is it
holding an argument with me to answer a plain question? Answer me what I
asked. O, good sir, said I, let me beg you will not urge me farther, for
fear I forget myself again, and be saucy.
Answer me then, I bid you, says he, Have you not told Mrs. Jervis? It
will be saucy in you if you don't answer me directly to what I ask. Sir,
said I, and fain would have pulled my hand away, perhaps I should be for
answering you by another question, and that would not become me. What is
it you would say? replies he; speak out.
Then, sir, said I, why should your honour be so angry I should tell Mrs.
Jervis, or any body else, what passed, if you intended no harm?
Well said, pretty innocent and artless! as Mrs. Jervis calls you, said
he; and is it thus you taunt and retort upon me, insolent as you are!
But still I will be answered directly to my question. Why then, sir,
said I, I will not tell a lie for the world: I did tell Mrs. Jervis; for
my heart was almost broken; but I opened not my mouth to any other. Very
well, boldface, said he, and equivocator again! You did not open your
mouth to any other; but did not you write to some other? Why, now, and
please your honour, said I, (for I was quite courageous just then,) you
could not have asked me this question, if you had not taken from me
my letter to my father and mother, in which I own I had broken my mind
freely to them, and asked their advice, and poured forth my griefs!
And so I am to be exposed, am I, said he, in my own house, and out of
my house, to the whole world, by such a sauce-box as you? No, good sir,
said I, and I hope your honour won't be angry with me; it is not I
that expose you, if I say nothing but the truth. So, taunting again!
Assurance as you are! said he: I will not be thus talked to!
Pray, sir, said I, of whom can a poor girl take advice, if it must not
be of her father and mother, and such a good woman as Mrs. Jervis, who,
for her sex-sake, should give it me when asked? Insolence! said he, and
stamped with his foot, am I to be questioned thus by such a one as you?
I fell down on my knees, and said, For Heaven's sake, your honour, pity
a poor creature, that knows nothing of her duty, but how to cherish her
virtue and good name: I have nothing else to trust to: and, though poor
and friendless here, yet I have always been taught to value honesty
above my life. Here's ado with your honesty, said he, foolish girl! Is
it not one part of honesty to be dutiful and grateful to your master, do
you think? Indeed, sir, said I, it is impossible I should be ungrateful
to your honour, or disobedient, or deserve the names of bold-face or
insolent, which you call me, but when your commands are contrary to that
first duty which shall ever be the principle of my life!
He seemed to be moved, and rose up, and walked into the great chamber
two or three turns, leaving me on my knees; and I threw my apron over my
face, and laid my head on a chair, and cried as if my heart would break,
having no power to stir.
At last he came in again, but, alas! with mischief in his heart! and
raising me up, he said, Rise, Pamela, rise; you are your own enemy. Your
perverse folly will be your ruin: I tell you this, that I am very
much displeased with the freedoms you have taken with my name to my
housekeeper, as also to your father and mother; and you may as well have
real cause to take these freedoms with me, as to make my name suffer for
imaginary ones. And saying so, he offered to take me on his knee, with
some force. O how I was terrified! I said, like as I had read in a book
a night or two before, Angels and saints, and all the host of heaven,
defend me! And may I never survive one moment that fatal one in which I
shall forfeit my innocence! Pretty fool! said he, how will you forfeit
your innocence, if you are obliged to yield to a force you cannot
withstand? Be easy, said he; for let the worst happen that can, you
will have the merit, and I the blame; and it will be a good subject for
letters to your father and mother, and a tale into the bargain for Mrs.
He by force kissed my neck and lips; and said, Whoever blamed Lucretia?
All the shame lay on the ravisher only and I am content to take all the
blame upon me, as I have already borne too great a share for what I have
May I, said I, Lucretia like, justify myself with my death, if I am used
barbarously! O my good girl! said he, tauntingly, you are well read,
I see; and we shall make out between us, before we have done, a pretty
story in romance, I warrant ye.
He then put his hand in my bosom, and indignation gave me double
strength, and I got loose from him by a sudden spring, and ran out of
the room! and the next chamber being open, I made shift to get into it,
and threw to the door, and it locked after me; but he followed me so
close, he got hold of my gown, and tore a piece off, which hung without
the door; for the key was on the inside.
I just remember I got into the room; for I knew nothing further of the
matter till afterwards; for I fell into a fit with my terror, and there
I lay, till he, as I suppose, looking through the key-hole, spyed me
upon the floor, stretched out at length, on my face; and then he called
Mrs. Jervis to me, who, by his assistance, bursting open the door, he
went away, seeing me coming to myself; and bid her say nothing of the
matter, if she was wise.
Poor Mrs. Jervis thought it was worse, and cried over me like as if she
was my mother; and I was two hours before I came to myself; and just as
I got a little up on my feet, he coming in, I fainted away again with
the terror; and so he withdrew: but he staid in the next room to let
nobody come near us, that his foul proceedings might not be known.
Mrs. Jervis gave me her smelling-bottle, and had cut my laces, and set
me in a great chair, and he called her to him: How is the girl? said he:
I never saw such a fool in my life. I did nothing at all to her. Mrs.
Jervis could not speak for crying. So he said, She has told you, it
seems, that I was kind to her in the summer-house, though I'll assure
you, I was quite innocent then as well as now; and I desire you to keep
this matter to yourself, and let me not be named in it.
O, sir, said she, for your honour's sake, and for Christ's sake!--But
he would not hear her, and said--For your own sake, I tell you, Mrs.
Jervis, say not a word more. I have done her no harm. And I won't have
her stay in my house; prating, perverse fool, as she is! But since she
is so apt to fall into fits, or at least pretend to do so, prepare her
to see me to-morrow after dinner, in my mother's closet, and do you be
with her, and you shall hear what passes between us.
And so he went out in a pet, and ordered his chariot and four to be got
ready, and went a visiting somewhere.
Mrs. Jervis then came to me, and I told her all that had happened, and
said, I was resolved not to stay in the house: And she replying, He
seemed to threaten as much; I said, I am glad of that; then I shall be
easy. So she told me all he had said to her, as above.
Mrs. Jervis is very loath I should go; and yet, poor woman! she begins
to be afraid for herself; but would not have me ruined for the world.
She says to be sure he means no good; but may be, now he sees me so
resolute, he will give over all attempts; and that I shall better know
what to do after tomorrow, when I am to appear before a very bad judge,
O how I dread this to-morrow's appearance! But be as assured, my dear
parents, of the honesty of your poor child, as I am of your prayers for
Your dutiful DAUGHTER.
O this frightful to-morrow; how I dread it!
MY DEAR PARENTS,
I know you longed to hear from me soon; and I send you as soon as I
Well, you may believe how uneasily I passed the time, till his appointed
hour came. Every minute, as it grew nearer, my terrors increased; and
sometimes I had great courage, and sometimes none at all; and I thought
I should faint when it came to the time my master had dined. I could
neither eat nor drink, for my part; and do what I could, my eyes were
swelled with crying.
At last he went up to the closet, which was my good lady's
dressing-room; a room I once loved, but then as much hated.
Don't your heart ache for me?--I am sure mine fluttered about like a
new-caught bird in a cage. O Pamela, said I to myself, why art thou so
foolish and fearful? Thou hast done no harm! What, if thou fearest an
unjust judge, when thou art innocent, would'st thou do before a just
one, if thou wert guilty? Have courage, Pamela, thou knowest the worst!
And how easy a choice poverty and honesty is, rather than plenty and
So I cheered myself; but yet my poor heart sunk, and my spirits were
quite broken. Everything that stirred, I thought was to call me to my
account. I dreaded it, and yet I wished it to come.
Well, at last he rung the bell: O, thought I, that it was my
passing-bell! Mrs. Jervis went up, with a full heart enough, poor good
woman! He said, Where's Pamela? Let her come up, and do you come with
her. She came to me: I was ready to go with my feet; but my heart
was with my dear father and mother, wishing to share your poverty and
happiness. I went up, however.
O how can wicked men seem so steady and untouched with such black
hearts, while poor innocents stand like malefactors before them!
He looked so stern, that my heart failed me, and I wished myself any
where but there, though I had before been summoning up all my courage.
Good Heaven, said I to myself, give me courage to stand before this
naughty master! O soften him, or harden me!
Come in, fool, said he, angrily, as soon as he saw me; (and snatched my
hand with a pull;) you may well be ashamed to see me, after your noise
and nonsense, and exposing me as you have done. I ashamed to see you!
thought I: Very pretty indeed!--But I said nothing.
Mrs. Jervis, said he, here you are both together. Do you sit down; but
let her stand, if she will. Ay, thought I, if I can; for my knees beat
one against the other. Did you not think, when you saw the girl in the
way you found her in, that I had given her the greatest occasion for
complaint, that could possibly be given to a woman? And that I had
actually ruined her, as she calls it? Tell me, could you think any thing
less? Indeed, said she, I feared so at first. Has she told you what I
did to her, and all I did to her, to occasion all this folly, by which
my reputation might have suffered in your opinion, and in that of all
the family.--Inform me, what she has told you?
She was a little too much frightened, as she owned afterwards, at his
sternness, and said, Indeed she told me you only pulled her on your
knee, and kissed her.
Then I plucked up my spirits a little. Only! Mrs. Jervis? said I; and
was not that enough to shew me what I had to fear? When a master of his
honour's degree demeans himself to be so free as that to such a poor
servant as me, what is the next to be expected?--But your honour went
farther, so you did; and threatened me what you would do, and talked of
Lucretia, and her hard fate.--Your honour knows you went too far for a
master to a servant, or even to his equal; and I cannot bear it. So I
fell a crying most sadly.
Mrs. Jervis began to excuse me, and to beg he would pity a poor maiden,
that had such a value for her reputation. He said, I speak it to her
face, I think her very pretty, and I thought her humble, and one that
would not grow upon my favours, or the notice I took of her; but I abhor
the thoughts of forcing her to any thing. I know myself better, said he,
and what belongs to me: And to be sure I have enough demeaned myself to
take notice of such a one as she; but I was bewitched by her, I think,
to be freer than became me; though I had no intention to carry the jest
What poor stuff was all this, my dear mother, from a man of his sense!
But see how a bad cause and bad actions confound the greatest wits!--It
gave me a little more courage then; for innocence, I find, in a low
fortune, and weak mind, has many advantages over guilt, with all its
riches and wisdom.
So I said, Your honour may call this jest or sport, or what you please;
but indeed, sir, it is not a jest that becomes the distance between a
master and a servant. Do you hear, Mrs. Jervis? said he: do you hear the
pertness of the creature? I had a good deal of this sort before in the
summer-house, and yesterday too, which made me rougher with her than
perhaps I had otherwise been.
Says Mrs. Jervis, Pamela, don't be so pert to his honour: you should
know your distance; you see his honour was only in jest.--O dear Mrs.
Jervis, said I, don't you blame me too. It is very difficult to
keep one's distance to the greatest of men, when they won't keep it
themselves to their meanest servants.
See again! said he; could you believe this of the young baggage, if you
had not heard it? Good your honour, said the well-meaning gentlewoman,
pity and forgive the poor girl; she is but a girl, and her virtue is
very dear to her; and I will pawn my life for her, she will never be
pert to your honour, if you'll be so good as to molest her no more, nor
frighten her again. You saw, sir, by her fit, she was in terror; she
could not help it; and though your honour intended her no harm, yet the
apprehension was almost death to her: and I had much ado to bring her to
herself again. O the little hypocrite! said he; she has all the arts of
her sex; they were born with her; and I told you awhile ago you did
not know her. But this was not the reason principally of my calling you
before me together. I find I am likely to suffer in my reputation by the
perverseness and folly of this girl. She has told you all, and perhaps
more than all; nay, I make no doubt of it; and she has written letters
(for I find she is a mighty letter-writer!) to her father and mother,
and others, as far as I know, in which representing herself as an
angel of light, she makes her kind master and benefactor, a devil
incarnate--(O how people will sometimes, thought I, call themselves by
their right names!)--And all this, added he, I won't hear; and so I am
resolved she shall return to the distresses and poverty she was taken
from; and let her be careful how she uses my name with freedom, when she
is gone from me.
I was brightened up at once with these welcome words, and I threw myself
upon my knees at his feet, with a most sincere glad heart; and I said,
May your honour be for ever blessed for your resolution! Now I shall
be happy. And permit me, on my bended knees, to thank you for all the
benefits and favours you have heaped upon me; for the opportunities I
have had of improvement and learning, through my good lady's means, and
yours. I will now forget all your honour has offered me: and I promise
you, that I will never let your name pass my lips, but with reverence
and gratitude: and so God Almighty bless your honour, for ever and ever!
Then rising from my knees, I went away with another-guise sort of
heart than I came into his presence with: and so I fell to writing this
letter. And thus all is happily over.
And now, my dearest father and mother, expect to see soon your poor
daughter, with an humble and dutiful mind, returned to you: and don't
fear but I know how to be as happy with you as ever: for I will be in
the loft, as I used to do; and pray let my little bed be got ready; and
I have a small matter of money, which will buy me a suit of clothes,
fitter for my condition than what I have; and I will get Mrs. Mumford
to help me to some needle-work: and fear not that I shall be a burden
to you, if my health continues. I know I shall be blessed, if not for
my own sake, for both your sakes, who have, in all your trials and
misfortunes, preserved so much integrity as makes every body speak
well of you both. But I hope he will let good Mrs. Jervis give me a
character, for fear it should be thought that I was turned away for
And so, my dear parents, may you be blest for me, and I for you! And I
will always pray for my master and Mrs. Jervis. So good night; for it is
late, and I shall be soon called to bed.
I hope Mrs. Jervis is not angry with me. She has not called me to
supper: though I could eat nothing if she had. But I make no doubt I
shall sleep purely to-night, and dream that I am with you, in my dear,
dear, happy loft once more.
So good night again, my dear father and mother, says
Your poor honest DAUGHTER.
Perhaps I mayn't come this week, because I must get up the linen, and
leave in order every thing belonging to my place. So send me a line, if
you can, to let me know if I shall be welcome, by John, who will call
for it as he returns. But say nothing of my coming away to him, as yet:
for it will be said I blab every thing.
MY DEAREST DAUGHTER,
Welcome, welcome, ten times welcome shall you be to us; for you come
to us innocent, and happy, and honest; and you are the staff of our old
age, and our comfort. And though we cannot do for you as we would, yet,
fear not, we shall live happily together; and what with my diligent
labour, and your poor mother's spinning, and your needle-work, I make no
doubt we shall do better and better. Only your poor mother's eyes begin
to fail her; though, I bless God, I am as strong and able, and willing
to labour as ever; and, O my dear child! your virtue has made me, I
think, stronger and better than I was before. What blessed things are
trials and temptations, when we have the strength to resist and subdue
But I am uneasy about those same four guineas; I think you should give
them back again to your master; and yet I have broken them. Alas! I have
only three left; but I will borrow the fourth, if I can, part upon my
wages, and part of Mrs. Mumford, and send the whole sum back to you,
that you may return it, against John comes next, if he comes again
I want to know how you come. I fancy honest John will be glad to bear
you company part of the way, if your master is not so cross as to forbid
him. And if I know time enough, your mother will go one five miles, and
I will go ten on the way, or till I meet you, as far as one holiday will
go; for that I can get leave to make on such an occasion.
And we shall receive you with more pleasure than we had at your birth,
when all the worst was over; or than we ever had in our lives.
And so God bless you till the happy time comes! say both your mother and
I, which is all at present, from
Your truly loving PARENTS.
DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
I thank you a thousand tines for your goodness to me, expressed in your
last letter. I now long to get my business done, and come to my new old
lot again, as I may call it. I have been quite another thing since my
master has turned me off: and as I shall come to you an honest daughter,
what pleasure it is to what I should have had, if I could not have seen
you but as a guilty one. Well, my writing-time will soon be over, and so
I will make use of it now, and tell you all that has happened since my
I wondered Mrs. Jervis did not call me to sup with her, and feared she
was angry; and when I had finished my letter, I longed for her coming
to bed. At last she came up, but seemed shy and reserved; and I said,
My dear Mrs. Jervis, I am glad to see you: you are not angry with me, I
hope. She said she was sorry things had gone so far; and that she had
a great deal of talk with my master, after I was gone; that he seemed
moved at what I said, and at my falling on my knees to him, and my
prayer for him, at my going away. He said I was a strange girl; he knew
not what to make of me. And is she gone? said he: I intended to say
something else to her; but she behaved so oddly, that I had not power
to stop her. She asked, if she should call me again? He said, Yes; and
then, No, let her go; it is best for her and me too; and she shall go,
now I have given her warning. Where she had it, I can't tell; but I
never met with the fellow of her in any life, at any age. She said,
he had ordered her not to tell me all: but she believed he would never
offer any thing to me again; and I might stay, she fancied, if I would
beg it as a favour; though she was not sure neither.
I stay! dear Mrs. Jervis; said I; why it is the best news that could
have come to me, that he will let me go. I do nothing but long to go
back again to my poverty and distress, as he threatened I should; for
though I am sure of the poverty, I shall not have half the distress I
have had for some months past, I'll assure you.
Mrs. Jervis, dear good soul! wept over me, and said, Well, well, Pamela,
I did not think I had shewn so little love to you, as that you should
express so much joy upon leaving me. I am sure I never had a child half
so dear to me as you are.
I went to hear her so good to me, as indeed she has always been, and
said, What would you have me to do, dear Mrs. Jervis? I love you next to
my own father and mother, and to leave you is the chief concern I have
at quitting this place; but I am sure it is certain ruin if I stay.
After such offers, and such threatenings, and his comparing himself to a
wicked ravisher in the very time of his last offer; and turning it into
a jest, that we should make a pretty story in a romance; can I stay and
be safe? Has he not demeaned himself twice? And it behoves me to beware
of the third time, for fear he should lay his snares surer; for perhaps
he did not expect a poor servant would resist her master so much. And
must it not be looked upon as a sort of warrant for such actions, if
I stay after this? For, I think, when one of our sex finds she is
attempted, it is an encouragement to the attempter to proceed, if one
puts one's self in the way of it, when one can help it: 'Tis neither
more nor less than inviting him to think that one forgives, what, in
short, ought not to be forgiven: Which is no small countenance to foul
actions, I'll assure you.
She hugged me to her, and said I'll assure you! Pretty-face, where
gottest thou all thy knowledge, and thy good notions, at these years?
Thou art a miracle for thy age, and I shall always love thee.--But, do
you resolve to leave us, Pamela?
Yes, my dear Mrs. Jervis, said I; for, as matters stand, how can I do
otherwise?--But I'll finish the duties of my place first, if I may; and
hope you'll give me a character, as to my honesty, that it may not be
thought I was turned away for any harm. Ay, that I will, said she; I
will give thee such a character as never girl at thy years deserved. And
I am sure, said I, I will always love and honour you, as my third-best
friend, wherever I go, or whatever becomes of me.
And so we went to bed; and I never waked till 'twas time to rise;
which I did as blithe as a bird, and went about my business with great
But I believe my master is fearfully angry with me; for he passed by me
two or three times, and would not speak to me; and towards evening, he
met me in the passage, going into the garden, and said such a word to
me as I never heard in my life from him to man, woman, or child; for he
first said, This creature's always in the way, I think. I said, standing
up as close as I could, (and the entry was wide enough for a coach too,)
I hope I shan't be long in your honour's way. D--mn you! said he, (that
was the hard word,) for a little witch; I have no patience with you.
I profess I trembled to hear him say so; but I saw he was vexed; and,
as I am going away, I minded it the less. Well! I see, my dear parents,
that when a person will do wicked things, it is no wonder he will speak
wicked words. May God keep me out of the way of them both!
Your dutiful DAUGHTER.
DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
Our John having an opportunity to go your way, I write again, and send
both letters at once. I can't say, yet, when I shall get away, nor how
I shall come, because Mrs. Jervis shewed my master the waistcoat I
am flowering for him, and he said, It looks well enough: I think the
creature had best stay till she has finished it.
There is some private talk carried on betwixt him and Mrs. Jervis,
that she don't tell me of; but yet she is very kind to me, and I don't
mistrust her at all. I should be very base if I did. But to be sure she
must oblige him, and keep all his lawful commands; and other, I dare
say, she won't keep: She is too good; and loves me too well; but she
must stay when I am gone, and so must get no ill will.
She has been at me again to ask to stay, and humble myself. But what
have I done, Mrs. Jervis? said I: If I have been a sauce-box, and a
bold-face, and a pert, and a creature, as he calls me, have I not had
reason? Do you think I should ever have forgot myself, if he had not
forgot to act as my master? Tell me from your own heart, dear Mrs.
Jervis, said I, if you think I could stay and be safe: What would you
think, or how would you act in my case?
My dear Pamela, said she, and kissed me, I don't know how I should act,
or what I should think. I hope I should act as you do. But I know nobody
else that would. My master is a fine gentleman; he has a great deal of
wit and sense, and is admired, as I know, by half a dozen ladies, who
would think themselves happy in his addresses. He has a noble estate;
and yet I believe he loves my good maiden, though his servant, better
than all the ladies in the land; and he has tried to overcome it,
because you are so much his inferior; and 'tis my opinion he finds he
can't; and that vexes his proud heart, and makes him resolve you shan't
stay; and so he speaks so cross to you, when he sees you by accident.
Well, but, Mrs. Jervis, said I, let me ask you, if he can stoop to like
such a poor girl as me, as perhaps he may, (for I have read of things
almost as strange, from great men to poor damsels,) What can it be
for?--He may condescend, perhaps, to think I may be good enough for his
harlot; and those things don't disgrace men that ruin poor women, as the
world goes. And so if I was wicked enough, he would keep me till I was
undone, and till his mind changed; for even wicked men, I have read,
soon grow weary of wickedness with the same person, and love variety.
Well, then, poor Pamela must be turned off, and looked upon as a vile
abandoned creature, and every body would despise her; ay, and justly
too, Mrs. Jervis; for she that can't keep her virtue, ought to live in
But, Mrs. Jervis, I continued, let me tell you, that I hope, if I was
sure he would always be kind to me, and never turn me off at all, that I
shall have so much grace, as to hate and withstand his temptations, were
he not only my master, but my king: and that for the sin's sake. This
my poor dear parents have always taught me; and I should be a sad wicked
creature indeed, if, for the sake of riches or favour, I should forfeit
my good name; yea, and worse than any other young body of my sex;
because I can so contentedly return to my poverty again, and think it
a less disgrace to be obliged to wear rags, and live upon rye-bread and
water, as I used to do, than to be a harlot to the greatest man in the
Mrs. Jervis lifted up her hands, and had her eyes full of tears.
God bless you, my dear love! said she; you are my admiration and
delight.--How shall I do to part with you!
Well, good Mrs. Jervis, said I, let me ask you now:--You and he have had
some talk, and you mayn't be suffered to tell me all. But, do you think,
if I was to ask to stay, that he is sorry for what he has done? Ay, and
ashamed of it too? For I am sure he ought, considering his high degree,
and my low degree, and how I have nothing in the world to trust to but
my honesty: Do you think in your own conscience now, (pray answer me
truly,) that he would never offer any thing to me again, and that I
could be safe?
Alas! my dear child, said she, don't put thy home questions to me, with
that pretty becoming earnestness in thy look. I know this, that he is
vexed at what he has done; he was vexed the first time, more vexed the
Yes, said I, and so he will be vexed, I suppose, the third, and the
fourth time too, till he has quite ruined your poor maiden; and who will
have cause to be vexed then?
Nay, Pamela, said she, don't imagine that I would be accessory to your
ruin for the world. I only can say, that he has, yet, done you no hurt;
and it is no wonder he should love you, you are so pretty; though so
much beneath him but, I dare swear for him, he never will offer you any
You say, said I, that he was sorry for his first offer in the
summer-house. Well, and how long did his sorrow last?--Only till he
found me by myself; and then he was worse than before: and so became
sorry again. And if he has deigned to love me, and you say can't help
it, why, he can't help it neither, if he should have an opportunity,
a third time to distress me. And I have read that many a man has been
ashamed of his wicked attempts, when he has been repulsed, that would
never have been ashamed of them, had he succeeded. Besides, Mrs. Jervis,
if he really intends to offer no force, What does that mean?--While you
say he can't help liking me, for love it cannot be--Does it not imply
that he hopes to ruin me by my own consent? I think, said I, (and hope
I should have grace to do so,) that I should not give way to his
temptations on any account; but it would be very presumptuous in me to
rely upon my own strength against a gentleman of his qualifications and
estate, and who is my waster; and thinks himself entitled to call me
bold-face, and what not? only for standing on my necessary defence: and
that, too, where the good of my soul and body, and my duty to God, and
my parents, are all concerned. How then, Mrs. Jervis, said I, can I ask
or wish to stay?
Well, well, says she; as he seems very desirous you should not stay, I
hope it is from a good motive; for fear he should be tempted to disgrace
himself as well as you. No, no, Mrs. Jervis, said I; I have thought
of that too; for I would be glad to consider him with that duty that
becomes me: but then he would have let me go to Lady Davers, and not
have hindered my preferment: and he would not have said, I should return
to my poverty and distress, when, by his mother's goodness, I had been
lifted out of it; but that he intended to fright me, and punish me, as
he thought, for not complying with his wickedness: And this shews me
well enough what I have to expect from his future goodness, except I
will deserve it at his own dear price.
She was silent; and I added, Well, there's no more to be said; I must
go, that's certain: All my concern will be how to part with you: and,
indeed, after you, with every body; for all my fellow-servants have
loved me, and you and they will cost me a sigh, and a tear too, now and
then, I am sure. And so I fell a crying: I could not help it. For it
is a pleasant thing to one to be in a house among a great many
fellow-servants, and be beloved by them all.
Nay, I should have told you before now, how kind and civil Mr. Longman
our steward is; vastly courteous, indeed, on all occasions! And he said
once to Mrs. Jervis, he wished he was a young man for my sake; I should
be his wife, and he would settle all he had upon me on marriage; and,
you must know, he is reckoned worth a power of money.
I take no pride in this; but bless God, and your good examples, my dear
parents, that I have been enabled so to carry myself, as to have every
body's good word; Not but our cook one day, who is a little snappish and
cross sometimes, said once to me, Why this Pamela of ours goes as fine
as a lady. See what it is to have a fine face!--I wonder what the girl
will come to at last!
She was hot with her work; and I sneaked away; for I seldom go down into
the kitchen; and I heard the butler say, Why, Jane, nobody has your good
word: What has Mrs. Pamela done to you? I am sure she offends nobody.
And what, said the peevish wench, have I said to her, foolatum; but that
she was pretty? They quarrelled afterwards, I heard: I was sorry for it,
but troubled myself no more about it. Forgive this silly prattle, from
Your dutiful DAUGHTER.
Oh! I forgot to say, that I would stay to finish the waistcoat, if I
might with safety. Mrs. Jervis tells me I certainly may. I never did a
prettier piece of work; and I am up early and late to get it over; for I
long to be with you.
DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
I did not send my last letters so soon as I hoped, because John (whether
my master mistrusts or no, I can't say) had been sent to Lady Davers's
instead of Isaac, who used to go; and I could not be so free with, nor
so well trust Isaac; though he is very civil to me too. So I was forced
to stay till John returned.
As I may not have opportunity to send again soon, and yet, as I know you
keep my letters, and read them over and over, (so John told me,) when
you have done work, (so much does your kindness make you love all that
comes from your poor daughter,) and as it may be some little pleasure to
me, perhaps, to read them myself, when I am come to you, to remind me of
what I have gone through, and how great God's goodness has been to me,
(which, I hope, will further strengthen my good resolutions, that I may
not hereafter, from my bad conduct, have reason to condemn myself from
my own hand as it were): For all these reasons, I say, I will write as I
have time, and as matters happen, and send the scribble to you as I have
opportunity; and if I don't every time, in form, subscribe as I ought,
I am sure you will always believe, that it is not for want of duty. So I
will begin where I left off, about the talk between Mrs. Jervis and me,
for me to ask to stay.
Unknown to Mrs. Jervis, I put a project, as I may call it, in practice.
I thought with myself some days ago, Here I shall go home to my poor
father and mother, and have nothing on my back, that will be fit for
my condition; for how should your poor daughter look with a silk
night-gown, silken petticoats, cambric head-clothes, fine holland linen,
laced shoes that were my lady's; and fine stockings! And how in a little
while must these have looked, like old cast-offs, indeed, and I looked
so for wearing them! And people would have said, (for poor folks are
envious as well as rich,) See there Goody Andrews's daughter, turned
home from her fine place! What a tawdry figure she makes! And how well
that garb becomes her poor parents' circumstances!--And how would
they look upon me, thought I to myself, when they should come to be
threadbare and worn out? And how should I look, even if I could purchase
homespun clothes, to dwindle into them one by one, as I got them?--May
be, an old silk gown, and a linsey-woolsey petticoat, and the like. So,
thought I, I had better get myself at once equipped in the dress that
will become my condition; and though it may look but poor to what I have
been used to wear of late days, yet it will serve me, when I am with
you, for a good holiday and Sunday suit; and what, by a blessing on my
industry, I may, perhaps, make shift to keep up to.
So, as I was saying, unknown to any body, I bought of farmer Nichols's
wife and daughters a good sad-coloured stuff, of their own spinning,
enough to make me a gown and two petticoats; and I made robings and
facings of a pretty bit of printed calico I had by me.
I had a pretty good camblet quilted coat, that I thought might do
tolerably well; and I bought two flannel undercoats; not so good as
my swanskin and fine linen ones, but what will keep me warm, if any
neighbour should get me to go out to help 'em to milk, now and then, as
sometimes I used to do formerly; for I am resolved to do all your good
neighbours what kindness I can; and hope to make myself as much beloved
about you, as I am here.
I got some pretty good Scotch cloth, and made me, of mornings and
nights, when nobody saw me, two shifts; and I have enough left for two
shirts, and two shifts, for you my dear father and mother. When I come
home, I'll make them for you, and desire your acceptance.
Then I bought of a pedlar, two pretty enough round-eared caps, a little
straw-hat, and a pair of knit mittens, turned up with white calico; and
two pair of ordinary blue worsted hose, that make a smartish appearance,
with white clocks, I'll assure you; and two yards of black riband for my
shift sleeves, and to serve as a necklace; and when I had 'em all
come home, I went and looked upon them once in two hours, for two days
together: For, you must know, though I be with Mrs. Jervis, I keep my
own little apartment still for my clothes, and nobody goes thither but
myself. You'll say I was no bad housewife to have saved so much money;
but my dear good lady was always giving me something.
I believed myself the more obliged to do this, because, as I was turned
away for what my good master thought want of duty; and as he expected
other returns for his presents, than I intended to make him, so I
thought it was but just to leave his presents behind me when I went
away; for, you know, if I would not earn his wages, why should I have
Don't trouble yourself about the four guineas, nor borrow to make
them up; for they were given me, with some silver, as I told you, as a
perquisite, being what my lady had about her when she died; and, as I
hope for no wages, I am so vain as to think I have deserved all that
money in the fourteen months, since my lady's death, for she, good soul,
overpaid me before, in learning and other kindnesses. Had she lived,
none of these things might have happened!--But I ought to be thankful
'tis no worse. Every thing will turn about for the best: that's my
So, as I was saying, I have provided a new and more suitable dress, and
I long to appear in it, more than ever I did in any new clothes in
my life: for then I shall be soon after with you, and at ease in my
mind--But, mum! Here he comes, I believe.--I am, etc.
MY DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
I was forced to break off: for I feared my master was coming: but it
proved to be only Mrs. Jervis. She said, I can't endure you should be
so much by yourself, Pamela. And I, said I, dread nothing so much as
company; for my heart was up at my mouth now, for fear my master was
coming. But I always rejoice to see dear Mrs. Jervis.
Said she, I have had a world of talk with my master about you. I am
sorry for it, said I, that I am made of so much consequence as to be
talked of by him. O, said she, I must not tell you all; but you are of
more consequence to him than you think for----
Or wish for, said I; for the fruits of being of consequence to him,
would make me of none to myself, or any body else.
Said she, Thou art as witty as any lady in the land; I wonder where thou
gottest it. But they must be poor ladies, with such great opportunities,
I am sure, if they have no more wit than I.--But let that pass.
I suppose, said I, that I am of so much consequence, however, as to vex
him, if it be but to think he can't make a fool of such a one as I; and
that is nothing at all, but a rebuke to the pride of his high condition,
which he did not expect, and knows not how to put up with.
There is something in that, may be, said she: but, indeed, Pamela, he is
very angry with you too; and calls you twenty perverse things; wonders
at his own folly, to have shewn you so much favour, as he calls it;
which he was first inclined to, he says, for his mother's sake, and
would have persisted to shew you for your own, if you was not your own
Nay, now I shan't love you, Mrs. Jervis, said I; you are going to
persuade me to ask to stay, though you know the hazards I run.--No, said
she, he says you shall go; for he thinks it won't be for his reputation
to keep you: but he wished (don't speak of it for the world, Pamela,)
that he knew a lady of birth, just such another as yourself, in person
and mind, and he would marry her to-morrow.
I coloured up to the ears at this word: but said, Yet, if I was the lady
of birth, and he would offer to be rude first, as he has twice done to
poor me, I don't know whether I would have him: For she that can bear an
insult of that kind, I should think not worthy to be a gentleman's wife:
any more than he would be a gentleman that would offer it.
Nay, now, Pamela, said she, thou carriest thy notions a great way. Well,
dear Mrs. Jervis, said I, very seriously, for I could not help it, I am
more full of fears than ever. I have only to beg of you, as one of the
best friends I have in the world, to say nothing of my asking to
stay. To say my master likes me, when I know what end he aims at, is
abomination to my ears; and I shan't think myself safe till I am at my
poor father's and mother's.
She was a little angry with me, till I assured her that I had not the
least uneasiness on her account, but thought myself safe under her
protection and friendship. And so we dropt the discourse for that time.
I hope to have finished this ugly waistcoat in two days; after which
I have only some linen to get up, and shall then let you know how
I contrive as to my passage; for the heavy rains will make it sad
travelling on foot: but may be I may get a place to which is ten miles
of the way, in farmer Nichols's close cart; for I can't sit a horse well
at all, and may be nobody will be suffered to see me on upon the way.
But I hope to let you know more. From, etc.
MY DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
All my fellow-servants have now some notion that I am to go away; but
can't imagine for what. Mrs. Jervis tells them, that my father and
mother, growing in years, cannot live without me; and so I go home to
them, to help to comfort their old age; but they seem not to believe it.
What they found it out by was; the butler heard him say to me, as I
passed by him, in the entry leading to the hall, Who's that? Pamela,
sir, said I. Pamela! said he, How long are you to stay here?--Only,
please your honour, said I, till I have done the waistcoat; and it
is almost finished.--You might, says he, (very roughly indeed,) have
finished that long enough ago, I should have thought. Indeed, and please
your honour, said I, I have worked early and late upon it; there is a
great deal of work in it.--Work in it! said he; You mind your pen more
than your needle; I don't want such idle sluts to stay in my house.
He seemed startled, when he saw the butler, as he entered the hall,
where Mr. Jonathan stood. What do you here? said he.--The butler was as
much confounded as I; for, never having been taxed so roughly, I could
not help crying sadly; and got out of both their ways to Mrs. Jervis,
and told my complaint. This love, said she, is the d----! In how many
strange shapes does it make people shew themselves! And in some the
farthest from their hearts.
So one, and then another, has been since whispering, Pray, Mrs. Jervis,
are we to lose Mrs. Pamela? as they always call me--What has she done?
And she tells them, as above, about going home to you.
She said afterwards to me, Well, Pamela, you have made our master, from
the sweetest tempered gentleman in the world, one of the most peevish.
But you have it in your power to make him as sweet-tempered as ever;
though I hope you'll never do it on his terms.
This was very good in Mrs. Jervis; but it intimated, that she thought
as ill of his designs as I; and as she knew his mind more than I, it
convinced me that I ought to get away as fast as I could.
My master came in, just now, to speak to Mrs. Jervis about household
matters, having some company to dine with him to-morrow; and I stood up,
and having been crying at his roughness in the entry, I turned away my
You may well, said he, turn away your cursed face; I wish I had never
seen it!--Mrs. Jervis, how long is she to be about this waistcoat?
Sir, said I, if your honour had pleased, I would have taken it with me;
and though it would be now finished in a few hours, I will do so still;
and remove this hated poor Pamela out of your house and sight for ever.
Mrs. Jervis, said he, not speaking to me, I believe this little slut has
the power of witchcraft, if ever there was a witch; for she enchants all
that come near her. She makes even you, who should know better what the
world is, think her an angel of light.
I offered to go away; for I believe he wanted me to ask to stay in my
place, for all this his great wrath: and he said, Stay here! Stay here,
when I bid you! and snatched my hand. I trembled, and said, I will! I
will! for he hurt my fingers, he grasped me so hard.
He seemed to have a mind to say something to me; but broke off abruptly,
and said, Begone! And away I tripped as fast as I could: and he and
Mrs. Jervis had a deal of talk, as she told me; and among the rest, he
expressed himself vexed to have spoken in Mr. Jonathan's hearing.
Now you must know, that Mr. Jonathan, our butler, is a very grave good
sort of old man, with his hair as white as silver! and an honest worthy
man he is. I was hurrying out with a flea in my ear, as the saying is,
and going down stairs into the parlour, met him. He took hold of my
hand (in a gentler manner, though, than my master) with both his; and he
said, Ah! sweet, sweet Mrs. Pamela! what is it I heard but just now!--I
am sorry at my heart; but I am sure I will sooner believe any body in
fault than you. Thank you, Mr. Jonathan, said I; but as you value your
place, don't be seen speaking to such a one as me. I cried too; and
slipt away as fast as I could from him, for his own sake, lest he should
be seen to pity me.
And now I will give you an instance how much I am in Mr. Longman's
I had lost my pen some how; and my paper being written out, I stepped
to Mr. Longman's, our steward's, office, to beg him to give me a pen
or two, and a sheet or two of paper. He said, Ay, that I will, my sweet
maiden! and gave me three pens, some wafers, a stick of wax, and twelve
sheets of paper; and coming from his desk, where he was writing, he
said, Let me have a word or two with you, my sweet little mistress: (for
so these two good old gentlemen often call me; for I believe they love
me dearly:) I hear bad news; that we are going to lose you: I hope it
is not true. Yes it is, sir, said I; but I was in hopes it would not be
known till I went away.
What a d---l, said he, ails our master of late! I never saw such an
alteration in any man in my life! He is pleased with nobody as I see;
and by what Mr. Jonathan tells me just now, he was quite out of the way
with you. What could you have done to him, tro'? Only Mrs. Jervis is a
very good woman, or I should have feared she had been your enemy.
No, said I, nothing like it. Mrs. Jervis is a just good woman; and,
next to my father and mother, the best friend I have in the world--Well,
then, said he, it must be worse. Shall I guess? You are too pretty, my
sweet mistress, and, may be, too virtuous. Ah! have I not hit it? No,
good Mr. Longman, said I, don't think any thing amiss of my master; he
is cross and angry with me indeed, that's true; but I may have given
occasion for it, possibly; and because I am desirous to go to my father
and mother, rather than stay here, perhaps he may think me ungrateful.
But, you know, sir, said I, that a father and mother's comfort is the
dearest thing to a good child that can be. Sweet excellence! said he,
this becomes you; but I know the world and mankind too well; though I
must hear, and see, and say nothing. And so a blessing attend my little
sweeting, said he, wherever you go! And away went I with a courtesy and
Now this pleases one, my dear father and mother, to be so beloved.--How
much better, by good fame and integrity, is it to get every one's good
word but one, than, by pleasing that one, to make every one else one's
enemy, and be an execrable creature besides! I am, etc.
MY DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
We had a great many neighbouring gentlemen, and their ladies, this day,
at dinner; and my master made a fine entertainment for them: and Isaac,
and Mr. Jonathan, and Benjamin, waited at table: And Isaac tells Mrs.
Jervis, that the ladies will by and by come to see the house, and have
the curiosity to see me; for, it seems, they said to my master, when
the jokes flew about, Well, Mr. B----, we understand you have a
servant-maid, who is the greatest beauty in the county; and we promise
ourselves to see her before we go.
The wench is well enough, said he; but no such beauty as you talk of,
I'll assure ye. She was my mother's waiting-maid, who, on her death-bed,
engaged me to be kind to her. She is young, and every thing is pretty
that is young.
Ay, ay, said one of the ladies, that's true; but if your mother had not
recommended her so strongly, there is so much merit in beauty, that I
make no doubt such a fine gentleman would have wanted no inducement to
be kind to it.
They all laughed at my master: And he, it seems, laughed for company;
but said, I don't know how it is, but I see with different eyes from
other people; for I have heard much more talk of her prettiness, than
I think it deserves: She is well enough, as I said: but her greatest
excellence is, that she is humble, and courteous, and faithful, and
makes all her fellow-servants love her: My housekeeper, in particular,
doats upon her; and you know, ladies, she is a woman of discernment:
And, as for Mr. Longman, and Jonathan, here, if they thought themselves
young enough, I am told, they would fight for her. Is it not true,
Jonathan? Troth, sir, said he, an't please your honour, I never knew
her peer, and all your honour's family are of the same mind. Do you hear
now? said my master.--Well, said the ladies, we will make a visit to
Mrs. Jervis by and by, and hope to see this paragon.
I believe they are coming; and will tell you the rest by and by. I wish
they had come, and were gone. Why can't they make their game without me?
Well, these fine ladies have been here, and are gone back again. I would
have been absent, if I could, and did step into the closet: so they saw
me when they came in.
There were four of them, Lady Arthur at the great white house on the
hill, Lady Brooks, Lady Towers, and the other, it seems, a countess, of
some hard name, I forget what.
So Mrs. Jervis, says one of the ladies, how do you do? We are all come
to inquire after your health. I am much obliged to your ladyships,
said Mrs. Jervis: Will your ladyships please to sit down? But, said
the countess, we are not only come to ask after Mrs. Jervis's health
neither; but we are come to see a rarity besides. Ah, says Lady Arthur,
I have not seen your Pamela these two years, and they tell me she is
grown wondrous pretty in that time.
Then I wished I had not been in the closet; for when I came out, they
must needs know I heard them; but I have often found, that bashful
bodies owe themselves a spite, and frequently confound themselves more,
by endeavouring to avoid confusion.
Why, yes, says Mrs. Jervis, Pamela is very pretty indeed; she's but in
the closet there:--Pamela, pray step hither. I came out all covered with
blushes, and they smiled at one another.
The countess took me by the hand: Why, indeed, she was pleased to say,
report has not been too lavish, I'll assure you. Don't be ashamed,
child; (and stared full in my face;) I wish I had just such a face to be
ashamed of. O how like a fool I looked!
Lady Arthur said, Ay, my good Pamela, I say as her ladyship says: Don't
be so confused; though, indeed, it becomes you too. I think your good
lady departed made a sweet choice of such a pretty attendant. She would
have been mighty proud of you, as she always was praising you, had she
lived till now.
Ah! madam, said Lady Brooks, do you think that so dutiful a son as our
neighbour, who always admired what his mother loved, does not pride
himself, for all what he said at table, in such a pretty maiden?
She looked with such a malicious sneering countenance, I can't abide
Lady Towers said with a free air, (for it seems she is called a wit,)
Well, Mrs. Pamela, I can't say I like you so well as these ladies do;
for I should never care, if you were my servant, to have you and your
master in the same house together. Then they all set up a great laugh.
I know what I could have said, if I durst. But they are ladies--and
ladies may say any thing.
Says Lady Towers, Can the pretty image speak, Mrs. Jervis? I vow she has
speaking eyes! O you little rogue, said she, and tapped me on the cheek,
you seem born to undo, or to be undone!
God forbid, and please your ladyship, said I, it should be either!--I
beg, said I, to withdraw; for the sense I have of my unworthiness
renders me unfit for such a presence.
I then went away, with one of my best courtesies; and Lady Towers said,
as I went out, Prettily said, I vow!--And Lady Brooks said, See that
shape! I never saw such a face and shape in my life; why, she must be
better descended than you have told me!
And so they run on for half an hour more in my praises, as I was told;
and glad was I, when I got out of the hearing of them.
But, it seems, they went down with such a story to my master, and so
full of me, that he had much ado to stand it; but as it was very little
to my reputation, I am sure I could take no pride in it; and I feared
it would make no better for me. This gives me another cause for wishing
myself out of this house.
This is Thursday morning, and next Thursday I hope to set out; for I
have finished my task, and my master is horrid cross! And I am vexed
his crossness affects me so. If ever he had any kindness towards me, I
believe he now hates me heartily.
Is it not strange, that love borders so much upon hate? But this wicked
love is not like the true virtuous love, to be sure: that and hatred
must be as far off, as light and darkness. And how must this hate have
been increased, if he had met with such a base compliance, after his
wicked will had been gratified.
Well, one may see by a little, what a great deal means. For if innocence
cannot attract common civility, what must guilt expect, when novelty
has ceased to have its charms, and changeableness had taken place of it?
Thus we read in Holy Writ, that wicked Amnon, when he had ruined poor
Tamar, hated her more than he ever loved her, and would have turned her
out of door.
How happy am I, to be turned out of door, with that sweet companion my
innocence!--O may that be always my companion! And while I presume not
upon my own strength, and am willing to avoid the tempter, I hope the
divine grace will assist me.
Forgive me, that I repeat in my letter part of my hourly prayer. I owe
every thing, next to God's goodness, to your piety and good examples, my
dear parents, my dear poor parents! I say that word with pleasure; for
your poverty is my pride, as your integrity shall be my imitation.
As soon as I have dined, I will put on my new clothes. I long to have
them on. I know I shall surprise Mrs. Jervis with them; for she shan't
see me till I am full dressed.--John is come back, and I'll soon send
you some of what I have written.--I find he is going early in the
morning; and so I'll close here, that I am
Your most dutiful DAUGHTER.
Don't lose your time in meeting me; because I am so uncertain. It is
hard if, some how or other, I can't get a passage to you. But may be
my master won't refuse to let John bring me. I can ride behind him, I
believe, well enough; for he is very careful, and very honest; and you
know John as well as I; for he loves you both. Besides, may be, Mrs.
Jervis can put me in some way.
DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
I shall write on, as long as I stay, though I should have nothing but
silliness to write; for I know you divert yourselves on nights with
what I write, because it is mine. John tells me how much you long for
my coming; but he says, he told you he hoped something would happen to
I am glad you did not tell him the occasion of my coming away; for if
my fellow-servants should guess, it were better so, than to have it from
you or me. Besides, I really am concerned, that my master should
cast away a thought upon such a poor creature as me; for, besides the
disgrace, it has quite turned his temper; and I begin to believe what
Mrs. Jervis told me, that he likes me, and can't help it; and yet
strives to conquer it; and so finds no way but to be cross to me.
Don't think me presumptuous and conceited; for it is more my concern
than my pride, to see such a gentleman so demean himself, and lessen
the regard he used to have in the eyes of all his servants, on my
account.--But I am to tell you of my new dress to day.
And so, when I had dined, up stairs I went, and locked myself into my
little room. There I tricked myself up as well as I could in my new
garb, and put on my round-eared ordinary cap; but with a green knot,
however, and my homespun gown and petticoat, and plain leather shoes;
but yet they are what they call Spanish leather; and my ordinary hose,
ordinary I mean to what I have been lately used to; though I shall think
good yarn may do very well for every day, when I come home. A plain
muslin tucker I put on, and my black silk necklace, instead of the
French necklace my lady gave me; and put the ear-rings out of my ears;
and when I was quite equipped, I took my straw hat in my hand, with
its two blue strings, and looked about me in the glass, as proud as any
thing--To say truth, I never liked myself so well in my life.
O the pleasure of descending with ease, innocence, and
resignation!--Indeed, there is nothing like it! An humble mind, I
plainly see, cannot meet with any very shocking disappointment, let
fortune's wheel turn round as it will.
So I went down to look for Mrs. Jervis, to see how she liked me.
I met, as I was upon the stairs, our Rachel, who is the house-maid; and
she made me a low courtesy, and I found did not know me. So I smiled,
and went to the housekeeper's parlour; and there sat good Mrs. Jervis at
work, making a shift: and, would you believe it? she did not know me at
first; but rose up, and pulled off her spectacles; and said, Do you want
me, forsooth? I could not help laughing, and said, Hey-day! Mrs. Jervis,
what! don't you know me?--She stood all in amaze, and looked at me
from top to toe: Why, you surprise me, said she: What! Pamela thus
metamorphosed! How came this about?
As it happened, in stept my master; and my back being to him, he thought
it was a stranger speaking to Mrs. Jervis, and withdrew again: and did
not hear her ask, If his honour had any commands for her?--She turned me
about and about, and I shewed her all my dress, to my under-petticoat:
and she said, sitting down, Why, I am all in amaze, I must sit down.
What can all this mean? I told her, I had no clothes suitable to my
condition when I returned to my father's; and so it was better to begin
here, as I was soon to go away, that all my fellow-servants might see I
knew how to suit myself to the state I was returning to.
Well, said she, I never knew the like of thee. But this sad preparation
for going away (for now I see you are quite in earnest) is what I know
not how to get over. O my dear Pamela, how can I part with you!
My master rung in the back-parlour, and so I withdrew, and Mrs. Jervis
went to attend him. It seems, he said to her, I was coming in to let
you know, that I shall go to Lincolnshire, and possibly to my sister
Davers's, and be absent some weeks. But, pray, what pretty neat damsel
was with you? She says, she smiled, and asked, If his honour did not
know who it was? No, said he, I never saw her before. Farmer Nichols,
or Farmer Brady, have neither of them such a tight prim lass for a
daughter! have they?--Though I did not see her face neither, said he.
If your honour won't be angry, said she, I will introduce her into your
presence; for I think, says she, she outdoes our Pamela.
Now I did not thank her for this, as I told her afterwards, (for it
brought a great deal of trouble upon me, as well as crossness, as you
shall hear). That can't be, he was pleased to say. But if you can find
an excuse for it, let her come in.
At that she stept to me, and told me, I must go in with her to her
master; but, said she, for goodness' sake, let him find you out; for he
don't know you. O fie, Mrs. Jervis, said I, how could you serve me so?
Besides, it looks too free both in me, and to him. I tell you, said she,
you shall come in; and pray don't reveal yourself till he finds you out.
So I went in, foolish as I was; though I must have been seen by him
another time, if I had not then. And she would make me take my straw hat
in my hand.
I dropt a low courtesy, but said never a word. I dare say he knew me as
soon as he saw my face: but was as cunning as Lucifer. He came up to me,
and took me by the hand, and said, Whose pretty maiden are you?--I dare
say you are Pamela's sister, you are so like her. So neat, so clean, so
pretty! Why, child, you far surpass your sister Pamela!
I was all confusion, and would have spoken: but he took me about the
neck: Why, said he, you are very pretty, child: I would not be so free
with your sister, you may believe; but I must kiss you.
O sir, said I, I am Pamela, indeed I am: indeed I am Pamela, her own
He kissed me for all I could do; and said, Impossible! you are a
lovelier girl by half than Pamela; and sure I may be innocently free
with you, though I would not do her so much favour.
This was a sad trick upon me, indeed, and what I could not expect; and
Mrs. Jervis looked like a fool as much as I, for her officiousness.--At
last I got away, and ran out of the parlour, most sadly vexed, as you
may well think.
He talked a good deal to Mrs. Jervis, and at last ordered me to come
in to him. Come in, said he, you little villain!--for so he called me.
(Good sirs! what a name was there!)--who is it you put your tricks upon?
I was resolved never to honour your unworthiness, said he, with so much
notice again; and so you must disguise yourself to attract me, and yet
pretend, like an hypocrite as you are----
I was out of patience then: Hold, good sir, said I; don't impute
disguise and hypocrisy to me, above all things; for I hate them both,
mean as I am. I have put on no disguise.--What a plague, said he, for
that was his word, do you mean then by this dress?--Why, and please your
honour, said I, I mean one of the honestest things in the world.
I have been in disguise, indeed, ever since my good lady your mother
took me from my poor parents. I came to her ladyship so poor and mean,
that these clothes I have on, are a princely suit to those I had then:
and her goodness heaped upon me rich clothes, and other bounties: and as
I am now returning to my poor parents again so soon, I cannot wear those
good things without being hooted at; and so have bought what will be
more suitable to my degree, and be a good holiday-suit too, when I get
He then took me in his arms, and presently pushed me from him. Mrs.
Jervis, said he, take the little witch from me; I can neither bear,
nor forbear her--(Strange words these!)--But stay; you shan't go!--Yet
begone!--No, come back again.
I thought he was mad, for my share; for he knew not what he would have.
I was going, however; but he stept after me, and took hold of my arm,
and brought me in again: I am sure he made my arm black and blue; for
the marks are upon it still. Sir, sir, said I, pray have mercy; I will,
I will come in!
He sat down, and looked at me, and, as I thought afterwards, as sillily
as such a poor girl as I. At last he said, Well, Mrs. Jervis, as I was
telling you, you may permit her to stay a little longer, till I see if
my sister Davers will have her; if, mean time, she humble herself, and
ask this as a favour, and is sorry for her pertness, and the liberty
she has taken with my character out of the house, and in the house.
Your honour indeed told me so, said Mrs. Jervis: but I never found her
inclinable to think herself in a fault. Pride and perverseness, said he,
with a vengeance! Yet this is your doating-piece!--Well, for once,
I'll submit myself to tell you, hussy, said he to me, you may stay a
fortnight longer, till I see my sister Davers: Do you hear what I say to
you, statue? Can you neither speak nor be thankful?--Your honour frights
me so, said I, that I can hardly speak: But I will venture to say,
that I have only to beg, as a favour, that I may go to my father and
mother.--Why fool, said he, won't you like to go to wait on my sister
Davers? Sir, said I, I was once fond of that honour; but you were
pleased to say, I might be in danger from her ladyship's nephew, or he
from me.--D----d impertinence! said he; Do you hear, Mrs. Jervis, do you
hear, how she retorts upon me? Was ever such matchless assurance!----
I then fell a weeping; for Mrs. Jervis said, Fie, Pamela, fie!--And I
said, My lot is very hard indeed; I am sure I would hurt nobody; and
I have been, it seems, guilty of indiscretions, which have cost me my
place, and my master's favour, and so have been turned her away: and
when the time is come, that I should return to my poor parents, I am not
suffered to go quietly. Good your honour, what have I done, that I must
be used worse than if I had robbed you?
Robbed me! said he, why so you have, hussy; you have robbed me. Who? I,
sir? said I; have I robbed you? Why then you are a justice of peace, and
may send me to gaol, if you please, and bring me to a trial for my life!
If you can prove that I have robbed you, I am sure I ought to die.
Now I was quite ignorant of his meaning; though I did not like it, when
it was afterwards explained, neither: And well, thought I, what will
this come to at last, if poor Pamela is esteemed a thief! Then I thought
in an instant, how I should shew my face to my honest poor parents, if
I was but suspected. But, sir, said I, let me ask you but one question,
and pray don't let me be called names for it; for I don't mean
disrespectfully: Why, if I have done amiss, am I not left to be
discharged by your housekeeper, as the other maids have been? And if
Jane, or Rachel, or Hannah, were to offend, would your honour stoop
to take notice of them? And why should you so demean yourself to take
notice of me? Pray, sir, if I have not been worse than others, why
should I suffer more than others? and why should I not be turned away,
and there's an end of it? For indeed I am not of consequence enough for
my master to concern himself, and be angry about such a creature as me.
Do you hear, Mrs. Jervis, cried he again, how pertly I am interrogated
by this saucy slut? Why, sauce-box, says he, did not my good
mother desire me to take care of you? And have you not been always
distinguished by me, above a common servant? And does your ingratitude
upbraid me for this?
I said something mutteringly, and he vowed he would hear it. I begged
excuse; but he insisted upon it. Why, then, said I, if your honour must
know, I said, That my good lady did not desire your care to extend to
the summer-house, and her dressing-room.
Well, this was a little saucy, you'll say--And he flew into such a
passion, that I was forced to run for it; and Mrs. Jervis said, It was
happy I got out of the way.
Why what makes him provoke one so, then?--I'm almost sorry for it; but
I would be glad to get away at any rate. For I begin to be more fearful
Just now Mr. Jonathan sent me these lines--(Bless me! what shall I do?)
'Dear Mrs. Pamela, Take care of yourself; for Rachel heard my master say
to Mrs. Jervis, who, she believes, was pleading for you, Say no more,
Mrs. Jervis; for by G--d I will have her! Burn this instantly.'
O pray for your poor daughter. I am called to go to bed by Mrs. Jervis,
for it is past eleven; and I am sure she shall hear of it; for all this
is owing to her, though she did not mean any harm. But I have been, and
am, in a strange fluster; and I suppose too, she'll say, I have been
O my dear father and mother, power and riches never want advocates! But,
poor gentlewoman, she cannot live without him: and he has been very good
So good night. May be I shall send this in the morning; but may be not;
so won't conclude: though I can't say too often, that I am (though with
Your most dutiful DAUGHTER.
MY DEAR PARENTS,
O let me take up my complaint, and say, Never was poor creature so
unhappy, and so barbarously used, as poor Pamela! Indeed, my dear father
and mother, my heart's just broke! I can neither write as I should do,
nor let it alone, for to whom but you can I vent my griefs, and keep my
poor heart from bursting! Wicked, wicked man!--I have no patience when
I think of him!--But yet, don't be frightened--for--I hope--I hope, I am
honest!--But if my head and my hand will let me, you shall hear all.--Is
there no constable, nor headborough, though, to take me out of his
house? for I am sure I can safely swear the peace against him: But,
alas! he is greater than any constable: he is a justice himself: Such a
justice deliver me from!--But God Almighty, I hope, in time, will right
me--For he knows the innocence of my heart!
John went your way in the morning; but I have been too much distracted
to send by him; and have seen nobody but Mrs. Jervis or Rachel, and
one I hate to see or be seen by and indeed I hate now to see any body.
Strange things I have to tell you, that happened since last night, that
good Mr. Jonathan's letter, and my master's harshness, put me into such
a fluster; but I will not keep you in suspense.
I went to Mrs. Jervis's chamber; and, O dreadful! my wicked master had
hid himself, base gentleman as he is! in her closet, where she has a
few books, and chest of drawers, and such like. I little suspected it;
though I used, till this sad night, always to look into that closet
and another in the room, and under the bed, ever since the summer-house
trick; but never found any thing; and so I did not do it then, being
fully resolved to be angry with Mrs. Jervis for what had happened in the
day, and so thought of nothing else.
I sat myself down on one side of the bed, and she on the other, and we
began to undress ourselves; but she on that side next the wicked closet,
that held the worst heart in the world. So, said Mrs. Jervis, you won't
speak to me, Pamela! I find you are angry with me. Why, Mrs. Jervis,
said I, so I am, a little; 'tis a folly to deny it. You see what I have
suffered by your forcing me in to my master: and a gentlewoman of your
years and experience must needs know, that it was not fit for me to
pretend to be any body else for my own sake, nor with regard to my
But, said she, who would have thought it would have turned out so? Ay,
said I, little thinking who heard me, Lucifer always is ready to promote
his own work and workmen. You see presently what use he made of it,
pretending not to know me, on purpose to be free with me. And when he
took upon himself to know me, to quarrel with me, and use me hardly: And
you too, said I, to cry, Fie, fie, Pamela! cut me to the heart: for that
Do you think, my dear, said she, that I would encourage him?--I never
said so to you before; but, since you have forced it from me, I must
tell you, that, ever since you consulted me, I have used my utmost
endeavours to divert him from his wicked purposes: and he has promised
fair; but, to say all in a word, he doats upon you; and I begin to see
it is not in his power to help it.
I luckily said nothing of the note from Mr. Jonathan; for I began to
suspect all the world almost: but I said, to try Mrs. Jervis, Well then,
what would you have me do? You see he is for having me wait on Lady
Why, I'll tell you freely, my dear Pamela, said she, and I trust to your
discretion to conceal what I say: my master has been often desiring me
to put you upon asking him to let you stay----
Yes, said I, Mrs. Jervis, let me interrupt you: I will tell you why I
could not think of that: It was not the pride of my heart, but the pride
of my honesty: For what must have been the case? Here my master has been
very rude to me, once and twice; and you say he cannot help it, though
he pretends to be sorry for it: Well, he has given me warning to leave
my place, and uses me very harshly; perhaps to frighten me to his
purposes, as he supposes I would be fond of staying (as indeed I should,
if I could be safe; for I love you and all the house, and value him, if
he would act as my master). Well then, as I know his designs, and that
he owns he cannot help it; must I have asked to stay, knowing he would
attempt me again? for all you could assure me of, was, he would do
nothing by force; so I, a poor weak girl, was to be left to my own
strength! And was not this to allow him to tempt me, as one may say? and
to encourage him to go on in his wicked devices?--How then, Mrs. Jervis,
could I ask or wish to stay?
You say well, my dear child, says she; and you have a justness of
thought above your years; and for all these considerations, and for what
I have heard this day, after you ran away, (and I am glad you went as
you did,) I cannot persuade you to stay; and I shall be glad, (which
is what I never thought I could have said,) that you were well at your
father's; for if Lady Davers will entertain you, she may as well have
you from thence as here. There's my good Mrs. Jervis! said I; God will
bless you for your good counsel to a poor maiden, that is hard beset.
But pray what did he say, when I was gone? Why, says she, he was very
angry with you. But he would hear it! said I: I think it was a little
bold; but then he provoked me to it. And had not my honesty been in the
case, I would not by any means have been so saucy. Besides, Mrs.
Jervis, consider it was the truth; if he does not love to hear of the
summer-house, and the dressing-room, why should he not be ashamed to
continue in the same mind? But, said she, when you had muttered this to
yourself, you might have told him any thing else. Well, said I, I cannot
tell a wilful lie, and so there's an end of it. But I find you now give
him up, and think there's danger in staying.--Lord bless me! I wish I
was well out of the house; so it was at the bottom of a wet ditch, on
the wildest common in England.
Why, said she, it signifies nothing to tell you all he said but it was
enough to make me fear you would not be so safe as I could wish;
and, upon my word, Pamela, I don't wonder he loves you; for, without
flattery, you are a charming girl! and I never saw you look more lovely
in your life than in that same new dress of yours. And then it was such
a surprise upon us all!--I believe truly, you owe some of your danger to
the lovely appearance you made. Then, said I, I wish the clothes in the
fire: I expected no effect from them; but, if any, a quite contrary one.
Hush! said I, Mrs. Jervis, did you not hear something stir in the
closet? No, silly girl, said she, your fears are always awake.--But
indeed, said I, I think I heard something rustle.--May be, says she, the
cat may be got there: but I hear nothing.
I was hush; but she said, Pr'ythee, my good girl, make haste to bed. See
if the door be fast. So I did, and was thinking to look into the closet;
but, hearing no more noise, thought it needless, and so went again and
sat myself down on the bed-side, and went on undressing myself. And
Mrs. Jervis being by this time undressed, stepped into bed, and bid me
hasten, for she was sleepy.
I don't know what was the matter, but my heart sadly misgave me: Indeed,
Mr. Jonathan's note was enough to make it do so, with what Mrs. Jervis
had said. I pulled off my stays, and my stockings, and all my clothes to
an under-petticoat; and then hearing a rustling again in the closet, I
said, Heaven protect us! but before I say my prayers, I must look into
this closet. And so was going to it slip-shod, when, O dreadful! out
rushed my master in a rich silk and silver morning gown.
I screamed, and ran to the bed, and Mrs. Jervis screamed too; and he
said, I'll do you no harm, if you forbear this noise; but otherwise take
Instantly he came to the bed (for I had crept into it, to Mrs. Jervis,
with my coat on, and my shoes); and taking me in his arms, said, Mrs.
Jervis, rise, and just step up stairs to keep the maids from coming down
at this noise: I'll do no harm to this rebel.
O, for Heaven's sake! for pity's sake! Mrs. Jervis, said I, if I am not
betrayed, don't leave me; and, I beseech you, raise all the house. No,
said Mrs. Jervis, I will not stir, my dear lamb; I will not leave you.
I wonder at you, sir, said she; and kindly threw herself upon my coat,
clasping me round the waist: You shall not hurt this innocent, said she:
for I will lose my life in her defence. Are there not, said she, enough
wicked ones in the world, for your base purpose, but you must attempt
such a lamb as this?
He was desperate angry, and threatened to throw her out of the window;
and to turn her out of the house the next morning. You need not, sir,
said she; for I will not stay in it. God defend my poor Pamela
till to-morrow, and we will both go together.--Says he, let me but
expostulate a word or two with you, Pamela. Pray, Pamela, said Mrs.
Jervis, don't hear a word, except he leaves the bed, and goes to
the other end of the room. Ay, out of the room, said I; expostulate
to-morrow, if you must expostulate!
I found his hand in my bosom; and when my fright let me know it, I was
ready to die; and I sighed and screamed, and fainted away. And still he
had his arms about my neck; and Mrs. Jervis was about my feet, and upon
my coat. And all in a cold dewy sweat was I. Pamela! Pamela! said Mrs.
Jervis, as she tells me since, O--h, and gave another shriek, my poor
Pamela is dead for certain! And so, to be sure, I was for a time; for I
knew nothing more of the matter, one fit following another, till about
three hours after, as it proved to be, I found myself in bed, and Mrs.
Jervis sitting upon one side, with her wrapper about her, and Rachel on
the other; and no master, for the wicked wretch was gone. But I was so
overjoyed, that I hardly could believe myself; and I said, which were my
first words, Mrs. Jervis, Mrs. Rachel, can I be sure it is you? Tell
me! can I?--Where have I been? Hush, my dear, said Mrs. Jervis; you have
been in fit after fit. I never saw any body so frightful in my life!
By this I judged Rachel knew nothing of the matter; and it seems my
wicked master had, upon Mrs. Jervis's second noise on my fainting away,
slipt out, and, as if he had come from his own chamber, disturbed by
the screaming, went up to the maids' room, (who, hearing the noise, lay
trembling, and afraid to stir,) and bid them go down, and see what was
the matter with Mrs. Jervis and me. And he charged Mrs. Jervis, and
promised to forgive her for what she had said and done, if she would
conceal the matter. So the maids came down, and all went up again, when
I came to myself a little, except Rachel, who staid to sit up with me,
and bear Mrs. Jervis company. I believe they all guess the matter to be
bad enough; though they dare not say any thing.
When I think of my danger, and the freedoms he actually took, though I
believe Mrs. Jervis saved me from worse, and she said she did, (though
what can I think, who was in a fit, and knew nothing of the matter?) I
am almost distracted.
At first I was afraid of Mrs. Jervis; but I am fully satisfied she is
very good, and I should have been lost but for her; and she takes on
grievously about it. What would have become of me, had she gone out of
the room, to still the maids, as he bid her! He'd certainly have shut
her out, and then, mercy on me! what would have become of your poor
I must leave off a little; for my eyes and my head are sadly bad.--This
was a dreadful trial! This was the worst of all! Oh, that I was out of
the power of this dreadfully wicked man! Pray for
Your distressed DAUGHTER.
MY DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
I did not rise till ten o'clock, and I had all the concerns and wishes
of the family, and multitudes of inquiries about me. My wicked master
went out early to hunt; but left word he would be in to breakfast. And
so he was.
He came up to our chamber about eleven, and had nothing to do to be
sorry; for he was our master, and so put on sharp anger at first.
I had great emotions at his entering the room, and threw my apron over
my head, and fell a crying, as if my heart would break.
Mrs. Jervis, said he, since I know you, and you me so well, I don't know
how we shall live together for the future. Sir, said she, I will take
the liberty to say, what I think is best for both. I have so much
grief, that you should attempt to do any injury to this poor girl, and
especially in my chamber, that I should think myself accessary to the
mischief, if I was not to take notice of it. Though my ruin, therefore,
may depend upon it, I desire not to stay; but pray let poor Pamela and
me go together. With all my heart, said he; and the sooner the better.
She fell a crying. I find, says he, this girl has made a party of the
whole house in her favour against me. Her innocence deserves it of us
all, said she very kindly: and I never could have thought that the son
of my dear good lady departed, could have so forfeited his honour, as to
endeavour to destroy a virtue he ought to protect. No more of this,
Mrs. Jervis! said he; I will not hear it. As for Pamela, she has a lucky
knack of falling into fits, when she pleases. But the cursed yellings
of you both made me not myself. I intended no harm to her, as I told you
both, if you'd have left your squallings: And I did no harm neither, but
to myself; for I raised a hornet's nest about my ears, that, as far as I
know, may have stung to death my reputation. Sir, said Mrs. Jervis, then
I beg Mr. Longman may take my accounts, and I will go away as soon as
I can. As for Pamela, she is at her liberty, I hope, to go away next
Thursday, as she intends?
I sat still; for I could not speak nor look up, and his presence
discomposed me extremely; but I was sorry to hear myself the unhappy
occasion of Mrs. Jervis's losing her place, and hope that may be still
Well, said he, let Mr. Longman make up your accounts, as soon as you
will; and Mrs. Jewkes (who is his housekeeper in Lincolnshire) shall
come hither in your place, and won't be less obliging, I dare say, than
you have been. Said she, I have never disobliged you till now; and let
me tell you, sir, if you knew what belonged to your own reputation or
honour--No more, no more, said he, of these antiquated topics. I have
been no bad friend to you; and I shall always esteem you, though you
have not been so faithful to my secrets as I could have wished, and have
laid me open to this girl, which has made her more afraid of me than she
had occasion. Well, sir, said she, after what passed yesterday, and last
night, I think I went rather too far in favour of your injunctions
than otherwise; and I should have deserved every body's censure, as the
basest of creatures, had I been capable of contributing to your lawless
attempts. Still, Mrs. Jervis, still reflecting upon me, and all for
imaginary faults! for what harm have I done the girl?--I won't bear it,
I'll assure you. But yet, in respect to my mother, I am willing to part
friendly with you though you ought both of you to reflect on the freedom
of your conversation, in relation to me; which I should have resented
more than I do, but that I am conscious I had no business to demean
myself so as to be in your closet, where I might have expected to hear a
multitude of impertinence between you.
Well, sir, said she, you have no objection, I hope, to Pamela's going
away on Thursday next? You are mighty solicitous, said he, about Pamela:
But no, not I; let her go as soon as she will: She is a naughty girl,
and has brought all this upon herself; and upon me more trouble than she
can have had from me: But I have overcome it all, and will never concern
myself about her.
I have a proposal made me, added he, since I have been out this morning,
that I shall go near to embrace; and so wish only, that a discreet use
may be made of what is past; and there's an end of every thing with me,
as to Pamela, I'll assure you. I clasped my hands together through my
apron, overjoyed at this, though I was soon to go away: For, naughty as
he has been to me, I wish his prosperity with all my heart, for my good
old lady's sake. Well, Pamela, said he, you need not now be afraid to
speak to me; tell me what you lifted up your hands at? I said not a
word. Says he, If you like what I have said, give me your hand upon it.
I held my hand up through my apron; for I could not speak to him; and he
took hold of it, and pressed it, though less hard than he did my arm the
day before. What does the little fool cover her face for? said he: Pull
your apron away; and let me see how you look, after your freedom of
speech of me last night. No wonder you are ashamed to see me. You know
you were very free with my character.
I could not stand this barbarous insult, as I took it to be, considering
his behaviour to me; and I then spoke and said, O the difference between
the minds of thy creatures, good God! How shall some be cast down in
their innocence, while others can triumph in their guilt!
And so saying, I went up stairs to my chamber, and wrote all this; for
though he vexed me at his taunting, yet I was pleased to hear he was
likely to be married, and that his wicked intentions were so happily
overcome as to me; and this made me a little easier. And I hope I have
passed the worst; or else it is very hard. And yet I shan't think
myself at ease quite, till I am with you: For, methinks, after all,
his repentance and amendment are mighty suddenly resolved upon. But the
divine grace is not confined to space; and remorse may, and I hope has,
smitten him to the heart at once, for his injuries to poor me! Yet I
won't be too secure neither.
Having opportunity, I send now what I know will grieve you to the heart.
But I hope I shall bring my next scribble myself; and so conclude,
though half broken-hearted, Your ever dutiful DAUGHTER.
DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
I am glad I desired you not to meet me, and John says you won't; for
he told you he is sure I shall get a passage well enough, either behind
some one of my fellow-servants on horseback, or by farmer Nichols's
means: but as to the chariot he talked to you of, I can't expect that
favour, to be sure; and I should not care for it, because it would look
so much above me. But farmer Brady, they say, has a chaise with one
horse, and we hope to borrow that, or hire it, rather than fail; though
money runs a little lowish, after what I have laid out; but I don't
care to say so here; though I warrant I might have what I would of Mrs.
Jervis, or Mr. Jonathan, or Mr. Longman; but then how shall I pay it?
you'll say: And, besides, I don't love to be beholden.
But the chief reason I'm glad you don't set out to meet me, is the
uncertainty; for it seems I must stay another week still, and hope
certainly to go Thursday after. For poor Mrs. Jervis will go at the same
time, she says, and can't be ready before.
Oh! that I was once well with you!--Though he is very civil too at
present, and not so cross as he was: and yet he is as vexatious another
way, as you shall hear. For yesterday he had a rich suit of clothes
brought home, which they call a birth-day suit; for he intends to go to
London against next birth-day, to see the court; and our folks will have
it he is to be made a lord.--I wish they may make him an honest man, as
he was always thought; but I have not found it so, alas for me!
And so, as I was saying, he had these clothes come home, and he tried
them on. And before he pulled them off, he sent for me, when nobody else
was in the parlour with him: Pamela, said he, you are so neat and so
nice in your own dress, (Alack-a-day, I didn't know I was!) that you
must be a judge of ours. How are these clothes made? Do they fit me?--I
am no judge, said I, and please your honour; but I think they look very
His waistcoat stood on end with silver lace, and he looked very grand.
But what he did last, has made me very serious, and I could make him no
compliments. Said he, Why don't you wear your usual clothes? Though I
think every thing looks well upon you (for I still continue in my new
dress). I said, I have no clothes, sir, I ought to call my own, but
these: and it is no matter what such an one as I wears. Said he, Why you
look very serious, Pamela. I see you can bear malice.--Yes, so I can,
sir, said I, according to the occasion! Why, said he, your eyes always
look red, I think. Are you not a fool to take my last freedom so much to
heart? I am sure you, and that fool Mrs. Jervis, frightened me, by your
hideous squalling, as much as I could frighten you. That is all we
had for it, said I; and if you could be so afraid of your own servants
knowing of your attempts upon a poor unworthy creature, that is under
your protection while I stay, surely your honour ought to be more afraid
of God Almighty, in whose presence we all stand, in every action of
our lives, and to whom the greatest, as well as the least, must be
accountable, let them think what they list.
He took my hand, in a kind of good-humoured mockery, and said, Well
urged, my pretty preacher! When my Lincolnshire chaplain dies, I'll
put thee on a gown and cassock, and thou'lt make a good figure in
his place.--I wish, said I, a little vexed at his jeer, your honour's
conscience would be your preacher, and then you would need no other
chaplain. Well, well, Pamela, said he, no more of this unfashionable
jargon. I did not send for you so much for your opinion of my new suit,
as to tell you, you are welcome to stay, since Mrs. Jervis desires it,
till she goes. I welcome! said I; I am sure I shall rejoice when I am
out of the house!
Well, said he, you are an ungrateful baggage; but I am thinking it would
be pity, with these fair soft hands, and that lovely skin, (as he called
it, and took hold of my hand,) that you should return again to hard
work, as you must if you go to your father's; and so I would advise her
to take a house in London, and let lodgings to us members of parliament,
when we come to town; and such a pretty daughter as you may pass for,
will always fill her house, and she'll get a great deal of money.
I was sadly vexed at this barbarous joke; but being ready to cry before,
the tears gushed out, and (endeavouring to get my hand from him, but in
vain) I said, I can expect no better: Your behaviour, sir, to me, has
been just of a piece with these words: Nay, I will say it, though you
were to be ever so angry.--I angry, Pamela? No, no, said he, I have
overcome all that; and as you are to go away, I look upon you now as
Mrs. Jervis's guest while you both stay, and not as my servant; and so
you may say what you will. But I'll tell you, Pamela, why you need not
take this matter in such high disdain!--You have a very pretty romantic
turn for virtue, and all that.--And I don't suppose but you'll hold
it still: and nobody will be able to prevail upon you. But, my child,
(sneeringly he spoke it,) do but consider what a fine opportunity you
will then have for a tale every day to good mother Jervis, and what
subjects for letter-writing to your father and mother, and what pretty
preachments you may hold forth to the young gentlemen. Ad's my heart! I
think it would be the best thing you and she could do.
You do well, sir, said I, to even your wit to such a poor maiden as me:
but, permit me to say, that if you was not rich and great, and I poor
and little, you would not insult me thus.--Let me ask you, sir, if you
think this becomes your fine clothes, and a master's station: Why so
serious, my pretty Pamela? said he: Why so grave? And would kiss me; but
my heart was full, and I said, Let me alone; I will tell you, if you was
a king, and insulted me as you have done, that you have forgotten to
act like a gentleman; and I won't stay to be used thus: I will go to the
next farmer's, and there wait for Mrs. Jervis, if she must go: and I'd
have you know, sir, that I can stoop to the ordinariest work of your
scullions, for all these nasty soft hands, sooner than bear such
I sent for you, said he, in high good humour; but it is impossible to
hold it with such an impertinent: however, I'll keep my temper. But
while I see you here, pray don't put on those dismal grave looks: Why,
girl, you should forbear them, if it were but for your pride-sake; for
the family will think you are grieving to leave the house. Then, sir,
said I, I will try to convince them of the contrary, as well as your
honour; for I will endeavour to be more cheerful while I stay, for that
Well, replied he, I will set this down by itself, as the first time that
ever what I had advised had any weight with you. And I will add, said
I, as the first advice you have given me of late, that was fit to be
followed.--I wish said he, (I am almost ashamed to write it, impudent
gentleman as he is!) I wish I had thee as quick another way, as thou art
in thy repartees--And he laughed, and I snatched my hand from him, and I
tripped away as fast as I could. Ah! thought I, married? I am sure it is
time you were married, or, at this rate, no honest maiden ought to live
Why, dear father and mother, to be sure he grows quite a rake! How easy
it is to go from bad to worse, when once people give way to vice!
How would my poor lady, had she lived, have grieved to see it! but may
be he would have been better then! Though it seems he told Mrs. Jervis,
he had an eye upon me in his mother's life-time; and he intended to let
me know as much, by the bye, he told her! Here is shamelessness for you!
Sure the world must be near at an end! for all the gentlemen about are
as bad as he almost, as far as I can hear!--And see the fruits of
such bad examples! There is 'Squire Martin in the grove, has had three
lyings-in, it seems, in his house, in three months past; one by himself;
and one by his coachman; and one by his woodman; and yet he has turned
none of them away. Indeed, how can he, when they but follow his own vile
example? There is he, and two or three more such as he, within ten miles
of us, who keep company, and hunt with our fine master, truly; and I
suppose he is never the better for their examples. But, Heaven bless me,
say I, and send me out of this wicked house!
But, dear father and mother, what sort of creatures must the womenkind
be, do you think, to give way to such wickedness? Why, this it is that
makes every one be thought of alike: And, alack-a-day! what a world we
live in! for it is grown more a wonder that the men are resisted, than
that the women comply. This, I suppose, makes me such a sauce-box, and
bold-face, and a creature, and all because I won't be a sauce-box and
But I am sorry for these things; one don't know what arts and stratagems
men may devise to gain their vile ends; and so I will think as well as
I can of these poor undone creatures, and pity them. For you see, by my
sad story, and narrow escapes, what hardships poor maidens go through,
whose lot it is to go out to service, especially to houses where there
is not the fear of God, and good rule kept by the heads of the family.
You see I am quite grown grave and serious; indeed it becomes the
present condition of Your dutiful DAUGHTER.
DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
John says you wept when you read my last letter, that he carried. I am
sorry you let him see that; for they all mistrust already how matters
are, and as it is no credit that I have been attempted, though it is
that I have resisted; yet I am sorry they have cause to think so evil of
my master from any of us.
Mrs. Jervis has made up her accounts with Mr. Longman, and will stay in
her place. I am glad of it, for her own sake, and for my master's; for
she has a good master of him; so indeed all have, but poor me--and he
has a good housekeeper in her.
Mr. Longman, it seems, took upon him to talk to my master, how faithful
and careful of his interests she was, and how exact in her accounts;
and he told him, there was no comparison between her accounts and Mrs.
Jewkes's, at the Lincolnshire estate.
He said so many fine things, it seems, of Mrs. Jervis, that my master
sent for her in Mr. Longman's presence, and said Pamela might come along
with her; I suppose to mortify me, that I must go while she was to stay:
But as, when I go away, I am not to go with her, nor was she to go with
me; so I did not matter it much; only it would have been creditable to
such a poor girl, that the housekeeper would bear me company, if I went.
Said he to her, Well, Mrs. Jervis, Longman says you have made up your
accounts with him with your usual fidelity and exactness. I had a good
mind to make you an offer of continuing with me, if you can be a little
sorry for your hasty words, which, indeed, were not so respectful as
I have deserved at your hands. She seemed at a sad loss what to say,
because Mr. Longman was there, and she could not speak of the occasion
of those words, which was me.
Indeed, said Mr. Longman, I must needs say before your face, that since
I have known my master's family, I have never found such good management
in it, nor so much love and harmony neither. I wish the Lincolnshire
estate was as well served!--No more of that, said my master; but Mrs.
Jervis may stay, if she will: and here, Mrs. Jervis, pray accept of
this, which at the close of every year's accounts I will present you
with, besides your salary, as long as I find your care so useful and
agreeable. And he gave her five guineas.--She made him a low courtesy,
and thanking him, looked to me, as if she would have spoken to me.
He took her meaning, I believe; for he said,--Indeed I love to encourage
merit and obligingness, Longman; but I can never be equally kind to
those who don't deserve it at my hands, as to those who do; and then he
looked full on me. Longman, continued he, I said that girl might come
in with Mrs. Jervis, because they love to be always together. For Mrs.
Jervis is very good to her, and loves her as well as if she was her
daughter. But else--Mr. Longman, interrupting him, said, Good to Mrs.
Pamela! Ay, sir, and so she is, to be sure! But every body must be good
to her; for----
He was going on: but my master said, No more, no more, Mr. Longman. I
see old men are taken with pretty young girls, as well as other folks;
and fair looks hide many a fault, where a person has the art to behave
obligingly. Why, and please your honour, said Mr. Longman, every
body--and was going on, I believe, to say something more in my praise,
but he interrupted him, and said, Not a word more of this Pamela. I
can't let her stay, I'll assure you; not only for her own freedom of
speech, but her letter-writing of all the secrets of my family. Ay, said
the good old man, I am sorry for that too! But, sir,--No more, I say,
said my master; for my reputation is so well known, (mighty fine,
thought I!) that I care not what any body writes or says of me: But to
tell you the truth, (not that it need go further,) I think of changing
my condition soon; and, you know, young ladies of birth and fortune will
choose their own servants, and that's my chief reason why Pamela can't
stay. As for the rest, said he, the girl is a good sort of body,
take her altogether; though I must needs say, a little pert, since my
mother's death, in her answers, and gives me two words for one; which I
can't bear; nor is there reason I should, you know, Longman. No, to be
sure, sir, said he: but 'tis strange, methinks, she should be so mild
and meek to every one of us in the house, and forget herself so, where
she should shew most respect! Very true, Mr. Longman, said he, but so it
is, I'll assure you; and it was from her pertness, that Mrs. Jervis and
I had the words: And I should mind it the less, but that the girl (there
she stands, I say it to her face) has wit and sense above her years, and
I was in great pain to say something, but yet I knew not what, before
Mr. Longman; and Mrs. Jervis looked at me, and walked to the window to
hide her concern for me. At last, I said, It is for you, sir, to say
what you please; and for me only to say, God bless your honour!
Poor Mr. Longman faltered in his speech, and was ready to cry. Said my
insulting master to me, Why, pr'ythee, Pamela, now, shew thyself as thou
art, before Longman. Can'st not give him a specimen of that pertness
which thou hast exercised upon me sometimes?
Did he not, my dear father and mother, deserve all the truth to be told?
Yet I overcame myself so far, as to say, Well, your honour may play upon
a poor girl, that you know call answer you, but dare not.
Why, pr'ythee now, insinuator, said he, say the worst you can before
Longman and Mrs. Jervis. I challenge the utmost of thy impertinence:
and as you are going away, and have the love of every body, I would be
a little justified to my family, that you have no reason to complain
of hardships from me, as I have pert saucy answers from you, besides
exposing me by your letters.
Surely, sir, said I, I am of no consequence equal to this, in your
honour's family, that such a great gentleman as you, should need to
justify yourself about me. I am glad Mrs. Jervis stays with your honour;
and I know I have not deserved to stay: and, more than that, I don't
desire to stay.
Ads-bobbers! said Mr. Longman, and ran to me; don't say so, don't say
so, dear Mrs. Pamela! We all love you dearly: and pray down of your
knees, and ask his honour pardon, and we will all become pleaders in a
body, and I, and Mrs. Jervis too, at the head of it, to beg his honour's
pardon, and to continue you, at least, till his honour marries.--No, Mr.
Longman, said I, I cannot ask; nor will I stay, if I might. All I desire
is, to return to my poor father and mother: and though I love you all, I
won't stay.--O well-a-day, well-a-day! said the good old man, I did not
expect this!--When I had got matters thus far, and had made all up for
Mrs. Jervis, I was in hopes to have got a double holiday of joy for all
the family, in your pardon too. Well, said my master, this is a little
specimen of what I told you, Longman. You see there's a spirit you did
Mrs. Jervis told me after, that she could stay no longer, to hear me so
hardly used; and must have spoken, had she staid, what would never have
been forgiven her; so she went out. I looked after her to go too; but
my master said, Come, Pamela, give another specimen, I desire you, to
Longman I am sure you must, if you will but speak. Well, sir, said I,
since it seems your greatness wants to be justified by my lowness, and
I have no desire you should suffer in the sight of your family, I will
say, on my bended knees, (and so I kneeled down,) that I have been a
very faulty, and a very ungrateful creature to the best of masters: I
have been very perverse and saucy; and have deserved nothing at your
hands but to be turned out of your family with shame and disgrace. I,
therefore, have nothing to say for myself, but that I am not worthy to
stay, and so cannot wish to stay, and will not stay: And so God Almighty
bless you, and you Mr. Longman, and good Mrs. Jervis, and every living
soul of the family! and I will pray for you as long as I live!--And so
I rose up, and was forced to lean upon my master's elbow-chair, or I
should have sunk down.
The poor old man wept more than I, and said, Ads-bobbers, was ever the
like heard! 'Tis too much, too much; I can't bear it. As I hope to live,
I am quite melted. Dear sir, forgive her! The poor thing prays for
you; she prays for us all! She owns her fault; yet won't be forgiven! I
profess I know not what to make of it.
My master himself, hardened wretch as he was, seemed a little moved, and
took his handkerchief out of his pocket, and walked to the window:
What sort of a day is it? said he.--And then, getting a little more
hard-heartedness, he said, Well, you may be gone from my presence, thou
strange medley of inconsistence! but you shan't stay after your time in
Nay, pray, sir, pray, sir, said the good old man, relent a little.
Ads-heartikins! you young gentlemen are made of iron and steel, I think;
I'm sure, said he, my heart's turned into butter, and is running away
at my eyes. I never felt the like before.--Said my master, with an
imperious tone, Get out of my presence, hussy! I can't bear you in my
sight. Sir, said I, I'm going as fast as I can.
But, indeed, my dear father and mother, my head was so giddy, and my
limbs trembled so, that I was forced to go holding by the wainscot all
the way with both my hands, and thought I should not have got to the
door: But when I did, as I hoped this would be my last interview with
this terrible hard-hearted master, I turned about, and made a low
courtesy, and said, God bless you, sir! God bless you, Mr. Longman!
and I went into the lobby leading to the great hall, and dropt into the
first chair; for I could get no farther a good while.
I leave all these things to your reflection, my dear parents but I can
write no more. My poor heart's almost broken! Indeed it is--O when shall
I get away!--Send me, good God, in safety, once more to my poor father's
peaceful cot!--and there the worst that can happen will be joy in
perfection to what I now bear!--O pity
Your distressed DAUGHTER.
MY DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
I must write on, though I shall come so soon; for now I have hardly any
thing else to do. I have finished all that lay upon me, and only wait
the good time of setting out. Mrs. Jervis said, I must be low in pocket,
for what I had laid out; and so would have presented me with two
guineas of her five; but I could not take them of her, because, poor
gentlewoman, she pays old debts for her children, that were extravagant,
and wants them herself. This, though, was very good in her.
I am sorry I shall have but little to bring with me; but I know you
won't, you are so good!--and I will work the harder, when I come home,
if I can get a little plain-work, or any thing, to do. But all your
neighbourhood is so poor, that I fear I shall want work, except, may
be, dame Mumford can help me to something, from any good family she is
Here, what a sad thing it is! I have been brought up wrong, as matters
stand. For, you know, my good lady, now in heaven, loved singing and
dancing; and, as she would have it, I had a voice, she made me learn
both; and often and often has she made me sing her an innocent song, and
a good psalm too, and dance before her. And I must learn to flower and
draw too, and to work fine work with my needle; why, all this too I have
got pretty tolerably at my finger's end, as they say; and she used to
praise me, and was a good judge of such matters.
Well now, what is all this to the purpose, as things have turned about?
Why, no more nor less, than that I am like the grasshopper in the fable,
which I have read of in my lady's book, as follows:--[See the Aesop's
Fables which have lately been selected and reformed from those of Sir R.
L'Estrange, and the most eminent mythologists.]
'As the ants were airing their provisions one winter, a hungry
grasshopper (as suppose it was poor I) begged a charity of them. They
told him, That he should have wrought in summer, if he would not
have wanted in winter. Well, says the grasshopper, but I was not idle
neither; for I sung out the whole season. Nay, then, said they, you'll
e'en do well to make a merry year of it, and dance in winter to the time
you sung in summer.'
So I shall make a fine figure with my singing and my dancing, when I
come home to you! Nay, I shall be unfit even for a May-day holiday-time;
for these minuets, rigadoons, and French dances, that I have been
practising, will make me but ill company for my milk-maid companions
that are to be. To be sure I had better, as things stand, have learned
to wash and scour, and brew and bake, and such like. Put I hope, if I
can't get work, and can meet with a place, to learn these soon, if
any body will have the goodness to bear with me till I am able: For,
notwithstanding what my master says, I hope I have an humble and
teachable mind; and, next to God's grace, that's all my comfort: for I
shall think nothing too mean that is honest. It may be a little hard at
first; but woe to my proud heart, if I find it so on trial; for I will
make it bend to its condition, or break it.
I have read of a good bishop that was to be burnt for his religion; and
he tried how he could bear it, by putting his fingers into the lighted
candle: So I, t'other day, tried, when Rachel's back was turned, if
I could not scour a pewter plate she had begun. I see I could do't by
degrees: It only blistered my hand in two places.
All the matter is, if I could get plain-work enough, I need not spoil
my fingers. But if I can't, I hope to make my hands as red as a
blood-pudding, and as hard as a beechen trencher, to accommodate them to
my condition.--But I must break off; here's somebody coming.
'Tis only our Hannah with a message from Mrs. Jervis.--But, hold, here's
somebody else. Well, it is only Rachel.
I am as much frighted, as were the city mouse and the country mouse, in
the same book of fables, at every thing that stirs. O! I have a power of
these things to entertain you with in winter evenings, when I come home.
If I can but get work, with a little time for reading, I hope we shall
be very happy over our peat fires.
What made me hint to you, that I should bring but little with me, is
You must know, I did intend to do, as I have this afternoon: and that
is, I took all my clothes, and all my linen, and I divided them into
three parcels, as I had before told Mrs. Jervis I intended to do; and
I said, It is now Monday, Mrs. Jervis, and I am to go away on Thursday
morning betimes; so, though I know you don't doubt my honesty, I beg you
will look over my poor matters, and let every one have what belongs to
them; for, said I, you know I am resolved to take with me only what I
can properly call my own.
Said she, (I did not know her drift then; to be sure she meant well;
but I did not thank her for it, when I did know it,) Let your things be
brought down in the green-room, and I will do any thing you will have me
With all my heart, said I, green-room or any where; but I think you
might step up, and see 'em as they lie.
However, I fetched 'em down, and laid them in three parcels, as before;
and, when I had done, I went down to call her up to look at them.
Now, it seems, she had prepared my master for this scene, unknown to
me; and in this green-room was a closet, with a sash-door, and a curtain
before it; for there she puts her sweet-meats and such things; and
she did it, it seems, to turn his heart, as knowing what I intended, I
suppose that he should make me take the things; for, if he had, I should
have made money of them, to help us when we got together; for, to be
sure, I could never have appeared in them.
Well, as I was saying, he had got, unknown to me, into this closet; I
suppose while I went to call Mrs. Jervis: and she since owned to me, it
was at his desire, when she told him something of what I intended, or
else she would not have done it: though I have reason, I am sure, to
remember the last closet-work.
So I said, when she came up, Here, Mrs. Jervis, is the first parcel;
I will spread it all abroad. These are the things my good lady gave
me.--In the first place, said I--and so I went on describing the clothes
and linen my lady had given me, mingling blessings, as I proceeded,
for her goodness to me; and when I had turned over that parcel, I said,
Well, so much for the first parcel, Mrs. Jervis; that was my lady's
Now I come to the presents of my dear virtuous master: Hey, you know
closet for that! Mrs. Jervis. She laughed, and said, I never saw such a
comical girl in my life! But go on. I will, Mrs. Jervis, said I, as soon
as I have opened the bundle; for I was as brisk and as pert as could be,
little thinking who heard me.
Now here, Mrs. Jervis, said I, are my ever worthy master's presents; and
then I particularised all those in the second bundle.
After which, I turned to my own, and said,
Now, Mrs. Jervis, comes poor Pamela's bundle; and a little one it is to
the others. First, here is a calico nightgown, that I used to wear o'
mornings. 'Twill be rather too good for me when I get home; but I must
have something. Then there is a quilted calamanco coat, and a pair of
stockings I bought of the pedlar, and my straw-hat with blue strings;
and a remnant of Scots cloth, which will make two shirts and two shifts,
the same I have on, for my poor father and mother. And here are four
other shifts, one the fellow to that I have on; another pretty good one,
and the other two old fine ones, that will serve me to turn and wind
with at home, for they are not worth leaving behind me; and here are two
pair of shoes, I have taken the lace off, which I will burn, and may be
will fetch me some little matter at a pinch, with an old silver buckle
What do you laugh for, Mrs. Jervis? said I.--Why you are like an April
day; you cry and laugh in a breath.
Well, let me see; ay, here is a cotton handkerchief I bought of the
pedlar--there should be another somewhere. O, here it is! and here too
are my new-bought knit mittens; and this is my new flannel coat, the
fellow to that I have on and in this parcel, pinned together, are
several pieces of printed calico, remnants of silks, and such like,
that, if good luck should happen, and I should get work, would serve
for robins and facings, and such like uses. And here too are a pair of
pockets: they are too fine for me; but I have no worse. Bless me, said
I, I did not think I had so many good things!
Well, Mrs. Jervis, said I, you have seen all my store, and I will now
sit down, and tell you a piece of my mind.
Be brief then, said she, my good girl: for she was afraid, she said
afterwards, that I should say too much.
Why then the case is this: I am to enter upon a point of equity and
conscience, Mrs. Jervis; and I must beg, if you love me, you'd let me
have my own way. Those things there of my lady's, I can have no claim
to, so as to take them away; for she gave them me, supposing I was to
wear them in her service, and to do credit to her bountiful heart. But,
since I am to be turned away, you know, I cannot wear them at my poor
father's; for I should bring all the little village upon my back; and so
I resolve not to have them.
Then, Mrs. Jervis, said I, I have far less right to these of my worthy
master's; for you see what was his intention in giving them to me. So
they were to be the price of my shame, and if I could make use of them,
I should think I should never prosper with them; and, besides, you know,
Mrs. Jervis, if I would not do the good gentleman's work, why should
I take his wages? So, in conscience, in honour, in every thing, I have
nothing to say to thee, thou second wicked bundle!
But, said I, cone to my arms, my dear third parcel, the companion of
my poverty, and the witness of my honesty; and may I never deserve the
least rag that is contained in thee, when I forfeit a title to that
innocence, that I hope will ever be the pride of my life! and then I am
sure it will be my highest comfort at my death, when all the riches and
pomps of the world will be worse than the vilest rags that can be worn
by beggars! And so I hugged my third bundle.
But, said I, Mrs. Jervis, (and she wept to hear me,) one thing more I
have to trouble you with, and that's all.
There are four guineas, you know, that came out of my good lady's
pocket, when she died; that, with some silver, my master gave me: Now
these same four guineas I sent to my poor father and mother, and they
have broken them; but would make them up, if I would: and if you think
it should be so, it shall. But pray tell me honestly your mind: As to
the three years before my lady's death, do you think, as I had no wages,
I may be supposed to be quits?--By quits, I cannot mean that my poor
services should be equal to my lady's goodness; for that's impossible.
But as all her learning and education of me, as matters have turned,
will be of little service to me now; for it had been better for me to
have been brought up to hard labour, to be sure; for that I must turn
to at last, if I can't get a place: (and you know, in places too, one is
subject to such temptations as are dreadful to think of:) so, I say, by
quits I only mean, as I return all the good things she gave me, whether
I may not set my little services against my keeping; because, as I said,
my learning is not now in the question; and I am sure my dear good lady
would have thought so, had she lived; but that too is now out of the
question. Well then, if so, I would ask, Whether, in above this year
that I have lived with my master, as I am resolved to leave all his
gifts behind me, I may not have earned, besides my keeping, these four
guineas, and these poor clothes here upon my back, and in my third
bundle? Now tell me your mind freely, without favour or affection.
Alas! my dear girl, says she, you make me unable to speak to you at all:
To be sure it will be the highest affront that can be offered, for you
to leave any of these things behind you; and you must take all your
bundles with you, or my master will never forgive you.
Well, well, Mrs. Jervis, said I, I don't care; I have been too much used
to be snubbed and hardly treated by my master, of late. I have done him
no harm; and I shall always pray for him and wish him happy. But I don't
deserve these things; I know I don't. Then, I can't wear them, if I
should take them; so they can be of no use to me: And I trust I shall
not want the poor pittance, that is all I desire to keep life and soul
together. Bread and water I can live upon, Mrs. Jervis, with content.
Water I shall get any where; and if I can't get me bread, I will live
like a bird in winter upon hips and haws, and at other times upon
pig-nuts and potatoes, or turnips, or any thing. So what occasion have I
for these things?--But all I ask is about these four guineas, and if you
think I need not return them, that is all I want to know.--To be sure,
my dear, you need not, said she; you have well earned them by that
waistcoat only. No, I think not so, in that only; but in the linen, and
other things, do you think I have? Yes, yes, said she, and more. And my
keeping allowed for, I mean, said I, and these poor clothes on my back,
besides? Remember that, Mrs. Jervis. Yes, my dear odd-one, no doubt you
have. Well then, said I, I am as happy as a princess. I am quite as rich
as I wish to be: and once more, my dear third bundle, I will hug thee to
my bosom. And I beg you'll say nothing of all this till I am gone, that
my master mayn't be so angry, but that I may go in peace; for my heart,
without other matters, will be ready to break to part with you all.
Now, Mrs. Jervis, said I, as to one matter more: and that is my master's
last usage of me, before Mr. Longman.--Said she, Pr'ythee, dear Pamela,
step to my chamber, and fetch me a paper I left on my table. I have
something to shew you in it. I will, said I, and stepped down; but that
was only a fetch, to take the orders of my master, I found. It seems he
said, he thought two or three times to have burst out upon me; but he
could not stand it, and wished I might not know he was there. But I
tripped up again so nimbly, (for there was no paper,) that I just saw
his back, as if coming out of that green-room, and going into the next
to it, the first door that was open--I whipped in, and shut the door,
and bolted it. O Mrs. Jervis! said I, what have you done by me?--I see
I can't confide in any body. I am beset on all hands. Wretched, wretched
Pamela, where shalt thou expect a friend, if Mrs. Jervis joins to betray
thee thus? She made so many protestations, (telling me all, and that
he owned I had made him wipe his eyes two or three times, and said she
hoped it would have a good effect, and remembered me, that I had said
nothing but what would rather move compassion than resentment,) that
I forgave her. But O! that I was safe from this house! for never
poor creature sure was so flustered as I have been so many months
together;--I am called down from this most tedious scribble. I wonder
what will next befall Your dutiful DAUGHTER.
Mrs. Jervis says, she is sure I shall have the chariot to carry me home
to you. Though this will look too great for me, yet it will shew as if
I was not turned away quite in disgrace. The travelling chariot is come
from Lincolnshire, and I fancy I shall go in that; for the other is
MY DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
I write again, though, may be, I shall bring it to you in my pocket: for
I shall have no writing, nor writing-time, I hope, when I come to you.
This is Wednesday morning, and I shall, I hope, set out to you to-morrow
morning; but I have had more trials and more vexations; but of another
complexion too a little, though all from the same quarter.
Yesterday my master, after he came from hunting, sent for me. I went
with great terror: for I expected he would storm, and be in a fine
passion with me for my freedom of speech before: so I was resolved to
begin first, with submission, to disarm his anger; and I fell upon my
knees as soon as I saw him; and said, Good sir, let me beseech you, as
you hope to be forgiven yourself, and for the sake of my dear good lady
your mother, who recommended me to you with her last words, to forgive
me all my faults; and only grant me this favour, the last I shall ask
you, that you will let me depart your house with peace and quietness of
mind, that I may take such a leave of my dear fellow-servants as befits
me; and that my heart be not quite broken.
He took me up, in a kinder manner than ever I had known; and he said,
Shut the door, Pamela, and come to me in my closet: I want to have a
little serious talk with you. How can I, sir, said I, how can I! and
wrung my hands. O pray, sir, let me go out of your presence, I beseech
you! By the God that made me, said he, I'll do you no harm. Shut the
parlour door, and come to me in my library.
He then went into his closet, which is his library, and full of rich
pictures besides; a noble apartment, though called a closet, and next
the private garden, into which it has a door that opens. I shut the
parlour door, as he bid me; but stood at it irresolute. Place some
confidence in me, said he: Surely you may, when I have spoken thus
solemnly. So I crept towards him with trembling feet, and my heart
throbbing through my handkerchief. Come in, said he, when I bid you. I
did so. Pray, sir, said I, pity and spare me. I will, said he, as I hope
to be saved. He sat down upon a rich settee; and took hold of my hand,
and said, Don't doubt me, Pamela. From this moment I will no more
consider you as my servant: and I desire you'll not use me with
ingratitude for the kindness I am going to express towards you. This a
little emboldened me; and he said, holding both my hands between his,
You have too much wit and good sense not to discover, that I, in spite
of my heart, and all the pride of it, cannot but love you. Yes, look
up to me, my sweet-faced girl! I must say I love you; and have put on a
behaviour to you, that was much against my heart, in hopes to frighten
you from your reservedness. You see I own it ingenuously; and don't play
your sex upon me for it.
I was unable to speak; and he, seeing me too much oppressed with
confusion to go on in that strain, said, Well, Pamela, let me know in
what situation of life is your father: I know he is a poor man; but is
he as low and as honest as he was when my mother took you?
Then I could speak a little; and with a down look, (and I felt my face
glow like fire,) I said, Yes, sir, as poor and as honest too; and that
is my pride. Says he, I will do something for him, if it be not your
fault, and make all your family happy. All, sir, said I, he is happier
already than ever he can be, if his daughter's innocence is to be the
price of your favour: and I beg you will not speak to me on the only
side that can wound me. I have no design of that sort, said he. O sir,
said I, tell me not so, tell me not so!--'Tis easy, said he, for me to
be the making of your father, without injuring you. Well, sir, said I,
if this can be done, let me know how; and all I can do with innocence
shall be the study and practice of my life.--But, O! what can such a
poor creature as I do, and do my duty?--Said he, I would have you stay a
week or fortnight only, and behave yourself with kindness to me; I
stoop to beg it of you, and you shall see all shall turn out beyond your
expectation. I see, said he, you are going to answer otherwise than I
would have you; and I begin to be vexed I should thus meanly sue; and so
I will say, that your behaviour before honest Longman, when I used you
as I did, and you could so well have vindicated yourself, has quite
charmed me. And though I am not pleased with all you said yesterday,
while I was in the closet, yet you have moved me more to admire you than
before; and I am awakened to see more worthiness in you, than ever I
saw in any lady in the world. All the servants, from the highest to the
lowest, doat upon you, instead of envying you; and look upon you in so
superior a light, as speaks what you ought to be. I have seen more
of your letters than you imagine, (This surprised me!) and am quite
overcome with your charming manner of writing, so free, so easy, and
many of your sentiments so much above your years, and your sex; and all
put together, makes me, as I tell you, love you to extravagance. Now,
Pamela, when I have stooped to acknowledge all this, oblige me only
to stay another week or fortnight, to give me time to bring about some
certain affairs, and you shall see how much you may find your account in
I trembled to find my poor heart giving way.--O good sir, said I, spare
a poor girl that cannot look up to you, and speak. My heart is full;
and why should you wish to undo me?--Only oblige me, said he, to stay a
fortnight longer, and John shall carry word to your father, that I will
see him in the time, either here, or at the Swan in his village. O sir,
said I, my heart will burst; but, on my bended knees, I beg you to
let me go to-morrow, as I designed: and don't offer to tempt a poor
creature, whose whole will would be to do yours, if my virtue would
permit!--I shall permit it, said he; for I intend no injury to you, God
is my witness! Impossible! said I; I cannot, sir, believe you, after
what has passed: How many ways are there to undo poor creatures! Good
God, protect me this one time, and send me but to my dear father's
cot in safety!--Strange, d----d fate! said he, that when I speak so
solemnly, I can't be believed!--What should I believe, sir? said I, what
can I believe? What have you said, but that I am to stay a fortnight
longer? and what then is to become of me?--My pride of birth and fortune
(d--n them both! said he, since they cannot obtain credit with you, but
must add to your suspicions) will not let me descend all at once; and
I ask you but a fortnight's stay, that, after this declaration, I may
pacify those proud demands upon me.
O how my heart throbbed! and I began (for I did not know what I did) to
say the Lord's prayer. None of your beads to me Pamela! said he; thou
art a perfect nun, I think.
But I said aloud, with my eyes lifted up to heaven, Lead me not into
temptation: but deliver me from evil, O my good God! He hugged me in his
arms, and said, Well, my dear girl, then you stay this fortnight, and
you shall see what I will do for you--I'll leave you a moment, and walk
into the next room, to give you time to think of it, and to shew you I
have no design upon you. Well, this, I thought, did not look amiss.
He went out, and I was tortured with twenty different doubts in a
minute; sometimes I thought that to stay a week or fortnight longer in
this house to obey him, while Mrs. Jervis was with me, could do no great
harm: But then, thought I, how do I know what I may be able to do? I
have withstood his anger; but may I not relent at his kindness?--How
shall I stand that.--Well, I hope, thought I, by the same protecting
grace in which I will always confide!--But, then, what has he promised?
Why, he will make my poor father and mother's life comfortable. O! said
I to myself, that is a rich thought; but let me not dwell upon it, for
fear I should indulge it to my ruin.--What can he do for me, poor girl
as I am!--What can his greatness stoop to! He talks, thought I, of his
pride of heart, and pride of condition; O these are in his head, and in
his heart too, or he would not confess them to me at such an instant.
Well then, thought I, this can be only to seduce me.--He has promised
nothing.--But I am to see what he will do, if I stay a fortnight; and
this fortnight, thought I again, is no such great matter; and I shall
see in a few days how he carries it.--But then, when I again reflected
upon this distance between him and me, and his now open declaration of
love, as he called it; and that after this he would talk with me on that
subject more plainly than ever, and I shall be less armed, may be,
to withstand him; and then I bethought myself, why, if he meant no
dishonour, he should not speak before Mrs. Jervis; and the odious
frightful closet came again into my head, and my narrow escape upon it;
and how easy it might be for him to send Mrs. Jervis and the maids out
of the way; and so that all the mischief he designed me might be brought
about in less than that time; I resolved to go away and trust all to
Providence, and nothing to myself. And how ought I to be thankful for
this resolution!--as you shall hear.
But just as I have writ to this place, John sends me word, that he is
going this minute your way; and so I will send you so far as I have
written, and hope by to-morrow night, to ask your blessings, at your own
poor, but happy abode, and tell you the rest by word of mouth; and so I
rest, till then, and for ever, Your dutiful DAUGHTER.
DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
I will continue my writing still, because, may be, I shall like to
read it, when I am with you, to see what dangers I have been enabled to
escape; and though I bring it along with me.
I told you my resolution, my happy resolution as I have reason to think
it: and just then he came in again, with great kindness in his looks,
and said, I make no doubt, Pamela, you will stay this fortnight to
oblige me. I knew not how to frame my words so as to deny, and yet not
make him storm. But, said I, Forgive, sir, your poor distressed servant.
I know I cannot possibly deserve any favour at your hands, consistent
with virtue; and I beg you will let me go to my poor father. Why, said
he, thou art the veriest fool that I ever knew. I tell you I will
see your father; I'll send for him hither to-morrow, in my travelling
chariot, if you will; and I'll let him know what I intend to do for
him and you. What, sir, may I ask you, can that be? Your honour's noble
estate may easily make him happy, and not unuseful, perhaps to you, in
some respect or other. But what price am I to pay for all this?--Yon
shall be happy as you can wish, said he, I do assure you: And here I
will now give you this purse, in which are fifty guineas, which I will
allow your father yearly, and find an employ suitable to his liking, to
deserve that and more: Pamela, he shall never want, depend upon it.
I would have given you still more for him, but that, perhaps, you'd
suspect I intended it as a design upon you.--O sir, said I, take back
your guineas! I will not touch one, nor will my father, I am sure, till
he knows what is to be done for them; and particularly what is to become
of me. Why then, Pamela, said he, suppose I find a man of probity,
and genteel calling, for a husband for you, that shall make you a
gentlewoman as long as you live?--I want no husband, sir, said I: for
now I began to see him in all his black colours!--Yet being so much in
his power, I thought I would a little dissemble. But, said he, you
are so pretty, that go where you will, you can never be free from the
designs of some or other of our sex; and I shall think I don't answer
the care of my dying mother for you, who committed you to me, if I don't
provide you a husband to protect your virtue, and your innocence; and a
worthy one I have thought of for you.
O black, perfidious creature! thought I, what an implement art thou
in the hands of Lucifer, to ruin the innocent heart!--Yet still I
dissembled: for I feared much both him and the place I was in. But,
whom, pray sir, have you thought of?--Why, said he, young Mr. Williams,
my chaplain, in Lincolnshire, who will make you happy. Does he know,
sir, said I, any thing of your honour's intentions?--No, my girl, said
he, and kissed me, (much against my will; for his very breath was now
poison to me,) but his dependance upon my favour, and your beauty and
merit, will make him rejoice at my kindness to him. Well, sir, said I,
then it is time enough to consider of this matter; and it cannot hinder
me from going to my father's: for what will staying a fortnight longer
signify to this? Your honour's care and goodness may extend to me there,
as well as here; and Mr. Williams, and all the world, shall know that I
am not ashamed of my father's poverty.
He would kiss me again, and I said, If I am to think of Mr. Williams, or
any body, I beg you'll not be so free with me: that is not pretty, I'm
sure. Well, said he, but you stay this next fortnight, and in that time
I'll have both Williams and your father here; for I will have the match
concluded in my house; and when I have brought it on, you shall settle
it as you please together. Meantime take and send only these fifty
pieces to your father, as an earnest of my favour, and I'll make you
all happy.--Sir, said I, I beg at least two hours to consider of this.
I shall, said he, be gone out in one hour; and I would have you write to
your father what I propose; and John shall carry it on purpose: and he
shall take the purse with him for the good old man, if you approve it.
Sir, said I, I will then let you know in one hour my resolution. Do so,
said he; and gave me another kiss, and let nee go.
O how I rejoiced I had got out of his clutches!--So I write you this,
that you may see how matters stand; for I am resolved to come away, if
possible. Base, wicked, treacherous gentleman as he is!
So here was a trap laid for your poor Pamela! I tremble to think of
it! O what a scene of wickedness was here laid down for all my wretched
life! Black-hearted wretch! how I hate him!--For, at first, as you'll
see by what I have written, he would have made me believe other things;
and this of Mr. Williams, I suppose, came into his head after he walked
out from his closet, to give himself time to think how to delude me
better: but the covering was now too thin, and easy to be seen through.
I went to my chamber, and the first thing I did was to write to him; for
I thought it was best not to see him again, if I could help it; and I
put it under his parlour door, after I had copied it, as follows:
'Your last proposal to me convinces me, that I ought not to stay, but
to go to my father, if it were but to ask his advice about Mr. Williams.
And I am so set upon it, that I am not to be persuaded. So, honoured
sir, with a thousand thanks for all favours, I will set out to-morrow
early; and the honour you designed me, as Mrs. Jervis tells me, of your
chariot, there will be no occasion for: because I can hire, I believe,
farmer Brady's chaise. So, begging you will not take it amiss, I shall
ever be 'Your dutiful Servant.'
'As to the purse, sir, my poor father, to be sure, won't forgive me, if
I take it, till he can know how to deserve it which is impossible.'
So he has just now sent Mrs. Jervis to tell me, that since I am resolved
to go, go I may, and the travelling chariot shall be ready; but it shall
be worse for me; for that he will never trouble himself about me as long
as he lives. Well, so I get out of the house, I care not; only I should
have been glad I could, with innocence, have made you, my dear parents,
I cannot imagine the reason of it, but John, who I thought was gone with
my last, is but now going; and he sends to know if I have any thing else
to carry. So I break off to send you this with the former.
I am now preparing for my journey, and about taking leave of my good
fellow-servants: and if I have not time to write, I must tell you the
rest, when I am so happy as to be with you.
One word more: I slip in a paper of verses, on my going: sad poor stuff!
but as they come from me, you'll not dislike them, may be. I shewed them
to Mrs. Jervis, and she liked them, and took a copy; and made one sing
them to her, and in the green-room too; but I looked into the closet
first. I will only add, that I am Your dutiful DAUGHTER.
Let me just say, That he has this moment sent me five guineas by Mrs.
Jervis, as a present for my pocket: So I shall be very rich; for as she
brought them, I thought I might take them. He says he won't see me: and
I may go when I will in the morning; and Lincolnshire Robin shall drive
me: but he is so angry, he orders that nobody shall go out at the door
with me, not so much as into the coach-yard. Well! I can't help it, not
I! But does not this expose himself more than me?
But John waits, and I would have brought this and the other myself; but
he says, he has put it up among other things, and so can take both as
well as one.
John is very good, and very honest; I am under great obligations to him.
I'd give him a guinea, now I'm so rich, if I thought he'd take it. I
hear nothing of my lady's clothes, and those my master gave me: for I
told Mrs. Jervis, I would not take them; but I fancy, by a word or two
that was dropped, they will be sent after me. Dear sirs! what a rich
Pamela you'll have if they should! But as I can't wear them if they do,
I don't desire them; and if I have them, will turn them into money, as I
can have opportunity. Well, no more--I'm in a fearful hurry!
VERSES ON MY GOING AWAY.
My fellow-servants dear, attend
To these few lines, which I have penn'd:
I'm sure they're from your honest friend,
And wisher-well, poor PAMELA.
I, from a state of low degree,
Was plac'd in this good family:
Too high a fate for humble me,
The helpless, hopeless PAMELA.
Yet though my happy lot was so,
Joyful, I homeward from it go,
No less content, when poor and low,
Than here you find your PAMELA.
For what indeed is happiness,
But conscience innocence and peace?
And that's a treasure I possess;
Thank Heaven that gave it PAMELA.
My future lot I cannot know
But this I'm sure, where'er I go,
Whate'er I am, whate'er I do,
I'll be the grateful PAMELA.
No sad regrets my heart annoy,
I'll pray for all your peace and joy,
From master high, to scullion boy,
For all your loves to PAMELA.
One thing or two I've more to say;
God's holy will, be sure, obey;
And for our master always pray,
As ever shall poor PAMELA.
For, oh! we pity should the great,
Instead of envying their estate;
Temptations always on 'em wait,
Exempt from which are such as we.
Their riches, gay deceitful snares,
Enlarge their fears, increase their cares
Their servants' joy surpasses theirs;
At least so judges PAMELA.
Your parents and relations love
Let them your duty ever prove;
And you'll be bless'd by Heav'n above,
As will, I hope, poor PAMELA.
For if asham'd I e'er could be
Of my dear parents' low degree,
What lot had been too mean for me,
Unbless'd, unvirtuous PAMELA.
Thrice happy may you ever be,
Each one in his and her degree;
And, sirs, whene'er you think of me,
Pray for content to PAMELA.
Pray for her wish'd content and peace;
And rest assur'd she'll never cease,
To pray for all your joys increase,
While life is lent to PAMELA.
On God all future good depends:
Serve him. And so my sonnet ends,
With, thank ye, thank ye, honest friends,
For all your loves to PAMELA,
Here it is necessary the reader should know, that the fair Pamela's
trials were not yet over; but the worst were to come, at a time when she
thought them at an end, and that she was returning to her father: for
when her master found her virtue was not to be subdued, and he had in
vain tried to conquer his passion for her, being a gentleman of pleasure
and intrigue, he had ordered his Lincolnshire coachman to bring his
travelling chariot from thence, not caring to trust his Bedfordshire
coachman, who, with the rest of the servants, so greatly loved and
honoured the fair damsel; and having given him instructions accordingly,
and prohibited the other servants, on pretence of resenting Pamela's
behaviour, from accompanying her any part of the road, he drove her
five miles on the way to her father's; and then turning off, crossed the
country, and carried her onwards toward his Lincolnshire estate.
It is also to be observed, that the messenger of her letters to her
father, who so often pretended business that way, was an implement in
his master's hands, and employed by him for that purpose; and always
gave her letters first to him, and his master used to open and read
them, and then send them on; by which means, as he hints to her, (as she
observes in her letter XXX) he was no stranger to what she wrote. Thus
every way was the poor virgin beset: And the whole will shew the base
arts of designing men to gain their wicked ends; and how much it behoves
the fair sex to stand upon their guard against artful contrivances,
especially when riches and power conspire against innocence and a low
A few words more will be necessary to make the sequel better understood.
The intriguing gentleman thought fit, however, to keep back from her
father her three last letters; in which she mentions his concealing
himself to hear her partitioning out her clothes, his last effort to
induce her to stay a fortnight, his pretended proposal of the chaplain,
and her hopes of speedily seeing them, as also her verses; and to send
himself a letter to her father, which is as follows:
'You will wonder to receive a letter from me. But I think I am obliged
to let you know, that I have discovered the strange correspondence
carried on between you and your daughter, so injurious to my honour and
reputation, and which, I think, you should not have encouraged, till you
knew there were sufficient grounds for those aspersions, which she so
plentifully casts upon me. Something possibly there might be in what she
has written from time to time; but, believe me, with all her pretended
simplicity and innocence, I never knew so much romantic invention as she
is mistress of. In short, the girl's head's turned by romances, and
such idle stuff, to which she has given herself up, ever since her
kind lady's death. And she assumes airs, as if she was a mirror of
perfection, and every body had a design upon her.
'Don't mistake me, however; I believe her very honest, and very
virtuous; but I have found out also, that she is carrying on a sort of
correspondence, or love affair, with a young clergyman, that I hope
in time to provide for; but who, at present, is destitute of any
subsistence but my favour: And what would be the consequence, can you
think, of two young folks, who have nothing in the world to trust to of
their own to come together with a family multiplying upon them before
they have bread to eat.
'For my part, I have too much kindness to them both, not to endeavour to
prevent it, if I can; and for this reason I have sent her out of his way
for a little while, till I can bring them both to better consideration;
and I would not, therefore, have you be surprised you don't see your
daughter so soon as you might possibly expect.
'Yet I do assure you, upon my honour, that she shall be safe and
inviolate; and I hope you don't doubt me, notwithstanding any airs she
may have given herself, upon my jocular pleasantry to her, and perhaps
a little innocent romping with her, so usual with young folks of the two
sexes, when they have been long acquainted, and grown up together; for
pride is not my talent.
'As she is a mighty letter-writer, I hope she has had the duty to
apprise you of her intrigue with the young clergyman; and I know not
whether it meets with your countenance: But now she is absent for a
little while, (for I know he would have followed her to your village,
if she had gone home; and there, perhaps, they would have ruined
one another, by marrying,) I doubt not I shall bring him to see his
interest, and that he engages not before he knows how to provide for a
wife: And when that can be done, let them come together in God's name,
'I expect not to be answered on this head, but by your good opinion, and
the confidence you may repose in my honour: being
'Your hearty friend to serve you.'
'P. S. I find my man John has been the manager of the correspondence, in
which such liberties have been taken with me. I shall soon, in a manner
that becomes me, let the saucy fellow know how much I resent his part
of the affair. It is hard thing, that a man of my character in the world
should be used thus freely by his own servants.'
It is easy to guess at the poor old man's concern, upon reading this
letter from a gentleman of so much consideration. He knew not what
course to take, and had no manner of doubt of his poor daughter's
innocence, and that foul play was designed her. Yet he sometimes hoped
the best, and was ready to believe the surmised correspondence between
the clergyman and her, having not received the letters she wrote, which
would have cleared up that affair.
But, after all, he resolved, as well to quiet his own as her mother's
uneasiness, to undertake a journey to the 'squire's; and leaving his
poor wife to excuse him to the farmer who employed him, he set out that
very evening, late as it was; and travelling all night, found himself,
soon after day-light, at the gate of the gentleman, before the family
was up: and there he sat down to rest himself till he should see
The grooms were the first he saw, coming out to water their horses; and
he asked, in so distressful a manner, what was become of Pamela, that
they thought him crazy: and said, Why, what have you to do with Pamela,
old fellow? Get out of the horses' way.--Where is your master? said the
poor man: Pray, gentlemen, don't be angry: my heart's almost broken.--He
never gives any thing at the door, I assure you, says one of the grooms;
so you lose your labour. I am not a beggar yet, said the poor old man; I
want nothing of him, but my Pamela:--O my child! my child!
I'll be hanged, says one of them, if this is not Mrs. Pamela's
father.--Indeed, indeed, said he, wringing his hands, I am; and weeping,
Where is my child? Where is my Pamela?--Why, father, said one of them,
we beg your pardon; but she is gone home to you: How long have you been
come from home?--O! but last night, said he; I have travelled all night:
Is the 'squire at home, or is he not?--Yes, but he is not stirring
though, said the groom, as yet. Thank God for that! said he; thank God
for that! Then I hope I may be permitted to speak to him anon. They
asked him to go in, and he stepped into the stable, and sat down on the
stairs there, wiping his eyes, and sighing so sadly, that it grieved the
servants to hear him.
The family was soon raised with a report of Pamela's father coming to
inquire after his daughter; and the maids would fain have had him go
into the kitchen. But Mrs. Jervis, having been told of his coming,
arose, and hastened down to her parlour, and took him in with her, and
there heard all his sad story, and read the letter. She wept bitterly,
but yet endeavoured, before him, to hide her concern; and said, Well,
Goodman Andrews, I cannot help weeping at your grief; but I hope there
is no occasion. Let nobody see this letter, whatever you do. I dare say
your daughter is safe.
Well, but, said he, I see you, madam, know nothing about her:--If all
was right, so good a gentlewoman as you are, would not have been a
stranger to this. To be sure you thought she was with me!
Said she, My master does not always inform his servants of his
proceedings; but you need not doubt his honour. You have his hand for
it: And you may see he can have no design upon her, because he is not
from hence, and does not talk of going hence. O that is all I have to
hope for! said he; that is all, indeed!--But, said he--and was going on,
when the report of his coming had reached the 'squire, who came down,
in his morning-gown and slippers, into the parlour, where he and Mrs.
Jervis were talking.
What's the matter, Goodman Andrews? said he, what's the matter? Oh my
child! said the good old man, give me my child! I beseech you.--Why, I
thought, says the 'squire, that I had satisfied you about her: Sure you
have not the letter I sent you, written with my own hand. Yes, yes, but
I have, sir, said he; and that brought me hither; and I have walked all
night. Poor man, returned he, with great seeming compassion, I am sorry
for it truly! Why, your daughter has made a strange racket in my family;
and if I thought it would have disturbed you so much, I would have e'en
let her go home; but what I did was to serve her, and you too. She is
very safe, I do assure you, Goodman Andrews; and you may take my honour
for it, I would not injure her for the world. Do you think I would, Mrs.
Jervis? No, I hope not, sir, said she.--Hope not! said the poor man; so
do I; but pray, sir, give me my child, that is all I desire; and I'll
take care no clergyman shall come near her.
Why, London is a great way off, said the 'squire, and I can't send for
her back presently. What, then, said he, have you sent my poor Pamela to
London? I would not have said it so, replied the 'squire; but I assure
you, upon my honour, she is quite safe and satisfied, and will quickly
inform you of it by letter. She is in a reputable family, no less than a
bishop's, and is to wait on his lady, till I get the matter over that I
mentioned to you.
O how shall I know this? replied he.--What, said the 'squire, pretending
anger, am I to be doubted?--Do you believe I can have any view upon your
daughter? And if I had, do you think I would take such methods as these
to effect it? Why, surely, man, thou forgettest whom thou talkest to.
O, sir, said he, I beg your pardon! but consider my dear child is in
the case; let me but know what bishop, and where; and I will travel to
London on foot, to see my daughter, and then be satisfied.
Why, Goodman Andrews, I think thou hast read romances as well as thy
daughter, and thy head's turned with them. May I have not my word taken?
Do you think, once more, I would offer any thing dishonourable to your
daughter? Is there any thing looks like it?--Pr'ythee, man, recollect a
little who I am; and if I am not to be believed, what signifies talking?
Why, sir, said he, pray forgive me; but there is no harm to say, What
bishop's, or whereabouts? What, and so you'd go troubling his lordship
with your impertinent fears and stories! Will you be satisfied, if you
have a letter from her within a week, it may be less, if she be not
negligent, to assure you all is well with her! Why that, said the poor
man, will be some comfort. Well then, said the gentleman, I can't answer
for her negligence, if she don't write: And if she should send a letter
to you, Mrs. Jervis, (for I desire not to see it; I have had trouble
enough about her already,) be sure you send it by a man and horse the
moment you receive it. To be sure I will, answered she. Thank your
honour, said the good man: And then I must wait with as much patience as
I can for a week, which will be a year to me.
I tell you, said the gentleman, it must be her own fault if she don't
write; for 'tis what I insisted upon, for my own reputation; and I
shan't stir from this house, I assure you, till she is heard from, and
that to your satisfaction. God bless your honour, said the poor man, as
you say and mean truth! Amen, Amen, Goodman Andrews, said he: you see I
am not afraid to say Amen. So, Mrs. Jervis, make the good man as welcome
as you can; and let me have no uproar about the matter.
He then, whispering her, bid her give him a couple of guineas to bear
his charges home; telling him, he should be welcome to stay there
till the letter came, if he would, and be a witness, that he intended
honourably, and not to stir from his house for one while.
The poor old man staid and dined with Mrs. Jervis, with some tolerable
ease of mind, in hopes to hear from his beloved daughter in a few days;
and then accepting the present, returned for his own house, and resolved
to be as patient as possible.
Meantime Mrs. Jervis, and all the family, were in the utmost grief for
the trick put upon the poor Pamela; and she and the steward represented
it to their master in as moving terms as they durst; but were forced
to rest satisfied with his general assurances of intending her no harm;
which, however, Mrs. Jervis little believed, from the pretence he had
made in his letter, of the correspondence between Pamela and the young
parson; which she knew to be all mere invention, though she durst not
But the week after, they were made a little more easy by the following
letter brought by an unknown hand, and left for Mrs. Jervis, which, how
procured, will be shewn in the sequel.
'DEAR MRS. JERVIS,
'I have been vilely tricked, and, instead of being driven by Robin to
my dear father's, I am carried off, to where, I have no liberty to tell.
However, I am at present not used hardly, in the main; and write to beg
of you to let my dear father and mother (whose hearts must be well nigh
broken) know that I am well, and that I am, and, by the grace of God,
ever will he, their honest, as well as dutiful daughter, and
'Your obliged friend,
'I must neither send date nor place; but have most solemn assurances
of honourable usage. This is the only time my low estate has been
troublesome to me, since it has subjected me to the frights I have
undergone. Love to your good self, and all my dear fellow-servants.
Adieu! adieu! but pray for poor PAMELA.'
This, though it quieted not entirely their apprehensions, was shewn to
the whole family, and to the gentleman himself, who pretended not to
know how it came; and Mrs. Jervis sent it away to the good old folks;
who at first suspected it was forged, and not their daughter's hand;
but, finding the contrary, they were a little easier to hear she was
alive and honest: and having inquired of all their acquaintance what
could be done, and no one being able to put them in a way how to
proceed, with effect, on so extraordinary an occasion, against so rich
and so resolute a gentleman; and being afraid to make matters worse,
(though they saw plainly enough, that she was in no bishop's family,
and so mistrusted all the rest of his story,) they applied themselves
to prayers for their poor daughter, and for an happy issue to an affair
that almost distracted them.
We shall now leave the honest old pair praying for their dear Pamela,
and return to the account she herself gives of all this; having written
it journal-wise, to amuse and employ her time, in hopes some opportunity
might offer to send it to her friends; and, as was her constant view,
that she might afterwards thankfully look back upon the dangers she had
escaped, when they should be happily overblown, as in time she hoped
they would be; and that then she might examine, and either approve or
repent of her own conduct in them.
O MY DEAREST FATHER AND MOTHER!
Let me write, and bewail my miserable hard fate, though I have no hope
how what I write can be conveyed to your hands!--I have now nothing to
do, but write and weep, and fear and pray! But yet what can I hope for,
when I seem to be devoted, as a victim to the will of a wicked violator
of all the laws of God and man!--But, gracious Heaven, forgive me my
rashness and despondency! O let me not sin against thee; for thou best
knowest what is fittest for thy poor handmaid!--And as thou sufferest
not thy poor creatures to be tempted above what they can bear, I will
resign myself to thy good pleasure: And still, I hope, desperate as my
condition seems, that as these trials are not of my own seeking, nor
the effects of my presumption and vanity, I shall be enabled to overcome
them, and, in God's own good time, be delivered from them.
Thus do I pray imperfectly, as I am forced by my distracting fears and
apprehensions; and O join with me, my dear parents!--But, alas! how can
you know, how can I reveal to you, the dreadful situation of your poor
daughter! The unhappy Pamela may be undone (which God forbid, and sooner
deprive me of life!) before you can know her hard lot!
O the unparalleled wickedness, stratagems, and devices, of those who
call themselves gentlemen, yet pervert the design of Providence, in
giving them ample means to do good, to their own everlasting perdition,
and the ruin of poor oppressed innocence!
But now I will tell you what has befallen me; and yet, how shall you
receive it? Here is no honest John to carry my letters to you! And,
besides, I am watched in all my steps; and no doubt shall be, till my
hard fate may ripen his wicked projects for my ruin. I will every day,
however, write my sad state; and some way, perhaps, may be opened to
send the melancholy scribble to you. But, alas! when you know it, what
will it do but aggravate your troubles? For, O! what can the abject poor
do against the mighty rich, when they are determined to oppress?
Well, but I must proceed to write what I had hoped to tell you in a few
hours, when I believed I should receive your grateful blessings, on my
return to you from so many hardships.
I will begin with my account from the last letter I wrote you, in which
I enclosed my poor stuff of verses; and continue it at times, as I have
opportunity; though, as I said, I know not how it can reach you.
The long-hoped for Thursday morning came, when I was to set out. I had
taken my leave of my fellow-servants overnight; and a mournful leave
it was to us all: for men, as well as women servants, wept much to
part with me; and, for my part, I was overwhelmed with tears, and the
affecting instances of their esteem. They all would have made me little
presents, as tokens of their love; but I would not take any thing from
the lower servants, to be sure. But Mr. Longman would have me accept of
several yards of Holland, and a silver snuff-box, and a gold ring, which
he desired me to keep for his sake; and he wept over me; but said, I am
sure so good a maiden God will bless; and though you return to your
poor father again, and his low estate, yet Providence will find you out:
Remember I tell you so; and one day, though I mayn't live to see it, you
will be rewarded.
I said, O, dear Mr. Longman! you make me too rich, and too mody; and
yet I must be a beggar before my time for I shall want often to be
scribbling, (little thinking it would be my only employment so soon,)
and I will beg you, sir, to favour me with some paper; and, as soon as I
get home, I will write you a letter, to thank you for all your kindness
to me; and a letter to good Mrs. Jervis too.
This was lucky; for I should have had none else, but at the pleasure of
my rough-natured governess, as I may call her; but now I can write to
ease my mind, though I can't send it to you; and write what I please,
for she knows not how well I am provided: for good Mr. Longman gave me
above forty sheets of paper, and a dozen pens, and a little phial of
ink; which last I wrapped in paper, and put in my pocket; and some wax
O dear sir, said I, you have set me up. How shall I requite you? He
said, By a kiss, my fair mistress: And I gave it very willingly; for he
is a good old man.
Rachel and Hannah cried sadly, when I took my leave; and Jane, who
sometimes used to be a little crossish, and Cicely too, wept sadly, and
said, they would pray for me; but poor Jane, I doubt, will forget that;
for she seldom says her prayers for herself: More's the pity!
Then Arthur the gardener, our Robin the coachman, and Lincolnshire Robin
too, who was to carry me, were very civil; and both had tears in their
eyes; which I thought then very good-natured in Lincolnshire Robin,
because he knew but little of me.--But since, I find he might well be
concerned; for he had then his instructions, it seems, and knew how he
was to be a means to entrap me.
Then our other three footmen, Harry, Isaac, and Benjamin, and grooms,
and helpers, were very much affected likewise; and the poor little
scullion-boy, Tommy, was ready to run over for grief.
They had got all together over-night, expecting to be differently
employed in the morning; and they all begged to shake hands with me, and
I kissed the maidens, and prayed to God to bless them all; and thanked
them for all their love and kindness to me: and, indeed, I was forced to
leave them sooner than I would, because I could not stand it: Indeed
I could not. Harry (I could not have thought it; for he is a little
wildish, they say) cried till he sobbed again. John, poor honest John,
was not then come back from you. But as for the butler, Mr. Jonathan, he
could not stay in company.
I thought to have told you a deal about this; but I have worse things to
employ my thoughts.
Mrs. Jervis, good Mrs. Jervis, cried all night long; and I comforted her
all I could: And she made me promise, that if my master went to London
to attend parliament, or to Lincolnshire, I would come and stay a week
with her: and she would have given me money; but I would not take it.
Well, next morning came, and I wondered I saw nothing of poor honest
John; for I waited to take leave of him, and thank him for all his
civilities to me and to you. But I suppose he was sent farther by my
master, and so could not return; and I desired to be remembered to him.
And when Mrs. Jervis told me, with a sad heart, the chariot was ready
with four horses to it, I was just upon sinking into the ground, though
I wanted to be with you.
My master was above stairs, and never asked to see me. I was glad of it
in the main; but he knew, false heart as he is, that I was not to be
out of his reach.--O preserve me, Heaven, from his power, and from his
Well, they were not suffered to go with me one step, as I writ to you
before; for he stood at the window to see me go. And in the passage to
the gate, out of his sight, there they stood all of them, in two rows;
and we could say nothing on both sides, but God bless you! and God bless
you! But Harry carried my own bundle, my third bundle, as I was used to
call it, to the coach, with some plumb-cake, and diet-bread, made for me
over-night, and some sweet-meats, and six bottles of Canary wine, which
Mrs. Jervis would make me take in a basket, to cheer our hearts now
and then, when we got together, as she said. And I kissed all the maids
again, and shook hands with the men again: but Mr. Jonathan and Mr.
Longman were not there; and then I tripped down the steps to the
chariot, Mrs. Jervis crying most sadly.
I looked up when I got to the chariot, and I saw my master at the
window, in his gown; and I courtesied three times to him very low, and
prayed for him with my hands lifted up; for I could not speak; indeed I
was not able: And he bowed his head to me, which made me then very glad
he would take such notice of me; and in I stepped, and was ready to
burst with grief; and could only, till Robin began to drive, wave my
white handkerchief to them, wet with my tears: and, at last, away he
drove, Jehu-like, as they say, out of the court-yard. And I too soon
found I had cause for greater and deeper grief.
Well, said I to myself, at this rate I shall soon be with my dear father
and mother; and till I had got, as I supposed, half-way, I thought of
the good friends I had left: And when, on stopping for a little bait
to the horses, Robin told me I was near half-way, I thought it was high
time to wipe my eyes, and think to whom I was going; as then, alack for
me! I thought. So I began to ponder what a meeting I should have with
you; how glad you'd both be to see me come safe and innocent to you,
after all my dangers: and so I began to comfort myself, and to banish
the other gloomy side from my mind; though, too, it returned now and
then; for I should be ungrateful not to love them for their love.
Well, I believe I set out about eight o'clock in the morning; and I
wondered and wondered, when it was about two, as I saw by a church dial,
in a little village as we passed through, that I was still more and more
out of my knowledge. Hey-day, thought I, to drive this strange pace, and
to be so long a going a little more than twenty miles, is very odd! But
to be sure, thought I, Robin knows the way.
At last he stopped, and looked about him, as if he was at a loss for the
road; and I said, Mr. Robert, sure you are out of the way!--I'm afraid I
am, said he. But it can't be much; I'll ask the first person I see. Pray
do, said I; and he gave his horses a mouthful of bay: and I gave him
some cake, and two glasses of Canary wine; and stopt about half an hour
in all. Then he drove on very fast again.
I had so much to think of, of the dangers I now doubted not I had
escaped, of the loving friends I had left, and my best friends I was
going to; and the many things I had to relate to you; that I the less
thought of the way, till I was startled out of my meditations by the sun
beginning to set, and still the man driving on, and his horses sweating
and foaming; and then I began to be alarmed all at once, and called to
him; and he said he had horrid ill luck, for he had come several miles
out of the way, but was now right, and should get in still before it was
quite dark. My heart began then to misgive me a little, and I was very
much fatigued; for I had no sleep for several nights before, to signify;
and at last I said, Pray Mr. Robert, there is a town before us, what
do you call it?--If we are so much out of the way, we had better put up
there, for the night comes on apace: And, Lord protect me! thought I,
I shall have new dangers, mayhap, to encounter with the man, who have
escaped the master--little thinking of the base contrivance of the
latter.--Says he, I am just there: 'Tis but a mile on one side of the
town before us.--Nay, said I, I may be mistaken; for it is a good while
since I was this way; but I am sure the face of the country here is
nothing like what I remember it.
He pretended to be much out of humour with himself for mistaking the
way, and at last stopped at a farmhouse, about two miles beyond the
village I had seen; and it was then almost dark, and he alighted, and
said, We must make shift here; for I am quite out.
Lord, thought I, be good to the poor Pamela! More trials still!--What
will befall me next?
The farmer's wife, and maid, and daughter, came out; and the wife said,
What brings you this way at this time of night, Mr. Robert? And with
a lady too?--Then I began to be frightened out of my wits; and laying
middle and both ends together, I fell a crying, and said, God give me
patience! I am undone for certain!--Pray, mistress, said I, do you know
'Squire B----, of Bedfordshire?
The wicked coachman would have prevented the answering me; but the
simple daughter said, Know his worship! yes, surely! why he is my
father's landlord.--Well, said I, then I am undone; undone for ever!--O,
wicked wretch! what have I done to you, said I to the coachman, to serve
me thus?--Vile tool of a wicked master!--Faith, said the fellow, I am
sorry this task was put upon me; but I could not help it. But make the
best of it now; here are very civil reputable folks; and you'll be safe
here, I'll assure you.--Let me get out, said I, and I'll walk back to
the town we came through, late as it is:--For I will not enter here.
Said the farmer's wife, You'll be very well used here, I'll assure you,
young gentlewoman, and have better conveniences than any where in the
village. I matter not conveniences, said I: I am betrayed and undone!
As you have a daughter of your own, pity me, and let me know if your
landlord, as you call him, be here!--No, I'll assure you he is not, said
And then came the farmer, a good-like sort of man, grave, and
well-behaved; and spoke to me in such sort, as made me a little
pacified; and seeing no help for it, I went in; and the wife immediately
conducted me up stairs to the best apartment, and told me, that was mine
as long as I staid: and nobody should come near me but when I called.
I threw myself on the bed in the room, tired and frightened to death
almost; and gave way to the most excessive fit of grief that I ever had.
The daughter came up, and said, Mr. Robert had given her a letter to
give me; and there it was. I raised myself, and saw it was the hand
and seal of the wicked wretch, my master, directed to Mrs. Pamela
Andrews.--This was a little better than to have him here; though, if he
had, he must have been brought through the air; for I thought I was.
The good woman (for I began to see things about a little reputable, and
no guile appearing in them, but rather a face of grief for my grief)
offered me a glass of some cordial water, which I accepted, for I
was ready to sink; and then I sat up in a chair a little, though very
faintish: and they brought me two candles, and lighted a brushwood fire;
and said, if I called, I should be waited on instantly; and so left me
to ruminate on my sad condition, and to read my letter, which I was not
able to do presently. After I had a little come to myself, I found it to
contain these words:
'The passion I have for you, and your obstinacy, have constrained me to
act by you in a manner that I know will occasion you great trouble and
fatigue, both of mind and body. Yet, forgive me, my dear girl; for,
although I have taken this step, I will, by all that's good and
holy! use you honourably. Suffer not your fears to transport you to
a behaviour that will be disreputable to us both: for the place where
you'll receive this, is a farm that belongs to me; and the people civil,
honest, and obliging.
'You will, by this time, be far on your way to the place I have allotted
for your abode for a few weeks, till I have managed some affairs, that
will make me shew myself to you in a much different light, than you may
possibly apprehend from this rash action: And to convince you, that I
mean no harm, I do assure you, that the house you are going to, shall be
so much at your command, that even I myself will not approach it without
leave from you. So make yourself easy; be discreet and prudent; and a
happier turn shall reward these your troubles, than you may at present
'Meantime I pity the fatigue you will have, if this come to your hand in
the place I have directed: and will write to your father to satisfy him,
that nothing but what is honourable shall be offered to you, by
Your passionate admirer, (so I must style myself,)
Don't think hardly of poor Robin: You have so possessed all my servants
in your favour, that I find they had rather serve you than me; and 'tis
reluctantly the poor fellow undertook this task; and I was forced to
submit to assure him of my honourable intentions to you, which I
am fully resolved to make good, if you compel me not to a contrary
I but too well apprehended that the letter was only to pacify me for the
present; but as my danger was not so immediate as I had reason to dread,
and he had promised to forbear coming to me, and to write to you, my
dear parents, to quiet your concern, I was a little more easy than
before and I made shift to eat a little bit of boiled chicken they had
got for me, and drank a glass of my sack, and made each of them do so
But after I had so done, I was again a little flustered; for in came
the coachman with the look of a hangman, I thought, and madamed me up
strangely; telling me, he would beg me to get ready to pursue my journey
by five in the morning, or else he should be late in. I was quite
grieved at this; for I began not to dislike my company, considering how
things stood; and was in hopes to get a party among them, and so to put
myself into any worthy protection in the neighbourhood, rather than go
When he withdrew, I began to tamper with the farmer and his wife. But,
alas! they had had a letter delivered them at the same time I had; so
securely had Lucifer put it into his head to do his work; and they only
shook their heads, and seemed to pity me; and so I was forced to give
over that hope.
However, the good farmer shewed me his letter; which I copied as
follows: for it discovers the deep arts of this wicked master; and how
resolved he seems to be on my ruin, by the pains he took to deprive me
of all hopes of freeing myself from his power.
'I send to your house, for one night only, a young gentlewoman, much
against her will, who has deeply embarked in a love affair, which
will be her ruin, as well as the person's to whom she wants to betroth
herself. I have, to oblige her father, ordered her to be carried to one
of my houses, where she will be well used, to try, if by absence, and
expostulation with both, they can be brought to know their own interest
and I am sure you will use her kindly for my sake: for, excepting
this matter, which she will not own, she does not want prudence and
discretion. I will acknowledge any trouble you shall be at in this
matter the first opportunity; and am
'Your Friend and Servant.'
He had said, too cunningly for me, that I would not own this pretended
love affair; so that he had provided them not to believe me, say what I
would; and as they were his tenants, who all love him, (for he has some
amiable qualities, and so he had need!) I saw all my plot cut out, and
so was forced to say the less.
I wept bitterly, however; for I found he was too hard for me, as well in
his contrivances as riches; and so had recourse again to my only refuge,
comforting myself, that God never fails to take the innocent heart into
his protection, and is alone able to baffle and confound the devices of
the mighty. Nay, the farmer was so prepossessed with the contents of
his letter, that he began to praise his care and concern for me, and to
advise me against entertaining addresses without my friends' advice
and consent; and made me the subject of a lesson for his daughter's
improvement. So I was glad to shut up this discourse; for I saw I was
not likely to be believed.
I sent, however, to tell my driver, that I was so fatigued, I could not
get out so soon the next morning. But he insisted upon it, and said,
It would make my day's journey the lighter; and I found he was a more
faithful servant to his master, notwithstanding what he wrote of his
reluctance, than I could have wished: I saw still more and more, that
all was deep dissimulation, and contrivance worse and worse.
Indeed I might have shewn them his letter to me, as a full confutation
of his to them; but I saw no probability of engaging them in my behalf:
and so thought it signified little, as I was to go away so soon, to
enter more particularly into the matter with them; and besides, I saw
they were not inclinable to let me stay longer, for fear of disobliging
him so I went to bed, but had very little rest: and they would make
their servant-maid bear me company in the chariot five miles, early in
the morning, and she was to walk hack.
I had contrived in my thoughts, when I was on my way in the chariot, on
Friday morning, that when we came into some town to bait, as he must do
for the horses' sake, I would, at the inn, apply myself, if I saw I any
way could, to the mistress of the inn, and tell her the case, and to
refuse to go farther, having nobody but this wicked coachman to contend
Well, I was very full of this project, and in great hopes, some how or
other, to extricate myself in this way. But, oh! the artful wretch had
provided for even this last refuge of mine; for when we came to put up
at a large town on the way, to eat a morsel for dinner, and I was fully
resolved to execute my project, who should be at the inn that he put up
at, but the wicked Mrs. Jewkes, expecting me! And her sister-in-law was
the mistress of it; and she had provided a little entertainment for me.
And this I found, when I desired, as soon as I came in, to speak with
the mistress of the house. She came to me: and I said, I am a poor
unhappy young body, that want your advice and assistance; and you seem
to be a good sort of a gentlewoman, that would assist an oppressed
innocent person. Yes, madam, said she, I hope you guess right; and I
have the happiness to know something of the matter before you speak.
Pray call my sister Jewkes.--Jewkes! Jewkes! thought I; I have heard of
that name; I don't like it.
Then the wicked creature appeared, whom I had never seen but once
before, and I was terrified out of my wits. No stratagem, thought I, not
one! for a poor innocent girl; but every thing to turn out against me;
that is hard indeed!
So I began to pull in my horns, as they say, for I saw I was now worse
off than at the farmer's.
The naughty woman came up to me with an air of confidence, and kissed
me: See, sister, said she, here's a charming creature! Would she not
tempt the best lord in the land to run away with her? O frightful!
thought I; here's an avowal of the matter at once: I am now gone, that's
certain. And so was quite silent and confounded; and seeing no help for
it, (for she would not part with me out of her sight) I was forced to
set out with her in the chariot for she came thither on horseback, with
a man-servant, who rode by us the rest of the way, leading her horse:
and now I gave over all thoughts of redemption, and was in a desponding
Well, thought I, here are strange pains taken to ruin a poor innocent,
helpless, and even worthless young body. This plot is laid too deep,
and has been too long hatching, to be baffled, I fear. But then I put
my trust in God, who I knew was able to do every thing for me, when all
other possible means should fail: and in him I was resolved to confide.
You may see--(Yet, oh! that kills me; for I know not whether ever you
can see what I now write or no--Else you will see)--what sort of woman
that Mrs. Jewkes is, compared to good Mrs. Jervis, by this:----
Every now and then she would be staring in my face, in the chariot, and
squeezing my hand, and saying, Why, you are very pretty, my silent dear!
And once she offered to kiss me. But I said, I don't like this sort of
carriage, Mrs. Jewkes; it is not like two persons of one sex. She fell
a laughing very confidently, and said, That's prettily said, I vow! Then
thou hadst rather be kissed by the other sex? 'I fackins, I commend thee
I was sadly teased with her impertinence, and bold way; but no wonder;
she was innkeeper's housekeeper, before she came to my master; and those
sort of creatures don't want confidence, you know: and indeed she made
nothing to talk boldly on twenty occasions; and said two or three times,
when she saw the tears every now and then, as we rid, trickle down my
cheeks, I was sorely hurt, truly, to have the handsomest and finest
young gentleman in five counties in love with me!
So I find I am got into the hands of a wicked procuress; and if I was
not safe with good Mrs. Jervis, and where every body loved me, what a
dreadful prospect have I now before me, in the hands of a woman that
seems to delight in filthiness!
O dear sirs! what shall I do! What shall I do!--Surely, I shall never be
equal to all these things!
About eight at night, we entered the court-yard of this handsome, large,
old, and lonely mansion, that looks made for solitude and mischief, as I
thought, by its appearance, with all its brown nodding horrors of lofty
elms and pines about it: and here, said I to myself, I fear, is to be
the scene of my ruin, unless God protect me, who is all-sufficient!
I was very sick at entering it, partly from fatigue, and partly from
dejection of spirits: and Mrs. Jewkes got me some mulled wine, and
seemed mighty officious to welcome me thither; and while she was absent,
ordering the wine, the wicked Robin came in to me, and said, I beg a
thousand pardons for my part in this affair, since I see your grief and
your distress; and I do assure you, that I am sorry it fell to my task.
Mighty well, Mr. Robert! said I; I never saw an execution but once, and
then the hangman asked the poor creature's pardon, and wiped his mouth,
as you do, and pleaded his duty, and then calmly tucked up the criminal.
But I am no criminal, as you all know: And if I could have thought it
my duty to obey a wicked master in his unlawful command, I had saved you
all the merit of this vile service.
I am sorry, said he, you take it so: but every body don't think alike.
Well, said I, you have done your part, Mr. Robert, towards my ruin, very
faithfully; and will have cause to be sorry, may be, at the long run,
when you shall see the mischief that comes of it.--Your eyes were
open, and you knew I was to be carried to my father's, and that I was
barbarously tricked and betrayed; and I can only, once more, thank you
for your part of it. God forgive you!
So he went away a little sad. What have you said to Robin, madam? said
Mrs. Jewkes: (who came in as he went out:) the poor fellow's ready to
cry. I need not be afraid of your following his example, Mrs. Jewkes,
said I: I have been telling him, that he has done his part to my ruin:
and he now can't help it! So his repentance does me no good; I wish it
may him. I'll assure you, madam, said she, I should be as ready to cry
as he, if I should do you any harm. It is not in his power to help it
now, said I; but your part is to come, and you may choose whether you'll
contribute to my ruin or not.--Why, look ye, madam, said she, I have a
great notion of doing my duty to my master; and therefore you may depend
upon it, if I can do that, and serve you, I will: but you must think, if
your desire, and his will, come to clash once, I shall do as he bids me,
let it be what it will.
Pray, Mrs. Jewkes, said I, don't madam me so: I am but a silly poor
girl, set up by the gambol of fortune, for a May-game; and now am to be
something, and now nothing, just as that thinks fit to sport with
me: And let you and me talk upon a foot together; for I am a servant
inferior to you, and so much the more, as I am turned out of place.
Ay, ay, says she, I understand something of the matter; you have so
great power over my master, that you may soon be mistress of us all; and
so I would oblige you, if I could. And I must and will call you madam;
for I am instructed to shew you all respect, I'll assure you.
Who instructed you so to do? said I. Who! my master, to be sure, said
she. Why, said I, how can that be? You have not seen him lately. No,
that's true, said she; but I have been expecting you here some time; (O
the deep laid wickedness! thought I:) and, besides, I have a letter of
instructions by Robin; but, may be, I should not have said so much. If
you would shew them to me, said I, I should be able to judge how far I
could, or could not, expect favour from you, consistent with your duty
to our master. I beg your pardon, fair mistress, for that, said she, I
am sufficiently instructed; and you may depend upon it, I will observe
my orders; and, so far as they will let me, so far will I oblige you;
and there's an end of it.
Well, said I, you will not, I hope, do an unlawful or wicked thing, for
any master in the world. Look ye, said she, he is my master; and if he
bids me do any thing that I can do, I think I ought to do it; and let
him, who has his power to command me, look to the lawfulness of it.
Why, said I, suppose he should bid you cut my throat, Would you do it?
There's no danger of that, said she; but to be sure I would not; for
then I should be hanged! for that would be murder. Well, said I, and
suppose he should resolve to ensnare a poor young creature, and ruin
her, would you assist him in that? For to rob a person of her virtue is
worse than cutting her throat.
Why now, says she, how strangely you talk! Are not the two sexes made
for one another? And is it not natural for a gentleman to love a pretty
woman? And suppose he can obtain his desires, is that so bad as cutting
her throat? And then the wretch fell a laughing, and talked most
impertinently, and shewed me, that I had nothing to expect from her
virtue or conscience: and this gave me great mortification; for I was in
hopes of working upon her by degrees.
So we ended our discourse here, and I bid her shew me where I must
lie.--Why, said she, lie where you list, madam; I can tell you, I must
lie with you for the present. For the present! said I, and torture then
wrung my heart!--But is it in your instructions, that you must lie with
me? Yes, indeed, said she.--I am sorry for it, said I. Why, said she,
I am wholesome, and cleanly too, I'll assure you. Yes, said I, I don't
doubt that; but I love to lie by myself. How so? said she; Was not Mrs.
Jervis your bed-fellow at t'other house?
Well, said I, quite sick of her, and my condition; you must do as you
are instructed, I think. I can't help myself, and am a most miserable
creature. She repeated her insufferable nonsense. Mighty miserable,
indeed, to be so well beloved by one of the finest gentlemen in England!
I am now come down in my writing to this present SATURDAY, and a deal I
My wicked bed-fellow has very punctual orders, it seems; for she locks
me and herself in, and ties the two keys (for there is a double door to
the room) about her wrist, when she goes to bed. She talks of the house
having been attempted to be broken open two or three times; whether to
fright me, I can't tell; but it makes me fearful; though not so much as
I should be, if I had not other and greater fears.
I slept but little last night, and got up, and pretended to sit by the
window, which looks into the spacious gardens; but I was writing all
the time, from break of day, to her getting up, and after, when she was
At breakfast she presented the two maids to me, the cook and house-maid,
poor awkward souls, that I can see no hopes of, they seem so devoted to
her and ignorance. Yet I am resolved, if possible, to find some way to
escape, before this wicked master comes.
There are, besides, of servants, the coachman, Robert, a groom, a
helper, a footman; all but Robert, (and he is accessary to my ruin,)
strange creatures, that promise nothing; and all likewise devoted to
this woman. The gardener looks like a good honest man; but he is kept at
a distance, and seems reserved.
I wondered I saw not Mr. Williams the clergyman, but would not ask after
him, apprehending it might give some jealousy; but when I had beheld the
rest, he was the only one I had hopes of; for I thought his cloth would
set him above assisting in my ruin.--But in the afternoon he came; for
it seems he has a little Latin school in the neighbouring village, which
he attends; and this brings him in a little matter, additional to my
master's favour, till something better falls, of which he has hopes.
He is a sensible sober young gentleman; and when I saw him I confirmed
myself in my hopes of him; for he seemed to take great notice of my
distress and grief; (for I could not hide it;) though he appeared
fearful of Mrs. Jewkes, who watched all our motions and words.
He has an apartment in the house; but is mostly at a lodging in the
town, for a conveniency of his little school; only on Saturday afternoon
and Sundays: and he preaches sometimes for the minister of the village,
which is about three miles off.
I hope to go to church with him to-morrow: Sure it is not in her
instructions to deny me! He can't have thought of every thing! And
something may strike out for me there.
I have asked her, for a feint, (because she shan't think I am so well
provided,) to indulge me with pen and ink, though I have been using my
own so freely when her absence would let me; for I begged to be left to
myself as much as possible. She says she will let me have it; but then
I must promise not to send any writing out of the house, without her
seeing it. I said, it was only to divert my grief when I was by myself,
as I desired to be; for I loved writing as well as reading; but I had
nobody to send to, she knew well enough.
No, not at present, may be, said she; but I am told you are a great
writer; and it is in my instructions to see all you write: So, look you
here, said she, I will let you have a pen and ink, and two sheets of
paper: for this employment will keep you out of worse thoughts: but I
must see them always when I ask, written or not written. That's very
hard, said I; but may I not have to myself the closet in the room where
we lie, with the key to lock up my things? I believe I may consent to
that, said she; and I will set it in order for you, and leave the key
in the door. And there is a spinnet too, said she; if it be in tune, you
may play to divert you now and then; for I know my old lady learnt you:
And below is my master's library: you may take out what books you will.
And, indeed, these and my writing will be all my amusement: for I have
no work given me to do; and the spinnet, if in tune, will not find my
mind, I am sure, in tune to play upon it. But I went directly and picked
out some books from the library, with which I filled a shelf in the
closet she gave me possession of; and from these I hope to receive
improvement, as well as amusement. But no sooner was her back turned,
than I set about hiding a pen of my own here, and another there, for
fear I should come to be denied, and a little of my ink in a broken
China cup, and a little in another cup; and a sheet of paper here and
there among my linen, with a little of the wax, and a few wafers, in
several places, lest I should be searched; and something, I thought,
might happen to open a way for my deliverance, by these or some
other means. O the pride, thought I, I shall have, if I can secure my
innocence, and escape the artful wiles of this wicked master! For, if
he comes hither, I am undone, to be sure! For this naughty woman will
assist him, rather than fail, in the worst of his attempts; and he'll
have no occasion to send her out of the way, as he would have done Mrs.
Jervis once. So I must set all my little wits at work.
It is a grief to me to write, and not to be able to send to you what I
write: but now it is all the diversion I have, and if God will favour my
escape with my innocence, as I trust he graciously will, for all these
black prospects, with what pleasure shall I read them afterwards!
I was going to say, Pray for your dutiful daughter, as I used; but,
alas! you cannot know my distress, though I am sure I have your prayers:
And I will write on as things happen, that if a way should open, my
scribble may be ready to be sent: For what I do, must be at a jerk, to
O how I want such an obliging honest-hearted man as John!
I am now come to SUNDAY.
Well, here is a sad thing! I am denied by this barbarous woman to go
to church, as I had built upon I might: and she has huffed poor Mr.
Williams all to pieces, for pleading for me. I find he is to be forbid
the house, if she pleases. Poor gentleman! all his dependance is upon my
master, who has a very good living for him, if the incumbent die; and he
has kept his bed these four months, of old age and dropsy.
He pays me great respect, and I see pities me; and would, perhaps,
assist my escape from these dangers: But I have nobody to plead for me;
and why should I wish to ruin a poor gentleman, by engaging him against
his interest? Yet one would do any thing to preserve one's innocence;
and Providence would, perhaps, make it up to him!
O judge (but how shall you see what I write!) of my distracted
condition, to be reduced to such a pass as to a desire to lay traps for
mankind! But he wants sadly to say something to me, as he whisperingly
The wretch (I think I will always call her the wretch henceforth) abuses
me more and more. I was but talking to one of the maids just now,
indeed a little to tamper with her by degrees: and she popt upon us,
and said--Nay, madam, don't offer to tempt poor innocent country maidens
from doing their duty. You wanted, I hear, she should take a walk with
you. But I charge you, Nan, never stir with her, nor obey her, without
letting me know it, in the smallest trifles.--I say, walk with you! and
where would you go, I tro'? Why, barbarous Mrs. Jewkes, said I, only to
look a little up the elm-walk, since you would not let me go to church.
Nan, said she, to shew me how much they were all in her power, pull
off madam's shoes, and bring them to me. I have taken care of her
others.--Indeed she shan't, said I.--Nay, said Nan, but I must if my
mistress bids me: so pray, madam, don't hinder me. And so indeed (would
you believe it?) she took my shoes off, and left me barefoot: and, for
my share, I have been so frighted at this, that I have not power even
to relieve my mind by my tears. I am quite stupefied to be sure!--Here I
was forced to leave off.
Now I will give you a picture of this wretch: She is a broad, squat,
pursy, fat thing, quite ugly, if any thing human can be so called; about
forty years old. She has a huge hand, and an arm as thick as my waist, I
believe. Her nose is flat and crooked, and her brows grow down over her
eyes; a dead spiteful, grey, goggling eye, to be sure she has. And her
face is flat and broad; and as to colour, looks like as if it had been
pickled a month in saltpetre: I dare say she drinks:--She has a hoarse,
man-like voice, and is as thick as she is long; and yet looks so deadly
strong, that I am afraid she would dash me at her foot in an instant,
if I was to vex her.--So that with a heart more ugly than her face, she
frightens me sadly: and I am undone to be sure, if God does not protect
me; for she is very, very wicked--indeed she is.
This is poor helpless spite in me:--But the picture is too near the
truth notwithstanding. She sends me a message just now, that I shall
have my shoes again, if I will accept of her company to walk with me in
the garden.--To waddle with me, rather, thought I.
Well, 'tis not my business to quarrel with her downright. I shall
be watched the narrower, if I do; and so I will go with the hated
wretch.--O for my dear Mrs. Jervis! or, rather, to be safe with my dear
father and mother.
Oh! I am out of my wits for joy! Just as I have got my shoes on, I
am told John, honest John, is come on horseback!--A blessing on his
faithful heart! What joy is this! But I'll tell you more by and by. I
must not let her know I am so glad to see this dear blessed John, to be
sure!--Alas! but he looks sad, as I see him out of the window! What can
be the matter!--I hope my dear parents are well, and Mrs. Jervis, and
Mr. Longman, and every body, my naughty master not excepted;--for I wish
him to live and repent of all his wickedness to poor me.
O dear heart! what a world do we live in!--I am now come to take up my
pen again: But I am in a sad taking truly! Another puzzling trial, to be
Here was John, as I said, and the poor man came to me, with Mrs. Jewkes,
who whispered, that I would say nothing about the shoes, for my own
sake, as she said. The poor man saw my distress, by my red eyes, and my
hagged looks, I suppose; for I have had a sad time of it, you must needs
think; and though he would have hid it, if he could, yet his own eyes
ran over. Oh, Mrs. Pamela; said he; Oh, Mrs. Pamela! Well, honest
fellow-servant, said I, I cannot help it at present: I am obliged to
your honesty and kindness, to be sure; and then he wept more. Said I,
(for my heart was ready to break to see his grief; for it is a touching
thing to see a man cry), Tell me the worst! Is my master coming? No, no,
said he, and sobbed.--Well, said I, is there any news of my poor father
and mother? How do they do?--I hope well, said he, I know nothing to the
contrary. There is no mishap, I hope, to Mrs. Jervis or to Mr. Longman,
or my fellow-servants!--No--said he, poor man! with a long N--o, as if
his heart would burst. Well, thank God then! said I.
The man's a fool, said Mrs. Jewkes, I think: What ado is here! Why, sure
thou'rt in love, John. Dost thou not see young madam is well? What ails
thee, man? Nothing at all, said he; but I am such a fool as to cry for
joy to see good Mrs. Pamela: But I have a letter for you.
I took it, and saw it was from my master; so I put it in my pocket. Mrs.
Jewkes, said I, you need not, I hope, see this. No, no, said she, I
see whose it is, well enough; or else, may be, I must have insisted on
And here is one for you, Mrs. Jewkes, said he; but yours, said he to
me, requires an answer, which I must carry back early in the morning, or
to-night, if I can.
You have no more, John, said Mrs. Jewkes, for Mrs. Pamela, have you? No,
said he, I have not, but every body's kind love and service. Ay, to us
both, to be sure, said she. John, said I, I will read the letter, and
pray take care of yourself; for you are a good man, God bless you! and
I rejoice to see you, and hear from you all. But I longed to say more;
only that nasty Mrs. Jewkes.
So I went up, and locked myself in my closet, and opened the letter; and
this is a copy of it:
'My DEAREST PAMELA,
'I send purposely to you on an affair that concerns you very much,
and me somewhat, but chiefly for your sake. I am conscious that I have
proceeded by you in such a manner as may justly alarm your fears, and
give concern to your honest friends: and all my pleasure is, that I
can and will make you amends for the disturbance I have given you. As
I promised, I sent to your father the day after your departure, that he
might not be too much concerned for you, and assured him of my honour to
you; and made an excuse, such an one as ought to have satisfied him, for
your not coming to him. But this was not sufficient, it seems; for he,
poor man! came to me next morning, and set my family almost in an uproar
'O my dear girl! what trouble has not your obstinacy given me, and
yourself too! I had no way to pacify him, but to promise that he should
see a letter written from you to Mrs. Jervis, to satisfy him you are
'Now all my care in this case is for your aged parents, lest they should
be touched with too fatal a grief; and for you, whose duty and affection
for them I know to be so strong and laudable; for this reason I beg you
will write a few lines to them, and let me prescribe the form; which I
have done, putting myself as near as I can in your place, and expressing
your sense, with a warmth that I doubt will have too much possessed you.
'After what is done, and which cannot now be helped, but which, I assure
you, shall turn out honourably for you, I expect not to be refused;
because I cannot possibly have any view in it, but to satisfy your
parents; which is more your concern than mine; and so I must beg you
will not alter one tittle of the underneath. If you do, it will be
impossible for me to send it, or that it should answer the good end I
propose by it.
'I have promised, that I will not approach you without your leave. If I
find you easy, and not attempting to dispute or avoid your present lot,
I will keep to my word, although it is a difficulty upon me. Nor shall
your restraint last long: for I will assure you, that I am resolved very
soon to convince you of my good intentions, and with what ardour I am
The letter he prescribed for me was as this:
'DEAR Mrs. JERVIS,
'I have, instead of being driven by Robin to my dear father's, been
carried off, where I have no liberty to tell. However, at present, I
am not used hardly; and I write to beg you to let my dear father and
mother, whose hearts must be well nigh broken, know that I am well; and
that I am, and, by the grace of God, ever will be, their honest, as well
as dutiful daughter, and 'Your obliged friend.'
'I must neither send date nor place; but have most solemn assurances of
I knew not what to do on this most strange request and occasion. But my
heart bled so much for you, my dear father, who had taken the pains to
go yourself, and inquire after your poor daughter, as well as for my
dear mother, that I resolved to write, and pretty much in the above
form, that it might be sent to pacify you, till I could let you, somehow
or other, know the true state of the matter. And I wrote thus to my
strange wicked master himself:
'If you knew but the anguish of my mind, and how much I suffer by
your dreadful usage of me, you would surely pity me, and consent to my
deliverance. What have I done, that I should be the only mark of your
cruelty? I can have no hope, no desire of living left me, because I
cannot have the least dependence, after what has passed, upon your
solemn assurances.--It is impossible they should be consistent with the
dishonourable methods you take.
'Nothing but your promise of not seeing me here in my deplorable
bondage, can give me the least ray of hope.
'Don't, I beseech you, drive the poor distressed Pamela upon a rock,
that may be the destruction both of her soul and body! You don't know,
sir, how dreadfully I dare, weak as I am of mind and intellect, when my
virtue is in danger. And, O! hasten my deliverance, that a poor unworthy
creature, below the notice of such a gentleman as you, may not be made
the sport of a high condition, for no reason in the world, but because
she is not able to defend herself, nor has a friend that can right her.
'I have, sir, in part to shew my obedience to you, but indeed, I own,
more to give ease to the minds of my poor distressed parents, whose
poverty, one would think, should screen them from violences of this
sort, as well as their poor daughter, followed pretty much the form
you have prescribed for me, in the letter to Mrs. Jervis; and the
alterations I have made (for I could not help a few) are of such a
nature, as, though they shew my concern a little, yet must answer the
end you are pleased to say you propose by this letter.
'For God's sake, good sir, pity my lowly condition, and my present great
misery; and let me join with all the rest of your servants to bless that
goodness, which you have extended to every one but the poor afflicted,
I thought, when I had written this letter, and that which he had
prescribed, it would look like placing a confidence in Mrs. Jewkes, to
shew them to her; and I shewed her, at the same time, my master's letter
to me; for I believed the value he expressed for me, would give me
credit with one who professed in every thing to serve him, right or
wrong; though I had so little reason, I fear, to pride myself in it: and
I was not mistaken; for it has seemed to influence her not a little, and
she is at present mighty obliging, and runs over in my praises; but
is the less to be minded, because she praises as much the author of my
miseries, and his honourable intentions, as she calls them; for I see,
that she is capable of thinking, as I fear he does, that every thing
that makes for his wicked will is honourable, though to the ruin of the
innocent. Pray God I may find it otherwise! Though, I hope, whatever
the wicked gentleman may intend, that I shall be at last rid of her
impertinent bold way of talk, when she seems to think, from his letter,
that he means honourably.
I am now come to MONDAY, the 5th Day of my Bondage and Misery.
I was in hope to have an opportunity to see John, and have a little
private talk with him, before he went away; but it could not be. The
poor man's excessive sorrow made Mrs. Jewkes take it into her head, to
think he loved me; and so she brought up a message to me from him this
morning that he was going. I desired he might come up to my closet, as I
called it, and she came with him. The honest man, as I thought him,
was as full of concern as before, at taking leave and I gave him two
letters, the one for Mrs. Jervis, enclosed in another for my master: but
Mrs. Jewkes would see me seal them up, lest I should enclose any thing
else.--I was surprised, at the man's going away, to see him drop a bit
of paper, just at the head of the stairs, which I took up without being
observed by Mrs. Jewkes: but I was a thousand times more surprised, when
I returned to my closet, and opening it read as follows:
'GOOD MRS. PAMELA,
'I am grieved to tell you how much you have been deceived and betrayed,
and that by such a vile dog as I. Little did I think it would come to
this. But I must say, if ever there was a rogue in the world, it is me.
I have all along shewed your letters to my master: He employed me for
that purpose; and he saw every one, before I carried them to your father
and mother; and then scaled them up, and sent me with them. I had some
business that way, but not half so often as I pretended: and as soon
as I heard how it was, I was ready to hang myself. You may well think I
could not stand in your presence. O vile, vile wretch, to bring you to
this! If you are ruined, I am the rogue that caused it. All the justice
I can do you, is to tell you, you are in vile hands; and I am afraid
will be undone in spite of all your sweet innocence; and I believe
I shall never live, after I know it. If you can forgive me, you are
exceeding good; but I shall never forgive myself, that's certain.
Howsomever, it will do you no good to make this known; and may-hap I
may live to do you service. If I can, I will: I am sure I ought.--Master
kept your last two or three letters, and did not send them at all. I am
the most abandoned wretch of wretches. 'J. ARNOLD.'
'You see your undoing has been long hatching. Pray take care of your
sweet self. Mrs. Jewkes is a devil: but in my master's t'other house you
have not one false heart, but myself. Out upon me for a villain!'
My dear father and mother, when you come to this place, I make no doubt
your hair will stand on end as mine does!--O the deceitfulness of the
heart of man!--This John, that I took to be the honestest of men; that
you took for the same; that was always praising you to me, and me to
you, and for nothing so much as for our honest hearts; this very fellow
was all the while a vile hypocrite, and a perfidious wretch, and helping
to carry on my ruin.
But he says so much of himself, that I will only sit down with this
sad reflection, That power and riches never want tools to promote their
vilest ends, and there is nothing so hard to be known as the heart
of man:--I can but pity the poor wretch, since he seems to have great
remorse, and I believe it best to keep his wickedness secret. If it lies
in my way, I will encourage his penitence; for I may possibly make some
discoveries by it.
One thing I should mention in this place; he brought down, in a
portmanteau, all the clothes and things my lady and master had given me,
and moreover two velvet hoods, and a velvet scarf, that used to be worn
by my lady; but I have no comfort in them, or any thing else.
Mrs. Jewkes had the portmanteau brought into my closet, and she shewed
me what was in it; but then locked it up, and said, she would let me
have what I would out of it, when I asked; but if I had the key, it
might make me want to go abroad, may be; and so the confident woman put
it in her pocket.
I gave myself over to sad reflections upon this strange and surprising
discovery of John's, and wept much for him, and for myself too; for now
I see, as he says, my ruin has been long hatching, that I can make no
doubt what my master's honourable professions will end in. What a heap
of hard names does the poor fellow call himself! But what must they
deserve, then, who set him to work? O what has this wicked master to
answer for, to be so corrupt himself, and to corrupt others, who would
have been all innocent; and to carry on a poor plot, I am sure for a
gentleman, to ruin a poor creature, who never did him harm, nor wished
him any; and who can still pray for his happiness, and his repentance?
I can't but wonder what these gentlemen, as they are called, can think
of themselves for these vile doings! John had some inducement; for he
hoped to please his master, who rewarded him and was bountiful to him;
and the same may be said, bad as she is, for this same odious Mrs.
Jewkes. But what inducement has my master for taking so much pains to do
the devil's work for him?--If he loves me, as 'tis falsely called, must
he therefore lay traps for me, to ruin me and make me as bad as himself?
I cannot imagine what good the undoing of such a poor creature as I can
procure him.--To be sure, I am a very worthless body. People, indeed,
say I am handsome; but if I was so, should not a gentleman prefer an
honest servant to a guilty harlot? And must he be more earnest to seduce
me, because I dread of all things to be seduced, and would rather lose
my life than my honesty?
Well, these are strange things to me! I cannot account for them, for
my share; but sure nobody will say, that these fine gentlemen have any
tempter but their own wicked wills!--his naughty master could run
away from me, when he apprehended his servants might discover his vile
attempts upon me in that sad closet affair; but is it not strange that
he should not be afraid of the all-seeing eye, from which even that
base plotting heart of his, in its most secret motions, could not be
hid?--But what avail me these sorrowful reflections? He is and will be
wicked, and designs me a victim to his lawless attempts, if the God in
whom I trust, and to whom I hourly pray, prevent it not.
Tuesday and Wednesday.
I have been hindered by this wicked woman's watching me so close, from
writing on Tuesday; and so I will put both these days together. I have
been a little turn with her for an airing, in the chariot, and walked
several times in the garden; but have always her at my heels.
Mr. Williams came to see us, and took a walk with us once; and while her
back was just turned, (encouraged by the hint he had before given me,)
I said, Sir, I see two tiles upon that parsley-bed; might not one cover
them with mould, with a note between them, on occasion?--A good hint,
said he; let that sunflower by the back-door of the garden be the place;
I have a key to the door; for it is my nearest way to the town.
So I was forced to begin. O what inventions will necessity push us upon!
I hugged myself at the thought; and she coming to us, he said, as if he
was continuing a discourse we were in: No, not extraordinary pleasant.
What's that? what's that? said Mrs. Jewkes.--Only, said he, the town,
I'm saying, is not very pleasant. No, indeed, said she, it is not; it is
a poor town, to my thinking. Are there any gentry in it? said I. And so
we chatted on about the town, to deceive her. But my deceit intended no
hurt to any body.
We then talked of the garden, how large and pleasant, and the like; and
sat down on the tufted slope of the fine fish-pond, to see the fishes
play upon the surface of the water; and she said, I should angle if I
I wish, said I, you'd be so kind to fetch me a rod and baits. Pretty
mistress! said she--I know better than that, I'll assure you, at this
time.--I mean no harm, said I, indeed. Let me tell you, said she. I know
none who have their thoughts more about them than you. A body ought
to look to it where you are. But we'll angle a little to-morrow. Mr.
Williams, who is much afraid of her, turned the discourse to a general
subject. I sauntered in, and left them to talk by themselves; but he
went away to town, and she was soon after me.
I had got to my pen and ink; and I said, I want some paper, Mrs. Jewkes,
(putting what I was about in my bosom:) You know I have written two
letters, and sent them by John. (O how his name, poor guilty fellow,
grieves me!) Well, said she, you have some left; one sheet did for those
two letters. Yes, said I; but I used half another for a cover, you
know; and see how I have scribbled the other half; and so I shewed her
a parcel of broken scraps of verses, which I had tried to recollect, and
had written purposely that she might see, and think me usually employed
to such idle purposes. Ay, said she, so you have; well, I'll give you
two sheets more; but let me see how you dispose of them, either written
or blank. Well, thought I, I hope still, Argus, to be too hard for thee.
Now Argus, the poets say, had a hundred eyes, and was set to watch with
them all, as she does.
She brought me the paper, and said, Now, madam, let me see you write
something. I will, said I; and took the pen and wrote, 'I wish Mrs.
Jewkes would be so good to me, as I would be to her, if I had it in my
power.'--That's pretty now, said she; well, I hope I am; but what then?
'Why then (wrote I) she would do me the favour to let me know, what I
have done to be made her prisoner; and what she thinks is to become
of me.' Well, and what then? said she. 'Why then, of consequence,
(scribbled I,) she would let me see her instructions, that I may know
how far to blame, or to acquit her.'
Thus I fooled on, to shew her my fondness for scribbling; for I had no
expectation of any good from her; that so she might suppose I employed
myself, as I said, to no better purpose at other times: for she will
have it, that I am upon some plot, I am so silent, and love so much to
be by myself.--She would have made me write on a little further. No,
said I; you have not answered me. Why, said she, what can you doubt,
when my master himself assures you of his honour? Ay, said I; but lay
your hand to your heart, Mrs. Jewkes, and tell me, if you yourself
believe him. Yes, said she, to be sure I do. But, said I, what do you
call honour? Why, said she, what does he call honour, think you?--Ruin!
shame! disgrace! said I, I fear.--Pho! pho! said she; if you have any
doubt about it, he can best explain his own meaning:--I'll send him word
to come and satisfy you, if you will.--Horrid creature! said I, all in a
fright--Can'st thou not stab me to the heart? I'd rather thou would'st,
than say such another word!--But I hope there is no such thought of his
She had the wickedness to say, No, no; he don't intend to come, as
I know of--But if I was he, I would not be long away. What means the
woman? said I.--Mean! said she, (turning it off;) why I mean, I would
come, if I was he, and put an end to all your fears--by making you as
happy as you wish. It is out of his power, said I, to make me happy,
great and rich as he is! but by leaving me innocent, and giving me
liberty to go to my dear father and mother.
She went away soon after, and I ended my letter, in hopes to have an
opportunity to lay it in the appointed place. So I went to her, and
said; I suppose, as it is not dark, I may take another turn in the
garden. It is too late, said she; but if you will go, don't stay; and,
Nan, see and attend madam, as she called me.
So I went towards the pond, the maid following me, and dropt purposely
my hussy: and when I came near the tiles, I said, Mrs. Anne, I have
dropt my hussy; be so kind as to look for it; I had it by the pond
side. She went back to look, and I slipt the note between the tiles,
and covered them as quick as I could with the light mould, quite
unperceived; and the maid finding the hussy, I took it, and sauntered
in again, and met Mrs. Jewkes coming to see after me. What I wrote was
'The want of an opportunity to speak my mind to you, I am sure will
excuse this boldness in a poor creature that is betrayed hither, I have
reason to think, for the worst of purposes. You know something, to be
sure, of my story, my native poverty, which I am not ashamed of, my late
lady's goodness, and my master's designs upon me. It is true he promises
honour, and all that; but the honour of the wicked is disgrace and shame
to the virtuous: And he may think he keeps his promises, according to
the notions he may allow himself to hold; and yet, according to nine and
every good body's, basely ruin me.
'I am so wretched, and ill-treated by this Mrs. Jewkes, and she is so
ill-principled a woman, that, as I may soon want the opportunity which
the happy hint of this day affords to my hopes, I throw myself at once
upon your goodness, without the least reserve; for I cannot be worse
than I am, should that fail me; which, I dare say, to your power, it
will not: For I see it, sir, in your looks, I hope it from your cloth,
and I doubt it not from your inclination, in a case circumstanced as my
unhappy one is. For, sir, in helping me out of my present distress,
you perform all the acts of religion in one; and the highest mercy and
charity, both to the body and soul of a poor wretch, that, believe
me, sir, has, at present, not so much as in thought swerved from her
'Is there not some way to be found out for my escape, without danger to
yourself? Is there no gentleman or lady of virtue in this neighbourhood,
to whom I may fly, only till l can find a way to get to my poor father
and mother? Cannot Lady Davers be made acquainted with my sad story, by
your conveying a letter to her? My poor parents are so low in the world,
they can do nothing but break their hearts for me; and that, I fear,
will be the end of it.
'My master promises, if I will be easy, as he calls it, in my present
lot, he will not come down without my consent. Alas! sir, this is
nothing: For what's the promise of a person who thinks himself at
liberty to act as he has done by me? If he comes, it must be to ruin me;
and come to be sure he will, when he thinks he has silenced the clamours
of my friends, and lulled me, as no doubt he hopes, into a fatal
'Now, therefore, sir, is all the time I have to work and struggle for
the preservation of my honesty. If I stay till he comes, I am undone.
You have a key to the back garden door; I have great hopes from that.
Study, good sir, and contrive for me. I will faithfully keep your
secret.--Yet I should be loath to have you suffer for me! I say no more,
but commit this to the happy tiles, in the bosom of that earth, where, I
hope, my deliverance will take root, and bring forth such fruit, as may
turn to my inexpressible joy, and your eternal reward, both here and
hereafter: As shall ever pray, 'Your oppressed humble servant.'
This completes a terrible week since my setting out, as I hoped to see
you, my dear father and mother. O how different were my hopes then, from
what they are now! Yet who knows what these happy tiles may produce!
But I must tell you, first, how I have been beaten by Mrs. Jewkes! It is
very true!--And thus it came about:
My impatience was great to walk in the garden, to see if any thing 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; for 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.
She still pleaded her instructions, and said she was not to trust me
out of her sight: And you had better, said she, be easy and contented, I
assure you; for I have worse orders than you have yet found. I remember,
added she, your asking Mr. Williams, If there were any gentry in the
neighbourhood? This makes me suspect you want to get away to them, to
tell your sad dismal story, as you call it.
My heart was at my mouth; for I feared, by that hint, she had seen my
letter under the tiles: O how uneasy I was! At last she said, Well,
since you take on so, you may take a turn, and I will be with you in a
When I was out of sight of her window, I speeded towards the hopeful
place; but was soon forced to slacken my pace, by her odious voice:
Hey-day, why so nimble, and whither so fast? said she: What! are you
upon a wager? I stopt for her, till her pursy sides were waddled up to
me; and she held by my arm, half out of breath: So I was forced to pass
by the dear place, without daring to look at it.
The gardener was at work a little farther, and so we looked upon him,
and I began to talk about his art; but she said, softly, My instructions
are, not to let you be so familiar with the servants. Why, said I, are
you afraid I should confederate with them to commit a robbery upon my
master? May be I am, said the odious wretch; 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 property? What right
has he in me, but such as a thief may plead to stolen goods?--Why,
was ever the like heard? says she.--This is downright rebellion, I
protest!--Well, well, lambkin, (which the foolish often calls me,) if
I was in his place, he should not have his property in you 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 himself both out of your
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 my shoulder: Take that,
said she; whom do you call Jezebel?
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, at
last, rubbing my shoulder, Is this also in your instructions?--Alas! for
me! am I to be beaten too? And so 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 in a'doors,
and I'll lock you up, and you shall have no shoes, nor any thing else,
if this be the case.
I did not know what to do. This was a cruel thing to me, and I blamed
myself for my free speech; for now I have given her some pretence: and
O! thought I, here I have, by my malapertness, ruined the only project I
The gardener saw this scene: but she called to him, Well, Jacob, what do
you stare at? Pray mind what you're 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 so!--Why, dear Mrs. Jewkes, said I.--None of your
dears, and your coaxing! said she; why not Jezebel again?--She was in
a fearful passion, I saw, and I was out of my wits. Thought I, I
have often heard women blamed for their tongues; I wish 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 settle-bench,
Well, I will not go in, till you say you forgive me, Mrs. Jewkes.--If
you will forgive my 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 for this time: and so kissed me, as a mark of
reconciliation.--But pray, said I, tell me where I am to walk and go,
and give me what liberty you can; and when I know the most you can
favour me with, you shall see I will be as content as I can, and not ask
you for more.
Ay, said she, this is something like: I wish I could give you all the
liberty you desire; for you must think it is 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, to be sure, as lives.--Yes, said I, to
every body but me! He loves you too well, to be sure, returned she;
and that's the reason: so you ought to bear it. I say, love! replied I.
Come, said she, don't let the wench see you have been crying, nor tell
her any tales: for you won't tell them fairly, I am sure: and I'll send
her, and you shall take another walk in the garden, if you will: May be
it will get you a stomach to your dinner: for you don't eat enough
to keep life and soul together. You are beauty to the bone, added the
strange wretch, 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 opportunity now to come at
my sunflower. But I walked the other way, to take that in my return, to
I forced my discourse to the maid; but it was all upon general things;
for I find she is asked after every thing I say and 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 sallad 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 stept about a bow-shot from
me, I popt down, and whipt my fingers under the upper tile, and pulled
out a letter without direction, and thrust it in my bosom, trembling for
joy. She was with me, before I could well 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
daughter 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, replied I. And then we walked in; and Mrs.
Jewkes said; Well, you have made haste now.--You shall go another time.
I went up to my closet, locked myself in, and opening my letter, found
in it these words:
'I am infinitely concerned for your distress. I most heartily wish it
may be in my power to serve and save so much innocence, beauty, and
merit. My whole dependance is upon Mr. B----, and I have a near view of
being provided for by his favour to me. But yet I would sooner forfeit
all my hopes in him, (trusting in God for the rest,) than not assist
you, if possible. I never looked upon Mr. B---- in the light he
now appears in to me, in your case. To be sure, he is no professed
debauchee. But 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.
'We have here the widow Lady Jones, mistress of a good fortune; and a
woman of virtue, I believe. We have also old Sir Simon Darnford, and his
lady, who is a good woman; and they have two daughters, 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 I never saw a sweetness and innocence like yours; and
your hard case has attached me entirely to you; for I 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, to her; 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, by
something that dropt from him, over a can of ale, has his instructions.
You don't know how you are surrounded; all which confirms me in your
opinion, that no honour is meant you, let what will be professed; and I
am glad you want no caution on that head.
'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,
'I will come once every morning, and once every evening, after
school-time, to look for your letters. I'll come in, and return without
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 follows:
'O 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 sorry to have you suffer on my account: but I hope it will be made
up to you an hundred-fold, by that God whom you so faithfully serve. I
should be too happy, could I ever have it in my power to contribute in
the least to it. But, alas! to serve me, must be for God's sake only;
for I am poor and lowly in fortune; though in mind, I hope, too high to
do a mean or unworthy deed to gain a kingdom. But I lose time.----
'Any way you think best, I should be pleased with; for I know not the
persons, nor in what manner it is best to apply to them. I am glad
of the hint you so kindly give me of the man at the post-house. I
was thinking of opening a way for myself by letter, when I could have
opportunity; but I see more and more that I am, indeed, strangely
surrounded with dangers; and that there is no dependance to be made on
my master's honour.
'I should think, sir, if either of those ladies would give leave, I
might some way get out by favour of your key: and as it is impossible,
watched as I am, to know when it can be, suppose, sir, you get one made
by it, and put it, the next opportunity, under the sunflower?--I am sure
no time is to be lost, because it is rather my wonder, that she is
not thoughtful about this key, than otherwise; for she forgets not the
minutest thing. But, sir, if I had this key, I could, if these ladies
would not shelter me, run away any where: and if I was once out of the
house, they could have no pretence to force me again; for I have done no
harm, and hope to make my story good to any compassionate body; and by
this way you need not to be known. Torture should not wring it from me,
I assure you.
'One thing more, good sir. Have you no correspondence with my master's
Bedfordshire family? By that means, may be, I could be informed of
his intention of coming hither, and when I enclose you a letter of a
deceitful wretch; for I can trust you with any thing; poor John Arnold.
Its contents will tell why I enclose it. Perhaps by his means, something
may be discovered; for he seems willing to atone for his treachery to
me, by the intimation of future service. I leave the hint to you to
improve upon, and am,
'Your for ever obliged, and thankful servant.'
'I hope, sir, by your favour, I could send a little packet, now and
then, some how, to my poor father and mother. I have a little stock of
money, about five or six guineas: Shall I put half in your hands, to
defray the charge of a man and horse, or any other incidents?'
I had but just time to transcribe this, before I was called to dinner;
and I put that for Mr. Williams, with a wafer in it, in my bosom, to get
an opportunity to lay it in the dear place.
O good sirs, of all the flowers in the garden, the sunflower, sure,
is the loveliest!--It is a propitious one to me! How nobly my plot
succeeds! But I begin to be afraid my writings may be discovered; for
they grow large: I stitch them hitherto in my under-coat, next my linen.
But if this brute should search me--I must try to please her, and then
Well, I am but just come off from a walk in the garden, and have
deposited my letter by a simple wile. I got some horse-beans; and we
took a turn in the garden, to angle, as Mrs. Jewkes had promised me. She
baited the hook, and I held it, and soon hooked a lovely carp. Play it,
play it, said she: I did, and brought it to the bank. A sad thought just
then came into my head; and I took it, and threw it in again; and O the
pleasure it seemed to have, to flounce in, when at liberty!--Why this?
says she. O Mrs. Jewkes! said I, I was thinking this poor carp was the
unhappy Pamela. I was likening you and myself to my naughty master. As
we hooked and deceived the poor carp, so was I betrayed by false baits;
and when you said, Play it, play it, it went to my heart, to think I
should sport with the destruction of the poor fish I had betrayed; and I
could not but fling it in again: and did you not see the joy with which
the happy carp flounced from us? O! said I, may some good merciful body
procure me my liberty in the same manner; for to be sure, I think my
Lord bless thee! said she, what a thought is there!--Well, I can angle
no more, added I. 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 here, 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, (I hope now you will soon see; for,
may be, if I can't get away so soon myself, I may send my papers some
how; I say you will see,) that this furnishes me with a good excuse to
look after my garden another time; and if the mould should look a little
freshish, it won't be so much suspected. She mistrusted nothing of this;
and I went and stuck in here and there my beans, for about the length
of five ells, of each side of the sunflower; and easily deposited my
letter. And not a little proud am I of this contrivance. Sure something
will do at last!
I have just now told you a trick of mine; now I'll tell you a trick
of this wicked woman's. She comes up to me: Says she, I have a bill
I cannot change till to-morrow; and a tradesman wants his money most
sadly: and I don't love to turn poor trades-folks 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 but 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. Said I, I hope you'll give it me again
to-morrow. At that, the assurance, laughing loud, said, Why, what
occasion have you for money? To tell you the truth, lambkin, I didn't
want it. I only feared you might make a 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. Never did any body look more silly than I.--O how I
fretted, to be so foolishly outwitted!--And the more, as I had hinted to
Mr. Williams, that I would put some in his hands to defray the charges
of my sending to you. I cried for vexation.--And now I have not five
shillings left to support me, if I can get away.--Was ever such a fool
as I! I must be priding myself in my contrivances, indeed! said I. Was
this your instructions, wolfkin? (for she called me lambkin). Jezebel,
you mean, child! said she.--Well, I now forgive you heartily; let's buss
and be friends.--Out upon you said I; I cannot bear you!--But I durst
not call her names again; for I dread her huge paw most sadly. The more
I think of this thing, the more do I regret it, and blame myself.
This night the man from the post-house brought a letter for Mrs. Jewkes,
in which was one enclosed for me: She brought it me up. Said she, Well,
my good master don't forget us. He has sent you a letter: and see what
he writes to me. So she read, That he hoped her fair charge was well,
happy, and contented. Ay, to be sure, said I, I can't choose--That he
did not doubt her care and kindness to me: that I was very dear to him,
and she could not use me too well; and the like. There's a master for
you! said she: sure you will love and pray for him. I desired her to
read the rest. No, no, said she, but I won't. Said I, Are there any
orders for taking my shoes away, and for beating me? No, said she, nor
about Jezebel neither. Well, returned I, I cry truce; for I have no mind
to be beat again. 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 promise, 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 the
rather would press this, as I am uneasy for your uneasiness; for Mrs.
Jewkes acquaints me, that you take your restraint very heavily; and
neither eat, drink, nor rest well; and I have too great 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. Not that I fear any
thing, but that your disregard to me, which yet my proud heart will
hardly permit me to own, may throw you upon some rashness, that might
encourage a daring hope: But how poorly do I descend, to be anxious
about such a menial as he!--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 favour,) I solemnly declare, that you shall
have cause to be pleased with this obliging mark of your confidence in
me, and consideration for me; and if I find Mrs. Jewkes has not behaved
to you with the respect due to one I so dearly love, I will put it
entirely into your power to discharge her the house, if you think
proper; and Mrs. Jervis, or 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 favourably this earnest
request of one that cannot live without you, and on whose honour 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.'
'You will be glad, I know, to hear your father and mother are well, and
easy upon your last letter. That gave me a pleasure that 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. I 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 turned upon
me a most wicked jest, unbecoming the mouth of a woman, about planting,
etc. When I came in, I hied to my closet, and read as follows:
'I am sorry to tell you that I have had a repulse from Lady Jones. She
is concerned at your case, she says, but don't care to make herself
enemies. I applied to Lady Darnford, and told her in the most pathetic
manner I could, your sad story, and shewed her your more pathetic
letter. I found her well disposed, but she would advise with Sir Simon,
who by the by is not a man of an extraordinary character for virtue; but
he said to his lady in my presence, 'Why, what is all this, my dear, but
that our neighbour 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 her. He hurts no family by this:' (So, my dear father and mother,
it seems that 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.' He spoke this in so determined a manner, that
the lady had done; and I had only to beg no notice should be taken of
the matter as from me.
'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. And when I
represented the duties of our function, and the like, and protested my
disinterestedness, he coldly said, I was very good; but was a young man,
and knew little of the world. And though it was a thing to be lamented,
yet when he and I should set about to reform mankind in this respect, we
should have enough upon our hands; for, he said, it was too common and
fashionable a case to be withstood by a private clergyman or two: and
then he uttered some reflections upon the conduct of the present fathers
of the church, in regard to the first personages of the realm, as a
justification of his coldness on this score.
'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; and then I shewed him your
'He said it was prettily written: and 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? 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'll assure you!--And I would have you consider
what you are about. Besides, she owns, continued he, that he promises
to do honourably by her; and her shyness will procure her good terns
enough; for he is no covetous nor wicked gentleman, except in this case;
and 'tis what all young gentlemen will do.
'I am greatly concerned for him, I assure you: but I am not discouraged
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 much.
'I just hear, 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 desires: but I hope he will one day thank me for it. As
to money, don't think of it at present. Be assured you may command all
in my power to do for you without reserve.
'I believe, when we hear he is coming, it will be best to make use of
the key, which I shall soon procure you; and I can borrow a horse for
you, I believe, 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, excellent 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 hope 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 endeavours; to lament the little concern the
gentry had for my deplorable case; the wickedness of the world, first
to give way to such iniquitous fashions, and then plead the frequency of
them, against the attempt to amend them; and how unaffected people were
with the distresses of others. I recalled my former hint as to writing
to Lady Davers, which I feared, I said, would only serve to apprise her
brother, that she knew his wicked scheme, and more harden him in it, and
make him come down the sooner, and to be the more determined on my
ruin; besides that it might make Mr. Williams guessed at, as a means
of conveying my letter: And being very fearful, that if that good lady
would interest herself in my behalf, (which was a doubt, because she
both loved and feared her brother,) it would have no effect upon him;
and that therefore I would wait the happy event I might hope for from
his kind assistance in the key, and the horse. I intimated my master's
letter, begging to be permitted to come down: was fearful it might be
sudden; and that I was of opinion no time was to be lost; for we might
let slip all our opportunities; telling him the money trick of this vile
I had not time to take a copy of this letter, I was so watched. And when
I had it ready in my bosom, I was easy. And so I went to seek out Mrs.
Jewkes, and told her, I would have her advice upon the letter I had
received from my master; which point of confidence in her pleased her
not a little. Ay, 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 acquainting her with all the contents; only
that he wanted my consent to come down, and hoped she used me kindly,
and the like. 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 to him
to come down. It will highly oblige him, and I dare say you'll fare the
better for it. How the better? said I.--I dare say, you think yourself,
that he intends my ruin. I hate, said she, that foolish word, your
ruin!--Why, ne'er a lady in the land may live happier than you if you
will, or be more honourably used.
Well, Mrs. Jewkes, said I, I shall not, at this time, dispute with you
about the words ruin and honourable: for I find we have quite different
notions of both: But now I will speak plainer than ever I did. Do you
think he intends to make proposals to me as to a kept mistress, or kept
slave rather, or do you not?--Why, lambkin, said she, what dost thou
think thyself?--I fear, said I, he does. Well, said she, but if he does,
(for I know nothing of the matter, I assure you,) you may have your own
terms--I see that; for you may do any thing with him.
I could not bear this to be spoken, though it was all I feared of a long
time; and began to exclaim most sadly. Nay, said she, he may marry you,
as far as I know.--No, no, said I, that cannot be.--I neither desire
nor expect it. His condition don't permit me to have such a thought; and
that, and the whole series of his conduct, convinces me of the contrary;
and you would have me invite him to come down, would you? Is not this to
invite my ruin?
'Tis what I would do, said she, in your place; and if it was to be as
you think, I should rather be out of my pain, than live in continual
frights and apprehensions, as you do. No, replied I, an hour of
innocence is worth an age of guilt; and were my life to be made ever
so miserable by it, I should never forgive myself, if I were not to
lengthen out to the longest minute my happy time of honesty. Who knows
what Providence may do for me!
Why, may be, said she, as he loves you so well, you may prevail upon him
by your prayers and tears; and for that reason, I should think, you'd
better let him come down. Well, said I, I will write him a letter,
because he expects an answer, or may be he will make a pretence to come
down. How can it go?
I'll take care of that, said she; it is in my instructions.--Ay, thought
I, so I doubt, by the hint Mr. Williams gave me about the post-house.
The gardener coming by, I said, Mr. Jacob, I have planted a few beans,
and I call the place my garden. It is just by the door out yonder: I'll
shew it you; pray don't dig them up. So I went on with him; and when we
had turned the alley, out of her sight and were near the place said I,
Pray step to Mrs. Jewkes, and ask her if she has any more beans for
me to plant? He smiled, I suppose at my foolishness; and I popped the
letter under the mould, and stepped back, as if waiting for his return;
which, being near, was immediate; and she followed him. What should I do
with beans? said she,--and sadly scared me; for she whispered me, I
am afraid of some fetch! You don't use to send on such simple
errands.--What fetch? said I: It is hard I can neither stir, nor speak,
but I must be suspected.--Why, said she, my master writes, that I must
have all my eyes about me; for though you are as innocent as a dove, yet
you are as cunning as a serpent. But I'll forgive you, if you cheat me.
Then I thought of my money, and could have called her names, had I
dared: And I said, Pray Mrs. Jewkes, now you talk of forgiving me, if
I cheat you, be so kind as to pay me my money; for though I have no
occasion for it, yet I know you was but in jest, and intended to give it
me again. You shall have it in a proper time, said she; but, indeed, I
was in earnest to get it out of your hands, for fear you should make an
ill use of it. And so we cavilled upon this subject as we walked in, and
I went up to write my letter to my master; and, as I intended to shew
it her, I resolved to write accordingly as to her part of it; for I made
little account of his offer of Mrs. Jervis to me, instead of this wicked
woman, (though the most agreeable thing that could have befallen me,
except my escape from hence,) nor indeed any thing he said. For to be
honourable, in the just sense of the word, he need not have caused me to
be run away with, and confined as I am. I wrote as follows:
'When I consider how easily you might make 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 honour to me, can have
the effect upon me, that, were it not for these things, all your words
ought to have?--O, good sir! I too much apprehend that your notions of
honour and mine are very different from one another: and I have no other
hopes but in your continued absence. If you have any proposals to make
me, that are consistent with your honourable professions, 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. But, oh! What proposals can one in
your high station have to make to one in my low one! I know what belongs
to your degree too well, to imagine, that any thing can be expected but
sad temptations, and utter distress, if you come down; and you know not,
sir, when I am made desperate, what the wretched Pamela dares to do!
'Whatever rashness you may impute to me, I cannot help it; but I wish
I may not be forced upon any, that otherwise would never enter into my
thoughts. Forgive me, sir, my plainness; I should be loath to behave to
my master unbecomingly; but I must needs say, sir, my innocence is so
dear to me, that all other considerations are, and, I hope, shall ever
be, treated by me as niceties, that ought, for that, to be dispensed
with. If you mean honourably, why, sir, should you not let me know it
plainly? Why is it necessary to imprison me, to convince me of it? And
why must I be close watched, and attended, hindered from stirring out,
from speaking to any body, from going so much as to church to pray for
you, who have been, till of late, so generous a benefactor to me? Why,
sir, I humbly ask, why all this, if you mean honourably?--It is not for
me to expostulate so freely, but in a case so near to me, 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, whatever you intend by me, let my assent be that of a free
person, mean as I am, and not of a sordid slave, who is to be threatened
and frightened into a compliance with measures, which your conduct to
her seems to imply would be otherwise abhorred by her.--My restraint is
indeed hard upon me: I am very uneasy under it. Shorten it, I beseech
you, or--but I will not dare to say more, than that I am
'Your greatly oppressed unhappy servant.'
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
direct 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, and she praised me much for my wording
it; but said she thought I pushed the matter very close; and it would
better bear talking of, than writing about. She wanted an explanation
or two, as about the proposal to 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.
For my part, I knew it in vain to expect to have leave to go to church
now, and so I did not ask; and I was the more indifferent, because, if I
might have had permission, the sight of the neighbouring gentry, who had
despised my sufferings, would have given me great regret and sorrow; and
it was impossible I should have edified under any doctrine preached by
Mr. Peters: So I applied myself to my private devotions.
Mr. Williams came yesterday, and this day, as usual, and took my letter;
but, having no good opportunity, we avoided one another's conversation,
and kept at a distance: But I was concerned I had not the key; for I
would not have lost a moment in that case, had I been he, and he I. When
I was at my devotion, Mrs. Jewkes came up, and wanted me sadly to sing
her a psalm, as she had often on common days importuned me for a song
upon the spinnet: but I declined it, because my spirits were so low I
could hardly speak, nor cared to be spoken to; but when she was gone, I
remembering the cxxxviith psalm to be a little touching, turned to it,
and took the liberty to alter it, somewhat nearer to my case. I hope I
did not sin in it; but thus I turned it:
When sad I sat in B----n Hall,
All guarded round about,
And thought of ev'ry absent friend,
The tears for grief burst out.
My joys and hopes all overthrown,
My heart-strings almost broke,
Unfit my mind for melody,
Much more to bear a joke.
Then she to whom I pris'ner was,
Said to me, tauntingly,
Now cheer your heart, and sing a song
And tune your mind to joy.
Alas! said I, how can I frame
My heavy heart to sing,
Or tune my mind, while thus enthrall'd
By such a wicked thing!
But yet, if from my innocence
I, ev'n in thought, should slide,
Then let my fingers quite forget
The sweet spinnet to guide.
And let my tongue within my mouth
Be lock'd for ever fast,
If I rejoice, before I see
My full deliv'rance past.
And thou, Almighty, recompense
The evils I endure,
From those who seek my sad disgrace,
So causeless, to procure.
Remember, Lord, this Mrs. Jewkes,
When, with a mighty sound,
She cries, Down with her chastity,
Down to the very ground!
Ev'n so shalt thou, O wicked one!
At length to shame be brought,
And happy shall all those be call'd
That my deliv'rance wrought.
Yea, blessed shall the man be called
That shames thee of thy evil,
And saves me from thy vile attempts,
And thee, too, from the D---l.
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday.
I write now with a little more liking, though less opportunity, because
Mr. Williams has got a large parcel of my papers, safe in his hands,
to send them to you, as he has opportunity; so I am not quite uselessly
employed: and I am delivered besides, from the fear of their being
found, if I should be searched, or discovered. I have been permitted to
take an airing, five or six miles, with Mrs. Jewkes: But, though I know
not the reason, she watches me more closely than ever; so that we
have discontinued, by consent, for these three days, the sunflower
The poor cook-maid has had a bad mischance; for she has been hurt much
by a bull in the pasture, by the side of the garden, not far from the
back-door. Now this pasture I am to cross, which is about half a mile,
and then is a common, and near that a private horse-road, where I hope
to find an opportunity for escaping, as soon as Mr. Williams can get me
a horse, and has ma
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