4&83AIN/H\\V x^lOSANGEtj^ ^OKALIFO% 'miwm awv ^AnvaaiH^' y o ^UIBRARY^ %HI1V.3J0^ 0F-CALIF(% ^W(1K(VER% . V LC ^UONV-SOl^ "%3i/ ^ ^WE-UNIVER^ ^-LOS i? % WHHI]-#- <^13DNVS01^ % ^LOSANGEli^ LIBRARY^ ^AttrB %^A!NiV3\W ^OJIIVJ-JO^ %)jr Oe IL^\ ^WtUNlVER^/A ^cLOSANGEL% %0il.1V3i fe < ^U1BRA]T% ^H1BRARY0/ ^OJITVD-jtf Mojito-jo * & 5c ^ .^OF-CALI F(% AOF CMI F0% %avy8n-#' ^Anvaan^ ^WEUNIVER^. ^lOSANGElfj^. IBNV-SOl^ %aaAJNQ-3Wv THE WORKS OF SAMUEL RICHARDSON. WITH A SKETCH OF HIS LIFE AND WRITINGS, BY THE REV. EDWARD MANGIN, M.A. IN NINETEEN VOLUMES. VOL. I. ~i 1 o ii LONDON PRINTED FOR WILLIAM MILLER, ALBEMARLE STREET; AND JAMES CARPENTER, OLD BOND STREET. 1811. -A :i \ V. \ A SKETCH OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF SAMUEL RICHARDSON. Of a writer so well known, and so much esteemed, as Richardson, nothing new remains to be told. We have already had his life from the critical and elegant pen of Mrs. Barbauld ; and any thing now offered on the subject can be considered as little more than an abridgement of that admired Essay. The present publication of a complete Edition of his celebrated Novels, makes it, however, necessary to give some account of an individual, who, by prac- VlH SKETCH OF RICHARDSON^ tices of rectitude, and the assiduous cultivation of his natural talents, raised himself from obscurity into eminence : of a man, who, in the great character of a moral teacher, has influenced the general mind in favour of what is good ; extended the reputation of his country throughout the civilized world ; and secured the applause of the best judge of literature and of mankind, which modern times have seen ; for he must have been a writer of no ordinary degree of merit of whom Johnson could affirm, that he had enlarged the knowledge of human nature, and taught ^ the passions to move at the command of virtue. Samuel Richardson was born in Derbyshire, in the year 1G89 ; but the exact place of his birth is not known, as he always avoided naming it, from some motive which it is now useless to search for, but which cannot be justly attributed to false pride ; a principle unworthy of him, and inconsistent with the candour discernible in the relation he has himself given of his early life. His father was a joiner, descended from a respect- able family ; and his mother, as he tells Mr. Stinstra in a letter, was likewise of a family not ungcnteel ; LIFE AND WRITINGS. IX she lost both her parents, who died within half an hour of each other, in the great plague of London, 1665. The father of Richardson was known to several persons of distinguished rank ; amongst others, to the Duke of Monmouth, and the first Earl of Shaftes- bury ; and left London for a retirement in Derby- shire, when the duke was sent to the scaffold : he had probably entered rather deeply into their poli- tical views. Richardson was originally intended by his father for the church ; but the expenses of a regular educa- tion did not accord with the indigent circumstances of his family, and the plan was dropped ; though suitable to his inclinations, his modest manners, and strict sense of religion. At the age of fifteen or six- teen, possessing only such learning as a common school supplies, he was left by his father to choose an occupation; and in the year 1706, was bound apprentice to a printer, Mr. John Wilde, of Sta- tioner's Hall. Here, his condition was that of almost uninterrupted labour ; but so great was his avidity for knowledge, that he studied during the hours ap- JC SKETCH OF RICHARDSON S pointed for relaxation and repose, and even pur- chased the candle he used, that he might not injure the property of his master, who was accustomed to call him the pillar of his house. When his time expired, he continued for five or six years to work as a compositor and corrector of the press, and occa- sionally as an overseer ; and, at last, took out his freedom, and set up in business on his own account ; at first, in a court in Fleet Street ; and getting more employment, he removed into Salisbury Court. Richardson, diligent and conscientious in the humble situation of an apprentice, was, as a master, liberal and industrious. He was engaged by the booksellers to write indexes, prefaces, and dedica- tions ; and, while he thus acquired the ready use of his pen, by his honourable and disinterested con- duct as a tradesman, he increased the number of his friends, and found his business flourish. For some time he printed " The True Briton," a periodical paper, published in 1723, under the influence of the Duke of Wharton, who laboured to excite a spirit of opposition in the city : some numbers of the paper were thought proper objects of prosecution, but LIFE AND WRITINGS. XI Richardson escaped. He was also engaged in print- ing a newspaper called " The Daily Journal ;" and afterwards, "The Daily Gazetteer:" and through the interest of Mr. Speaker Onslow, with whom he was a favourite, was appointed to print the Journals of the House of Commons, in twenty-six volumes fo- lio ; and was flattered by finding himself welcome as a guest at Ember Court, the Speaker's country-seat : but, in a letter to Aaron Hill, he complains that the men in power owed him three thousand pounds, which he never received. In 1740, the booksellers desired him to give them a volume of letters : he began, and one letter pro- ducing another, the result was, in three months, " The History of Pamela;" at first published in two volumes. This work attracted readers of every description ; and Richardson, who had only called himself the editor, received many compliments when known as its author. At the request of his wife and another lady, he extended it to its present size. A spurious continuation having come out, with the title of " Pamela in High Life," Richardson published a second part, in two volumes, of inferior merit to the first. Xll SKETCH OF RICHARDSON S His feelings were hurt by the appearance of the Joseph Andrews of Fielding, his particular acquaint- ance, who wrote that work in ridicule of Pamela. About eight years after the publication of Pamela, appeared " Clarissa;" a work much admired, not only in England, but in foreign countries. It was spoken of with unbounded applause, by Rousseau and Di- derot ; and translated into the French, Dutch, and German languages. After an interval of four or five years, Richardson brought forth " Grandison ;" of which Mrs. Barbauld justly observes, that it evinces undiminished ferti- lity of fancy, and shows that the author has repeated himself less frequently than could be expected from one, who had written so much. Besides his novels, Richardson published a volume of familiar letters, but without his name ; an edition of iEsop's Fables, with reflections ; a large single sheet on the duties of wives to husbands ; a selection of maxims and moral sentiments extracted from his three novels ; and wrote the Ninety-seventh Number of the Rambler. In 1754, he was elected to an office both of dignity and emolument, that of Master of the Stationer's LIFE AND WRITINGS. Xlll Company ; and indulged himself by taking a country- house at North End, near Hammersmith ; and after- wards at Parson's Green, where he passed his vacant hours, and seldom was without guests, whose conver- sation formed the chief pleasure of a man naturally abstemious, and not devoted to any sensual gratifi- cation. Richardson was twice married : his first wife was his master's daughter, Allington Wilde, who died in 1731. His second, who survived him, was the sister of Mr. James Leake, a respectable bookseller at Bath, with whom Richardson always maintained the closest and most friendly intimacy. In a letter to Lady Bradshaigh, he gives a minute and affecting account of himself and his family, which was nume- rous ; having had, by his first wife, five sons and one daughter; and by his second, five daughters and one son : but of these, his six sons and two of his daugh- ters died, and only four daughters by his second wife outlived him. The devastations committed by death amongst his offspring, he seems to have borne with sufficient fortitude, while he bewailed them with the keenest sensibility. Ann, whose constitution was ap- XIV SKETCH OF RICHARDSON S pirently the weakest, survived them all. He employed each of his daughters to write for him ; and of these, Martha is known to have been his favourite amanu- ensis. Mary, the only one married during her father's lifetime, became, about the year 1757, the wife of Mr. Ditcher, an eminent surgeon in Bath ; and at this period, Richardson relaxed in his appli- cation, and seldom visited his printing house ; regret- ting that he had none but females to whom he could leave his business ; in which, however, he was suc- ceeded by a nephew, who had latterly been his assist- ant. In 1760, he purchased a moiety of the patent of law printer to his majesty ; and carried on the busi- ness in partnership witli Miss Catherine Lintot. The consequence of this step was, that he secured a com- petent provision for his family. He had now ac- quired both opulence and leisure ; but nervous dis- orders, to which he had always been liable, increased upon him ; and his useful and innocent life was ter- minated at the age of 72, by a stroke of apoplexy, on the fourth of July, 1761. By his own direction, he was buried near his first wife, in the middle aisle, and close to the pulpit, of St. Bride's church. LIFE AND WRITINGS. XV In his moral character, Richardson may justly be presented as an example to others : amidst the career of a nearly friendless youth, and exposed to the various temptations which abound in an immense and licentious capital, and during a long intercourse with the world, he was still conspicuous for undeviating sobriety, integrity, and diligence ; and gave ample proofs, that it is possible for a tradesman to be a man of honour, and that regularity of life is not incompa- tible with genius. It has been insinuated, that in order to portray a libertine as he has done in his character of Lovelace, he must himself, at one period, have tasted of the impure stream of de- bauchery ; and that he possessed an imagination not altogether as blameless as his conduct. But this is, at best, an unfair mode of argument, and the infer- ence by no means liberal : it should be remembered, that the same pen which describes the deformity of vice, has been as successful in exhibiting the loveli- ness of virtue. Richardson was kind and vigilant as a father and a husband ; but his deportment in both capacities was distinguished by what, at the present day, would be Xvi SKETCH OF RICHARDSON S called formality : he thought, perhaps not unwisely, that filial and conjugal obedience should be accom- panied by a certain portion of reverence and respect, no longer considered fashionable. All his habits ap- pear to have been of a benevolent cast ; he took de- light in the society of young children ; and loved to entice his journeymen to diligence : to these he used to bring fruit from his garden; and sometimes would hide a half crown piece amongst the letters, as a prize for the workman who came earliest to his task. For the exalted qualities of generosity and charity, it is hardly possible to give too much praise to Rich- ardson : he assisted Aaron Hill with money ; and, as Mrs. Barbauld has very happily expressed herself, had once the honour to bail Samuel Johnson. He was also a friend, in pecuniary matters, to Miss Col- lier, and to the unfortunate Letitia Pilkington. He was esteemed a great encourager, if not the original projector, of the Magdalen Institution ; and, besides these acts of beneficence, protected the indigent family of his brother. His matrimonial connexions were probably formed, LIFE AND WRITINGS. XV11 like (hose of most rational men, from the mixed mo- tives of convenience and attachment ; but he has painted the doubts, the anguish, and the raptures of the tender passion so admirably, as to make his readers suppose that he had, at one time, experienced its influence. In a sketch of his life, in a letter ad- dressed to Lady Bradshaigh, he gives a hint of early love; for having mentioned some objectionable pro-* posals of marriage made by his friends, he adds, u another there was, whom my soul loved, but with a reverence hush, pen, lie thee down ! " Richardson was much respected as a courteous and hospitable entertainer, and was particularly partial to the society of the fair, in whom he found his best critics and most enthusiastic admirers. He usually wrote in a little summer-house in his garden, before his family and female visitors were up ; and on meet- ing at breakfast, communicated to them the progress of his story. He seems to have been, like all men of enlarged and generous sentiments, a friend to the improvement of the fe male mind, and this in defiance of strong existing prejudices ; to which, however, it is remarkable that he latterly yielded; for Miss b XV1U SKETCH OF RICHARDSON S Byron was not taught Latin, like her predecessor Clarissa. He was, in the strictest sense of the word, a reli- gious man ; and in his books has uniformly recom- mended virtue and piety, without reference to any particular system. That he thought well of his literary performances is asserted, and he has, in consequence, been chargea with vanity ; but assuredly not on sufficient grounds: no man can possess superior powers without con- sciousness of his superiority ; and had his own con- viction required any assistance, he had it in the ap- probation of the enlightened women by whom his labours were scrutinized and commended, and than whom none could more justly appreciate the merits of a novel-writer, whose bus iness it was to develop ^ he feelings , no t merely of the human, but of the fe^ male heart. Ladv Marv W. Montague, indeed, is known to have spoken with contempt of Richardson ; but of her contempt, the advocate of virtue and of the softer sex had no reason to be ashamed. So high was the opinion conceived, even by foreigners, of the moral efficacy of his writings, that he was LIFE AND WRITINGS. xlxL invited by Count Zinzendorf, the Secretary of the Moravian Society, to go to Germany. In person, Richardson was corpulent, and below the common stature ; his face was round, his com- plexion fair and ruddy ; his eyes were gray, and expressed both benevolence and an agreeable arch- ness, particularly at the approach of a friend. He was slow of speech, and reserved towards strangers. He was greatly afflicted with what is termed nervous weakness ; and, during the last seven years of his life, his diet consisted of vegetables. Irt the season, he visited Tunbridge, when letter-writing constituted his chief employment. In the first of Richardson's Novels, the History of Pamela, the author had a twofold object in view : to reclaim a libertine, and conduct humble virtue through difficulties to an honourable recompense ; and as the work was chiefly intended for the lower classes, it is written with much becoming simplicity of language. *- -* XX SKETCH OF RICHARDSON S The character of the heroine is drawn with great attention to natur e : in her lowly station^ she is re- presented as exposed to the solicitations of her prof- ligate master, with whom she maintains a long and arduous conflict, and the result is such as virtue should always be taught to hope for : Pamela triumphs ; and his reformation is followed by their marriage and happiness. Mrs. Barbauld seems to think the moral of the story dubious ; and that Pamela, who, at first, docs only what is right, is latterly under the influence of interested motives, and was seized with a project for " the gilt coach and dappled flanders marcs." But this appears unjust towards the author and his he- roine : the person an d talents of her master a re de- scribed as being of a very superior orde r ; it was therefore natural t hflit Pilrnpla hffli M really love him- ; in laying plans to become his wife, she evinces a laudable ambition ; and if, during the progress of the story, she does plot, it is undoubted ly the plottin g of virtue against that of vice. The History of Pamela furnished Goldoni with subjects for two of his plays ; was much applauded by Pope, and immediately LIFE AXD WRITINGS. XXI on its appearance, was translated into French and Dutch. Clajiissa, his next work, is remarkable for the striking simplicity of the fable : a young lady, of high rank, to avoid the persecutions of her family in favour of various unwelcome suitors, is prevailed on to throw herself into the power of Lovelace, an admirer, and a most abandoned and accomplished seducer, by whom she is violated ; and then, rejecting with scorn his offer of marriage, dies of a broken heart. Mrs. Barbauld is of opinion that the moral of Clarissa is not sufficiently obvious, and that the heroine suffers too much, had she even committed a fault : but Richardson evidently intended to shew how much virtue can endure, and what it really is. Under the pressure of accumulated afflictions, Clarissa rises into still greater dignity of character than she displays before her fall: when sunk into the lowest state of human misery which the good can endure, the. reader finds her not so much an object of pity as of admiration ; and feels the force of a beautiful ob- servation of Lord Bacon; that virtue is like precious odours, most fragrant when crushed. XX11 SKETCH OF RICHARDSON'S Sir Charles Grandison presents to (he world the picture of a truly great man, of highly polished manners, and at the same time professing and con- forming to the principles of Christianity. The con- duct of this work does not, like Pamela and Clarissa, depend on one important eyent, but on various inci- dents, which are thrown together, so as to display the chief person in different points of view, and equally admirable in all. Throughout the entire composition, the author ex- hibits great powers of mind ; but especially in de- scribing the agitations caused by the passion of love in the bosom of the amiable and enthusiastic Clemenr tina ; whose madness is so finely drawn, that Doctor "VVarton thought it superior to that of Orestes in Euri- pides ; and heightened by more exquisite touches pf nature even than that of Shakspeare's Lear. Amongst other beauties in this work may be counted, the truth and delicacy with wljich the author has sketched the numberless portraits it contains, the innocent love of Emily Jervois, the imposing effect with which Sir Charles is introduced, and the great art shewn in keeping him constantly in view. The LIFE AND WRITINGS. XX111 length of the work has been objected to ; but Rich- ardson has prolonged his story, in order to shew, that even Clementina could conquer her attachment to Sir Charles ; and thus convince the young, that a jirst-love is not, as it is generally supposed, invin- cible. To such as are not fastidious, t he sty le of Richard- son will appear precisely what is best suited to his subject : minute flippancies of expression, colloquial phrases, new-coined words , and involved periods, which would be intolerable in serious history, are not merely pardonable, but perhaps expected in letter- writing. In her most ingenious Essay, already no- ticed, Mrs. Barbauld observes of Richardson, that he has in his pages the minuteness and high finish of the Dutch school, joined to all the fine and tasteful ideas of an Italian master. The writer of this article has had, on another occa- sion, an opportunity of making some observations re- specting the nature of Richardson's Novels, the sub- stance of which may, it is hoped, without impro- priety, be repeated here. That the character of a great moral instructor has not been conferred without XXIV SKETCH OF RICHARDSON S justice on Richardson, will be evident to all who re- flect on the avowed design of his writings, the lasting admiration they have obtained for their author from readers of almost every class, and the lamentable contrast that appears, both in execution and effect, between them and some more modern productions of the fictitious kind. When Richardson began to publish, the term Novel had a meaning not only different from what it now has, but from what he affixed to it. With the boldness becoming a man of genius, integrity, and true philanthropy, he wrote his novels e xpressly on the s ide of Virtue ; and much to the credit of his talents, and the taste of mankind in general, his experiment was eminently successful. The narrow- minded, the envious, and the corr upt as yailpd foiro j ndeed, b ut found their assaults ineffect ual : he ac- quired the approbation of the virtuous, the witty, and the learned, amongst his contemporaries ; nor has that reputation to which the wise and the good aspire, and only the wise and the good can confer, been diminished by the lapse of more than half a century. LIFE AND WRITINGS. XXV In defiance of a great change in our national man- ners, bis page s still boast a profusion of charms, which neither time nor circumstance can impair : even in our day of politics and pamphlets, that must be a hard heart which is insensible to the pathetic powers of Richardson, and a corrupt one, on which his precepts have no effect : his books may not enjoy (he share of popularity they once did ; but admitting this, it is by no means a matter of triumph to such as consult the interests of their fellow-creatures, and really love their country ; the fact can be accounted for on stronger grounds, than the refinement of our tastes, or the inconstancy of fashion. If what has been alleged as the opinion of a distinguished poli- tician be true, that a ballad may be employed as an engine of state, the influence of a novel cannot well be denied. That works of this class have a most powerful operation on the minds and habits of a reading people, as the English certainly are, admits of very little doubt. The insinuations and purchased opinions of the reviewers of literature will not be much respected by those who dare to think for them- selves ; and notwithstanding what one of these critics XXVI SKETCH OF RICHARDSON S has asserted, that no persons of any importance in society now read novels, it may be safely affirmed, that those who are most important in the ranks of civilized life, read scarcely any thing else. What may be read or not read by the rabble of St. Giles's, or the listless, inefficient, and silly inhabitant of the drawing-room and the opera-box, is of small conse- quence to the welfare of this mighty empire; whose important members are not to be sought for either in the Court or the Newgate calendar, but are found amongst those who stand between the peer and the peasant, and, strictly speaking, constitute the useful part of society. The proprietors of circulating libra- ries, if applied to, could best tell whom they con- sider their permanent customers ; and would readily assure us, that they derive their profits from the " white-robed miss" and her dress-maker ; the 'squire, and the apprentice ; and from all the inter- mediate classes, the lives and adventures of whom, if detailed, would sufficiently explain the nature of their favourite studies ; and form the best comment on the effects of modern novel-reading which we could possibly have. LIFE AND WRITINGS. XXVll To the novels w hich at the present day are per- petually issuing from the press, may be applied a parody of what Johnson has so finely said of the author of Clarissa ; these productions have in gene- ral the power of preventing their readers altogether from knowing what human nature is, and when not too vapid to excite any passions, teach these to move, not at the command of virtue, but of vice. It is not to be wondered at that the morality incul- cated by Richardson should appear formal, and his ample volumes tedious, to such as derive their ideas of moral perfection, and good writing, from the ordi- nary circulating novel of our time ; w herein the hero and heroine are born and educated in the first page, and introduced to each other in the next ; and after having had, the one a duel, and the other a short cough, and having blushed, and danced, and written sonnets, through two or three dozen chapters or let- ters, are, in the conclusion, happily united ! The ma- nufacturers of these works, howeyer, evince much dexterity in the process, and contrive, within the nar- row limits of a couple of emaciated duodecimos, to do a great quantity of mischief to the minds and XXVlli SKETCH, &C. tastes of their readers : the poison of personal ca- lumny is thus constantly administered without shame or mercy ; the religion of the land is insulted ; de- cency is outraged ; the arts of intrigue are taught and palliated under the gentle name of gallantry ; and the purity of the English tongue is corrupted by every variety of vulgar barbarism. Disgusted by works such as these, disgraceful to the writers, and pernicious to those who read them, we turn, with a mixed sense of thankfulness and plea- sure, to the beautiful fictions of Richardson. London, October , 1810. PREFACE. If to divert and ent ertain , and at the same time to in struct and improve , the minds of the youth of both sexes : If to inculcate religion and morality in so easy and agreeable a manner, as shall render them equally de- lightful and profitable : If to set forth, in the most exemplary lights, th a parental. , fh" f 1; T , nnA *he social duties : If to paint vice in its proper colours, to make it deservedly odious; and to set virtue in its own amiable light, to make it lovely : If to draw characters with justness, and to support them distinctly : If to raise a distress from natural causes, and ex- cite compassion from just ones : If to teach the man of fortune how to use it; the man of passion, how to subdue it; and the man of intrigue, how gracefully, and with honour to himself, to reclaim : XXX PREFACE. If to give practical examples, worthy to be fol- lowed in the most critical and affecting cases, by the virgin, the bride, and the wife : If to effect all these good ends, without raising a single idea throughout the whole, that shall shock the exactest purity, even in the warmest of those instances where purity would be most apprehen- sive : If these be laudable recommendations, the Editor of the following letters, which have their foundation in truth, ventures to assert, that all these ends are ob- tained here ; and writes with the more assurance of success, as an Editor may be allowed to judge with more impartiality than is often to be found iu au Author* EULOGY OF RICHARDSON, TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF DIDEROT. A Novel has hitherto conveyed the idea of a series of chimerical and frivolous adventures, tending to injure both the taste and the morals of the reader. I wish another name were found for the Works of Richardson ; which, ennobling the mind, touching the heart, and breathing throughout the love of virtue, are also called Novels. Richardson has exhibited in action all the maxims of' Montaigne, Charron, la Rochefaucauld, and Nicole; and an intelligent man, reading with reflection the Works of Richardson, would compose anew almost -all the apoph- thegms of these moralists: but all their* apophthegms vol. r. *a *ii EULOGY OF RICHARDSON, would not enable him to compose a single page of Richardson. A maxim is a general and abstract rule of conduct, the application of which is left to ourselves. It presents to the mind no distinct image : but when an actor appears on the stage, we see him, we fancy ourselves in his place, or by his side, our feelings are excited for or against him ; we i dentify o iirgpfy pg "" f h lnm i if he be virtuou s ; we retreat from him with indignation, if he be wicked and unjust. Who has not shuddered at the character of a Lovelace or a Tomlinson ? Who has not been struck with horror at the tone of feeling and sincerity, the air of candour and dignity, the profound dissimulation, with which the latter professes every virtue ? Who has not said within his heart, that he would shun society, and retire to the depth of some forest, if many such men were to be found 1 Yes, Richardson, in spite of ourselves we take a part in your Works, we mix in the conversation, we approve, we condemn, we admire, we are vexed, we are indignant! How many times have I caught myself exclaiming, like a child taken for the first time to a play ; ' Don't believe * him, he is deceiving you!' ' If you go thither, you are FROM THE FRENCH OF DIDEROT. iii*' * lost!' My mind was kept in perpetual agitation. How virt uous, how just , how fully satisfied with myself was I ! After reading them, I felt li ke a man at the cl ose of a day he had s pent in doing good. In a few hours I had found myself in a number of situations, that the longest life could scarcely present. I had heard the genuine language of the passions; I had seen the secret springs of interest and self-love act in a thousand different ways ; I had become a spectator of a multitude of incidents ; I felt, that I had acquired expe- rience. Or This author never deluges the pavement with blood, never transports you into remote countries, never exposes you to be devoured by savages, never shuts himself up in the secret haunts of debauchery, never loses himself in fairy-land. His stage is the world in which we live ; his scenes are taken from the life ; " his personages are all real ; his charac te rs are found in the midst of society, his incidents in the manners of all polished nations; the passions he delineates are such as I feel in my own breast, are moved by the same objects, and have the energy I know them to possess; the crosses and afflictions of the # iv EULOGY OF RICHARDSON, persons lie brings on the stage are of the same kind as those, that incessantly threaten myself; he displays to me the general course of things around me. Were it not for this art, my mind yielding with difficulty to chimerical representations, the illusion would be momentary, and the impression weak and transient. '^^What is virtue? Consider it under what aspect we please, it is the sacrifice pf se lf: and the sa crifice of self in idea begets the disposition for it in reality. Richardson sows in the hear t the seeds of virtu es, which lie there quiet and concealed , till occasion stimulates thcnf to germinate. They then unfold; and we feel ou rselves impelled to goodness with an impetu osity, which we haa not suspected to be in oftr nature; or conceive at the sight of villany a horrour, for which we cannot account. But the reason is our intimacy with Richardson ; it is owing to our having held converse with virtue, in moments when the unbiassed mind was open to truth. I still remember the first time, when the Works of Richardson fell into my hands. I was in the country. How delightfully was I affected, on reading them , FROM THE FRENCH OF DIDEROT. V* Every moment I found my happiness shortened a page ; and soon I experienced the same sentiment as is felt by men of worth, who, after living long together, are on the point of separation. At length I seemed all at once left alone. Richardson leads you incessantly to the most important objects of life. The more you read him, the more you delight in reading him. He carries his torch to the bottom of the cavern ; and teaches you to discern the subtle and dishonourable in- centives, concealing themselves from view behind honour- able motives, that are eager to shew themselves foremost, lie breathes on the sublime phantom, that presents itself at the mouth of the cavern : it vanishes, and the hideous Gorgon it masked appears to view. He has the skill to ma ke the passions speak, both with that violence, which they have when they can no longer contain themselves ; and with that artful and temperate tone, which they affect on other occasions. In him men of all ranks and conditions, and in all the *vi EULOGY OF RICHARDSON, various circumstances of life, converse in the style, that we recognise to be natural to them. If some secret sen- timent lurk at the bottom of the heart of a character he introduces, listen attentively, and you will hear some discordant tone betray it. Richardson knew that false- hood could never perfectly resemble truth ; for the latter will always remain truth, and the former must still be . falsehood. If it be of importance to men to be persuaded, that, setting aside every consideration beyond the present life, nothing is so conducive to happiness as virtue, how great is the service that Richardson has rendered mankind ! He has not demonstrated this truth, but he has made us feel it : at every line we are compelled to prefer the lot of suf- fering virtue to that of triumphant vice. Who would be Lovelace, with all his advantages? Who would not be Clarissa, in spite of her misfortunes ? Often, in reading him, have I said ; ' To resemble her, * I would willingly sacrifice my life ; I would rather die, ' than be that man.' If, notwithstanding the circumstances that tend to per- FROM THE FRENCH OF DIDEROT. vii* vert my judgment, I be capable of bestowing my contempt or esteem according to the just measures of impartiality; for this I am indebted to Richardson. My friends, read him over a second time; you will no longer exalt the trifling qualities that are useful to you, or depress the great talents by which you are thwarted or humbled. Come, and learn of him to reconcile yourselves to the evils of life : Come, we will weep together over the unhappy of his fictions, and say : ' If misfortune over- ' whelms us, at least the good will lament ove r us also .' If Richardson endeavour to excite our interest, it is for the unfortunate. In his Work, as in the world, men are divided into two classes ; those who enjoy, and those who suffer. It is to the latter he always binds me; and the sentiment of compassion is exercised and strengthened without my being aware of it. He has imparted to me a melanch oly, that continues and is pleasing to me. Sometimes my friends perceive it, and ask : ' What is the matter with you 1 You are not as you ' used to be: What has happened to you?' Then they inquire after my health, my circumstances, my relations, my friends. O, my friends ! Pamela, Clarissa, and Sir Charles *viii EULOGY OF RICHARDSON, Grandison, are three grand dramas ! Forced from reading them by the calls of business, I was insuperably disgusted with it, neglected my occupations, and resumed Richard- son. Beware of opening his enchanting Works, when you have any employment that demands attention. Who ever read the Works of Richardson, without a wish to be acquainted with the man, to have him for a brother or a friend ? Who, without showering on him every kind of blessing 1 O Richardson ! Richardson ! first of men in my eyes, you shall be my reading on all occasions. Should 1 be pressed by urgent wants, if my frieruT fall into poverty, if the narrowness of my fortune do not enable me to bestow on my children a proper education, I will sell my books, but I will keep you : you shall remain on the same shelf with Moses, Homer, Euripides, and Sophocles ; and I will read you by turns. The more exalted our mind, the more exquisite and j pure our tas te, the more we are acquainted with nature, and the more we love truth, the higher shall we esteem the Works of Richardson. FROM THE FRENCH OF DIDEROT. ix* I have heard my author criticised for details that -were styled tedious. How have I been enraged at such critics ! Wo to the man of ge nius, who overleaps the bounds, that time and custom have prescribed to works of art, and treads their rules under foot ! Years after his death must elapse, before he receives the justice due to his merit. Yet let us be equitable. To a people whose attention is hurried a thousand ways; who find the four-and-twenty hours too short for the amusements with which they are accustomed to fill them up ; the books of Richardson must appear long. For the same reason these people have no longer an opera-house, and at their other theatres we shall soon see nothing but detached scenes of comedies or tragedies. My dear countrymen, if the Novels of Richardson appear to you long, why do you not shorten them? Be consistent. You now scarcely ever go to a tragedy to see more than the last act : then skip at once to the last twenty pages of Clarissa. | EULOGY OF RICHARDSON, The details of Richardson displease, and should dis- please, t h dj^'pa*^ and f rivolous. It was not for them he wrote ; it was for the man of solitude and tran- quillity, who has known the vanity of the noise and amusements of the world, and prefers the shades of retire- ment, and to cultivate in silence the softer feelings of the heart. Richardson is accused by you of tediousness! You forget then the cares, the troubles, the many steps requi- site to the success of an undertaking of the least import- ance, the conducting of a law-suit, the bringing about of a marriage, the effecting of a reconciliation. You may think what you please of the details, but to me they wiff be interesting, if they be natural, if they display the passions, if they disclose characters. You say they are common, they are what we see every day. You are mistaken : they are what pass before your eyes every day, without being seen by you. Take care! under the name of Richardson you attack the greatest poets. A hundred times you have seen the setting of the sun, and the rising of the stars ; you have heard the fields resound with the song of birds : but which of FROM THE FRENCH OF DIDEROT. xi* you has perceived, that it was the noise of the day that rendered the silence of night more delightful 1 It is the same with moral phenomena as it is with physical: the voice of the passions has often struck your ears, but you have been far from penetrating the secret of their tones and expressions. Each has it's features ; all these features occur in their turns on one countenance, without it's ceasing to be the same : and the art of the great poet, and the great painter, is to exhibit to you an evanescent circumstance, that would have escaped your eye. ^Jh Painters, poets, men of taste, men of virtue, read Richardson, and read him without ceasing. Know, that on this multitude of little things the illusion depends. To invent such, to display such, is no easy task. There is sometimes as much sublimity in the gesture as in the words: and it is by these truths of detail, that the mind is prepared for the strong impression of great events. When your impatience has been restrained by these momentary delays, how impetuously does it burst forth, when the poet thinks fit to break down the dike ! Then it rends the heart with sorrow, or transports it with joy ; you arc no longer able to restrain your tears, *xir EULOGY OF RICHARDSON, before prepared to flow ; or to say to yourself, ' But perhaps this is not true.' This thought has been gra- dually expunged from your mind, and is now too remote to occur. An idea that has sometimes suggested itself to me, when meditating on the Works of Richardson, is, that I had purchased some old mansion ; that, rummaging some day it's apartments, I had perceived in a corner a chest, which had long stood there neglected ; and that, on breaking it open, I had found the letters of Clarissa and Pamela lying in it mingled together. After reading a few, how eagerly should I have ranged them in the order of their dates ! How should I have been grieved were there any deficiencies in- them ! Can it be sup- posed, that I would have suffered any rash, I had almost said sacrilegious hand, to blot out a single line of them? You who have read the Works of Richardson in your elegant French translation, and think yourselves acquainted with them, are greatly deceived. You know nothing of Lovelace, of Clementina, of the unfortunate Clarissa, of Miss Howe, her dear and affectionate Miss Howe, since FROM THE FRENCH OF DIDEROT. Xlll^ you have not seen her bending over the coffin of her friend, wringing her hands, raising to Heaven her eyes drowned in tears, rilling the mansion of the Harlowes with her lamentations, and exclaiming against the villany of her seducer, and the hard-heartedness of her relations. You know not the effect of those circumstances, which your frivolous taste would suppress ; since you have not heard the doleful tolling of the bell, wafted by the wind to the house of the Harlowes, and awakening the remorse of their flinty hearts ; you have not seen them tremble at the sound of the hearse conveying to the grave the corpse of their victim. It was then the dead silence that reigned among them was broken by the sobs of the parents; it was then the real punishment of those hard hearts commenced, and the worm that lay torpid in their bosoms was roused to gnaw them. Happy those who could shed tears ! I have observed, that in a company where the Works of Richardson were reading, either privately or aloud, the conversation became more interesting and animated. At such readings I have heard the most important points of morals and of taste investigated and discussed : I have heard arguments on the couduct of his characters, a^ *xiv EULOGY OF RICHARDSON, if the events had been real; and Pamela, Clarissa, Gran- dison, praised and blamed, as if they had been persons living, of our own acquaintance, and for whom we had been deeply interested. Any person, who had dropped in without knowing what had led to the conversation, would have imagined, from it's warmth and natural tone, that the subject of it was a neighbour, a relation, a friend, a brother, or a sister. Must I confess the truth? I have seen difference of opinion on these points give rise to secret enmities, to concealed aversions; in short, to the same divisions between friends, as if they had related to the most serious objects. I could not then avoid comparing Richardson to a book still more sacred; to a Gospel, sent on Earth to set the husband at variance against his wife, the father against the son, the daughter against the mother, the brother against the sister. Thus his Work classes with the most perfect in nature: all issue from the hand of Omnipotence and infinite wis- dom, yet not one is wholly faultless. A present good may prove in future the source of a great evil, and evil the source of great good. FROM THE FRENCH OF DIDEROT. XV* But what imports this, if it b e owing to Richardson, that I feel more love for mv fellow-creatures, more i ncli- nation for my duties; for the wicked nnly pj f^ f nr th unfortuna te more compassion, for the good more respect ; more circumspection in the enjoymeut of the present, more indifference for the future; greater contempt of life, and greater love of virtue, the only good we cau ask of Heaven, and the only one it can grant us, without chastising us for our indiscreet requests ? I am as well acquainted with the house of the Har- lowes, as with my own : the dwelling of my father is not more familiar to me than that of Sir Charles Gran- dison. I form to myself an idea of the persons whom the author brings on the stage : their faces are familiar to me : I recognise them in the streets, in public places, in society : they inspire me with attachment or aversion. One of the advantages of his labours is, embracing an extensive field, some portion of the picture is incessantly before my eyes. I seldom find six persons together, without asso- ciating with them the idea of some of his characters. He draws me toward the good, he repels me from the bad : he has taught me to know them by fine and ready marks. He guides me sometimes without my being sensible of it. *XVi EULOGY OF RICHARDSON, The Works of Richardson will please more or less all men, in all ages, and in all places ; but the number of readers, by whom his whole merit will be felt, can never be great. It requires a taste too correct : and then the variety of events is so great, their bearings so numerous, the series so complicated, so many trains laid, so many frustrated, so many actors, so many characters ! Scarcely have I read a few pages of Clarissa, before I can reckon fifteen or sixteen persons ; and soon the number is doubled. In Sir Charles Grandison there are not less than forty. But, what is most astonishing, each of these has his peculiar ideas, expressions, and manners; and these ideas, these manners, these expressions, vary according to the circumstances, interests, or feelings of the moment, as we see different passions succeed each other on the same countenance. No man of taste will take a letter of Mrs. Norton for a letter of one of Clarissa's aunts, the letter of one aunt for that of another, or of Mrs. Howe, or a note from Mrs. Howe for one from Mrs. Harlowe; though these persons are in the same situation, and have the same opinions with respect to the same subject. As in nature the spring exhibits not two leaves of the same green, what an immense variety of tints in this immortal Work ! If it be difficult to him who reads, to discriminate FROM THE FRENCH OF DIDEROT. XVii* them ; how difficult must it have been to the Author, to invent and paint them ! Richardson ! I will venture to say, that the truest history is full of falsehoods, and thai vour Novel is , full of truths. By history a few individuals are depicted ; by - sit, you, the human species. History attributes to certain men what they neither said nor did : man has said and done every thing ascribed to him by you. History relates only to a portion of time, a point on the surface of the globe : all times, all places, are embraced in your Works ; for the human heart, which has been, is, and always will be the same, is the model you have copied. Would the best of historians stand the trial of the severest criticism like you? In this point of view I may affirm, that history is often an ill-written novel ; and a novel like yours, an excellent history. Painter of nature ! you never swerve from the path of truth. 1 can never cease to admire that prodigious capacity, which enabled you to carry on a drama of thirty or forty actors, all retaining to the end the characters you had given them ; the astonishing acquaintance with laws, cus- toms, manners, the human heart, and the world ; the in- vol. i. * l xviii EULOGY OF IUCtl ABDSOX, exhaustible fund of morality, experience, and observation, which they exhibit. The Work interests and charms to such a degree, that it conceals the art of Ricliardson from those, who are most calculated to perceive it. Often have I begun to read Clarissa as a study, and as often have I forgotten my purpose before I had read twenty pages. I have only been struck, like other readers, with the genius that could suppose a young lady of the greatest goodness and pru- dence not taking a single step but was wrong, yet without our being able to blame her, because she has inhuman parents and an abomiuable lover : that, without offending in the least against probability, could give this young prude a lively, madcap friend, who says and does nothing but what is consonant to right reason ; and this friend, a worthy man for a lover; yet, with all his worth, dull and ridiculous, and laughed at by his mistress, notwithstanding the counte- nance and approbation of her mother: that could uuite in Lovelace the noblest and the most detestable qualities, meanness aud generosity, seriousness and levity, violence and coolness, good sense and folly ; and make of him a villain, that we hate, love, admire, aud despise ; who astonishes us in whatever form he appears, and never FROM THE FRENCH OF DIDEROT. XIX* remains for an instant the same. Then that crowd of subaltern personages, how numerous, and how well charac- terized ! Belford, with his companions ; Mrs. Howe, and her Hickman ; and Mrs. Norton ; and the Harlowes, father, mother, brother, sisters, uncles^ and aunts ; and all the creatures that people the house of debauchery! What contrasts in their views and dispositions! How they all act and talk ! Was it possible for a young girl to stand alone against so many enemies 1 Yet what is her fall! Does not Sir Charles Grandison display in different scenes the same variety of characters, the same strength of plot and of events 1 Pam ela is more s imple, has less extent, and less of intrigue^ hut does if difp la y lo< tfi_ Cnnil? Either of these Works is sufficient to render the Author's name immortal, yet they are all by the same hand. Since I have been acquainted with them, they have been my touchstone. Of those who dislike them my opinion is formed. I have never spoken of them to a man I esteemed, without trembling lest his judgment should *XX EULOGY OF RICHARDSON, differ from mine; I never met with a person who par- ticipated in my admiration of them, but I have been tempted to press him to my heart. , 9 Richardson is no more. What a loss to literature and to human nature ! His loss has afflicted me, as if he had been my brother. I wore him in my heart without ever having seen him, without knowing him but by his Works. I have never met with one of his countrymen, or one of my own who had visited England, without asking: ' Have ' you seen Richardson, the poet 1 ' and afterwards : * Have you seen Hume, the philosopher?' One day a lady of taste, and of extraordinary sensibility, highly interested in the history of Clarissa, which she had just been reading, said to one of her friends, who was setting out for London : ' Pray, Miss Emily, present my * respects to Mr. Belford, and particularly to Miss Howe, * if she be still living.' Another time, a lady of my acquaintance, who was engaged in an epistolary correspondence, which she sup- FROM THE FRENCH OF DIDEROT. Xxi* posed to be perfectly innocent, was so alarmed at the fate of Clarissa, that she broke it off. Two ladies, whom I knew, quarrelled so violently, because one expressed contempt for the story of Clarissa, which the other adored, that all my endeavours to effect a reconciliation between them were in vain. I wrote to the latter, and the following are extracts from her letter : ' She has no patience at the piety of Clarissa ! What, ' then, she would have a girl of eighteen, brought up by ' virtuous and Christian parents, timid, unhappy here, and ' having scarcely any hope of a better fate but in another ' life, to be void of religion, and no better than an infidel ! * This sentiment is so noble, so sweet, so affecting in her ; ' her religious notions are so pure and sound ; this sentiment ' gives her character such a pathetic cast ! No, you shall ' never persuade me, that such a way of thinking is con- ' sistent with a well-regulated mind. ' She laughs, when she sees this child in despair at the * curse of a father. She is a mother, and she laughs at it! %xii fcULOGY OF RICHARDSON, * Such a woman can never be a friend of mine : I blush, * that I ever thought her so. Do you not think the curse ' of a respected father, a curse that appears already accom- ' plished in several important points, must have been ter- ' rible to a daughter of her disposition t And who shall ' say, that God will not ratify hereafter the curse pro- * uouuced by a parent here 1 ' It appears to her extraordinary, that such a book * should draw tears from my eyes. And I am astonished, * when contemplating the last moments of that innocent ' victim, that the stones, the walls, the cold and senseless ' pavement on which I walk, are not moved, and do not * mix their plaints with mine. Then every thing around 1 me is whelmed in gloom, my soul is filled with darkness, ' and Nature seems to have veiled herself in the densest * shades. She thinks the character of Clarissa C07isists in utter- * ingfine sentiments ; and when she has an opportunity of ' displaying a few, she is quite satisfied. Surely to think ' and feel thus, is a great curse : so great, that 1 would c rather my daughter should expire this moment in my * arms, than know it to be entailed on her. My own FROM THE FRENCH OF DIDEROT. Xxiii* ' daughter ! Yes, such was my sentiment, and I will not ' erase it. ' Now labour,, wonderful man! labour, consume your ' vital powers, reach the end of your career at an age when others commence theirs, that such opinions may be ' passed on your finest Works! Nature, be for ages ' preparing a man like Richardson ; exhaust all thy ' treasures for his endowments, and be unjust to thy other ' children : it will be only for a few like me he will have ' been born, and the tear that drops from our eyes will be ' his only reward.' In a postscript she adds : ' You ask of me Clarissa's ' funeral and last will, and I send them you : but I will * never forgive you, if you show them to that woman. ' I recall my words : read these two pieces to her yourself, ' and, to complete my aversion for her, do not fail to ' inform me, that her laughter accompanied Clarissa to ' her last home.' Thus we see, in matters of taste, as in religion, there is a kind of intolerance, which I condemn; but from # XX1V EULOGY OF RICHARDSON, which I cannot free myself without an exertion of my reason. I was with a friend, when I received the account of the funeral and last will of Clarissa ; two pieces, which the French translator has omitted, I know not why. This friend has as much sensibility as any man I know, aud is almost as enthusiastic an admirer of Richardson as myself. He took up the papers, retired to a corner of the room, and read them to himself. I watched him: soon I per- ceived tears dropping from his eyes; he paused, he sobbed; on a sudden he started up, hurried backward and forward, cried out like a man in agony, and vented the bitterest reproaches against all the family of the Harlowes. I had intended to mark the beautiful passages in Ri- chardson's Works : but how is it possible 1 there are so many. I only recollect, that the 128th Letter*, which is from Letter XLVIII. of Vol. III. FROM THE FRENCH OF DIDEROT. XXV* Mrs. Hervey to her niece, is a masterpiece. Without any preparatories, without the least apparent art, in a manner inconceivably natural, she takes from Clarissa every hope of reconciliation with her parents, promotes the designs of her ravisher, delivers her over to his villany, determines her to go to London, to listen to his proposals of marriage, &c. I know not what it does not do: it inculpates the family by it's very excuses for them ; and demonstrates the necessity of Clarissa's flight, while it reproaches her for her conduct. It is one of the passages, among many others, at which I exclaimed : Divine Ri- chardson ! But to feel this transport you must begin the book, and read on to this passage. The 124th Letter*, which is from Lovelace to his accomplice Leman, I had marked as a charming piece. In it we see all the madness, all the gayety, all the cunning, all the wit of that character. We scarcely know whether to love or detest that demon. With what art he seduces the poor servant ! It is, ' O Joseph ! honest Joseph ! ' Letter XLIV. of Vol. III. # XXY1 EULOGY OF RICHARDSON) How he describes the reward he intends him! The Blue Boar is to be his : he and his wife are to be ' landlord ' and landlady at every word.' And then he concludes : ' Your loving friend, R. Lovelace.' Lovelace does not stick at trifles of form, when he has a point to carry : all who engage in his designs are his loving friends. A great master alone would have thought of associating with Lovelace that set of men lost to all sense of honour, and sunk in debauchery ; those vile creatures, who egg him on by their raillery, and harden him in guilt. Belford alone opposes his wicked friend, and how inferior is he to him ! What genius was required, to introduce and balance so many clashing interests ! And can it be supposed to have been without design, that the Author has bestowed on his Hero that warmth of imagination, that dread of marriage, that unbridled love of liberty and intrigue, that unbounded vanity, so many good qualities and so many vices? Poets, learn from Richardson, to give your wicked clia- FROM THE FRENCH OF DIDEROT. XXvii 1 * racters confidents, who may diminish the horrour of their" crimes by sharing them : and, for the opposite reason, to give none to the good, that all the merit of their virtues may attach to themselves. With what art Lovelace sinks and raises himself in our esteem! Look at Letter 175*. It contains the senti- ments of a cannibal, the howlings of a beast of prey: yet a postscript of a few lines at once transforms him almost into a virtuous man. PameJa and Sir Charles Grandison are two fine Works also: but I prefer Clarissa to them; where every step is that of genius. Yet we cannot see the aged father of Pamela arrive at Mr. B 's gate, after walking all night> and hear him address himself to the servants, without the most heartfelt emotions. The whole episode of Clementina in Sir Charles Gran- dison is of the greatest beauty. And what is the period when Clementina and Clarissa become truly sublime 1 * Letter XLIII. Vol. IV. *XXVUI EULOGY OF RICHARDSON, That in which the one has lost her honour, the other her reason. I cannot bring to my remembrance, without great agita- tion, Clementina rushing in, pale, with wandering eyes, the blood trickling down her arm, and saying to her mother: ' Dearest, dearest madam, don't let me be ' sacrificed ! ' And why is this Clementina so interesting in her mad- ness 1 It is because being no longer mistress of her thoughts or feelings, if any improper sentiment existed in her heart or mind, it would escape her. But every word she utters exhibits innocence and candour ; and her situa- tion prevents our doubting any thing she says. I have been told, that Richardson spent many years in society, almost without speaking. He did not enjoy all the fame he deserved. What a passion is envy! It is the most cruel of the furies: it follows the man of merit to the brink of the grave ; there it disappears, and the justice of ages seats itself in it's place. FROM THE FRENCH OF DIDEROT. Xxix* O Richardson ! though you had not the reputation you merited when alive, how great will you appear to our posterity, when they contemplate you at the distance, at which we behold Homer! Who will then dare expunge a line from your sublime work ? You have been more admired among us than even in your own country, and I am proud of it. Ages hasten on, and bring with you the honours due to Richardson ! I call to witness all who hear me, I have not waited for the example of others, to render you my homage ; I knelt at once at the feet of your statue, and worshipped you, seeking in the bottom of my heart expressions adequate to the admiration I felt, but could find none. You who read these lines, which I have traced without connexion, without design, and with- out order, just as they were inspired by my tumultuous feelings, if you have received from Heaven a heart of greater sensibility than mine, blot them out. Tiie genius of Richardson has stifled what I had. His phantoms wander continually through my imagination. If I would write, I hear the plainings of Clementina, the shade of Clarissa rises to my view, Grandison stalks before me, Lovelace agitates me, and the pen drops from my hand. And you, more gentle shade.-, Emily, Charlotte, Pamela, dear Miss Howe, while I converse with you, the years *XXX EULOGY OF RICHARDSON. adapted to labour and the season of gathering laurels pass away, and I approach my end, without having at- tempted any thing, that may hand down my name also to posterity. CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME. PA6t Letter I. Pamela, to her Parents Recounting her lady's death. Her master's kindness to her. She is all grateful confusion upon it, and thinks him th e b est of gentlemen 1 i Letter II. To Pamela, from her Parents. Are much con- cerned for her lady's death : but that their chief trouble is, lest she should have too grateful a sense of her master's favour ; so as to be brought to any tiling dishonest or wicked. Their cautions and instructions to her 4 Letter III. Pamela, to lur Father. Is concerned lest he should doubt her virtue. Assures him of her resoluti on to prefer it to life itself . Apprehends no danger at present trom her master's favour 32 PAMELA; OR, 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 are alone. She was so good to indulge me; but made haste to come up to bed ; and told the servants, that I should lie with her, because she could not rest well, and would get ine 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 a pprehended, to deprive myself of the good advice which I nev er 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 1 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 enditing 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, yo u beh aved so vir tuously, 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 any thing 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 iudependant; then she would take a VIRTUE REWARDED. 23 little private house, and I should live with her like her daughter. And so, as you ordered me to take her advice, I re- solved to tarry to see how things went, except lie was $o turn me away ; although, in your first letter, you ordered me to come away the moment I had any reason to he ap- prehensive. So, dear father and mother, it is not disobe- dience, I h ope, that I stay ; for I could not expectlTTjTess- ing, or the good fruits of your prayers for me, if I was dis- obedient. All the next day I was very sad, and begau 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 | did him. It had better be so than worse ! 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, makf me more miserable than enough. 24 PAMELA ; OR, 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 con- trary now ! Pity and pray for Your afflicted PAMELA. LETTER XIU. MY DEAREST CHILD, Our hearts bleed for your distress, and the temptations you are exposed to. You have our hourly prayers; and w e 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 ! temp- tations are sore things ; but yet, without them T we Tvnow 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 reekons him, to with- stand ; but how great will be your honour to withstand them ! And when we consider your past conduct, and your virtu ous educatio n, and that y ou have ^ e en bre d to be mo re ashamed of dishonesty than poverty, w e trust in God, tl'i'at 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 your own strength ; and that you are but very young ; and the devil may put it VIRTUE REWARDED. 25 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 pover ty with safety, than live with so much "tTistlUIIimU HI a plen'ly, that itself may be dangerous. Goof Hired you lor" xTie"l)est ! While you ha\-e 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 protection, remain Your truly loving, but careful, FATHER and MOTHER. LETTER XIV. DEAR FATHER AND JIOTHER, 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 1 She told, me she was surprised at the question , but said, That I was one of t he most virtuous and indus- trious young c reatures that ever "lie kuew.{ 'Why - Him"" word virtuous, said he, I pray you ?" \Vas there any reason to suppose her otherwise ? Or has any body taken it into his head to try herl^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 t 26* PAMELA ; OR, Your servant, Mrs. Jervis, says lie, 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 be haves so prudently, tha t tl] p y all fifttCSIP ''^*j and shew her as great a respect as if she was a gentle- womah UoUk" Ay, says he, that' s her art, that I was speaking of: but, let me tell~you, the girl has vanity and concei t, andj^rjile 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 ha? VIRTUE REWARDED. 27 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 ingratitude. 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 f and time will shew i t ""youT~ 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 is ! I will soon write again ; but must now end with saying, that I am, and shall always be, Your honest Daughter. 28 PAMELA; OR, LETTER XV. DEAR MOTHER, I broke off abruptly my last letter ; for I feared lie was coming; and so it happened. 1 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 house. 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 I When I was a little kind to wu, said he, in the summer-house, and you carried your - self so foolishly upon i t, 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 coinmou talk of the matter, not considering ei ther 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 equi- vocator ! 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 agitatiou, 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, VIRTUE REWARDED. Q said I, let me beg you will not urge rue farther> for fear I forget myself again, and be saucy. Answer me then, I bid you, says he, Have you not told Mrs. Jervis 1 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 t should tell Mrs. Jer vis, or any body else, what passed, if ynii intpndtMl 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 no t Jell 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, bold-face, said he, and equivocator again ! You did not open your month 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 saucebox as you 1 No, good sir, said I, and I hope your honour won't be angry with me ; it is not I that expose yoH, if I say nothing but the truth. So, taunting again ! Assurance as you are! saTd he : I will not be thus talked to! 30 PAMELA; OR, 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, thougTT poor and friendless here, yet I have always been taught to value h onesty above m y life. Here's ado with your honesty, said he, foolish girl ! Is it not one part of honesty Vto be dutiful a nd grateful to your maste r, do you think 1 Indeed, sir, said I, it is impossible I should be ungrateful to your honour, or disobedient, or deserve the names of bold-face and 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 fo] )y 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 house- keeper, 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 VIRTUE REWARDED. 31 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 with- stand I Be easy, said he; for let the worst happen that can, you will have the merit, and / the blame ; and it will be a good subject for letters to your father and mother, and a tale into the bargain for Mrs. jervis. He by force kissed my neck and lips ; and said, Who- ever blamed Lucretia 1 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 not deserved. May T, said 1, 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 ir, 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 no- thing 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 32 PAMELA ; OR, the dob r; 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 proceed- ings 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 nev er saw such a fool jn my life. I did nothing at all to her . Mrs. Jervis 7 " could not speak for crying. So he said, She has told yoa, 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 yonr 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, pre- pare 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; PAMELA; OR, VIRTUE REWARDED. LETTER I. 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 your- selves; 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 au hour before she expired, to recommend to my young master all her VOL. I. B 2 PAMELA,* OR, 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 vC guineas, and some silver, which were in my old lady's I ^y -pocket when she died; and said, if I was a good girl, and JT 2y faithful and diligent, he would be a friend to me, for his < y 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 lqpnv 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 dou't open it before him. VIRTUE REWARDED. 3 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 seuses; 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 houour 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 Aw parents ; and why should he be angry that I was so to mine! Aud indeed he was not angry; for he took me by the hand, and said, Yoiiaresieoodeirl, Pamela, to be kind to your aged father and mother. I am not ang7ywTTn*^oTrTo7^rTfing^ucn innocent matters as these : though you ought to be wary what tales you send out of a family. Be faithful and diligent ; an d do as you sho uld do, a nd I like vou_thg. Detter to'rTn'isT "^\nd then he said, Why, Pamela, you write a very pretty hand, and spell tolerably too. I see mv good mother's care in your learning has not been tnrown away upon you. She used to say you loved readin g; yj>u may look intoanyofJjexJjflflk^ to imp rove yourself, so j*od TSKe "care ot them. To be sure 1 did nothing but courtesy and cry, and was aU 4 PAMELA ; OR, in confusion, at his goodness. Indeed lie 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. LETTER II. [In answer to the preceding.] DEAR PAMELA, Y OUR letter was indeed a great trouble, and some com- fort, 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 any thing dis- honest or wicked, by being set so above yourself. Every body talks how you have come on, and what a genteel gi rl 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 ! In- deed, my dear Pamela, we begin to be in great fear for you; for what signify alfthe riches in the wflrl d, with a bad conscience, and to be dishonest ! W e are, 'tis tru e, very po or, and hfltl it Intra enough to live; though once^ as >ou know, it was better with us. But ^ve would sooner VIRTUE REWARDED. 5 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. Ihope the good 'squir e has no de si gn : but when he has ^ given you so much money, and speaks so kindly tp 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 go odness, so taken with his kin d expressions, (which, truly, are very great favours, if he means well,) that we fear yes, my d ear child, we f ear you should be too grateful! flu/ 1 > l^ with TTiat jewel, your virtue, which no riches, uor favour, nor any thing in this life, can make up to yo u. JJl 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 con- tinue to be good, though our lot is hard here ; but the loss cf our dear child's virtue would be a grief that we could 6 PAMELA; OR, 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 cove red with rags, and even foll ow you to the churchyard , than have it "said , a chil d of ours preferred any worldly conveniencies to her virtue. fe accept kindly of 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. LETTER III. DEAR FATHER, I must needs say, your letter has filled me with trouble, for it has made my heart, which was overflowing with gra- titude 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 2 But that which gives me VIRTUE REWARDED. 7 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 t housand deaths, rather than be dishonest any way, ur that be assured, and set your hearts at rest ; tor although I have lived above myself for some time past, yet I can be con tent with r Q tr c Qn d p ^erty, and bread and water, and will embrace them, rath er than forfeit my sopd 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 house-keeper, 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, cither by writing, (for it brings my hand in,) or by word of mouth. LETTER IV. DEAR MOTHER, r OR the last was to my father, in answer to his letter; and so I will now write to you ; though I have nothicg \ 8 PAMELA ; OR, 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 bachel or's house ; since no lady he might marry wouid 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 ray 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 nothinsj bad in his heart. But VIRTUE REWARDED. 9 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. LETTER V. 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 lie always learns something from you to the purpose. It is a thousand pities, he s ays, tha t such worthy hearts should not have better luc k m the world ' and wonders, "thai yod, III} 1 PJllNM 1 , 11 ho 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 pa rents, 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 10 PAMELA ; OR, books, which we read whenever we are alone ; so that L 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 he 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 a nd moflesty. 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 very 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 mis- fortunes. I am going on again with a long letter ; for I love writ- ing, 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. VIRTUE REWARDED. 11 LETTER VI. DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER, JVIy 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 want- ing in me, to the best of my knowledge. how amiable a thing is doing good ! It is all I envy great folks for. 1 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. 12 PAMELA; OR, 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 n ever i s wanting to give me _ a good word, and took occasion* to lanch 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 1 will always love her, next to you and my dear mo- ther. So I rest Your ever dutiful Daughter. BETTER VII, DEAR FATHER, 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 head- clothes, three pair of fine silk shoes, two hardly the worse, and just fit forme, (for my lady had a very little foot,) and the other with wrought silver buckles in them ; and seve- ral 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. 1 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 stockings? VIRTUE REWARDED. 13 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 other- wise, 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 happe ns is for our good ; and God bless you, my dear lather and mother; and I know you constantly pray for a blessing upon me ; who am, and shall always be, Your dutiful Daughter, LETTER VIII. DEAR PAMELA, 1 cannot but renew my cautions on your master's kind- ness, and his free expression to you about the stockiugs. 14 PAMELA ; OR, 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 reso|ve to lose your l ife sooner than your virtue . What though the doubts I hiled 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 1 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 Y" hazard a poor maiden of little more than fifteen years of I age stands against the t emptations of this world, and a de- / signing 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, t o be on your guard; there can be no harm in that. And since TVlrs. Jervis is so good a gentle- woman, 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 Fatheb and Mother* VIRTUE REWARDED. 15 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 goodne ss on ly, that make the true beauty , Rp- y&~ member that, Faniela. LETTER IX. 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 lo me. Mrs. Jervis tells me the lady shook her head, and said, Ah ! bro- ther! and that was all. Aud as you have made me fear- ful 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 betwee n snch a ge ntleman, and so poor a gir l. nui 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 16 PAMELA; OR, 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. LETTER X. DEAR MOTHER, 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 ! this angel of a master ! this fine gentleman ! this gra- cious 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, les t_I should be dr awn inby Lord Davers's neph ew, that he would not lei 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. 1 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 VIRTUE REWARDED. 33 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 to-morrow, when I am to appear before a very bad judge, I doubt. 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 ! LETTER XVI. AIY DEAR PARENTS, I know you longed to hear from me soon ; and I send you as soon as I could. 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 s hould faint when i t came to the time my master had timed, i WJlllfr 1 HeiEner eat nor drink, for my part; and do what I could, my eyes were swelled with crying. VOL. I. D < 34 Pamela; ou y At last lie 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 wickedness. So 1 cheered myself; but yet my poor heart sunk, and my spirits were quite broken. Every thing 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 1 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 VIRTUE REWARDED. 35 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 com- plaint, 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 1 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 after- wards, 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 ? Wlien a master of his honour's degree de- means 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 further, 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 1 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 reputa- tion. 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 36 PAMELA; OR, 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 he freer than became me; though I had no intention to carry the jest farther. 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 cou- rage 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 be- comes the distance between a master and a servant. Do vou hear, Mrs. Jervis 1 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 ho- nour : 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. I t is very difficult t o keep one's distance to the gre atest of men, when they won't keep it thems elves to, their meanest T"said he ; could you believe this of the young baggage, if you had not heard it 1 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 VIRTUE REWARDED. 37 almost .death to her : aud I had much ado to hring 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 hefore me together. I find I am likely to suffer in my reputation by the pcrverseness 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!) Anc! all this, added he, I won't bear; and so 1 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 ! Ameu*. Then rising from my knees, I went away with another- guise sort of heart than I came into his presence with : 'i J 1 -* 38 PAMELA ; OR, 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 lie 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. 1 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 dishonesty. 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 belong- ing to my place. So send me a line, if you can, to VIRTUE REWARDED. 39 let me know if I shall be welcome, by John, who will call for it as he returns. But say nothing of my com- ing away to him, as yet: for it will be said I blab every thing. < LETTER XVII. Mr DEAREST DAUGHTER, W elcome, 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 them ! 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 conies next, if he comes again before you. i want to know how you come. I fancy honest John will be glad to bear you company part of the way, if your 40 PAMELA J OR, 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 occar sion. And we shall receive you with more pleasure than we had at your births 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. LETTER XVIII. DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER, I thank you a thousand times for your goodness to me, expressed in your last letter. 1 now lopg 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 1 will make use of it now, and tell you all that has happened since my last lettor. I wondered Mrs. Jervis did not call me to sup with her, and feared she was angry ; and when I bad 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, 1 am glad to see you : you are not angry with VIRTUE REWARDED. 41 jne, I hope. She said she was sorry things had gone so far ; and that she had a great deal of taik with my master, after I was gone ; that he seemed moved at what I said, and at my failing 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 roe 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 my life, at any age. She said, he had ordered her not to tell me all : but she believe d he would never offer any thing to me again ; and 1 might stay, she fancied, if I would beg it as a favour ; though she was not sure neither, I stay ! dear Mrs. Jervis, said 1 ; 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 dis- tress, as he threatened 1 should ; for though I am sure of the poverty, I shall not have half the distress 1 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 wept 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 1 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 42 Pamela ; on, 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 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 ser- vant 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 1 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 be- comes 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 pleasure. But I believe my master is fearfully angry with ine ; for VIRTUE REWARDED. 43 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 Daughtej:. LETTER XIX. REAR 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 crea- ture 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, 44 PAMELA ; OR, she won't keep : She is too good ; and loves me too well ; but she must stay when / 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 1 Do you think I should ever have forgot myself, if he had not for- got 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 1 have read of things almost as strange, from great men to poor damsels,) What can it be /or? 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 VlitTUE REWARDED. 45 changed ; for even wicked men, I have read, soon grow weary of wickedness with the same person, and love va- riety. 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, o ught to liv i^ riiwrar< But, Mrs. Jervis, continued I, 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 t used to do, than to be a harlot to the greatest man in the world. 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 aud 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 1 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 ? 46 Pamela; or, Alas ! ray dear child, said she, don't put thy home ques- tions 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 Jirst time, more vexed the second time. 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 accessary 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 force. You say, said I, that he was sorry for hh Jirst 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 I 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 master ; and thinks himself entitled to call me bold-face, and what not ? I VIRTUE REWARDED. 47 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 1 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 mar- 48 PAMELA ; OR, riage ; 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. *~ *Z I UUs- f VIRTUE REGARDED. 53 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 \V, 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 enemy. 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 earliest thy notions a great way. Well, dear Mrs. Jervis, said 1, very seriously, 54 PAMELA ; OR, 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 J 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, &c. LETTER XXII. 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, can- not live without me ; and so I go home to them, to help to comfort their old age ; but they seem not to believe it. VIRTUE REWARDED. 55 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 1 Only, please your honour, said I, till I have done the waistcoat ; and it is almost finished. You might, says he, (very roughly in- deed,) 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 1 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, t4iat she thought as ill of his designs as I ; and as she knew 56 PAMELA ; OR, 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 face. 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 hurry- VIRTUE REWARDED. 49 LETTER XX. 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 maybe 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 oft", about the talk between Mrs. J^rvis and me, for me to ask to stay. Unknown to Mrs. Jervis, T put a project, as I may call it, in practice. I thought with myself some days ago, Her I shall go home to my poor father and mother, and have vol. I. E 50 PAMELA ; OR, 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 stock- ings ! 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 daugh- ter, 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 thread-bare and woru out? And how should I look, even if I could purchase homespun clothes, to dwindle into them one by one, as I got them 1 May be, an old silk gown, and a linsey-woolsey petticoat, and the like. So, thought I, I bad 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 y 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 calieo I had by me. I had a pretty good camblet quilted coat, that I thought might do tolerably well ; and I bought two flannel under- coats; 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 some- times I used to do formerly ; for I am resolved to do all VIRTUE REWARDED. 51 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- *ared 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 hourSj for two days together: For, you must know, though I lie 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 belived 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 them ? Don't trouble yourself about the four guineas, nor bor- row 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 52 PAMELA ; OR, soul, overpaid me before, in learning and other kind- nesses. 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 confidence. 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, &c. LETTER XXI. 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 com- pany ; 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 conse- quence to him than you think for Or wish for, said I ; for the fruits of being of conse- quence to him, would make me of none to myself, or any body else. VIRTUE REWARDED. 6l 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 sou 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 her. Lady Towers said with a free air, (for it seems she is called a wit,) \Vell, Mrs. Pamela, I can't say I like you so well as these ladie s do ; for I should never ca re, 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 l adies may say any thing . *^ Says Lady Towers, Can the pretty image speak, Mrs. Jervis 1 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 vou have told me ! 62 PAMELA ; on, 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 hear- ing 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. r* Is it not strange, that love borders so much upon hate 1 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 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 ever he loved her, and would have turned her out of door. How happy am I, to be turned ont 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. VIRTUE REWARDED. 6$ 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 povei-fi/ is my prid e, as your integrity shall he my imi- tation. 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. LETTER XXIV. 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 your- selves on nights with what I write, because it is mine. John tells me how much you long for my coming ; but he 64 PAMELA ; OR, says, he told you he hoped something would happen to hinder it. 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 home-spun 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 tucke r 1 put on, and my black silk necklace, instead of the Frenc h neck lace my lady gave me ; and put the ear-rings out of my~ears ; and when I was quite equipped, 1 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 VIRTUE REWARDED. ing 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 esteem also. 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 1 ; but I was iu hopes it would not be known till I went away. What a d 1, 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 couid you have done to him, tro' ? Only Mrs. Jen is 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 lather and mother, the best 5$ PAMELA ; OR, 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 I it ? No, good Mr. Longman, said I, don't think any thing amiss of my master ; he is cross and angry with ine 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 com- fort 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 thanks. Now this pleases one, my dear father and mother, to be so beloved. How much better, by good fame and in- tegrity, 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, &c. LETTER XXIII. MY DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER, \ V e had a great many neighbouring gentlemen, and their ladies, this day at dinner; and my master made a fine en- tertainment 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 VIRTUE REWARDED. .59 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 flue 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 I 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 them- selves young enough, I am told, they would right for her. Is it not true, Jonathan ? Troth, sir, said he, an't please your honour, I never knew her peer, and all you honour's family are of the same mind. Do you hear now 1 said my master. Well, said the ladies, we will make a visit to Mrs. Jervis by and by, and hope to see this paragon. 60 PAMELA ; OR, 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 7 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 ! VIRTUE REWARDED. 65 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 house- keeper'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 spec, tacles ; and said, Do you want me, forsooth 1 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 ! VOL. I. F 66 PAMELA; OR, 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 dicTnot see her face neither, said he. If your honour won't be angry, said she* I will intro- duce 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 after- wards, (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. Sol 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 VIRTUE REWARDED. 6j 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 he so free with your sister, you may believe ; but I must kiss you. O sir, said I, I ani Pamela, indeed I am : indeed I am Pamela, her own self! 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 Or- dered 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 yo ursel f to attract me, and yet pretend, like an hypocnte as you an e -^i_r : *- " - ," ' - << I was out of patience then : Hold, good sir, said I 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-. 68 PAMELA ; OR, 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 ray poor parents again so soon, I cannot wear those good things without beiug hooted at ; and so have bought what will be more suitable to my degree, and be a good holiday-suit too, when I get home. f 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. 1 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 after- wards, 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 ven- geance ! 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 1 Can you neither VIRTUE REWARDED. 69 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 1 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 mas- ter's favour, and so have been turned 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 rob- bed you ? Robbed me ! said he, why so you have, hussy ; you have robbed me. Who 1 I, sir ? said I ; have I robbed you 1 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 70 PAMELA J OR, 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 I 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 sutler more than others? and why should I not he turned away, and there's an end of it ? For indeed I am not of consequence enough for my master to concern him- self, and be angry about such a creature as me. Do you hear, Mrs. Jervis, cried he again, how pertly 1 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 now. 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.' pray for your poor daughter. I am called to go to VIRTUE REWARDED. 71 bed by Mrs. Jervis, for it is past eleven; and I am sure she slmll bear 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 full pert. 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 to her. So good night. May be I shall send this in ihe morn- ing ; but may be not ; so won't conclude : though I can't say too often, that I am (though with great apprehension) Your most dutiful Daughteh, LETTER XXV. MY DEAR TARENTS, 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 be knows the innocence of my heart ! 72 PAMELA J OR, John went your way in the morning ; but I have been too much distracted to send by him ; and have seen no- body 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 tilings 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 I 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 sum- mer-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 master. But, said she, who would have thought it would have turned out so 1 Ay, said I, little thinking who heard me, JLucifer always is ready ^" pr"^" 1 " ''il own work and ^vorkmen. You see presently what use he made of it, pretending not to know me, on purpose to be free with me. VIRTUE REWARDED. 73 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 encouraged him. }ii m ? | never said so to you before ; but, since you have forced it from me, I must tell you, that, ever since you con- sulted me, I have used my utmost en deavours to divert him from his wicked purposes : and he has promised lair: 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 Davers now. Why, I'll tell you freely, my dear Pamela, said she, and I trust to your discretion to conceal what I say : my mas- ter 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 de- signs, 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 74 PAMELA ; OR, force ; so I, a poor weak girl, was to be left to my own strength ! And was not this to allow hint to tempt me, as one may say? and to encourage him to go on in his wicked deviees t How then, Mrs. Jervis, could I ask or wish to stay 1 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,) 1 can- not persuade you to s^y ; 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 pro- voked 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 1 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 hiin 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 VIRTUE REWARDED. 75 wonder he loves you ; for, without flattery, you are a charming girl ! and I never saw you look more lovely in my life than in that same new dress of yours. And then it was such a surprise upon us all ! I helieve truly, you^ 'e some of your danger to {he , lqy e ty appearance v ou 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 some- thing 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 my- self 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 1 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 what follows. Instantly he came to the bed (for I had crept into it, to Mrs. Jervis, with my coat on, and my shoes) ; and taking 76 PAMELA ; OR, 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 inno- cent, 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 expos- tulate 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 ex- postulate ! I found his hand in my bosom ; and when my fright let me know it, I was ready to die ; and I sighed an** 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 VIRTUE REWARDED. 77 bed, and Mrs. Jervis sitting upon one side, with her wrap- per ahout 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 scream- ing, 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 be- lieve 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 actu- ally 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 satis- fied 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, 78 PAMELA ; OR, and then, mercy on me ! what would have become of your poor Pamela ? 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. LETTER XXVI. 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 no- thing 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 fu- ture. 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 espe- cially in my chamber, that I should think myself accessary to the mischief, if I was not to take notice of it. Though VIRTUE REWARDED. 79 my ruin, therefore, may depeud 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 sou 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 bear it. As for Pamela, she has a lucky knack of falling into fits, when she pleases. But the cursed yellings of you both made mc 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 made up. Well, said he, let Mr. Longman make up your accounts, ns soon as you will ; and Mrs. Jewkes (who is his house- keeper 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 80 PAMELA ; OR, 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 other- wise ; 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 ray 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, over- joyed at this, though I was soon to go away : For, naughty VIRTUE REWARDED. 81 as he has been to me, I wish his prosperity with all my heart, for my good ol i lady's sake. Well, PaniHa, said he, yon need not now be afraid to speak to me ; tell me what yon lifted up your hands at ? I said not a word. Says lie, 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 e few line-, which I have penn'd : I'm sure they're from your honest friend, And wisher-well, poor Pa>ill\. VOL. T. I 114 PAMELA ; OR, II. 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. III. 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. IV. For what indeed is happiness, But conscious innocence and peace? And that's a treasure I possess ; Thank Heaven that gave it Pamela. V. 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. VI. 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. VII. 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. VIRTUE REWARDED. 115 VIII. For, oh ! we pity should the great, Instead of envying their estate ; Temptations always on 'em wait, Exempt from which are such as we. IX. 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 blc-ss'd by Heav'n above, As will, I hope, poor Pamela. XI. 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. XII. 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. XIII. Pray for her wish'd content and peace 3 And rest assur'd she'll never cease, To pray for all your joys' increase, While life is lent to Pamela. 116 PAMELA ; OR, XIV. On God all future good depends : Serve him. And so my sonnet ends, AV'ith, 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 aud 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 towards his Lincolnshire estate. It is also to be observed, that the messenger of her let- ters 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 ami read them, and then send them on ; by which means, as he hints to her, (as she observes in one of her letters, p. 105,) 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 de- VIRTUE REWARDED. 117 signing men to gain their wicked ends; and how much it behoves the fair sex to stand upon their guard against art- ful contrivances, especially when riches and power conspire against innocence and a low estate. A few words more will be necessary to make the sequel better understood. The intriguing g entleman thought lit, however, to keep back from her father her three last l et- ters ; 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 tiie chap- lain, and her hopes of speedily seeing them, as also her verses; and to send himself a letter to her father, which is as follows : ' GOODMAN ANDREWS, You will wonder to receive a letter from me. But I ' think I am obliged to let you know, that I have disco- ' vered 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 en- ' couraged, 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 writ- ' ten from time to time ; but, believe me, with all her pre- ' tended simplicity and innocence, I never knew so much * romautic 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. 118 PAMELA ; OR, * 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 rea- ' son 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 ex- ' pect. ' 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, 1 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 VIRTUE REWARDED. 119 before he know how to provide for a wife : And when that can be done, let them come together in God's name, for me. ' 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 saury fellow know how much I ' resent his part of the affair. It is a 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 consider- ation. 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 corres- pondence between the clergyman and her, having not re- ceived 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 wag up: 120 PAMELA J OR, and there he sat down to rest himself till he should see somebody stirring. 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 fel- low ? 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. 1 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 palour, and took him in with her, and there heard all his sad story, and read the letter. She wept bit- terly, but yet endeavoured, before him, to hide her con- VIRTUE REWARDED. 121 cern ; and said, Well, Goodman Andrews, I cannot help weeping at your grief; but I hope tiiere 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 slip- pers, into the parlour, where he and Mrs. Jervis were talking. What's the matter, Goodman Andrews? said he; what's the matter ? O my child ! said the good old man ; give me my child ! I beseech you, sir. 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 gone home; but what I did was to serve her, and you too. She is very safe, 1 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 1Q2 PAMELA ; OR, 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 clergy- man shall come near her. Why, London is a great way off, said the 'squire, and I can't send for her back piesently. What, then, said he, have you sent my poor Pamela to London ? I would not have it said 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 consi- der my dear child is in the case ; let me know but what bishop, and where ; and I will travel to London on foot, to see my daughter, and then shall be satisfied. Why, Goodman Andrews, I think thou hast read ro- mances as well as thy daughter, and thy head's turned with them. May I not have my word taken ? Do you think, once more, I Mould 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, si 'aid he, pray forgive me ; but there is no harm to say, What bishop's, or whereabouts? What, and so you'd go troub- ling his lordship with your impertinent fears and stories ! Will you be satisfied, if you have a letter from her within '*. week, it may he less, if she be not negligent, to assure you all is well with her? Why that, said the poor man, VIRTUE REWARDED. 123 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 ine 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 thev durst : but were forced to test satis* 124 PAMELA; OR, fied with his general assurances of intending her no harm ; which, however, Mrs. Jervis little believed, from the pre- tence he had made in his letter, of the correspondence be- tween Pamela and the young parsou ; which she knew to be all mere invention, though she durst not say so. 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 ha ve been vilely tricked , and, instead of being driven * by Robin to my dear father's, / 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 be, their honest, as well as * dutiful daughter, and ' Your obliged friend, PAMELA ANDREWS.' ' 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 VIRTUE REWARDED. 125 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 reso- lute 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. I j*> yotr return to your poor father again, and his low estate, yet Providence will hud 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 ine too rich, and too mody ; and yet I must be a beggar before my time : for I shall want often to be scribbling, (little think- ing 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 and wafers. 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, VIRTUE REWARDED. 129 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 en- trap me. Then our other three footmen, Harry, Isaac, and Ben- jamin, 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 kindnesses 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 hiui. VOL. I, K 130 PAMELA ; OR, 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 wickedness! 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 5 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 b ottles of Canar y wine, whi ch Mrs. Jervis would make me take m a basket, to cneeTour hearts no w 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. VIRTUE REWARDED. 131 Well, said I to myself, at this rate I shall soon be with my dear father and mother; and tiil I had got, as I sup- posed, 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 lil ie 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 hay: aud 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 132 Pamela; on, 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, may-hap, 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 [ 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 farm- house, 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 1 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 ? VIRTUE REWARDED. 133 The wicked coachman would have prevented the answer- ing me; but the simple daughter said, Know his worship! yes, surely! why he is my father's landlord. We!!, said 1, 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 : hut 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 conve- niences than any where in the village. 1 matter not con- veniences, said I : I am betrayed and undone ! As you have a daughter of your oivn, pity me, and let me know if your landlord, as you call him, be here ! No, I'll assure you he is not, said she. 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, 1 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 sjiw it was flip hand and seal of the w icked wretch, my master, directed t o Mrs. Pamela Andrews . This was a little belter than to have him here ; though, if he had, hv 13-i PAMELA; OR, 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 brush- wood tire ; 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 : * DEAR PAMELA, * Ihe passion I have for you, and your obstinacy, have * constrained me to act by you in a manner that 1 know ' will occasion you great trouble and fatigue, both of mind ' and bo^\. 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 benaviour 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. ' Yuu 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 \ou in a much different light, than you may ' pos-i- y apprehend from this rash action : And to con- ' ' >' j you, that I mean no harm, I do assure you, that ' ine house you are going to, shall be so much at your V-IRTUE REWARDED. 135 ' command, that even I myself will not approach it with- ' out 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 apprehend. ' Meantime 1 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 st)lc myself,) * Don't think hardly of poor Robin : You have so pos- ' sessed all my servants in your favour, that I find ' they had rather serve you than me; and 'tis reluct- ' antly the poor fellow undertook this task ; and I ' was forced to submit to assure him of my houour- ' able intentions to you, which 1 am fully/ resolved to ' make good, if you compel me not to a contrary ' conduct.' 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 too. 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 quits J36 PAMELA J OR, 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 forward. When he withdrew, I begau 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 1 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. ' FARMER NORTON, 1 SEND to your house, for one night only, a young gen- tlewoman, much against her will, who has deeply em- barked in a love atfair, 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, ivhich she will not own, she does not want pru- dence and discretion. I will acknowledge any trouble you shall be at in this matter the first opportunity ; and am ' Your Friend and Servant.' VIRTUE REWARDED. 137 He had said, too cunningly for me, that I would not men this pretended love affair ; so that he had provided them not to helieve me, say what I would ; and as they were his tenants, who all love him, (for he has some ami- able 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 ncver-fails to take the innocent heart into his protec - tio n, and is alone able to baffle and confound the d evices o f the mighty. Nay, the fanner 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 im- provement. 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 in- sisted 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 reluct- ance, 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 par- ticularly 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 138 PAMELA ; OR, 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 back. 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 re- fuse to go farther, having nobody but this wicked coach- man to contend wilh. Well, I was very full of this project, and in great hopes, some how or other, to extricate myself 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 pro- vided 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, 1 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 1 was terrified out of my wits. No stratagem, thought I, not one! for a poor innocent VIRTUE REWARDED. 139 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 con- fidence, and kissed me : See, sister, said she, here's a charming creature ! Would she not tempt the best lord in the laud 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 con- founded ; 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 horse- back 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 condition indeed. Well, thought I, here are strange pains taken to ruin a poor innocent, helpless, and even icorthless young body. This plot is laid too deep, and has heen 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 re- solved to confide. You may see (Yet, oh ! that kills me ; for 1 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 140 PAMELA ; OR, fell a laughing very confidently, and said, That's prettily said, I vow ! Then thou hadst rather he kissed by the other sex ? 'I fackins, I commend thee for that ! 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 aud 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 ! dear sirs! what shall I do! What shall I do! Surely, 1 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 aud 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 ! 1 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 wel- come me thither ; and while she was absent, ordering the wine, the wicked Robin came in to me, and said, 1 beg a VIRTUE REWARDED. 141 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 exe- cution 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 commands, 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 for- give 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 ho has done his part to my ruin : and he now can't help it ! So his repentance does me no good ; 1 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 yo7ir part is to come, and you may choose whether you'll contribute to my ruin or not.-- Why, look ye, look ye, madam, said she, I have a great notion of doing my duty to my master ; and therefore 142 PAMELA ; OR, 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 mas- ter, to be sure, said she. Why, said I, how can that be 1 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 It 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 VIRTUE REWARDED. 143 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 1 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 1 And is it not natural for a gentleman to love a pretty woman 1 And suppose he can obtain his desires, is that so bad as cutting her throat t And then the wretch fell a laughing, and talked most im- pertinently, and shewed me, that 1 had no thing to expect from her virtue or conscience: and this gave me great mortification ; tor 1 was in hopes ol 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, niaduin ; I can tell you, I must lie with you for the pre- sent. For the present ! said f, 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 1 love to lie by myself. How so ? said she ; Was not Mrs. Jervis your bedfellow at t'other hoti^e? Well, said I, quite sick of her, and my condition ; you must do as you are instructed, 1 think. I can't help myself, and am a most miserable creature. She repeated her in- sufferable nonsense. Mighty miserable, indeed, to be so well beloved bv one of the finest gentlemen in England 1 144 Pamela: oh, I am now come down in my writing to this present Saturday, and a deal I have written. My wicked bedfellow 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 at> tempted 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 1 had not other and greater fears. 1 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 absent. 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 neighbour- ing village, which he attends ; and this brings him in a little VIRTUE REWARDED. 145 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 f am so well provided,) to indulge me with pen and ink, though I have been using my own so freely when her ab- sence 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 piesent, may be, said she ; but I am told you are a great writer; and it is in my inst ructions to see all you write : So, look you here, said she, 1 will let you have a pen and ink, and two sheets of paper : for this employ- ment will keep you out of worse thoughts ; but I must see them always when I ask, written or not written. That's vol. I. y 146 PAMELA ; OR, 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 amuse- ment : 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 lihrary, with which I filled a shelf in the closet *he 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 Jie 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 yon what 1 write ; but now it is all the diversion I have, Virtue rewarded. 147 and if God will favour ray 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 jirk, to be sure. 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 barba- rous 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 incum- bent 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 \ou 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 hinted, 148 PAMELA ; OR, 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 stupiried 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 salt- petre : I dare say she drinks : She has a hoarse, man-like voice, and is as thick as she is long ; and yet looks so VIRTUE REWARDED. 149 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 mes- sage 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 down- right. 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. \ am told J ohn, hon est John, isjeome -o n horseback ! A blessing on Ms iaithiul heart: vVhat 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 sure. Here was John, as I said, and the poor man came to Cie, with Mrs. Jewkes, who whispered, that I would say 150 PAMELA J OR, 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 reading it. 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, Virtue rewarded. 151 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 hav 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 about you. ' O my dear girl ! what trouble has not your obsti- nacy given me, and yourself too! I had no way to pa- cify him, but to promise that he should see a letter writ- ten from you to Mrs. Jervis, to satisfy him you are well. ' 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 152 PAMELA OR, * 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 pos-r ' sibly 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 re- * straint last long: for I will assure you, that I am re- ' solved very soon to convince you of my good intentions, ' and with what ardour I am ' Yours, &c.' 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 ; VIRTUE REWARDED. 153 * 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 honourable usage.' 1 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, some how or other, know the true state of the mat- ter. And I wrote thus to my strange wicked master himself: ' SIR, 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 1 I can have no hope, no desire of living left me, ' because I cannot have the least dependance, after what has passed, upon your solemn assurances. It is impos- sible they should be consistent with the dishonourable ' methods you take. * See p, 124 ; Uer alterations are in a different character. 154 PAMELA ; OR, Nothing but your promise of not soring me here in * my deplorable bondage, can give mc 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 gen- * tleman as you, may not be made the sport of a high con- * dition, 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 con- ' ceru 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, * heart-broken * PAMELA.' I thought, when I had written this letter, and that which he had prescribed, it would look like placing a confidence VIRTUE REWARDED. 155 in Mrs. Jevvkes, 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 my- self 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 honour- able, 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 hira 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 156 PAMELA ; OR, 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 sur- prised, 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 sealed 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 VIRTUE REWARDED. 157 * 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 an 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, tnd 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 peni- tence ; 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 scaf, that used to be worn by my lady ; but I have no comfort in them, or any thing else. 158 Pamela ; on, 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, ancl for myself too ; for now I see, as he says, my ruin has been long hatching, that I can make no doubt what my mas ter's honourable professions will end in. What a heap of hard names does the poor fellow call himself! But what musl; they deserve, then, who set him to work? O what has t his wicked master to answer for, to be so corrupt him- self, and to corrupt others, who would have been all in- nocent; and to carry on a poor plot, I am sure for a geu- tlemzin, to ruin a poor creature, who never did him harm, nor w/ished him any ; and who can still pray for his hap- piness, 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 jrewarded him and was bountiful to him ; and the same iay 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 VIRTUE REWARDED. 159 guilty harlot? And must he be more earnest to seduce me, because 1 dread of all things to be seduced, and would rather lose my life than my honesty 1 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 ! This 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 it* 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. 1 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 7 garden be the place; I have a key to the door; for it is my nearest way to the town. 160 PAMELA \ OR, 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 1 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 would. 1 wish, said I, you'd be so kind to fetch me a rod and baits. Pretty mistress ! said sjie 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 VIRTUE REWARDED. l6l 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 1 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 conse- * quence, (scribbled I), she would let me see her instruc- * tions, that I may know how far to blame, or to acquit * her.' Thus I fooled on, to shew her my fondness for scrib- bling ; for I had no expectation of any good from her; fjiat 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 J, what do you call honour? Why, said she, what does he call honour, think you?- Ruin! shame! disgrace! said vol. r. m ]62 PAMELA; OR, 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 coming. 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 1 said I. Mean ! said she, (turning it oft';) why 1 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 ! hut 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 this ; Virtue rewarded. 163 * REVEREND SIR, ' 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 ; 1 and yet, according to mine and every good body's, basely ' ruin me. I am so wretched, and ill-treated by this Mrs. Jewke?, ' 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 1 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 dis- tress, 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 innocence. ' 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 I can find a way to get to my poor father and mother? Cannot Lady Davers be made acquainted with 164 PAMELA; OR, 4 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 lie 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 1 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 security. ' 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, hut 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.' Thursday. j. his completes a terrible week since my setting out, as I hoped to see you, my dear father and mother. O how d hie rent were my hopes then, from what they are now ! Yet who knows what these happy tiles may produce ! VIRTUE REWARDED. 165 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 iu 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 tijes : O how uneasy I \yas ! At last she said, Well, since you take on so, you may take a turn, and I will be with you in a minute. 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. 166 PAMELA ; OR, 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 fo 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 1 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 pro- perty ? 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 some- body to help ine ; but, alas ! I had nobody ; and said, at last, rubbing my shoulder, Is this also in your instruc- tions ? 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 VIRTUE REWARDED. \67 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 had left. 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 J 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 mo 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 for- give 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 mc where I am to walk and go, and give me what liberty you 16'8 PAMELA ; OR, 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 wont 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 avoid suspicion. I forced my discourse to the maid ; but it was all upon general things ; for I rind 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 oft"; 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 VIRTUE REWARDED. 169 ray 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 my- self. You seem frightened, madam, said she ; Why, said I, with a lucky thought, (alas ! your poor dauiitcr will make an intriguer by and by ; but I hope an innocent one !) I stooped to smell at the sun-flower, 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 an- other time. I went up to my closet, locked myself in, and opening my letter, found in it these words : ' 1 AM infinitely concerned for your distress. I most ' heartily wish it may be in ray power to serve and save so ' much innocence, beauty, and merit. My whole depcnd- ' ance is upon Mr. B , and I have a near view of being provided for by his favour to me. But vet 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 1 am entirely of opinion, you should, if possible, get ' out of his hands ; and especially as you are in very bad ' ones in Mrs. Jewkes's. ' Wc have here the widow Lady Jones, mistress of a < good fortune ; and a woman of virtue, I believe. We 170 PAMELA; OR, 1 have also old Sir Simon Darnford, and Lis 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 my- * self concealed in this matter ; but will, as I said, risk all ' things to serve you ; for I never saw a sweetness and inno- * cence like yours ; and your hard case has attached me * entirely to you ; for 1 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 some- * thing that dropt from him, over a can of ale, has his in- * structions. 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, ARTHUR WILLIAMS/ ' I will come once every morning, and once every even- ' ing, after school-time, to look for your letters. I'll VIRTUE REWARDED. 171 ' 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 : REVEREND SIR, 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 faith- ' fully 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 king- 1 doni. 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 could get one made by it, 172 PAMELA; OR, ' and put it, the next opportunity, under the sun-flower ? ' 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 correspond- ' ence with my master's Bedfordshire family 1 By that * means, may be, I could be informed of his intention of * coming hither, and when. 1 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, ' Reverend Sir, ' 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 V I had but just time to transcribe this, before I was called to dinner; and I put that for Mr. Williams, with a wafer VIRTUE REWARDED. 1/3 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 sun- flower, 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 she won't. 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. 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 1 could not but fling it in again: and did you not sec 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 danger equal ! Lord bless thee! s;iid 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 174 PAMELA; OR, 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 coining 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 my- self, 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 aud 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 ! Friday, Saturday. 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 dou'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 VIRTUE REWARDED. 175 have got the key of your portmanteau ; so that you caa neither corrupt her with money, nor fine things. Never did any body look more sdly 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 sup- port 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, 1 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 to 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 kind- ness 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. 1/G fAMtLA ; 6d, 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 your- ' self, 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 an interest in ' your health, not to wish to shorten the time of this trial ; ' which will be the consequence of my coming down to ' you. John, too, has intimated to me your concern, with ' a grief that hardly gave him leave for utterance ; a grief ' that a little alarmed my tenderness for you. 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. VIRTUE REWARDED. 177 ' 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 can- ' not 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, &c/ 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 lime 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 pass- ing 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, &c. When I came in, I hied to my closet, and read as follows : vol. i. 178 PAMELA; OR, ' I AM sorry to tell you, that I have had a repulse from ' Lady J ones. She is concerned at your case, she says ; * but don't care to make herself enemies, ^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 uotice * should be taken of the matter as from me. ' I have hinted your case to Mr. Peters, the minister of ' this parish ; but 1 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 re- ' flections upon the conduct of the present fathers of the VIRTUE REWARDED. 179 ' church, in regard to the first personages of the realm, a9 ' a justification of his coldness on this score. * I represented the different circumstances of your ' affair ; that other women lived evilly by their own con- ' sent, but to serve you, was to save an innocence that had ' but few examples; and then I shewed him your letter. * He said it was prettily written ; and he was sorry for ' you ; and that your good intentions ought to be encou- ' raged : But what, said he, wotdd you have me do, Mr. ' Williams ? Why suppose, sir, said I, you give her shel- * ter 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 terms 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 180 PAMELA ; OR, * I hope he will one day thank me for it. As to money, * don't think of it at present. Be assured you may com- ' mand 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 there- ' about s ; so don't be discomforted, I beseech you. I am, * excellent Mrs. Pamela, ' Your faithful friend, &c/ 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 grate- fully 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 writ- ing 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 VIRTUE REWARDED. 181 brother,) it would have no effect upon him ; and that there- fore 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 ouc opportunities ; telling him the money trick of this vile woman, &c. 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 re- ceived from my master ; which point of confidence in her pleased her not a little. Ay, said she, now this is some- thing 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 con- tents ; 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, dis- pute 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 in- tends to make proposals to me a* to a kept mistress, or 182 PAMELA ; 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 / 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 VIRTUE REWARDED. 183 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, be- ing near, was immediate; and she followed him. What should /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 1 : It is hard I can neither stir, nor speak, but I must be sus- pected. 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 for- give 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 i. 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, in- stead 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 honour- able, in the just sense of the word, he need not have caused 184 PAMELA; OR, me to be run away with, and confined as I am. I wrote as follows : * HONOURED SIR, W hen I consider how easily you might make me happy, since all I desire is to be permitted to go to my poor fa- ther and mother ; when I reflect upon your former pro- posal 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 mi- serable 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 auother : 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 de- gree 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 VIRTUE REWARDED. 185 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 at- tended, 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. What- ever 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 fright- ened into a compliance with measures, which your con- duct 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 mv advice, and consented to my master's coming down. If it will oblige you, said I, I will 186 PAMELA; OR, read it to you. That's good, said she ; then I'll love you dearly. Said I, Theu 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 ivriting about. She wanted an explana- tion 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 un- dertook to convey it. Sunday. 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 sor- row ; 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 spin- net : 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, VIRTUE REWARDED. 187 somewhat nearer to my case. I hope I did not sin in it ; but thus I turned it : I. VV hen sad I sat in B n Hall, All guarded round about, And thought of ev'ry absent friend, The tears for grief burst out. II. My joys and hopes all overthrown, My heart-strings almost broke, Unfit my mind for melody, Much more to bear a joke. III. Then she to whom I pris'ner was, Said to me, tauntingly, Now cheer your heart, and sing a song, And tnne your mind to joy. IV. 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 ! V. But yet, if from my innocence I, ev'n in thought, should slide, Then let my fingers quite forget The sweet spinnet to guide. VI. And let my tongue within my mouth Be lock'd for ever fast, If I rejoice, before I see My full deliv'rance past. 188 PAMELA ; OR, VII. And thon, Almighty, recompense The evils I endure, From those who seek my sad disgrace, So causeless, to procure. VIII. Remember, Lord, this Mrs. Jewkes, When, with a mighty sound, She cries, Down with her chastity, Down to the very ground ! IX. 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. X. Yea, blessed shall the man be call'd That shames thee of thy evil, And saves me from thy vile attempts, And thee, too, from the D 1. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday. I write now with a little more liking, though less oppor- tunity, 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 per- mitted to take an airing, five or six miles, with Mrs. Jewkes : But, though I know not the reason, she watches me more VIRTUE REWARDED. ] 89 closely than ever ; so that we have discontinued, by con- sent, for these three days, the sun-flower correspondence. 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 made all ready for me: for he has got me the key, which he put under the mould, just by the door, as he found an opportunity to hint to me. He just now has signified, that the gentleman is dead, whose living he has had hope of; and he came pretendedly to tell Mrs. Jewkes of it; and so could speak this to her before me. She wished him joy. See what the world is ! One man's death is another man's joy. Thus we thrust out one another ! My hard case makes me serious. He found means to slide a letter into my hands, and is gone away : He looked at me with such respect and solemness nt parting, that Mrs. Jewkes said, Why, madam, I believe our young parson is half in love with you. Ah ! Mrs. Jewkes, said I, he knows better. Said she, (I believe to sound me,) Why, I can't see you can either of you do better; and I have lately been so touched for you, seeing how heavily you apprehend dishonour from my master, that I think it is pity you should not have Mr. Williams. I knew this must be a fetch of hers ; because, instead of being troubled for me, as she pretended, she watched me closer, and him too : and so I said, There is not the man living that I desire to marry. If I can but keep myself honest, it is all mv desire : And to be a comfort and 190 PAMELA; OR, assistance to my poor parents, if it should be my happy lot to be so, is the very top of my ambition. Well, but, said she, 1 have been thinking very seriously, that Mr. Williams would make you a good husband ; and as he will owe all his fortune to my master, he will be very glad, to be sure, to be obliged to him for a wife of his choosing : especially, said she, such a pretty one, and one so ingenious, and genteelly educated. This gave me a doubt, whether she knew of my master's intimation of that sort formerly; and I asked her, if she had reason to surmise that that was in view ? No, she said; it was only her own thought; but it was very likely that my master had either that in view, or something better for me. But, if I approved of it, she would propose such a thing to her master directly ; and gave a detestable hint, that I might take resolutions upon it, of bringing such an affair to effect. I told her I abhorred her vile insinuation; and as to Mr. Williams, I thought him a civil good sort of man ; but as, on one side, he was above me ; so, on the other, I said of all things I did not love a parson. So, finding she could make nothing of me, she quitted the subject. I will open his letter by and by, and give you the contents of it; for she is up and down so much, that I am afraid of her surprising me. Well, I see Providence has not abandoned me : I shall be under no necessity to make advances to Mr. Williams, if I was (as I am sure I am not) disposed to it. This is his letter : VIRTUE REWARDED. 1^1 I know not how to express myself, lest I should appear to you to have a selfish view in the service I would do you. But I really know but one effectual and honourable way to disengage yourself from the dangerous situation you are in. It is that of marriage with some person that you could make happy in your approbation. As for inv own part, it would be, as things stand, my apparent ruin; and, worse still, I should involve you in misery too. But, yet, so great is my veneration for you, and so entire my reliance on Providence, upon so just an occa- sion, that I should think myself but too happy, if I might be accepted. I would, in this case, forego all my expectations, and be your conductor to some safe dis- tance. But why do I say, in this case? That I will do, whether you think fit to reward me so eminently or not : And I will, the moment I hear of Mr. B 's setting out, (and I think now I have settled a very good method of intelligence of all his motions,) get a horse ready, and myself to conduct you. I refer myself wholly to your goodness and direction; and am, with the highest respect, ' Your most faithful humble servant.' ' Don't think this a sudden resolution. I always ad- mired your hear-say character ; and the moment I ' saw you, wished to serve so much excellence.' What shall I say, my dear father and mother, to this unexpected declaration ? I want, now, more than ever, your blessing and direction. But, after all, I have no mind to marry : I had rather live with you. But yet, I would marry a man who begs from door to door, and has no home nor being, rather than endanger my houcsty. Yet 192 Pamela ; or, I cannot, methinks, hear of being a wife. After a thousand different thoughts, I wrote as follows: ' REVEREND SIR, I am greatly confused at the contents of your last. You are much too generous, and I can't bear you should risk all your future prospects for so unworthy a creature. I cannot think of your offer without equal concern and gratitude ; for nothing, but to avoid my utter ruin, can make me think of a change of condition ; and so, sir, you ought not to accept of such an involuntary com- pliance, as mine would be, were I, upon the last neces- sity, to yield to your very generous proposal. I will rely wholly upon your goodness to me, in assisting my escape ; but shall not, on your account principally, think of the honour you propose for me, at present; and never, but at the pleasure of my parents; who, poor as they are, in such a weighty point, are as much entitled to my obedience and duty, as if they were ever so rich. I beg you, therefore, sir, not to think of any thing from me, hut everlasting gratitude, which will always bind me to be ' Your most obliged servant.' Thursday, Friday, Saturday, the 14th, 15th, and 16th, of my bondage. .Mrs. JeWkes has received a letter, and is much civiller to me, and Mr. Williams too, than she used to be. I wonder I have not one in answer to mine to my master. I VIRTUE REWARDED. 193 suppose I put the matter too home to him ; and he is angry. I am not the more pleased with her civility ; for she is horrid cunning, and is not a whit less watch- ful. I laid a trap to get at her instructions, which she carries in the bosom of her stays; but it has not suc- ceeded. My last letter is Come safe to Mr. Williams by the old conveyance, so that he is not suspected. He has intimated, that though I have not come so readily as he hoped into his scheme, yet his diligence shall not be slackened, and he will leave it to Providence and himself to dispose of him as he shall be found to deserve. He has signified to me, that he shall soon send a special messenger with the packet to you, and I have added to it what has occurred since. Sunday. I AM just now quite astonished! I hope all is right! but I have a strange turn to acquaint you with. Mr. Williams and Mrs. Jewkes came to me both together; he in ecstacies, she with a strange fluttering sort of air. Well, said she, Mrs. Pamela, I give you joy ! I give you joy ! Let nobody speak but me ! Then she sat down, as out of breath, puffing and blowing. Why, every thing turns as I said it would ! said she : Why, there is to be a match between you and Mr. Williams ! Well, I always thought it. Never was so good a master ! Go to, go to, naughty, mistrustful Mrs. Pamela; nay, Mrs. Williams, said the forward creature, I may as good call you : you ought on your knees to beg his pardon a thousand times for mistrusting him. vol. I. o 194 PAMELA ; OR, She was going on ; but I said, Don't torture me thus, I beseech you, Mrs. Jewkes. Let me know all! Ah ! Mr. Williams, said I, take care, take care ! Mistrustful again ! said she : Why, Mr. Williams, shew her your letter, and I will shew her mine : they ivere brought by the same hand. I trembled at the thoughts of what this might mean ; and said, You have so surprised me, that I cannot stand, nor hear, nor read ! Why did you come up in such a manner to attack such weak spirits 1 Said he, to Mrs. Jewkes, Shall we leave our letters with Mrs. Pamela, and let her recover from her surprise ? Ay, said she, with all my heart ; here is nothing but flaming honour and good will ! And so saying, they left me their letters and withdrew. My heart was quite sick with the surprise ; so that I could not presently read them, notwithstanding my im- patience ; but, after a while, recovering, I found the con- tents thus strange and unexpected : ' MR. WILLIAMS, The death of Mr. Fownes has now given me the oppor- tunity I have long wanted, to make you happy, and that in a double respect : For I shall soon put you in posses- sion of his living ; and, if you have the art of making yourself well received, of one of the loveliest wives in England. She has not been used (as she has reason to think) according to her merit ; but when she finds herself under the protection of a man of virtue and probity, and a happy competency to support life in the manner to VIRTUE REWARDED* IQ5 ' which she has been of late years accustomed, t am per- ' suaded she will forgive those seeming hardships which ' have paved the way to so happy a lot, as I hope it will ' be to you both. I have only to account for and excuse ' the odd conduct I have been guilty of, which I shall do * when I see you : but as I shall soon set out for London* ' I believe it will not be yet this month. Mean time, if ' you can prevail with Pamela, you need not suspend for ' that your mutual happiness ; only let me have notice of ' it first, and that she approves of it ; which ought to be, ' in so material a point, entirely at her option ; as I assure ' you, on the other hand, I would have it at yours, that ' nothing may be wanting to complete your happiness. ' I am your humble servant.' Was ever the like heard ? Lie still, my throbbing heart, divided as thou art, between thy hopes and thy fears ! But this is the letter Mrs. Jewkes left with me : ' MRS. JEWKES, x ou have been very careful and diligent in the task, which, for reasons I shall hereafter explain, I had im- posed upon you. Your trouble is now almost at an end ; for I have written my intentions to Mr. Williams so parti- cularly, that I need say the less here, because he will not scruple, 1 believe, to let you know the contents of my letter. I have only one thing to mention, that if you find what I have hinted to him in the least measure disagree- able to either, you assure them both, that they are at entire liberty to pursue their own inclinations. 1 hope ]Q6 PAMELA ; OR, * yon continue your civilities to the mistrustful, uneasy Pamela, who now will begin to think better of her* ' and ' Your friend, Arc.' I had hardly time to transcribe these letters, though, writing so much, I write pretty fast, before they both came up again in high spirits ; and Mr. Williams said, I am glad at my heart, madam, that I was beforehand in my declara- tions to you : this generous letter has made me the happiest man on earth ; and, Mrs. Jewkes, you may be sure, that if I cau procure this fair one's consent, I shall think myself I interrupted the good man, and said, Ah ! Mr. Williams, take care, take care ; don't let There I stopt ; and Mrs. Jewkes said, Still mistrustful ! I never saw the like in my life ! But I see, said she, I was not wrong, while my old orders lasted, to be wary of you both I should have had a hard task to prevent you, I find ; for, as the saying is, Nought can restrain consent of twain. I doubted not her taking hold of his joyful indiscretion. I took her letter, and said, Here, Mrs. Jewkes, is yours ; I thank you for it ; but I have been so long in a maze, that I can say nothing of this for the present. Time will bring all to light. Sir, said I, here is yours : May every thing turn to your happiness ! I give you joy of my mas- ter's goodness in the living. It will be dying, said he, not a living, without you. Forbear, sir, said I ; while I have a father and mother, I am not my own mistress, poor as they are ; and I'll see myself quite at liberty, before I shall think myself fit to make a choice. Mrs. Jewkes held up her eyes and hands, and said, Such art, such caption, such cunning, for thy ^ears! Well! VIRTUE REWARDED. 1.07 Why, said I, (that he might be more on his guard, though 1 hope there cannot he deceit in this; 'twould he strange villany, and that is a hard wore), if there should !) I have been so used to he made a fool of by fortune, that I hardly can tell how to govern myself; and am almost an infidel as to mankind. But I hope I may be wrong ; henceforth, Mrs. Jewkes, you shall regulate my opinions as you please, and I will consult you in every thing (that I think proper, said I to myself) for, to he sure, though I may forgive her, I can never love her. She left Mr. Williams and me, a few minutes, together ; and I said, Consider, sir, consider what you have done. Tis impossible, said he, there can be deceit. I hope so, said I ; but what necessity was there for you to talk of your former declaration ? Let this be as it will, that could do no good, especially before this woman. Forgive me, sir ; they talk of women's promptness of speech ; but, indeed, I see an honest heart is not always to be trusted with itself in bad company. He was going to reply, but though her task is said to be almost (I took notice of that word) at an end, she came up to us again, and said ; Well, I had a good mind to shew you the way to church to-morrow. I was glad of this, because, though in my present doubtful situation I should not have chosen it, yet I would have encouraged her proposal, to be able to judge by her being in earnest or otherwise, whether one might depend upon the rest. But Mr. Williams again indiscreetly helped her to an excuse, by saying, that it was now best to defer it one Sunday, and till matters were riper for my ajv- pcarance : and she readily took hold of it, and continued kis opinion. 198 PAMELA ; OR, After all, I hope the best: but if this should turn out to be a plot, I fear nothing but a miracle can save me. But, sure the heart of man is not capable of such black deceit. Besides, Mr. Williams has it under his own hand, and he dare not but be in earnest ; and then again, though to be sure he has been very wrong to me, yet his edu- cation, and parents' example, have neither of them taught him such very black contrivances. So I will hope for the best. Mr. Williams, Mrs. Jewkes, and I, have been all three walking together in the garden ; and she pulled out her key, and we walked a little in the pasture to look at the bull, an ugly, grim, surly creature, that hurt the poor cook-maid ; who is got pretty well again. Mr. Williams pointed at the sunflower, but I was forced to be very re- served to him ; for the poor gentleman has no guard, no caution at all. We have just supped together, all three; and I cannot yet think but all must be right. Only I am resolved not to marry, if I can help it ; and I will give no encourage- ment, I am resolved, at least, till 1 am with you. Mr. Williams said, before Mrs. Jewkes, he would send a messenger with a letter to my father and mother. I think the man has no discretion in the world : but I desire you will send no answer, till I have the pleasure and happiness which now I hope for soon, of seeing you. He will, in sending my packet, send a most tedious parcel of stuff, of my oppressions, my distresses, my fears ; and so I will send this with it ; (for Mrs. Jewkes gives me leave to send a letter to my father, which looks well ;) and I am glad I can conclude, after all my sufferings, with my hopes, to be VIRTUE REWARDED. 199 soon with you, which I know will give you comfort ; and so I rest, begging the contiuuauce of your prayers and blessings, Your ever dutiful Daughter. MY DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER, I have so much time upon my hands, (hat I must write on, to employ myself, The Sunday evening, where I left off, Mrs. Jewkes asked me, If 1 chose to lie by myself; I said, Yes, with all my heart, if she pleased. Well, said she, after to-night you shall. I asked her for more paper; and she gave me a bottle of ink, eight sheets of paper, which she said was all her store, (for now she would get me to write for her to our master, if she had occasion,) and six pens, with a piece of sealing wax. This looks mighty well. She pressed me, when she came to bed, very much, to give encouragement to Mr. Williams, and said many things in his behalf; and blamed my shyness to him. I told her, I was resolved to give no encouragement, till I had talked to my father and mother. She said, he fancied I thought of somebody else, or I could uever be so insensible. I assured her, as I could do very safely, that (here was not a man on earth I wished to have ; and as to Mr. Williams, he might do better by far ; and I had proposed so much happiness in living with my poor father and mother, that I could not think of any scheme of life with pleasure, till I had tried that. I asked her for my money ; and she said, it was above in her strong box, but that I should have it to-morrow. All these things look well, as I said. 200 PAMELA ; OR, Mr. Williams would go home this night, though late, because he would despatch a messenger to you with a letter he had proposed from himself, and my packet. But pray don't encourage him, as 1 said ; for he is much too heady and precipitate as to this matter, in my way of thinking ; though, to be sure, he is a very good man, and I am much obliged to him. Monday morning. Alas-a-day ! we have bad news from poor Mr. Wil- liams. He has had a sad mischance ; fallen among rogue* in his way home last night : but by good chance has saved my papers. This is the account he gives of it to Mrs, Jewkes. ' GOOD MRS. JEWKES, I have had a sore misfortune in going from you. When * I had got as near the town as the dam, and was going to ' cross the wooden bridge, two fellows got hold of me, and * swore bitterly they would kill me, if I did not give them * what I had. They rummaged my pockets, and took f from me my snuff-box, my seal-ring, and half a guinea, ' and some silver, and halfpence ; also my handkerchief, and two or three letters I had in my pockets. By good ' fortune, the letter Mrs. Pamela gave me was in my * bosom, and so that escaped : but they bruised my head ' and face, and cursing me for having no more money, tipped me into the dam, crying, Lie there, parson, till to-morrow ! My shins and knees were bruised much in the fall against one of the stumps ; and I had like to ' have been suffocated in water and mud. To be sure, I ' J shan't be able to stir out this day or two : for I am a VIRTUE REWARDED. 201 ' frightful spectacle ! My hat and wig I was forced to leave behind me, and go home, a mile and a half, with- * out ; but they were found next morning, and brought me, ' with my snuff-box, which the rogues must have dropped. ' My cassock is sadly torn, as is nty band. To be sure, I * was much frightened ; for a robbery in these parts lias ' not been known many years. Diligent search is making * after the rogues. My humble respects to good Mrs. ' Pamela : if she pities my misfortunes, I shall be the ' sooner well, and tit to wait on her and you. This did ' not hinder me in writing a letter, though with great pain, ' as I do this, (To be sure this good man can keep no ' secret !) and sending it away by a man and horse, this ' morning. I am, good Mrs. Jewkes, ' Your most obliged humble servant.' ' God be praised it is no worse ! And I find I have got ' no cold, though miserably wet from top to toe. My ' fright, I believe, prevented me from catching cold ; * for I was not rightly myself for some hours, and ' know not how I got home. I will write a letter of ' thanks this night, if I am able, to my kind patron, - for his inestimable goodness to me. I wish I ' was enabled to say all I hope, with regard to the ' better part of his bounty to ine, incomparable Mrs. ' Pamela.' The wicked brute fell a laughing, when she had read this letter, till her fat sides shook. Said she, I can but think how the poor parson looked, after parting with his pretty mistress in such high spirits, when he found himself at the bottom of the dam ! And what a figure he must cut in his tattered band and cassock, and without a hat and 202 PAMELA ; OR, wig, when he got home. I warrant, added she, he was in a sweet pickle ! I said, I thought it was very baibarou* to laugh at such a misfortune : but she replied, As he was safe, she laughed ; otherwise she would have been sorry : and she was glad to see me so concerned for him It looked promising, she said. I heeded not her reflections ; but as I have been used to causes for mistrusts, I cannot help saying, that I don't like this thing : And their taking his letters most alarms me. How happy it was they missed my packet ! I knew not what to think of it ! But why should I let every accident break my peace 2 Yet it will do so, while I stay here. Mrs. Jewkes is mightily at me, to go with her in the chariot, to visit Mr. Williams. She is so officious to bring on the affair between us, that, being a cunning, artful woman, I know not what to make of it : I have refused her absolutely ; urging, that except I intended to encou- rage his suit, I ought not to do it. And she is gone with- out me. I have strange temptations to get away in her absence, for all these fine appearances. 'Tis sad to have nobody to advise with ! I know not what to do. But, alas for me ! I have no money, if I should, to buy any body's civilities, or to pay for necessaries or lodgings. But I'll go into the garden, and resolve afterwards I have been in the garden, and to the back-door : and there I stood, my heart up at my mouth. I could not see 1 was watched ; so this looks well. But if any thing should go bad afterwards, I should never forgive myself, for not taking this opportunity. Well, I will go down again, and VIRTUE REWARDED. 203 see if all is clear, and how it looks out at the back-door in the pasture. To be sure, there is witchcraft in this house ; and I believe Lucifer is bribed, as well as all about me, and is got into the shape of that nasty grim bull to watch me! For I have been down again, and ventured to open the door, and went out about a bow-shot into the pasture; but there stood that horrid bull, staring me full in the face, with fiery saucer eyes, as I thought. So I got in again, for fear he should come at me. Nobody saw me, however. Do you think there are such things as witches and spirits ? If there be, I believe, in my heart, Mrs. Jewkes has got this bull of her side. But yet, what could I do without money, or a friend ? O this wicked woman ! to trick me so ! Every thing, man, woman, and beast, is in a plot against your poor Pamela, I think ! Then I know not one step of the way, nor how far to any house or cot- tage ; and whether I could gain protection, if I got to a house : And now the robbers are abroad too, I may run into as great danger as I want to escape ; nay, greater much, if these promising appearances hold : And sure my master cannot be so black as that tfiey should not ! What can I do ? I have a good mind to try for it once more ; but then I may be pursued and taken ; and it will be worse for me ; and this wicked woman will beat me, and take my shoes away, and lock me up. But, after all, if my master should mean well, he can't be angry at my fears, if I should escape ; and nobody can blame me ; and I can more easily be induced, with you, when all my apprehensions are over, to consider his pro- posal of Mr. Williams, than I could here ; and he pretends, as you have read in his letter, he will leave me to my 204 PAMELA ; OR, choice : Why then should I be afraid ? I will go down again, I think ! But yet my heart misgives me, because of the difficulties before me, in escaping ; and being so poor and so friendless ! O good God ! the preserver of the innocent ! direct me what to do ! Well, I have just now a sort of strange persuasion upon me, that I ought to try to get away, and leave the issue to Providence. So, once more I'll see, at least, if this bull be still there. Alack-a-day ! what a fate is this ! I have not the courage to go, neither can I think to stay. But I must resolve. The gardener was in sight last time ; so made me come up again. But I'll contrive to send him out of the way, if I can : For if I never should have such another opportunity, I could not forgive myself. Once more I'll venture. God direct my footsteps, and make smooth my path and my way to safety ! Well, here I am, come back again ! frightened, like a fool, out of all my purposes! O how terrible every thing appears to me ! I had got twice as far again, as I was before, out of the back-door : and I looked and saw the bull, as I thought, between me and the door ; and another bull coming towards me the other way : Well, thought I, here is double witchcraft, to be sure ! Here is the spirit of my master in one bull, and Mrs. Jewkes's in the other. And now I am gone, to be sure ! O help ! cried I, like a fool, and ran back to the door, as swift as if I flew. When I had got the door in my hand, I ventured to look back, to see if these supposed bulls were coming ; and I saw they were only two poor cows, a grazing in distant places, that my fears had made all this rout about. But VIRTUE REWARDED. 9.05 as every thing is so frightful to me, T find I am not fit to think of my escape : for I shall be as much frightened at the first strange man that I meet with: and I am per- suaded, that fear brings oue into more dangers, than the caution, that goes along with it, delivers one from. I then locked the door, and put the key in my pocket, and was in a sad quandary; but I was soon determined; for the maid Nan came in sight, and asked, if any thing was the matter, that I was so often up and down stairs I God forgive me, (but I had a sad lie at my tongue's end,) said I ; Though Mrs. Jewkes is sometimes a little hard upon me, yet I know not where I am without her: I go up, and I come down to walk about in the garden ; and, not having her, know scarcely what to do with myself. Ay, said the ideot, she is main good company, madam, no wonder you miss her. So here I am again, and here likely to be ; for I have no courage to help myself any where else. O why are poor foolish maidens tried with such dangers, when they have such weak minds to grapple with them ! I will, since it is so, hope the best : but yet I cannot but observe how grievously every thing makes against me : for here are the robbers; though I fell not into their hands myself, yet they gave me as much terror, and had as great an effect upon my fears, as if I had : And here is the bull ; it has as effectually frightened me, as if 1 had been hurt by it in- stead of the cook maid ; and so these joined together, as I may say, to make a very dastard of me. But my folly was the worst of all, because that deprived me of my money : for had I had thai, I believe I should have ven- tured both the bull and the robbers. 206 Pamela; OR, Monday afternoon. oo, Mrs. Jewkes is returned from her visit: Well, said she, I would have you set your heart at rest ; for Mr. Williams will do very well again. He is not half so bad as he fancied. O these scholars, said she, they have not the hearts of mice ! He has only a few scratches on his face ; which, said she, I suppose lie got by grappling among the gravel at the bottom of the dam, to try to find a hole in the ground, to hide himself from the robbers. His shin and his knee are hardly to be seen to ail any thing. He says in his letter, he was a frightful spectacle : He might be so, indeed, when he first came in a doors ; but he looks well enough now : and, only for a few groans now and then, when he thinks of his danger, I see nothing is the matter with him. So, Mrs. Pamela, said she, I would have you be very easy about it. I am glad of it, said I, for all your jokes, to Mrs. Jewkes. Well, said she, he talks of nothing but you ; and when I told him I would fain have persuaded you to come with me, the man was out of his wits with his gratitude to me : and so has laid open all his heart to me, and told me all that has passed, and was contriving between you two. This alarmed me prodigiously ; and the rather, as I saw, by two or three instances, that his honest heart could keep nothing, believing every one as undesigning as himself. I said, but yet with a heavy heart, Ah ! Mrs. Jewkes, Mrs. Jewkes, this might have done with me, had he had any thing that he could have told you of. But you know well enough, that had we been disposed, we had no opportunity for it, from your watchful care and circumspection. No, said she, that's very true, Mrs. Pamela ; not so much as for that declaration that he owned before me, he had VIRTUE REWARDED. 207 found opportunity, for all my watchfulness, to make you. Come, come, said she, no more of these shams with me ! You have an excellent head-piece for your years ; but may be I am as cunning as you. However, said she, all is well now ; because my watchments are now over, by my mas- ter's direction. How have you employed yourself in my absence ? I was so troubled at what might have passed between Mr. Williams and her, that I could not hide it; and she said, Well, Mrs. Pamela, since all matters are likely to be so soon and so happily ended, let me advise you to be a little less concerned at his discoveries : and make me your confidant, as he has done, and I shall think you have some favour for me, and reliance upon me ; and perhaps you might not repent it. She was so earnest, that I mistrusted she did this to pump ine ; and I knew how, now, to account for her kindness to Mr. Williams in her visit to him ; which was only to get out of him what she could. Why, Mrs. Jewkes, said I, is all this fishing about for something, where there is nothing, if there be an end of your icatch- ments, as you call them? Nothing, said she, but womanish curiosity, I'll assure you ; for one is naturally led to find out matters, where there is such privacy intended. Well, said I, pray let me know what he has said ; and then I'll give you an answer to your curiosity. I don't care, said she, whether you do or not ; for I have as much as I wanted from him; and I despair of getting out of you any thing you han't a mind I should know, my little cunning dear. Well, said I, let him have said what he would, I care not : for I am sure he can say no harm of me ; and so let us change the talk. 208 PAMELA ; OR, I was the easier, indeed, because, for all her pumps, she. pave no hints of the key and the door, &c. which, had he communicated to her, she would not have forborne giving me a touch of. And so we gave up one another, as despairing to gain our ends of each other. But I am sure he must have said more than he should. And I am the more apprehensive all is not right, because she has now been actually, these two hours, shut up a writing ; though she pretended she had given me up all her stores of papers, &c. and that I should write for her. I begin to wish I had ventured every thing and gone off, when I might. O when will this state of doubt and uneasiness end ! She has just been with me, and says she shall send a messenger to Bedfordshire ; and he shall carry a letter of thanks for me, if I will write it, for my master's favour to me. Indeed, said I, I have no thanks to give, till I am with my father and mother : and, besides, I sent a letter, as you know ; but have had no answer to it. She said, she thought that his letter to Mr, Williams was sufficient ; and the least I could do was to thank him, if but in two lines. No need of it, said I; for I don't intend to have Mr. Williams : What then is that letter to me 1 Well, said she, I see thou art quite unfathomable ! I don't like all this. O my foolish fears of bulls and robbers! For now all my uneasiness begins to double upon me. O what has this incautious man said ! That, no doubt, is the subject of her long letter* I will close this day's writing, with just saying, that she is mighty silent and reserved, to what she was ; and says nothing but No, or Yes, to what I ask. Something must be hatching, I doubt ! I the rather think so, because I find- VIRTUE REWARDED. 209 she does not keep her word with me, ahout lying hy my- self, and my money ; to both which points she returned suspicious answers, saying, as to the one, Why, you are mighty earnest for your money ; I shan't run away with it. And to the other, Good-lack ! you need not be so willing, as I know of, to part with me for a bedfellow, till you are sure of one you like better. This cut me to the heart; and, at the same time, stopped my mouth. Tuesday, Wedneday. Mr. Williams has been here ; but we have had no op- portunity to talk together: He seemed confounded at Mrs. Jewkes's change of temper, and reservedness, after her kind visit, and their freedom with one another, and much more at what I am going to tell you. He asked, If I would take a turn in the garden with Mrs. Jewkcs and him. No, said she, I can't go. Said he, May not Mrs. Pamela take a walk? No, said she; I desire she won't. Why, Mrs. Jewkes ? said he : I am afraid I have some- how disobliged you. Not at all, replied she; but I sup- pose you will soon be at liberty to walk together as much as you please : and I have sent a messenger for my last instructions, about this and more weighty matters; and when they come I shall leave you to do as you both will ; but, till then, it is no matter how little you are together. This alarmed us both ; and he seemed quite struck of a heap, and put on, as I thought, a self-accusing countenance. So 1 went behind her back, and held niy two hands toge- ther, flat, with a bit of paper, I had, between them, and looked at him : and he seemed to take me as I intended ; intimating the renewing of the correspondence by the tiles. vol. I. f 210 PAMELA; OR, I left them both together, and retired to my closet to write a letter for the tiles; but having no time for a copy, I will give you the substance only. I expostulated with him on his too great openness and easiness to fall into Mrs. Jewkes's snares ; told him my ap- prehensions of foul play ; and gave briefly the reasons which moved me : begged to know what he had said ; and intimated, that I thought there was the highest reason to resume our prospect of the escape by the back-door. I put this in the usual place in the evening ; and now wait with impatience for an answer. Thursday. I have the following answer : ' DEAREST MADAM, 1 AM utterly confounded, and must plead guilty to all your just reproaches. I wish I were master of all but half your caution and discretion ! 1 hope, after all, this is only a touch of this ill woman's temper, to shew her power and importance : For I think Mr. B neither can nor dare deceive me in so black a manner. I would expose him all the world over if he did. But it is not, cannot be in him. I have received a letter from John Arnold, in which he tells me, that his master is prepar- ing for his London journey ; and believes, afterwards, he will come into these parts : But he says, Lady Davers is at their house, and is to accompany her brother to London, or meet him there, he knows not which. He professes great zeal and affection to your service : and I find he refers to a letter he sent me before, but which is not come to my hand. I think there can be no treachery ; VIRTUE REWARDED. Qll for it is a particular friend at Gainsborough, that I have ordered him to direct to ; and this is come safe to my hands by this means ; for welf I know, I durst trust no- thing to Brett, at the post-house here. This gives me a little pain ; but I hope all will end well, and we shall soon hear, if it be necessary to pursue our former inten- tions. If it be, I will lose no time to provide a horse for you, and another for myself; for I can never do either God or myself better service, though I were to forego all my expectations for it here. I am * Your most faithful humble servant.' * I was too free indeed with Mrs. Jewkes, led to it by ' her dissimulation, and by her pretended concern to * make me happy with you. I hinted, that I would ' not have scrupled to have procured your deliver- ' ance by any means ; and that I had proposed to you, ' as the only honourable one, marriage with me. But ' I assured her, though she would hardly believe me, ' that you discouraged my application: which is too ' true ! But not a word of the back-dcor key, &c.' Mrs. Jewkes continues still sullen and ill-natured, and I am almost afraid to speak to her. She watches me as close as ever, and pretends to wonder why I shun her company as I do. I have just put under the tiles these lines inspired by my fears, which arc indeed very strong; and, 1 doubt, not without reason. 212 PAMELA ; Oil, SIR, Every thing gives me additional disturbance. The * missed letter of John Arnold's makes me suspect a plot. 1 Yet am I loath to think myself of so much importance, as ' to suppose every one in a plot against me. Are you sure, * however, the Londou journey is not to be a Lincolnshire * one ? May not John, who has been once a traitor, be so ' again ? Why need I be thus in doubt 1 If I could have ' this horse, I would turn the reins on his neck, and trust ' to Providence to guide him for my safeguard ! For I ' would not endanger you, now just upon the edge of your * preferment. Yet, sir, I fear your fatal openness will ' make you suspected as accessary, let us be ever so cau- ' tious. * Were my life in question, instead of my honesty, I 1 would not wish to involve you, or any body, in the least * difficulty, for so worthless a poor creature. But, O sir! my soul is of equal importance with the soul of a ' princess; though my quality is inferior to that of the ' meanest slave. ' Save then my innocence, good Heaven ! and preserve ' my mind spotless ; and happy shall I be to lay down my ' worthless life; and see an end to all my troubles and * anxieties ! ' Forgive my impatience : But my presaging mind bodes ' horrid mischiefs ! Every thing looks dark around me ; ' and this woman's impenetrable sullenness and silence, ' without any apparent reason, from a conduct so very con~ * trary, bid me fear the Worst. Blame me, sir, if you think ' me wrong ; and let me have your advice what to do ; ' which will oblige * Your most afflicted servant.' VIRTUE REWARDED. 213 Friday. I have this half-angry answer; but, what is more to me than all the letters in the world could be, yours, my dear father, enclosed. ' MADAM, 1 think you are too apprehensive by much ; I am sorry * for your uneasiness. You may depend upon me, and all ' I can do. But I make no doubt of the London journey, ' nor of John's contrition and fidelity. 1 have just re- ' ceived, from my Gainsborough friend, this letter, as I ' suppose, from your good father, in a cover, directed for ' me, as I had desired. I hope it contains nothing to add ' to your uneasiness. Pray, dearest madam, lay aside your ' fears, and wait a few days for the issue of Mrs. Jewkes's ' letter, and mine of thanks to Mr. B . Things, I hope, ' must be better than you expect. Providence will not ' desert such piety and innocence : and be this your coin- ' fort and reliance : Which is the best advice that can at ' present be given, by ' Your most faithful humble servant.' N. B. The father's letter was as follows : ' MY DEAREST DAUGHTER, * Our prayers are at length heard, and we are over- * whelmed with joy. O what sufferings, what trials, hast * thou gone through ! Blessed be the Divine goodness, * which has enabled thee to withstand so many tenipta * tions ! We have not yet had leisure to read through your * long accounts of all your hardships. 1 say long, because 214 PAMELA; OR, I wonder how you could find time and opportunity for them ; but otherwise they are the delight of our spare hours ; and we shall read them over and over, as long as we live, with thankfulness to God, who has given us so virtuous and so discreet a daughter. How happy is our lot in the midst of our poverty ! O let none ever think children a burden to them; when the poorest circum- stances can produce so much riches in a Pamela ! Per- sist, my dear daughter, in the same excellent course; and we shall not envy the highest estate, but defy them to produce such a daughter as ours. ' I said, we had not read through all yours in course. We were too impatient, and so turned to the end ; where we find your virtue within view of its reward, and your master's heart turned to see the folly of his ways, and the injury he had intended to our dear child : For, to be sure, my dear, he ivould have ruined you, if he could. But seeing your virtue, his heart is touched ; and he has, no doubt, been awakened by your good example. ' We don't see that you can do any way so well, as to come into the present proposal, and make Mr. Williams, the worthy Mr. Williams ! God hless him ! happy. And though we are poor, and can add no merit, no reputa- tion, no fortune, to our dear child, but rather must be a disgrace to her, as the world will think ; yet I hope I do not sin in my pride, to say, that there is no good man, of a common degree, (especially as your late lady's kind- ness gave you such good opportunities, which you have had the grace to improve,) but may think himself happy in you. But, as you say, you had rather not marry at present, far be it from us to offer violence to your incli- nation ! So much prudence as you have shewn in all your conduct, would make it very wrong in us to mistrust it in VIRTUE REWARDED. 215 ' this, or to offer to direct you in your choice. But, alas ! ' my child, what can we do for you? To partake our hard ' lot, and involve yourself into as hard a life, would not ' help us, but add to your afflictions. But it will be time ' enough to talk of these things, when we have the plea- ' sure you now put us in hope of, of seeing you with us ; ' which God grant. Amen, amen, say ' Your most indulgent parents. Amen ! ' Our humblest service and thanks to the worthy Mr. ' Williams. Again, we say, God bless him for ever ! * O what a deal we have to say to you ! God give us a ' happy meeting! We understand the 'squire is setting * out for London. He is a fine gentleman, and has * wit at will. I wish he was as good. But I hope he ' will now reform.' O what inexpressible comfort, my dear father, has your letter given me ! You ask, What can you do for me? What is it you cannot do for your child ! You can give her the advice she has so much wanted, and still wants, and will always want : You can confirm her in the paths of virtue, into which you first initiated her; and you can pray for her, with hearts so sincere and pure, that are not to be met with in palaces ! Oh ! how I long to throw myself at your feet, and receive from your own lips the blessings of such good parents! But, alas! how are my prospects again overclouded, to what they were when I closed my last pareel! More trials, more dangers, I fear, must your poor Pamela be engaged in: But through the Divine goodness. 216 PAMELA; OR, and your prayers, I hope, at last, to get well out of all my difficulties ; and the rather, as they are not the effect of my own vanity or presumption ! But I will proceed with my hopeless story. I saw Mr. Williams was a little nettled at my impatience; and so I wrote to assure him I would be as easy as I could, and wholly directed by him; especially as my father, whose respects I mentioned, had assured me my master was set- ting out for London, which he must have some-how from his own family : or he would not have written me word of it. Saturday, Sunday. jVIr. Williams has been here both these days, as usual ; but is very indifferently received still by Mrs. Jewkes ; and, to avoid suspicion, I left them together, and went up to my closet, most of the time he was here. He and she, I found by her, had a quarrel; and she seems quite out of humour with him ; but I thought it best not to say any thing : and he said, he would very little trouble the house, till he had an answer to his letter from Mr. B . And she re- turned, The less, the better. Poor man ! he has got but little by his openness, making Mrs. Jewkes his confi- dant, as she bragged, and would have had me to do like- wise. I am more and more satisfied there is mischief brewing . and shall begin to hide my papers, and be circumspect. She seems mighty impatient for an answer to her letter to my master. VIRTUE REWARDED. 217 Monday, Tuesday, the 25th and 26th days of my heavy restraint. OTILL more and more strange things to write! A messen- ger is returned, and now all is out ! O wretched, wretched Pamela ! What, at last, will become of me ! Such strange turns and trials sure never poor creature, of my vears, ex- perienced. He brought two letters, one to Mrs. Jewkes, and one to me : but, as the greatest wits may he sometimes mistaken, they being folded and sealed alike, that for me was directed to Mrs. Jewkes ; and that for her was di- rected to me. But both are stark naught, abominably bad! She brought me up that directed for me, and said, Here's a letter for you : Long-looked-for is come at last. I will ask the messenger a few questions, and then I will read mine. So she went down, and I broke it open in my closet, and found it directed To Mrs. Pamela Andrews. But when I opened it, it began, Mrs. Jewkes. I was quite con- founded ; but, thought I, this may he a lucky mistake ; I may discover something : And so I read on these horrid contents : ' MRS. JEWKES, >V hat you write me, has given me no small disturb- ' ance. This wretched fool's play-thins:, no doubt, is ' ready to leap at any thing that offers, rather than ex- * press the least sense of gratitude for all the benefits she ' has received from my family, and which I was determined * more and more to heap upon her. I reserve her for my ' future resentment ; and I charge you double your dili- ' gence in watching her, to prevent her escape. I send ' this by an honest Swiss, who attended me in my travels; ' a man I can trust; and so let him be your assistant: for 218 PAMELA; OR, ' the artful creature is enough to corrupt a nation by her * seeming innocence and simplicity ; and she may have got ' a party, perhaps, among my servants with you, as she ' has here. Even John Arnold, whom I confided in, and ' favoured more than any, lias proved an execrable villain ; * and shall meet his reward for it. * As to that college novice, Williams, I need not bid you 4 take care he sees not this painted bauble: for I have ' ordered Mr. Shorter, my attorney, to throw him instantly * into gaol, on an action of debt, for money he has had of * ine, which I had intended never to carry to account * against him ; for I know all bis rascally practices, besides * what you write me of bis perfidious intrigue with that * girl, and his acknowledged contrivances for her escape ; ' when he knew not, for certain, that I designed her any ' mischief; and when, if be had been guided by a sense of * piety, or compassion for injured innocence, as he pre- ' tends, he would have expostulated with me, as his func- ' tion, and my friendship for him, might have allowed ' him. But to enter into a vile intrigue with the amiable ' gewgaw, to favour her escape in so base a manner, (to ' say nothing of his disgraceful practices against me, in ' Sir Simon Darnford's family, of which Sir Simon himself ' has informed me,) is a conduct that, instead of preferring ' the ungrateful wretch, as I had intended, shall pull down *" upon him utter ruin. ' Monsieur Colbrand, my trusty Swiss, will obey you ' without reserve, if my other servants refuse. ' As for her denying that she encouraged his declara- ' tion, I believe it not. It is certain the speaking picture, ' with all that pretended innocence and bashfulness, would ' have run away with him. Yes, sjie would run away with * a fellow that she had been acquainted with (and that not VIRTUE REWARDED. 219 ' intimately, if you were as careful as you ought to be) ' but a few days; at a time when she had the strongest * assurances of my honour to her. * Well, I think, I now hate her perfectly ; and though I ' will do nothing to her myself, yet I can brar, for t he ' sake of my revenge, and my injured honour and .slighted ' love, to see any thing, even what she most fears, be done ' to her ; and then she may be turned loose to her evil ' destiny, and echo to the woods and groves her piteous ' lamentations for the loss of her fantastical innocence, ' which the romantic ideot makes such a work about. I 1 shall go to London, with my sister Davers; and the i moment I can disengage myself, which, perhaps, may be ' in three weeks from this time, I will be with you, and ' decide her fate, and put an end to your trouble. Mean ' time be doubly careful ; for this innocent, as I have ' warned you, is full of contrivances. I am * Your friend.' I had but just read this dreadful letter through, when Mrs. Jewkes came up in a great fright, guessing at the mistake, and that I had her letter ; and she found me with it open in my hand, just sinking away. What business, said she, had you to read my letter ? and snatched it from me. You see, said she, looking upon it, it says Mrs. Jewkes, at top : You ought, in manner.-., to have read no further. O add not, said 1, to my afflictions ! I shall be soon out of all your ways! This is too much ! too much ! I never can support this and threw myself upon the couch, in my closet, and wept most bitterly. She read it in the next room, and came in again afterwards. Why, this, said she, is a sad letter indeed: 1 am sorry for it: Q.OQ PAMELA; OR, But I feared you would carry your niceties too far ! Leave me, leave me, Mrs. Jewkes, said I, for a while : I cannot speak nor talk. Poor heart! said she; Well, I'll come up again presently, and hope to find you hetter. But here, take your own letter; I wish you well; but this is a sad mistake ! And so she put down by me that which was intended for me : But I have no spirit to read it at present. O man ! man ! hard-hearted, cruel man ! what mischiefs art thou not capable of, unrelenting perse- cutor as thou art ! I sat ruminating, when I had a little come to myself, upon the terms of this wicked letter ; and had no inclina- tion to look into my own. The bad names, fool's play- thing, artful creature, painted bauble, geivgaw, speaking picture, are hard words for your poor Pamela ! and I began to think whether I was not indeed a very naughty body, and had not done vile things: But when 1 thought of his having discovered poor John, and of Sir Simon's base officiousness, in telling him of Mr. Williams, with what he had resolved against him in revenge for his good- ness to me, I was quite dispirited ; and yet still more about that fearful Colbrand, and what he could see done to me; for then I was ready to gasp for breath, and my heart quite failed me. Then how dreadful are the words, that he will decide my fate in three weeks ! Gracious Heaven, said I, strike me dead, before that time, with a thunderbolt, or provide some way for my escaping these threatened mis- chiefs ! God forgive me, if I sinned ! At last, I took up the letter directed for Mrs. Jewkes, but designed for me ; and I find that little better than the other. These are the hard terms it contains : VI11TUE REWARDED. 221 Well have you done, perverse, forward, artful, yet ' foolish Pamela, to convince me, before it was too late, ' how ill I had done to place my affections on so unworthy * an object: I had vowed honour and love to your ' unworthiness, believing you a mirror of bashful modesty ' and unspotted innocence ; and that no perfidious designs ' lurked in so fair a bosom. But now I have found you ' out, you specious hypocrite ! and I see, that though you ' could not repose the least confidence in one you had ' known for years, and who, under my good mother's mis- 4 placed favour for you, had grown up in a maimer with ' you ; when my passion, in spite of my pride, and the ' difference of our condition, made me stoop to a mean- * ness that now I despise myself for ; yet you could enter * into an intrigue with a man you never knew till within ' these few days past, and resolve to run away with ' a stranger, whom your fair face, and insinuating arts, had ' bewitched to break through all the ties of honour and ' gratitude to me, even at a time when the happiness of his ' future life depended upon my favour. ' Henceforth, for Pamela's sake, whenever I see a lovely ' face, will I mistrust a deceitful heart : and whenever ' I hear of the greatest pretences to innocence, will I ' suspect some deep-laid mischief. You were determined ' to place no confidence in me, though I have solemnly, ' over and over, engaged my honour to you. What, ' though I had alarmed your fears in sending you one way, ' when you hoped to go another; yet, had I not, to con- ' vince you of my resolution to do justly by you, (although ' with great reluctance, such then was my love for you,) * engaged not to come near you without your own consent? ' Was uot this a voluntary demonstration of the generosity 223 PAMELA ; Oft; ' of* my intention to you? Yet how have you requited ' me ? The very first fellow that your charming face, and ' insinuating address, could influence, you have practised * upon, corrupted too, I may say, (and even ruined, as the ' ungrateful wretch shall find,) and thrown your forward * self upon him. As, therefore, you would place no ' confidence in me, my honour owes you nothing ; and, in ' a little time, you shall find how much you have erred, in ' treating, as you have done, a man who was once * Your affectionate and kind friend.' ' Mrs. Jewkes has directions concerning you : and if ' your lot is now harder than you might wish, you 1 will bear it the easier, because your own rash folly ' has brought it upon you.' Alas ! for me, what a fate is mine, to be thus thought artful, and forward, and ungrateful ; when all I intended was to preserve my innocence ; and when all the poor little shifts, which his superior wicked wit and cunning have rendered ineffectual, were forced upon me in my own necessary defence ! When Mrs. Jewkes came up to me again, she found me bathed in tears. She seemed, as I thought, to be moved to some compassion ; and finding myself now entirely in her power, and that it is not for me to provoke her, I said, It is now, I see, in vain for me to contend against my evil destiny, and the superior arts of my barbarous master. I will resign myself to the Divine will, and prepare to expect the worst. But you see how this poor Mr. Wil- liams is drawn in and undone : I am sorry I am made the cause of his ruin. Poor, poor mail ! to be thus involved, VIRTUE REWARDED. 223 and for my sake too! But if you'll believe me, said I, I gave no encouragement to what he proposed, as to mar- riage; nor would he have proposed it, I believe, but as the only honourable way he thought was left to save nie: And his principal motive to it at all, was virtue and compassion to one in distress. What other view could he have ? You know I am poor and friendless. All I beg of you is, to let the poor gentleman have notice of my master's resentment; and let him fly the country, and not be thrown into gaol. This will answer my master's end as well ; for it will as effectually hinder him from assisting me, as if he was in a prison. Ask me, said she, to do any thing that is iif my power, consistent with my duty and trust, and I will do it: for I am sorry for you both. But, to be sure, I shall keep no correspondence with him, nor let you. I offered to talk of a duly superior to that she mentioned, which would oblige her to help distressed innocence, and not permit her to go the lengths enjoined by lawless tyranny ; but she plainly bid me be silent on that head ; for it was in vain to attempt to persuade her to betray her trust : All I have to advise you, said she, is to be easy; lay aside all your contrivances and arts to get away, and make me your friend, by giving me no reason to suspect you; for I glory in my fidelity to my master : And you have both practised some strange sly arts, to make such a progress as he has owned there was between you, so seldom as I thought you saw one another; and I must be more circumspect than I have been. This doubled my concern ; for I now apprehended I should be much closer watched than before. Well, said F, since I have, by this strange accident, dis- covert d niv hard destiny ; let me read over again that Q<24 PAMELA ; OR, fearful letter of yours, that I may get it byheart, and with it feed my distress, and make calamity familiar to me. Then, said she, let me read yours again. 1 gave her mine, and she lent me hers ; and so I took a copy of it, with her leave; because, as I said I would, by it, prepare myself for the worst. And when I had done, I pinned it on the head of the couch : This, said I, is the use I shall make of this wretched copy of your letter; and here you shall always find it wet with my tears. She said she would go down to order supper; and insisted upon my company to it. I would have excused myself; but she began to put on a commanding air, that I durst not oppose. And when I went down, she took me by the hand, and presented me to the most hideous monster I ever saw in my life. Here, Monsieur Colbrand, said she, here is your pretty ward and mine; let us try to make her time with us easy. He bowed, and put on his foreign grimaces, and seemed to bless himself; and, in broken English, told me, I was happy in de affections of de finest gentleman in de varld! I was quite frightened, and ready to drop down ; and I will describe him to you, my dear father and mother, if now you will ever see this : and you shall judge if I had not reason, especially not knowing he was to be there, and being apprised, as 1 was, of his hated employment, to watch me closer. He is a giant of a man for stature ; taller by a good deal than Harry Mowlidge, in your neighbourhood, and large boned, and scraggy ; and has a hand ! I never saw such an one in my life. He has great staring eyes, like the bull's that frightened me so ; vast jaw-bones sticking out : eyebrows hanging over his eyes; two great scars upon his forehead, and one on his left check ; and two large whiskers, and a monstrous wide mouth; blubber lips; VIRTUE REWARDED. 225 long yellow teeth, and a hideous grin. He wears his own frightful long hair, tied up in a great black bag ; a black crape neckcloth about a long ugly neck ; and his throat sticking out like a wen. As to the rest, he was dressed well enough, and had a sword on, with a nasty red knot to it ; leather garters, buckled below his knees; and a foot near as long as my arm, I verily think. He said, he fright de lady ; and offered to withdraw ; but she bid him not ; and I told Mrs. Jewkes, That as she knew I had been crying, she should not have called me to the gentleman without letting me know he was there. I soon went up to my closet ; for my heart ached all the time I was at table, not being able to look upon him with- out horror ; and this brute of a woman, though she saw my distress, before this addition to it, no doubt did it on purpose to strike more terror into me. And indeed it had its effect; for when I went to bed, I could think of nothing but his hideous person, and my master's more hideous ac- tions : and thought them too well paired ; and when I dropt asleep, I dreamed they were both coming to my bed- side, with the worst designs; and I jumped out of my bed in my sleep, and frightened Mrs. Jewkes ; till, waking with the terror, I told her my dream ; and the wicked creature only laughed, and said, All I feared was but a dream, as well as that ; and when it was over, and I was well awake, I should laugh at it as such ! And now I am come to the close of Wednesday, the 27th day of my distress. 1 oor Mr. Williams is actually arrested, and carried away to Stamford. So there is an end of all my hopes from him, poor gentleman ! His over-security and openness have vol. r. 9 h>G PAMELA ; OR, ruined us bolh ! 1 was but too well convinced, that we ought not to have lost a moment's time ; but he was Ira If angry, and thought me too impatient; and then his fatal confessions, and the detestable artifice of my master ! But one might well think, that he who had so cunningly, and so wickedly, contrived all his stratagems hitherto, that it was impossible to avoid them, would stick at nothing to complete them. I fear I shall soon find it so ! But one stratagem I have just invented, though a very discouraging one to think of; because I have neither friends nor money, nor know one step of the way, if I was out of the house. But let bulls, and bears, and lions, and tigers, and, what is worse, false, treacherous, deceitful men, stand in my way, I cannot be in more danger than I am ; and I depend nothing upon his three weeks : for how do I know, now he is in such a passion, and has already begun his vengeance on poor Mr. Williams, that he will not change his mind, and come down to Lincolnshire before he goes to London 1 My stratagem is this : I will endeavour to get Mrs. Jewkes to go to bed without me, as she often does, while I sit locked up in my closet ; and as she sleeps very sound in her first sleep, of which she never fails to give notice by. snoring, if I can but then get out between the two bars of the window, (for you know I am very slender, and I find I can get my head through,) then I can drop upon the leads underneath, which are little more than my height, and which leads are over a little summer-parlour, that juts out towards the garden ; and as I am light, I can easily drop from them ; for they are not high from the ground : then I shall be in the garden; and then, as I have the key of the back-door, I will get out. But I have another piece of cunning still : Good Heaven, succeed to me my dangerous, VIRTUE REWARDED. 227 but innocent devices ! I have read of a great captain, who, being in danger, leaped over-board into the sea, and his enemies, as he swam, shooting at him with bows and arrows, he unloosed his upper garment, and took another course, while they stuck that full of their darts and arrows ; and so he escaped, and lived to triumph over them all. So what will I do, but strip oft* my upper petti- coat, and throw it into the pond, with my neckhandker- chief ! For to be sure, when they miss me, they will go to the pond first, thinking I have drowned myself: and so, when they see some of my clothes floating there, they will be all employed in dragging the pond, which is a very large one; and as I shall not, perhaps, be missed till the morn- ing, this will give me opportunity to get a great way off; and I am sure I will run for it when I am out. And so I trust, that Providence will direct my steps to some good place of safety, and make some worthy body my friend ; for sure, if I suffer ever so, I cannot be in more danger, nor in worse hands, than where I am ; and with such avowed bad designs. O my dear parents ! don't be frightened when you come to read this ! But all will be over before you can see it ; and so God direct me for the best ! My writings, for fear I should not escape, I will bury in the garden ; for, to be sure, I shall be searched and used dreadfully, if I can't get off. And so I will close here, for the present, to prepare for my plot. Prosper thou, O gracious Protector of op- pressed innocence! this last effort of thy poor handmaid ! that I may escape the crafty devices and snares thai have begun to entangle my virtue; and from which, but by this one trial, I see no way of escaping. And oh! whatever becomes of me, bless my dear parents, and protect poor 228 PAMELA ; OR, Mr. Williams from ruin ! for he was happy before he knew me. Just now, just now ! I heard Mrs. Jewkes, who is in her cups, own to the horrid Colhrand, that the robbing of poor Mr. Williams was a contrivance of hers, and executed by the groom and a helper, in order to seize my letters upon him, which they missed. They are now both laugh* ing at the dismal story, which they little think I overheard O how my heart aches ! for what are not such wretches capable of! Can you blame me for endeavouring, through any danger, to get out of such clutches ? Past eleven o'clock. JYlRs. Jewkes is come up, and gone to bed; and bids me not stay long in my closet, but come to bed. O for a dead sleep for the treacherous brute ! I never saw her so tipsy, and that gives me hopes. I have tried again, and rind I can get my head through the iron bars. I am now all prepared, as soon as I hear her fast ; and now I'll seal up these, and my other papers, my last work : and to thy providence, O my gracious God ! commit the rest. Once more, God bless you both ! and send us a happy meeting ; if not here, in his heavenly kingdom. Amen. Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, the 28th, 29th, 30th, and 31st days of my distress. And distress indeed ! For here I am still ; and every thing has been worse and worse ! Oh ! the poor unhappy Pamela! Without any hope left, and ruined in all my VIRTUE REWARDED. . 229 contrivances. But, oh ! my dear parents, rejoice with me, even in this low plunge of my distress ; for your poor Pamela has escaped from an enemy worse than any she ever met with ; an enemy she never thought of before, and was hardly able to stand against: I mean, the weakness and presumption, both in one, of her own mind ; which had well nigh, bad not the divine grace interposed, sunk her into the lowest, last abyss of misery and perdition! I will proceed, as I have opportunity, with my sad rela- tion : for my pen and ink (in my now doubly-secured closet) are all I have to employ myself with : and indeed 1 have been so weak, that, till yesterday evening, 1 have not been able to hold a pen. I took with me but one shift, besides what I had on, and two handkerchiefs, and two caps, which my pocket held, (for it was not for me to encumber myself,) and all my stock of money, which was but five or six shillings, to set out for I knew not where; and got out of the win- dow, not without some difficulty, sticking a little at my shoulders and hips ; but I was resolved to get out, if pos- sible. And it was farther from the leads than I thought, and I was afraid I had sprained my ancle ; and when 1 had dropt from the leads to the ground, it was still farther off; but I did pretty well there, at least. I got no hurt to hinder me from pursuing my intentions. So being now on the ground, I hid my papers under a rose-bush, and covered them with mould, and there they still lie, as I hope. Then I hied away to the pond : The clock struck twelve, just as I got out; and it was a dark misty night, and very cold ; but I felt it not then. When I came to the pond side, l^flung in iny upper-coat, as I had designed, and my neckhandkerchief, and a lound- l 23Q PAMELA ; OR, eared cap, with a knot ; and then with great speed ran to the door, and took the key out of my pocket, my poor heart beating all the time against my bosom, as if it would have forced its way through it : and beat it well might ! for I then, too late, found, that I was most miserably dis- appointed ; for the wicked woman had taken off that lock, and put another on ; so that my key would not open it. I tried, and tried, and feeling about, I found a padlock besides, on another part of the door. O then how my heart sunk ! I dropt down with grief and confusion, un- able to stir or support myself, for a while. But my fears awakening my resolution, and knowing that my attempt would be as terrible for me as any other danger I could then encounter, I clambered up upon the ledges of the door, and upon the lock, which was a great wooden one ; and reached the top of the door with my hands ; then, little thinking I could climb so well, I made shift to lay hold on the top of the wall with my hands ; but, alas for me ! nothing but ill luck ! no escape for poor Pamela ! The wall being old, the bricks I held by gave way, just as I was taking a spring to get up ; and down came I, and received such a blow upon my head, with one of the bricks, that it quite stunned me ; and I broke my shins and my ancle besides, and beat off the heel of one of my shoes. In this dreadful way, flat upon the ground, lay poor I, for I believe five or six minutes ; and then trying to get up, I sunk down again two or three times ; and iny left hip and shoulder were very stiff, and full of pain, with bruises; and, besides, my head bled, and ached griev- ously with the blow I had with the brick. Yet these hurts I valued not ; but crept a good way upon my feet VIRTUE REWARDED. &3 T and hands, in search of a ladder, 1 just recollected to have seen against the wall two days before, on which the gar- dener was nailing a nectarine branch that was loosened from the wall : but no ladder could I find, and the wall was very high. What now, thought I, must become of the miserable Pamela ! Then I beguu to wish myself most heartily again in my closet, and to repent of my attempt, which I now censured as rash, because it did not suc- ceed. God forgive me ! but a sad thought came just then into my head ! I tremble to think of it ! Indeed my appre- hensions of the usage I should meet with, had like to have made me miserable for ever ! O my dear, dear parents, forgive your poor child ; but being then quite desperate, I crept along, till I could raise myself on my staggering feet ; and away limped I i What to do, but to throw my- self into the pond, and so put a period to all my griefs in this world ! But, O ! to find them infinitely aggravated (had I not, by the divine grace, been withheld) in a miserable eternity ! As I have escaped this temptation, (blessed be God for it !) I will tell you my conflicts on this dreadful occasion, that the divine mercies may be magnified in my deliverance, that I am yet on this side the dreadful gulf, from which there could have been no return. It was well for me, as I have since thought, that I was so maimed, as made me the longer before I got to the water ; for this gave me time to consider, and abated the impetu- ousness of my passions, which possibly might otherwise have hurried me, in my first transport of grief, (on my seeing no way to escape, and the hard usage I had reason to expect from my dreadful keepers, ) to throw myself in. But my weakness of body made me move so slowly, that 232 PAMELA ; OR, it gave time, as I said, for a little reflection, a ray of grace, to dart in upon my benighted mind ; and so, when I came to the pond-side, I sat myself down on the sloping bank, and began to ponder my wretched condition ; and thus I reasoned with myself. Pause here a little, Pamela, on what thou art about, before thou takest the dreadful leap ; and consider whether there be no way yet left, no hope, if not to escape from this wicked house, yet from the mischiefs threatened thee in it. I then considered ; and, after I had cast about in my mind every thing that could make me hope, and saw no probability ; a wicked woman, devoid of all compassion ! a horrid helper, just arrived, in this dreadful Colbrand } an angry and reseuting master, who now hated me, and threatened the most afflicting evils ! and that I should, in all probability, be deprived even of the opportunity I now had before me, to free myself from all their persecutions ! What hast thou to do, distressed creature, said I to myself, but throw thyself upon a merciful God, (who knows how innocently I suffer,) to avoid the merciless wickedness of those who are determined on my ruin 1 And then, thought I, (and oh ! that thought was surely of the devil's instigation ; for it was very soothing, and powerful with me,) these wicked wretches, who now have no remorse, no pity on me, will then be moved to lament their misdoings ; and when they see the dead corpse of the unhappy Pamela dragged out to these dewy banks, and lying breathless at their feet, they will find that remorse to soften their obdurate heart, which, now, has no place there ! Aud my master, my angry master, will then forget his resentments, and say, O, this is the unhappy Pamela ! that I have so causelessly persecuted and destroyed ! Now VIRTUE REWARDED. 233 do I see she preferred her honesty to her life, will he say, and is no hypocrite, nor deceiver ; but really was the inno- cent creature she pretended to be ! Then, thought I, will he, perhaps, shed a few tears over the poor corpse of his persecuted servant ; and though he may give out, it was love and disappointment ; and that, perhaps, (in order to hide his own guilt,) for the unfortunate Mr. Williams, yet will he be inwardly grieved, and order me a decent funeral, and save me, or rather this part of me, from the dreadful stake, and the highway interment ; and the young men and maidens all around my dear father's will pity poor Pamela ! But, O ! I hope I shall not be the subject of their ballads and elegies ; but that my memory, for the sake of my dear father and mother, may quickly slide into oblivion. I was once rising, so indulgent was I to this sad way of thinking, to throw myself in : But, again, my bruises made me slow ; and I thought, What art thou about to do, wretched Pamela ? How knowest thou, though the pro- spect be all dark to thy short-sighted eye, what God may do for thee, even when all human means fail ] God Al- mighty would not lay me under these sore afflictions, if he had not given me strength to grapple with them, if I will exert it as I ought : And who knows, but that the very presence I so much dread of my angry and designing master, (for he has had me in his power before, and yet I have escaped,) may be better for me, than these persecuting emissaries of his, who, for his money, are true to their wicked trust, and are hardened by that, and a long habit of wickedness, against compunction of heart ? God can touch his heart in an instant ; and if this should not be done, I can then but put an end to my life by some other means, if I am so resolved. S234 PAMELA ; OR, But how do I know, thought I, that even these bruises and maims that I have gotten, while I pursued only the laudable escape I had meditated, may not kindly have furnished me with the opportunity I am now tempted with to precipitate myself, and of surrendering up my life, spotless and unguilty, to that merciful Being who gave it ! Then, thought I, who gave thee, presumptuous as thou art, a power over thy life? Who authorised thee to put an end to it, when the weakness of thy mind suggests not to thee a way to preserve it with honour ? How knowest thou what purposes God may have to serve, hy the trials with which thou art now exercised ? Art thou to put a bound* to the divine will, and to say, Thus much will I bear, and no more ? And wilt thou dare to say, That if the trial l)e augmented and continued, thou wilt sooner die than bear it ? This act of despondency, thought I, is a sin, that, if I pursue it, admits of no repentance, and can therefore hope no forgiveness. And wilt thou, to shorten thy transitory griefs, heavy as they are, and weak as thou fanciest thyself, plunge both body and soul into everlasting misery ! Hitherto, Pamela, thought I, thou art the innocent, the suffering Pamela ; and wilt thou, to avoid thy sufferings, be the guilty aggressor 1 And, because wicked men perse- cute thee, wilt thou fly in the face of the Almighty, aud distrust his grace and goodness, who can still turn all these sufferings to benefits ? And how do I know, but that God, who sees all the lurking vileness of my heart, may have permitted these sufferings on that very score, and to make me rely solely on his grace and assistance, who, perhaps, have too much prided myself in a vain dependence on my own foolish contrivances ? VIRTUE REWARDED. Q35 Then, again, thought I, wilt thou suffer in one moment all the good lessons of thy poor honest parents, and the benefit of their example, (who have persisted in doing their duty with resignation to the divine will} amidst the ex- treme degrees of disappointment, poverty, and distress, and the persecutions of an ungrateful world, and merciless creditors,) to be thrown away upon thee ; and bring down, as in all probability this thy rashness will, their grey hairs with sorrow to the grave, when they shall understand, that their beloved daughter, slighting the tenders of divine grace, despairing of the mercies of a protecting God, has blemished, in this last act, a whole life, which they had hitherto approved and delighted in ? What then, presumptuous Pamela, dost thou here ? thought I : Quit with speed these perilous banks, and fly from these curling waters, that seem, in their meaning murmurs, this still night, to reproach thy rashness ! Tempt not God's goodness on the mossy banks, that have been witnesses of thy guilty purpose ; and while thou hast power left thee, avoid the tempting evil, lest thy grand enemy, now repulsed by divine grace, and due reflection, return to the assault with a force that thy weakness may not be able to resist ! and let one rash moment destroy all the convictions, which now have awed thy rebellious mind into duty and resignation to the divine will ! And so saying, I arose ; but was so stiff with my hurts, so cold with the moist dew of the n.ght, and the wet grass on which I had sat, as also witli die damps arising from so large a piece of water, that with great pain L got from this pond, which now I think of with tenor; and bending my limping steps towards the house, took refuge in the corner of an out-house, where wood and coals are laid up for 236 PAMELA ; OR, family use, tfll I should be found by my cruel keepers, and consigued to a more wretched confinement, and worse usage than I had hitherto experienced ; and there behind a pile of fire-wood I crept, and lay down, as you may imagine, with a mind just broken, and a heart sensible to nothing but the extremest woe and dejection. This, my dear father and mother, is the issue of your poor Pamela's fruitless enterprise; and who knows, if I had got out at the back-door, whether I had been at all in a better case, moneyless, friendless, as I am, and in a strange place ! But blame not your poor daughter too much : Nay, if ever you see this miserable scribble, all bathed and blotted with my tears, let your pity get the better of your reprehension ! But I know it will. And I must leave off for the present. For, oh ! my strength and my will are at this time very far unequal to one another. But yet I will add, that though I should have praised God for my deliverance, had I been freed from my wicked keepers, and my designing master ; yet I have more abundant reason to praise him, that I have been delivered from a worse enemy, myself! I will conclude my sad relation. It seems Mrs. Jewkes awaked not till day-break ; and not finding me in bed, she called me; and, no answer being returned, she relates, that she got out of bed, and ran to my closet ; and, missing me, searched under the bed, and in another closet, finding the chamber-door as she had left it, quite fast, and the key, as usual, about her wrist. For if I could have got out of the chamber-door, there were two or three passages, and doors to them all, VIRTUE REWARDED. 237 double-locked and barred, to go through into the great garden ; so that, to escape, there was no way, but out of the window ; and of that window, because of the summer- ; parlour under it: for the other windows are a great way from the ground. She says she was excessively frightened ; and instantly raised the Swiss, and the two maids, who lay not far off; and finding every door fast, she said, I must be carried away, as St. Peter was out of prison, by some angel. It is a wonder she had not a worse thought ! She says, she wept, and wrung her hands, and took on sadly, running about like a mad woman, little thinking I could have got out of the closet window, between the iron bars ; and, indeed, I don't know whether I could do so again. But at last finding that casement open, they concluded it must be so ; and ran out into the garden, and found my footsteps in the mould of the bed which I dropt down upon from the leads : And so speeded away all of them ; that is to say, Mrs. Jewkes, Colbrand, and Nan, towards the back-door, to see if that was fast; while the cook was sent to the out-offices to raise the men, and make them get horses ready, to take each a several way to pursue me. But, it seems, finding that door double-locked and pad- locked, and the heel of my shoe, and the broken bricks, they verily concluded I was got away by some means over the wall ; and then, they say, Mrs. Jewkes seemed like a distracted woman : Till, at last, Nan had the thought to go towards the pond : and there seeing my coat, and cap, and handkerchief, in the water, cast almost to the banks by the agitation of the waves, she thought it was me ; and, screaming out, ran to Mrs. Jewkes, and said, O, madam, 238 PAMELA; OR, madam! here's a piteous thing ! Mrs. Pamela lies drowned in the pond. Thither they all ran; and finding my clothes, doubted not I was at the bottom ; and they all, Swiss among the rest, beat their breasts, and made most dismal lamentations ; and Mrs. Jewkes sent Nan to the men, to bid them get the drag-net ready, and leave the horses, and come to try to find the poor innocent ! as she, it seems, then called me, beating her breast, and lamenting my hard hap ; but most what would become of them, and what account they should give to my master. While every one was thus differently employed, some weeping and wailing, some running here and there, Nan came into the wood-house ; and there lay poor I ; so weak, so low, and dejected, and withal so stiff with my bruises, that I could not stir, nor help myself to get upon my feet. And I said, with a low voice, (for I could hardly speak,) Mrs. Ann! Mrs. Ann! The creature was sadly frightened, but was taking up a billet to knock me on the head, believing I was some thief, as she said ; but I cried out, O Mrs. Ann, Mrs. Ann, help me, for pity's sake, to Mrs. Jewkes ! for I cannot get up ! Bless me, said she, what ! you, madam ! Why, our hearts are almost broken, and we were going to drag the pond for you, believing you had drowned yourself. Now, said she, you'll make us all alive again ! And, without helping me, she ran away to the pond, and brought all the crew to the wood-house. The wicked woman, as she entered, said, Where is she? Plague of her spells, and her witchcrafts ! She shall dearly repent of this trick, if my name be Jewkes ; and, coming to me, took hold of my arm so roughly, and gave me such a pull, as made me squeal out, (my shoulder being bruised on that VIRTUE REWARDED. 239 side,) and drew me on my face. O cruel creature ! said I, if you knew what I have suffered, it would move you to pity me ! Even Coibrand seemed to he concerned, and said, Fie, madam, fie ! you see she is almost dead ! You must not be so rough with her. The coachman Robin seemed to be sorry for me too, and said, with sobs, What a scene is here ! Don't you see she is all bloody in her head, and cannot stir? Curse of her contrivances! said the horrid creature ; she has frightened me out of my wits, I'm sure. How the d 1 came you here? Oh! said I, ask me now no questions, but let the maids carry me up to my prison ; and there let me die decently, and in peace ! For, indeed, I thought I could not live two hours. The still more inhuman tigress said, I suppose you want Mr. Williams to pray by you, don't you ? Well, I'll send for my master this minute : let him come and watch you himself, for me ; for there's no such thing as holding you, I'm. sure. So the maids took me up between them, and carried me to my chamber; and when the wretch saw how bad I was, she began a little to relent while every one wondered (at which I had neither strength nor inclination to tell them) how all this came to pass, which they imputed to sorcery and witchcraft. I was so weak, when I had got up stairs, that I fainted away, with dejection, pain, and fatigue; and they un- dressed me, and got me to bed; and Mrs. Jcwkes ordered Nan to bathe my shoulder, and arm, and ancle, with some old rum warmed ; and they cut the hair a little from the back part of my head, and washed that; for it was clotted with blood, from a pretty long, but not a deep gash; and put a family plaistcr upon it ; for, if this woman has any 240 PAMELA ; OR, good quality, it is, it seems, in a readiness and skill to manage in cases, where sudden misfortunes happen in a family. After this, I fell into a pretty sound and refreshing sleep, and lay till twelve o'clock, tolerably easy, consider- ing I was very feverish, and aguishly inclined; and she took a deal of care to fit me to undergo more trials, which I had hoped would have been happily ended : but Provi- dence did not see fit. She would make ine rise about twelve: but I was so weak, I could only sit up till the bed was made, and went into it again; and was, as they said, delirious some part of the afternoon. But having a tolerable night on Thursday, I was a good deal better on Friday, and on Saturday got up, and ate a little spoon-meat, and my feverishness seemed to be gone ; and I was so mended by evening, that I begged her indulgence in my closet, to be left to myself; which she consented to, it being double-barred the day before, and I assuring her, that all my contrivances, as she called them, were at an end. But first she made me tell the whole story of my enterprise ; which I did very faith- fully, knowing now that nothing could stand me in any stead, or contribute to my safety and escape: And she seemed full of wonder at my resolution; but told me frankly, that I should have found it a hard matter to get quite off; for that she was provided with a warrant from my master (who is a justice of peace in this county as well as in the other) to get me apprehended, if I had got away, on suspicion of wronging him, let me have been where T would. O how deep-laid are the mischiefs designed to fall on my devoted head ! Surely, surely, I cannot be worthy of all this contrivance ! This too well shews me the truth of VIRTUE REWARDED. 241 what was hinted to me formerly at the other house, that my master swore he would have me ! O preserve me, Heaven ! from being his, in his own wicked sense of the adjuration ! I must add, that now the woman sees me pick up so fast, she uses me worse, and has abridged me of paper, all but one sheet, which I am to shew her, written or un- written, on demand: and has reduced me to one pen: yet my hidden stores stand me in stead. But she is more and more snappish and cross ; and tauntingly calls me Mrs. Williams, and any thing she thiuks will vex me. Sunday afternoon. jVIrs. Jewkes has thought fit to give me an airing, for three or four hours, this afternoon ; and I am a good deal better : and should be much more so, if I knew for what I am reserved. But health is a blessing hardly to be coveted in my circumstances, since that but exposes me to the calamity I am in continual apprehensions of; whereas a weak and sickly state might possibly move compassion for me. O how I dread the coming of this angry and incensed master; though I am sure I have done him no harm ! Just now we heard, that he had like to have been drowned in crossing the stream, a few days ago, in pursuing his game. What is the matter, that with all his ill usage of me, I cannot hate him ? To be sure, I am not like other people ! He has certainly done enough to make me hate him; but yet, when I heard his danger, which was very great, I could not in my heart forbear rejoicing for his safety ; though his death would have ended my afflictions. VOL. I. R 5242 PAMELA J OR, Ungenerous master ! if you knew this, you surely would not be so much my persecutor! But, for my late good lady's sake, I must wish him well ; and O what an angel would he be in my eyes yet, if he would cease his attempts, and reform ! Well, I hear by Mrs. Jewkes, that John Arnold is turned away, being detected in writing to Mr. Williams ; and that Mr. Longman, and Mr. Jonathan the butler, have incurred his displeasure, for offering to speak in my behalf. Mrs. Jervis too is in danger ; for all these three, probably, went together to beg in my favour ; for now it is known where I am. Mrs. Jewkes has, with the news about my master, received a letter ; but she says the contents are too bad for me to know. They must be bad indeed, if they be worse than what I have already known. Just now the horrid creature tells me, as a secret, that she has reason to think he has found out a way to satisfy my scruples: It is, by marrying ine to this dreadful Colbrand, and buying me of him on the wedding day, for a sum of money ! Was ever the like heard? She says it will be my duty to obey my husband ; and that Mr. Williams will be forced, as a punishment, to marry us; and that, when my master has paid for me, and I am sur- rendered up, the Swiss is to go home again, with the money, to his former wife and children ; for, she says, it is the custom of those people to have a wife in every nation. But this, to be sure, is horrid romancing ! Yet, abo- minable as it is, it may possibly serve to introduce some plot now hatching! With what strange perplexities is my poor mind agitated ! Perchance, some sham-mar- jiage may be. designed, on purpose to ruin me: But VIRTUE REWARDED. 243 can a husband sell his wife against her own consent ? And will such a bargain stand good in law 1 Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, the 3<2d, 33d, and 34th days of my imprisonment. rS othiNg offers these days but squabblings between Mrs. Jewkes and me. She grows worse and worse to me. I vexed her yesterday* because she talked nastily ; and told her she talked more like a vile London prostitute, than a gentleman's housekeeper; and she thinks she cannot use me bad enough for it. Bless me ! she curses and storms at me like a trooper, and can hardly keep her hands off me. You may believe she must talk sadly, to make me say such harsh words : indeed it cannot be repeated ; as she is a disgrace to her sex. And then she ridicules me, and laughs at my not ions of honesty ; and tells me, impu- dent creature as she is ! what a nne Ded-fellow I shall make for my master (and such-like), with such whimsical notions about me ! Do you think this is to be borne? And yet she talks worse than this, if possible ! quite filthily ! O what *ile hands am I put into ! Thursday. I HAVE now all the reason that can be, to apprehend my master will be here soon ; for the servants are busy in set- ting the house to rights ; and a stable and coach-house are cleaning out, that have not been used some time. I asked Mrs. Jewkes ; but she tells me nothing, nor will hardly answer me when I ask her a question. Sometimes I think she puts on these strange wicked airs to me, purposely to 244 PAMELA ; OR, make me wish for, what I dread most of all things, my master's coming down. He talk of love ! If he had any the least notion of regard for me, to be sure he would not give this naughty body such power over me : And if he does come, where is his promise of not seeing me without I consent to it 1 But, it seems, his honour owes me nothing ! So he tells me in his letter. And why 1 Because I am wil- ling to keep mine. But, indeed, he says, he hates me per- fectly : But it is plain he does, or I should not be left to the mercy of this woman : and, what is worse, to my woful apprehensions. Friday, the 36th day of my imprisonment. I took the liberty yesterday afternoon, finding the gates open, to walk out before the house ; and, ere I was aware, had got to the bottom of the long row of elms; and there I sat myself down upon the steps of a sort of broad stile, which leads into the road, and goes towards the town. And as I sat musing upon what always busies my mind, I saw a whole body of folks running towards me from the house, men and women, as in a fright. At first I won- dered what was the matter, till they came nearer ; and I found they were all alarmed, thinking I had attempted to get off. There was first the horrible Colbrand, running with his long legs, well nigh two yards at a stride ; then there was one of the grooms, poor Mr. Williams's robber ; then 1 spied Nan, half out of breath, and the cook-maid after her ! and lastly, came waddling, as fast as she could, Mrs. Jewkes, exclaiming most bitterly, as I found, against me. Colbrand said, O how have you frighted us all ! And went behind me, lest I should run away, as I sup- pose. VIRTUE REWARDED. 245 I sat still, to let them see I had no view to get away ; for, besides the improbability of succeeding, my last sad attempt has cured me of enterprising again. And when Mrs. Jewkes came within hearing, I found her terribly in- censed, and raving about my contrivances. Why, said I, should you be so concerned 1 Here I have sat a few mi- nutes, and had not the least thought of getting away, or going farther; but to return as soon as it was duskish. She would not believe me ; and the barbarous creature struck at me with her horrid fist, and, I believe, would have fel- led me, had not Colbrand interposed, and said, He saw me sitting still, looking about me, and not seeming to have the least inclination to stir. But this would not serve : She ordered the two maids to take me each by an arm, and lead me back into the house, and up stairs ; and there have I been locked up ever since, without shoes. In vain have I pleaded, that I had no design, as indeed I had not the least ; and last night I was forced to lie between her and Nan ; and I find she is resolved to make a handle of this against me, and in her own behalf. Indeed, what with her usage, and my own apprehensions of still worse, I am quite weary of my life. Just now she has been with me, and given me my shoes, Jfe and has laid her imperious commands upon me, to dress myself in a suit of clothes out of the portmanteau, which I have not seen lately, against three or four o'clock ; for she says, she is to have a visit from Lad^JJawrftmr^ two daughters, who come purposely to see me ; and so she gave me the key of the portmanteau. But I will not obey her; and I told her, I would not be made a show of, nor see the ladies. She left me, saying, it would be worse for me, if I did not. But how can that be? 246 PAMELA ; Oft, Five o'clock is come, And no young ladies! So that I fancy But hold! I hear their coach, I believe. I'll step to the window. I won't go down to them, I am resolved Good sirs ! good sirs ! What will become of me ! Here is my master come in his fine chariot ! Indeed he is ! What shall I do 1 Where shall I hide myself ?0 ! What shall I do 1 Pray for me ! But oh ! you'll not see this ! Now, good God of heaven, preserve me ; if it be thy bles- sed will! Seven o'clock, I hough I dread to see him, yet do I wonder I have riot. To be sure something is resolved against me, and he stays to hear all her stories. I can hardly write ; yet, as I can do nothing else, I know not how to forbear ! Yet I cannot hold my pen How crooked and trembling the lines ! I must leave off, till I can get quieter fingers ! Why should the guiltless tremble so, when the guilty can possess their minds in peace 1 Satnrday morning. JN o w let me give you an account of what passed last night ; for I had no power to write, nor yet opportunity till now. This vile woman held my master till half an hour after seven ; and he came hither about five in the afternoon. And then I heard his voice on the stairs, as he was coming up to me. It was about his supper ; for he said, I shall choose a boiled chicken with butter and parsley. Apd up he came ! VIRTUE REWARDED. 247 He put on a stern and majestic air; and he can look very majestic when he pleases. Well, perverse Pamela, un- grateful runaway, said he, for my first salutation ! You do well, don't you, to give me all this trouhle and vexa- tion ! I could not speak ; but throwing myself on the floor, hid my face, and was ready to die with grief and appre- hension. He said, Well may you hide your face ! well may you be ashamed to see me, vile forward one, as you are! I sobbed and wept, but could not speak. And he let ine lie, and went to the door, and called Mrs. Jewkes. There, said he, take up that fallen angel ! Once I thought her as innocent as an angel of light: but 1 have now no patience with her. The little hypocrite prostrates herself thus, in hopes to move my weakness in her favour, and that I'll raise her from the floor myself. But I shall not touch her : No, said he, cruel gentleman as he was ! let such fellows as Williams be taken in by her art fid wiles ! I know her now, and see she is for any fool's turn, that w ill be caught by her. I sighed, as if my heart would break! And Mrs. Jewkes lifted me up upon my knees ; for I trembled so, 1 could not stand. Come, said she, Mrs. Pamela, learn to know your best friend ; confess your unworthy behaviour, and beg his honour's forgiveness of all your faults. I was ready to faint: And he said, She is mistress of arts, I'll assure you ; and will mimic a fit, ten to one, in a minute. I was struck to the heart at this ; but could not speak presently; only lifted up my eyes to heaven ! And at last made shift to say God forgive you, sir! He seemed in a great passion, and walked up and down the room, casting sometimes an eye upon me, and seeming as if he would have spoken, but checked himself -And at last he said, 248 PAMELA ; OR, When she has acted this her first part over, perhaps I will see her again, and she shall soon know what she has to trust to. And so he went out of the room : And I was quite sick at heart ! Surely, said I, I am the wickedest creature that ever breathed ! Well, said the impertinent, not so wicked as that neither; but I am glad you begin to see your faults. Nothing like being humble ! Come, I'll stand your friend, and plead for you, if you'll promise to be more dutiful for the future : Come, come, added the wretch, this may be all made up by to-morrow morning, if you are not a fool. Begone, hideous woman ! said I, and let not my afflic- tions be added to by thy inexorable cruelty, and unwo- manly wickedness. She gave me a push, and went away in a violent passion : And it seems, she made a story of this ; and said, I had such a spirit, there was no bearing it. I laid me down on the floor, and had no power to stir, till the clock struck nine ; and then the wicked woman came up again. You must come down stairs, said she, to my master ; that is, if you please, spirit ! Said I, I believe I cannot stand. Then, said she, I'll send Mons. Colbrand to carry you down. I got up as well as I could, and trembled all the way down stairs : And she went before me into the parlour ; and a new servant that he had waiting on him, instead of John, withdrew as soon as I came in : And, by the way, he had a new coachman too, which looked as if Bedfordshire Robin was turned away. I thought, said he, when I came down, you should have sat at table with me, when I had not company ; but when I find you cannot forget your original, but must prefer my menials to me, I call you down to wait on me while I sup, VIRTUE REWARDED. 24$ that I may have some talk with you, and throw away as little time as possible upon you. Sir, said I, you do me honour to wait upon you : And I never shall, I hope, forget my original. But I was forced to stand behind his chair, that I might hold by it. Fill me, said he, a glass of that Burgundy. I went to do it ; but my hand shook so, that I could not hold the plate with the glass in it, and spilt some of the wine. So Mrs. Jewkes poured it for me, and I carried it as well as I could ; and made a low courtesy. He took it, and said, Stand behind me, out of my sight ! Why, Mrs. Jewkes, said he, you tell me she remains very sullen still, and eats nothing. No, said she, not so much as will keep life and soul together. And is always crying, you say, too? Yes, sir, answered she, I think she is, for one thing or another. Ay, said he, your young wenches will feed upon their tears ; and their obstinacy will serve them for meat and drink. I think I never saw her look better though, in my life ! But, 1 suppose, she lives upon love. This sweet Mr. Williams, and her little villan- ous plots together, have kept her alive and well, to be sure : Tor mischief, love, and contradiction, are the natural ali- ments of a woman. Poor I was forced to hear all this, and be silent; and indeed my heart was too full to speak. And so you say, said he, that she had another project, but yesterday, to get away? She denies it herself, said she; but it had all the appearance of one. I'm sure she made me in a fearful pucker about it: And I am glad your ho- nour is come, with all my heart ; and I hope, whatever be your honour's intention concerning her, you will not be long about it ; for you'll find her as slippery as an eel, I'll assure \ou. 250 PAMELA ; OR, Sir, said I, and clasped his knees with my arms, not knowing what I did, and falling on my knees, Have mercy on me, and hear me, concerning that wicked woman's usage of me He cruelly interrupted me, and said, I am satisfied she has done her duty : it signifies nothing what you say against Mrs, Jewkes. That you are here, little hypocrite as you are, pleadiug your cause before me, is owing to her care of you ; else you had been with the parson. Wicked girl! said he, to tempt a man to undo himself, as you liave done him, at a time I was on the point of making him happy for his life! I arose ; but said with a deep sigh, I have done, sir ! I have done ! I have a strange tribunal to plead before. The poor sheep in the fable had such an one ; when it was tried before the vulture, on the accusation of the wolf! So, Mrs. Jewkes, said he, you are the wolf, I the vulture, and this the poor innocent lamb on her trial before us. Oh ! you don't know how well this innocent is read in re- flection. She has wit at will, when she has a mind to dis- play her own romantic innocence, at the price of other people's characters. Well, said the aggravating creature, this is nothing to what she has called me : I have been a Jezebel, a London prostitute, and what not ? But I am contented with her ill names, now I see it is her fashion, and she can call your honour a vulture. Said I, I had no thought of comparing my master and was going to say on : but he said, Don't prate, girl ! No, said she, it don't become you, I am sure. Well, said I, since I must not speak, I will hold my peace ; but there is a righteous Judge, who knows the secrets of all hearts : and to him I appeal. VIRTUE REWARDED. 251 See there ! said he : now this meek, good creature is praying for tire from heaven upon us ! O she can curse most heartily, in the spirit of Christian meekness, I'll assure you ! Come, saucy-face, give me another glass of wine. So I did, as well as I could ; but wept so, that he said, I suppose I shall have some of your tears in my wine! When he had supped, he stood up, and said, O how happy for you it is, that you can, at will, thus make your speaking eyes overflow in this manner, without losing any of their brilliancy ! You have been told, I suppose, that you arc most beautiful in your tears ! Did you ever, said he to her, (who all this while was standing in one corner of the parlour,) see a more charming creature lhan this? Is it to be wondered at, that I demean myself thus to take / notice of her ? See, said he, and took the glass with one hand, and turned me round with the other, what a shape! what a neck ! what a hand ! and what a bloom on that lovely face ! But who can describe the tricks and arti- fices, that lie lurking in her little, plotting, guileful heart ! 'Tis no wonder the poor parson was infatuated with her. 1 blame him less than I do her ; for who could expect such artifice in so young a sorceress ? I went to the farther part of the room, and held my face against the wainscot; and in spite of all I could do to refrain crying, sobbed as if my heart would hreak. He said, I am surprised, Mrs. Jewkes, at the mistake of the letters you tell me of! But, you see, I am not afraid any body should read what I write. 1 don't carry on pri- vate correspondences, and reveal every secret that comes to my knowledge, and then corrupt people to carry my letters against their duty, and all good conscience. 252 PAMELA ; OR, Come hither, hussy ! said he: You and I have a dread- ful reckoning to make. Why don't you come, when I bid you? Fie upon it, Mrs. Pamela, said she, What ! not stir, when his honour commands you to come to him! Who knows but his goodness will forgive you ? He came to me, (for I had no power to stir,) and put his arms about my neck, and would kiss me ; and said, Well, Mrs. Jewkes, if it were not for the thought of this cursed parson, I believe in my heart, so great is my weak- ness, that I could yet. forgive this intriguing little slut, and take her to my bosom. O, said the sycophant, you are very good, sir, very for- giving, indeed ! But come, added the profligate wretch, I hope you will be so good, as to take her to your bosom ; and that, by to-morrow morning, you'll bring her to a better sense of her duty ! Could any thing in womanhood be so vile? I had no patience: but yet grief and indignation choaked up the passage of my words; and I could only stammer out a passionate exclamation to Heaven, to protect my inno- cence. But the word was the subject of their ridicule. Was ever poor creature worse beset ! He said, as if he had been considering whether he could forgive me or not, No, I cannot yet forgive her neither. She has given me great disturbance ; has brought great discredit upon me, both abroad and at home ; has cor- rupted all my servants at the other house ; has despised my honourable views and intentions to her, and sought to run away with this ungrateful parson. And surely I ought not to forgive all this ! Yet, with all this wretched gri- mace, he kissed me again, and would have put his hand into my bosom ; but I struggled, and said, I would die VIRTUE REWARDED. 253 before I would be used thus. Consider, Pamela, said he, in a threatening tone, consider where you are ! and don't play the fool: If you do, a more dreadful fate awaits you than you expect. But take her up stairs, Mrs. Jewkes, and I'll send a few lines to her to consider of; and let me have your answer, Pamela, in the morning. Till then you have to resolve : and after that your doom is fixed. So I went up stairs, and gave myself up to grief, and ex- pectation of what he would send : but yet I was glad of this night's reprieve ! He sent me, however, nothing at all. And about twelve o'clock, Mrs. Jewkes and Nan came up, as the night before, to be my bed- fellows ; and I would go to bed with some of my clothes on: which they muttered at sadly; and Mrs. Jewkes railed at me particularly. Indeed I would have sat up all night, for fear, if she would have let me. For I had but very little rest that night, appre- hending this woman would let my master in. She did nothing but praise hira, and blame me : but I answered her as little as I could. He has Sir Simon Tell-tale, alias Darnford, to dine with him to-day, whose family seut to welcome him into the country ; and it seems the old knight wants to see me ; so I suppose I shall be sent for, as Samson was, to make sport for him. Here I am, and must bear it all ! Twelve o'clock, Saturday noon. Just now he has sent me up, by Mrs. Jewkes, the follow- ing proposals. So here are the honourable intentions all at once laid open. They are, my dear parents, to make in* 2o4 Pamela; on, a vile kept mistress: which, I hope, I shall always detest the thoughts of. But you'll see how they are accommo- dated to what I should have most desired, could I have honestly promoted it, your welfare and happiness. I have answered them, as I am sure you'll approve; and I am prepared for the worst: For though I fear there will be nothing omitted to ruin me, and though my poor strength will not be able to defend me, yet I will be innocent of crime in my intention, and in the sight of God ; and to him leave the avenging of all my wrongs, in his own good time and manner. I shall write to you my answer against his articles; and hope the best, though I fear the worst. But if I should come home to you ruined and undone, and may not be able to look you in the face ; yet pity and inspirit the poor Pamela, to make her little remnant of life easy ; for long I shall not survive my disgrace : and you may be assured it shall not be my fault, if it be my mis- fortune. ' To Mrs. Pamela Andrews. ' The following Articles are 1 proposed to your serious consi- 1 deration ; and let me have an ' answer, in writing, to them, ' that I may take my resolu- ' lions accordingly. Only re- ' member, that 1 will not be ' trifled with ; and what you * give for answer will absolutely 1 decide your fate, without ex- ' postulation, w further trouble. This is nry Answer. Forgive, sir, the spirit your poor servant is about to shew in her answer to your Articles. Not to be warm, and in earnest, on such an occasion as the present; would shew a degree of guilt, that, I hope, my soul abhors. I will not trifle with you, nor act like a person doubtful of her own mind ; for it wants not one mo- ment's consideration with me; and I therefore return the An- swer following, let what itoill be the consequence. VIRTUE REWARDED. 255 4 I. If you can convince me that the hated parson has had no encouragement from you in his addresses ; and that you have no inclination for him, in preference to me ; then I will offer the following proposals to you, which I will punctually make good. I. As to the first article, sir, it may behove me (that I may not deserve, in your opinion, the opprobrious terms of for- ward and artful, and such like) to declare solemnly, that Mr. Williams never had the least encouragement from me, as to what you hint ; and I believe his principal motive was the ap- prehended duty of his function, quite contrary to his apparent interest, to assist a person he thought in distress. You may, sir, the rather believe me, when I declare, that I know not the man breathing I would wish to marry ; and that the only one I could honour more than another, is the gentleman, who, of all others, seeks my everlasting dis- honour. ' It. I will directly make you a present of 500 guineas, for your own use, which you may dispose of to any purpose you please : and will give it abso- lutely into the hands of any person you shall appoint to receive it; and expect no fa- vour in return, till you are satisfied in the possession of it. II. As to your second pro- posal, let the consequence be what it will, I reject it with all my soul. Money, sir, is not my chief good : May God Almighty desert me, whenever it is! ami whenever, for the sake of that, I can give up my title to that blessed hope which will stand me in stead, at a time when millions of gold will not pur chase one happy moment of re- flection on a past mispent life ! ' III. I will likewise directly III. Your third proposal, sir, ' make over t" \ou a purchase I reject for the .s:im<: reason; 256 PAMELA ; OR, ' I lately made in Kent, which ' brings in 250Z. per annum, ' clear of all deductions. This ' shall be made over to you in ' full property for your life, and ' for the lives of any children to ' perpetuity, that you may hap- ' pen to have : And your father * shall be immediately put into ' possession of it in trust for ' these purposes : and the ma- 4 nagement of it will yield a ' comfortable subsistence to ' him, and your mother, for * life ; and I will make up any 1 deficiencies, if such should ' happen, to that clear sum, and * allow him 50Z. per annum, be- 1 sides, for his life, and that of ' your mother, for his care and ' management of this your es- < tate. and am sorry you could think my poor honest parents would enter into their part of it, and be concerned for the manage- ment of an estate, which would be owing to the prostitution of their poor daughter. Forgive, sir, my warmth on this occasion ; but you know r.ot the poor man, and the poor woman, my ever- dear father and mother, if you think, that they would not much rather choose to starve in a ditch, or rot in a noisome dun- geon, than accept of the fortune of a monarch, upon such wicked terms. I dare not say all that my full mind suggests to me on this grievous occasion But, in- deed, sir, you know them not; nor shall the terrors of death, in its most frightful form, I hope, through God's assisting grace, ever make me act un- worthy of such poor honest parents ! * IV. I will j moreover, extend my favour to any other of your relations, that you may think worthy of it, or that are valued by you. IV. Your fourth proposal, I take upon me, sir, to answer as the third. If I have any friends that want the favour of the great, may they ever want it, if they are capable of desiring it on unworthy terms ! ' V. I will, besides, order V. Fine clothes, sir, become ' patterns to be sent you for not me ; nor have I any am- 1 choosing four complete suits bition to wear them. I have ' of rich clothes, that you may greater pride in my poverty and VIRTUE REWARDED. 257 ' appear with reputation, as if ' yon were my wife. And I will ' give you the two diamond ' rings, and two pair of ear- ' rings, and diamond necklace, ' that were bought by my mo- ' ther, to present to Miss Tom- ' lius, if the match that was ' proposed between her and me ' had been brought to effect : ' and I will confer upon you ' still other gratuities, as I shall ' find myself obliged, by your ' good behaviour and affection. '. VI. Now, Pamela, will you ' see by this, what a value I set ' upon the free-will of a person ' already in my power ; and * who, if these proposals are not * accepted, shall rind, that I ' have not taken all these pains, ' and risked my reputation, as I ' have done, without resolving ' to gratify my passion for you, ' at all adventures ; and if you ' refuse, without making any ' terms at all. meanness, than I should have in dress and finery. Believe me, sir, I think such things less be- come the humble-born Pamela, than the rags your good mother raised me from. Your rings, sir, your necklace, and your ear- rings, will better befit ladies of degree, than me : and to lose the best jewel, my virtue, would be poorly recompensed by those you propose to give me. What should I think, when I looked upon my finger, or saw in the glass those diamonds on my neck, and in my ears, but that they were the price of my honesty ; and that I wore those jewels outwardly, because I had none inwardly. VI. I know, sir, by woful experience, that I am in your power : I know all the resist- ance I can make will be poor and weak, and, perhaps, stand me in little stead : 1 dread your will to ruin me is as great as your power: yet, sir, will I dare to tell you, that I will make no free-will offering of my virtue. All that I can do, poor as it is, I will do, to convince you, that your offers shall have no part in my choice ; and if I cannot escape the violence of man, I hope, by God's grace, I shall have nothing to reproach myself, fur not doing all in my power to VOL. I. 258 PAMELA J OR, ' VII. You shall be mistress of my person and fortune, as much as if the foolish cere- mony had passed. All my servants shall be yours ; and you shall choose any two per- sons to attend yourself, either male or female, without any control of mine : and if your conduct be such, that I have reason to be satisfied with it, I know not (but will not en- gage for this) that I may, after a twelvemonth's cohabi- tation, marry you ; for, if my love increases for you, as it has done for many months past, it will be impossible for me to deny you any thing. And now, Pamela, consider ' well, it is in your power to 1 oblige me on such terms, as * will make yourself, and all ' your friends, happy : but ' this will be over this very ' day, irrevocably over; and ' you shall find all you would ' be thought to fear, without 4 the least benefit arising from ' it to yourself. ' And I beg you'll well avoid my disgrace ; and then I can safely appeal to the great God, my only refuge and pro- tector, with this consolation, That my will bore no part in my violation. VII. I have not once dared to look so high, as to such a pro- posal as your seventh article contains. Hence have proceeded all my little abortive artifices to escape from the confinement you have put me in ; although you promised to be honourable to me. Your honour, well I know, would not let you stoop to so mean and so unworthy a slave, as the poor Pamela : All I de- sire is, to be permitted to return to my native meanness unvio- lated. What have I done, sir, to deserve it should be other- wise ? For the obtaining of this, though I would not have married your chaplain, yet would I have run away with your meanest ser- vant, if I had thought I could have got safe to my beloved poverty. I heard you once say, sir, That a certain great com- mander, who could live upon lentils, might well refuse the bribes of the greatest monarch : And I hope, as I can content- edly live at the meanest rate, and think not myself above the lowest condition, that I am also above making an exchange of my fao-> VIRTUE REWARDED. 259 ' weigh the matter, and com- nesty for all the riches of the ' ply with my proposals ; and Indies. When I come to be 1 I will instantly set about proud and vain of gaudy ap- 4 securing to you the full parel, and outside finery, then ' effect of them : And let me, (which I hope will never be) ' if you value yourself, expe- may I rest my principal good in ' rieuce a grateful return on such vain trinkets, and despise ' this occasion, and I'll for- for them the more solid orna J ' give all that's past.' ments of a good fame, and a chastity inviolate ! Give me leave to say, sir, in answer to what you hint, That you may in a twelvemonth's time marry me, on the continuance of my good behaviour ; that this weighs less with me, if possible, than anything else you have said: for, in the first place, there is an end of all merit, and all good behaviour, on my side, if I have noiv any, the mo- ment I consent to your proposals : And I should be so far from expecting such an honour, that I will pronounce, that I should be most unworthy of it. What, sir, would the world say, were you to marry your harlot? That a gentleman of your rank in life should stoop, not only to the base-born Pamela, but to a base-born prostitute? Little, sir, as I know of the world, I am not to be caught by a bait so poorly covered as I his! Yet, after all, dreadful is the thought, that I, a poor, weak, friendless, unhappy creature, am too full in your power ! But permit me, sir, to pray, as I now write ou my bended knees, That before you resolve upon my ruin, vou will weigh well the matter. Hitherto, sir, though you have taken large strides to this crying sin, yet are you on this side the commission of it. When once it is done, Nothing can recall it! And where will be your triumph? 260 PAMELA; OR, What glory will the spoils of such a weak enemy yield you ? Let me but enjoy my poverty with honesty, is alt my prayer; and I will bless you, and pray for you, every moment of my life ! Think, O think ! before it is yet too late ! what stings, what remorse will attend your dying hour, when you come to reflect, that you have ruined, per- haps soul and body, a wretched creature, whose only pride was her virtue ! And how pleased you will be, on the contrary, if in that tremendous moment you shall be able to acquit yourself of this foul crime, and to plead in your own behalf, that you suffered the earnest suppli- cations of an unhappy wretch to prevail with you to be innocent yourself, and let her remain so ! May God Al- mighty, whose mercy so lately saved you from the peril of perishing in deep waters, (on which, I hope, you will give me cause to congratulate you !) touch your heart in my favour, and save you from this sin, and me from this ruin! And to him do I commit my cause ; and to him will I give the glory, and night and day pray for you, if I may be permitted to escape this great evil ! Your poor oppressed, broken spirited servant. I took a copy of this for your perusal, my dear parents, if I shall ever be so happy to see you again ; (for I hope my conduct will be approved of by you ;) and at night, when Sir Simon was gone, he sent for me down. Well, said he, have you considered my proposals ? Yes, sir, said J, I have : and there is my answer : But pray let me not see you read it. Is it your bashfulness, said he, or your obstinacy, that makes you uot choose I should read it before vou ? VIRTUE REWARDED. 26" 1 I offered to go away ; and lie said, Don't run from mc ; I won't read it till you are gone. But, said lie, tell me, Pamela, whether you comply with my proposals, or not? Sir, said I, you will see presently ; pray don't hold me ; for he took my hand. Said he, Did you well consider before you answered ? I did, sir, said I. If it be not what you think will please me, said he, dear girl, take it back again, and reconsider it ; for if I have this as your absolute answer, and I don't like it, you are undone ; for I will not sue meanly, where I can command. I fear, said he, it is not what I like, by your manner: and let me tell you, that I cannot bear denial. If the terms I have offered are not sufficient, I will augment them to two- thirds of my estate ; for, said he, and swore a dreadful oath, I cannot live without you : and, since the thing is gone so far, / icill not ! And so he clasped me in his arms in such a manner as quite frightened me ; and kissed me two or three times. I got from him, and run up stairs, and went to the closet, and was quite uneasy and fearful. In an hour's time he called Mrs. Jewkes down to him ! And I heard him very high in passion : and all about me ! And I heard her say, It was his own fault ; there would be an end of all my complaining and perverseuoss, if he was once resolved ; and other most impudent aggravations. I am resolved not to go to bed this night, if 1 can help it ! Lie still, lie still, my poor fluttering heart ! What will become of me ! Almost twelve o'clock, Saturday night. 11 E sent Mrs. Jewkes, about ten o'clock, to tell me to come to him. Where ? said I. I'll shew you, said slit. 62 PAMELA; OR, I went down three or four steps, and saw her making to his chamber, the door of which was open: So I said, I cannot go there ! Don't be foolish, said she ; but come ; no harm will be done to you ! Well, said I, if I die, I cannot go there. I heard him say, Let her come, or it shall be worse for her. I can't bear, said he, to speak to her myself! Well, said I, I cannot come, indeed I cannot ; and so I went up again into my closet, expecting to be fetched by force. But she came up soon after, and bid me make haste to bed : Said I, I will not go to bed this night, that's certain ! Then, said she, you shall be made to come to bed ; and Nan and I will undress you. I knew neither prayers nor tears would move this wicked woman : So I said, I am sure you will let master in, and I shall be undone ! Mighty piece of undone ! she said : but he was too much exaspe- rated against me, to be so familiar with me, she would assure me ! Ay, said she, you'll be disposed of another way soon, I can tell you for your comfort : and I hope your husband will have your obedience, though nobody else can have it. No husband in the world, said I, shall make me do an unjust or base thing. She said, That would be soon tried ; and Nan coming in, What ! said I, am I to have two bed-fellows again, these warm nights \ Yes, said she, slippery-one, you are, till you can have one good one instead of us. Said I, Mrs. Jewkes, don't talk nastily to me : I see you are beginning again ; and I shall affront you, may be ; for next to bad actions, are bad words ; for they could not be spoken, if they were not in the heart. Come to bed, purity ! said she. You are a nonsuch, I suppose. Indeed, said I, I can't come to bed ; and it will do you no harm to let me stay all night in the great chair. Nan, said she, undress my young lady. If VIRTUE REWARDED. 265 she won't let you, I'll help you; and, if neither of us can do it quietly, we'll call my master to do it for us ; though, said she, I think it an office worthier of Monsieur Col- brand ! You are very wicked, said I. I know it, said she ; I am a Jezebel, and a London prostitute, you know. You did great feats, said I, to tell my master all this poor stuff"; but you did not tell him how you beat me. No, lambkin, said she, (a word I had not heard a good while,) that I left for you to tell ; and you was going to do it if the vulture had not taken the wolf's part, and bid the poor innocent lamb be silent! Ay, said I, no matter for your fleers, Mrs. Jewkes ; though I can have neither jus- tice nor mercy here, and cannot be heard in my defence, yet a time will come, may be, when I shall be heard, and when your own guilt will strike you dumb. Ay ! spirit, said she ; and the vulture too! Must we both he dumb ? Why that, lambkin, will be pretty ! Then, said the wicked one, you'll have all the talk to yourself? Then how will the tongue of the pretty lambkin bleat out inno- cence, and virtue, and honesty, till the whole trial be at an end ! You're a wicked woman, that's certain, said I ; and if you thought any thing of another world, could not talk thus. But no wonder ! It shews what hands I'm got into! Ay, so it does, said she ; but I beg you'll undress, and come to bed, or I believe your innocence won't keep you from still ivorse hands. I will come to bed, said I, if you will let me have the keys in my own hand ; not else, if I can help it. Yes, said she, and then, hey for another contrivance, another escape ! No, no, said I, all my con- trivances are over, I'll assure you ! l'ray let me have the keys, and I will come to bed. She came to me, and took me in her huge arms, as if I was a feather: Said Ji, I ! 264 PAMELA ; OR, this to shew you what a poor resistance you can make against me, if I please to exert myself; and so, lambkin, don't say to your wolf, I wont come to bed ! And set me down, and tapped me on the neck : Ah ! said she, thou art a pretty creature, 'tis true ; but so obstinate ! so full of spirit ! if thy strength was but answerable to that, thou would'st run away with us all, and this great house too on thy back! But, undress, undress, I tell you. Well, said I, I see my misfortunes make you very merry, and very witty too: but I will love you, it' you will humour me with the keys of the chamber-doors. Are you sure you will love me 1 said she : Now speak your conscience ! Why, said I, you must not put, it so close ; neither would you, if you thought you had not given reason to doubt it ! But I will love you as well as I can ! I would not tell a wilful lie : and if I did, you would not believe me, after your hard usage of me. Well, said she, that's all fair, I own ! But Nan, pray pull off my young lady's shoes and stockings. No, pray don't, said I ; I will come to bed presently, since I must. And so I went to the closet, and scribbled a little about this idle chit-chat. And she being importunate, I was forced to go to bed ; but with some of my clothes on, as the former night ; and she let me hold the two keys ; for there are two locks, there being a double door; and so I got a little sleep that night, having had none for two or three nights before. I can't imagine what she means; but Nan offered to talk a little once or twice ; and she snubbed her, and said, I charge you, wench, don't open your lips before me; and if you are asked any questions by Mrs. Pamela, don't an- swer her one word, while I am here ! But she is a lordly VIRTUE REWARDED. Q65 woman to the maid-servants ; and that has always been her character: O how unlike good Mrs. Jervis in every thins! Sunday morning. A thought came into my head; I meant no haun ; but it was a little bold. For, seeing my master dressing to go to church ; and his chariot getting ready, 1 went to my closet, and I writ, The prayers of this congregation are earnestly desired for a gen- tleman of great worth and honour, who labours under a temp- tation to exert his great power to ruin a poor, distressed, worthless maiden: And also, The prayers of this congregation are earnestly desired by a poor distressed creature, for the preservation of her virtue and innocence. Mrs. Jewkes came up: Always writing! said she; and would see it : And strait, all that ever I could say, carried it down to my master. He looked upon it, and said, Tell her, she shall soon see how her prayers are answered ; she is very bold : but as she has rejected all my favours, her reckoning for all is not far oft'. I looked after him out of the window; and he was charmingly dressed: To be sure he is a handsome fine gentleman ! What pity his heart is not as good as ins appearance ! Why can't 1 hate him I But don't be uneasy, if you should see this ; for it is im- possible I should love him ; for his vices all ugly him over, as I may say. My master sends word, that he shall not come home to dinner: I suppose he dines with this Sir Simon Darnford. 1266" PAMELA ; OR, I am much concerned for poor Mr. Williams. Mrs. Jewkes says, he is confined still, and takes on much. All his trouble is brought upon him for my sake : This grieves me much. My master, it seems, will have his money from him. This is very hard ; for it is three fifty pounds, he gave him, as he thought, as a salary for three years that he has been with him : but there was no agreement between them ; and he absolutely depended on my mas- ter's favour. To be sure, it was the more generous of him to run these risks for the sake of oppressed innocence: and I hope he will meet with his reward in due time. Alas for me ! I dare not plead for him ; that would raise my oppressor's jealousy more. And I have not interest to save mvself ! Sunday evening. Mrs. Jewkes has received a line from my master: I wonder what it is ; for his chariot is come home without him. But she will tell me nothing ; so it is in vain to ask her. I am so fearful of plots and tricks, I know not what to do ! Every thing I suspect ; for, now my disgrace is avowed, what can I think ! To be sure, the worst will be attempted ! I can only pour out my soul in prayer to God, for his blessed protection. But, if I must suffer, let me not be long a mournful survivor ! Only let me not shorten my own time sinfully i This woman left upon the table, in the chamber, this letter of my master's to her ; and I bolted myself in, till I had transcribed it. You'll see how tremblingly, by the lines. I wish poor Mr. Williams's release at any rate ; but this letter makes my heart ache. Yet I have another day's reprieve, thank God ! VIRTUE REWARDED. 0,67 * MRS. JEWKES, I HAVE been so pressed on Williams's affair, that I shall * set out this afternoon, in Sir Simon's chariot, and with ' Parson Peter's, who is his intercessor, for Stamford ; and ' shall not be back till to-morrow evening, if then. As to ' your ward, I am thoroughly incensed against her: She ' has withstood her time ; and now, would she sign and * seal to my articles, it is too late. I shall discover some- J thing, perhaps, by him ; and will, on my return, let her ' know, that all her ensnaring loveliness shall not save her ' from the fate that awaits her. But let her know nothing * of this, lest it put her fruitful mind upon plots and ' artifices. Be sure trust her not without another with ' you at night, lest she venture the window in her foolish ' rashness : for I shall require her at your hands. ' Yours, &c.' I had but just finished taking a copy of this, and laid the letter where I had it, and unbolted the door, when she came up in a great fright, for fear 1 should have seen it; hut I being in my closet, and that lying as she left it, she did not mistrust. O, said she, I was afraid you had seen my master's letter here, which 1 carelessly left on the table. 1 wish, said I, I had known that. Why sure, said she, if you had, you would not have olfered to read my letters! Indeed, said I, I should, at this time, if it had been in my way: Do let me see it. Well, said she, I wish poor Mr. Williams well oil": I understand my master is gone to make up matters with him ; which is very good. To be sure, added she, he is a very good gentleman, and very forgiving! Why, said I, as if I had known nothing of the matter, how can he make up matters with him? Is 268 PAMELA; OR, not Mr. Williams at Stamford ? Yes, said she, I believe so ; but Parson Peters pleads for him, and he is gone with him to Stamford, and will not be back to-night : so we have nothing to do, but to eat our suppers betimes, and go to bed. Ay, that's pure, said I ; aud I shall have good rest this night, I hope. So, said she, you might every night, but for your own idle fears. You are afraid of your friends, when none are near you. Ay, that's true, said I; for I have not one near me. So I have one more good honest night before me : What the next may be I know not, and so I'll try to take in a good deal of sleep, while I can be a little easy. Therefore, here I say, Good night, my dear parents; for I have no more to write about this night : and though his letter shocks me, yet I will be as brisk as I can, that she may'nt suspect I have seen it. Tuesday night. X OR the future, I will always mistrust most when ap- pearances look fairest. O your poor daughter ! what has she not suffered since what 1 wrote on Sunday night! My worst trial, and my fearfullest danger! O how I shudder to write you an account of this wicked interval of time ! For, my dear parents, will you not be too much frightened and affected with my distress, when I tell you, that his journey to Stamford was all abominable pretence ! for he came home privately, and had well nigh effected all his vile purposes, and Ihe ruin of your poor daughter! and that by such a plot as I was not in the least apprehensive of: And, oh ! you'll hear what a vile and unwomanly part that wicked wretch, Mrs. Jewkes, acted in it ! VIRTUE REWARDED. 26*9 I left off with letting you know how much I was pleased that I had one night's reprieve added to my honesty. But I had less occasion to rejoice than ever, as you will judge by what I have said already. Take, then, the dreadful story, as well as I can relate it. The maid Nan is a little apt to drink, if she can get at liquor ; and Mrs. Jewkes happened, or designed, as is too probable, to leave a bottle of cherry-brandy in her way, and the wench drank some of it more than she should ; and when she came in to lay the cloth, Mrs. Jewkes perceived it, and fell a rating at her most sadly ; for she has too many faults of her own, to suffer any of the like sort in any body else, if she can help it ; and she bid her get out of her sight, when we had supped, and go to bed, to sleep off her liquor, before we came to bed. And so the poor maid went muttering up stairs. About two hours after, which was near eleven o'clock, Mrs. Jewkes and I went up to go to bed ; I pleasing myself with what a charming night I should have. We locked both doors, and saw poor Nan, as I thought, (but, oh ! 'twas my abominable master, as you shall hear by and by,) sitting fast asleep, in an elbow-chair, in a dark corner of the room, with her apron thrown over her head and neck. And Mrs. Jewkes said, There is that beast of a wench fast asleep, instead of being a bed ! I knew, said she, she had taken a fine dose. I'll wake her, said I. No, don't, said she; let her sleep on; we shall lie better without her. Ay, said I, so we shall; but won't she get cold ? Said she, I hope you have no writing to-night. No, replied I, I will go to bed with you, Mrs. Jewkes. Said she, I wonder what you can rind to write about so much ! and am sure vou have better conveniencies of that kind, and more paper than I am aware of; and 1 had intended to 270 PAMELA ; OR, rummage you, if my master had not come down ; for I spied a broken tea-cup with ink, which gave me suspicion : but as he is come, let him look after you, if he will; and if you deceive him, it will be his own fault. All this time we were undressing ourselves: And I fetched a deep sigh ! What do you sigh for ? said she. I am think- ing, Mrs. Jewkes, answered I, what a sad life I live, and how hard is my lot. I am sure, the thief that has robbed is much better off than I, 'bating the guilt; and I should, I think, take it for a mercy, to be hanged out of the way, rather than live in these cruel apprehensions. So, being not sleepy, and in a prattling vein, I began to give a little history of myself, as I did, once before, to Mrs. Jervis; in this manner : Here, said I, were my poor honest parents; they took care to instill good principles into my mind, till I was almost twelve years of age; and taught me to prefer goodness and poverty to the highest condition of life ; and they confirmed their lessons by their own practice; for they were, of late years, remarkably poor, and always as remarkably honest, even to a proveib: for, As honest as goodman Andrews, was a bye-word. Well then, said I, comes my late dear good lady, and takes a fancy to me, and said; she would be the making of me, if I was a good girl ; and she put me to sing, to dance, to play on the spinnet, in order to divert her melancholy hours ; and also taught me all manner of fine needle-work ; but still this was her lesson, My good Pamela, be virttious, and keep the men at a distance. Well, so I was, I hope, and so I did ; and yet, though I say it, they all loved me and respected me ; and would do any thing for me, as if I was a gentlewoman. But, then, what comes next? Why, it pleased God VIRTUE REWARDED. 271 to take my good lady ; and then comes my master : And what says he? Why, in effect, it is, Be not virtuous, Pamela. So here I have lived about sixteen years in virtue and reputation ; and all at once, when I come to know what is good, and what is evil, I must renounce all the good, all the whole sixteen years' innocence, which, next to God's grace, I owed chiefly to my parents, and my lady's good lessons and examples, and choose the evil; and so, in a moment's time, become the vilest of creatures ! And all this, for what, I pray? Why, truly, for a pair of diamond ear-rings, a necklace, and a diamond ring for my finger ; which would not become me : For a few paltry fine clothes, which, when I wore them, would make but my former poverty more ridiculous to every body that saw me; especially when they knew the base terms I wore them upon. But, indeed, 1 was to have a great parcel of guineas beside ; 1 forget how many ; for, had there been ten times more, they would have been not so much to me, as the honest six guineas you tricked me out of, Mrs. Jewkes. Well, forsooth ! but then I was to have I know not how many pounds a year for my life; and my poor father (there was the jest of it!) was to be the manager for the abandoned prostitute his daughter: And then, (there was the jest again!) my kind, forgiving, virtuous master, would pardon me all my misdeeds! Yes, thank him for nothing, truly. And what, pray, are all these violent misdeed-,? Why, they are for daring to adhere to the good lessons that wen; taught me ; and not learning a new one, that would have reversed all my former: For not being contented when I was run away with, in order to be ruined; but contriving, if my poor 272 Pamela; ok, wits had been able, to get out of danger, and preserve myself honest. Then was he once jealous of poor John, though he knew John was his own creature, and helped to deceive me. Then was he outrageous against poor Parson Williams ! and him has this good, merciful master, thrown into gaol ; and for what? Why, truly, for that, being a divine, and a good man, he had the fear of God before his eyes, and was willing to forego all his expectations of interest, and assist an oppressed poor creature. But, to be sure, 1 must be forward, bold, saucy, and what not! to dare to run away from certain ruin, and to strive to escape from an unjust confinement ; and I must be married to the parson, nothing so sure ! He would have had but a poor catch of me, had I con- sented : But he, and you too, know I did not want to marry any body. I only wanted to go to my poor parents, and to have my own liberty, and not to be confined by such an unlawful restraint; and which would not have been inflicted upon me, but only that I am a poor, des- titute, young body, and have no friend that is able to right me. So, Mrs. Jewkes, said I, here is my history in brief. And I am a very unhappy young creature, to he sure ! And why am I so"? Why, because my master sees some- thing in my person that takes his present fancy; and because I would not be undone. Why, therefore to choose, I must, and I shall be undone ! And this is all the reason that can be given ! She heard me run on all this time, while I was un- dressing, without any interruption; and I said, Well, I must go to the two closets, ever since an affair of the VIRTUE REWARDED. ( 273 closet at the other house, though he is so far off. And I have a good mind to wake this poor maid. No, don't, said she, I charge you. I am very angry with her, and she'll get no harm there ; and if she wakes, she may come to-bed well enough, as long as there is a candle in the chimney. So I looked into the closet, and kneeled down in my own, as I used to do, to say my prayers, and this with my under-clothes in my hand, all undressed ; and passed hy the poor sleeping wench, as I thought, in my return. But, oh ! little did I think it was my wicked, wicked master, in a gown and petticoat of hers, and her apron over his face and shoulders. What meanness will not Lucifer make his votaries stoop to, to gain their abominable ends ! Mrs. Jewkes, by this time, was got to-bed, on the farther side, as she used to be ; and, to make room for the maid, when she should awake, I got into bed, and lay close to her. And I said, Where are the keys ? though, said I, I am not so much afraid to-night. Here, said the wicked woman, put your arm under mine, and you shall find them about my wrist, as they used to be. So I did, and the abominable designer held my hand with her right- hand, as my right-arm was under her left. In less than a quarter of an hour, I said, There's poor Nan awake; I hear her stir. Let us go to sleep, said she, and not mind her: she'll come to bed, when she's quite awake. Poor soul ! said I, I'll warrant she will hav^ the head-ache finely to-morrow for this ! Be silent, said she, and go to sleep; you keep me awake ; and I never found you in so talkative a humour in my life. Don't chide me, said I ; I will but say one thing more: Do you think Nan could hear me talk of my master's oilers ? No, no, said she; she was dead asleep. I'm glad of that, said I; because I vol.. I. T 274 PAMELA ; OR, would not expose my master to his common servants ; and I knew you were no stranger to hxajine articles. Said she, I think they v/erejine articles, and you were bewitched you did not close with them : But let us go to sleep. So I was silent ; and the pretended Nan (O wicked, base, villanous designer ! what a plot, what an unexpected plot was this !) seemed to be awaking ; and Mrs. Jewkes, abhorred crea- ture ! said, Come, Nan ! what, are you awake at last? Pr'ythee come to bed ; for Mrs. Pamela is in a talking fit, and won't go to sleep one while. At that, the pretended she came to the bed side ; and, sitting down in a chair, where the curtain hid her, began to undress. Said I, Poor Mrs. Anne, I warrant your head aches most sadly ! How do you do ? She answered not a word. Said the superlatively wicked woman, You know I have ordered her not to answer you. And this plot, to be sure, was laid when she gave her these orders the night before. I heard her, as I thought, breathe all quick and short: Indeed, said I, Mrs. Jewkes, the poor maid is not well. What ails you, Mrs. Anne? And still no answer was made. But, I tremble to relate it ! the pretended she came into bed, but trembled like an aspen-leaf; and I, poor fool that I was! pitied her much But well might the barbarous deceiver tremble at his vile dissimulation, and base designs. What words shall I rind, my dear mother, (for my father should not see this shocking part,) to describe the rest, and my confusion, when the guilty wretch took my left arm, and laid it under his neck, and the vile procuress held my right ; and then he clasped me round the waist ! Said I, Is the wench mad ? Why, how now, confidence ! thinking still it had been Nan. But he kissed me with VIRTUE REWARDED. 275 frightful vehemence; and then his voice broke upon me Jike a clap of thunder. Now, Pamela, said he, is the dread- fid time of reckoning come, that I have threatened. I screamed out in such a manner, as never any body heard the like. But there was nobody to help me : and both my hands were secured, as I said. Sure never poor soul was in such agonies as I. Wicked man ! said I ; wicked abo- minable woman ! O God ! my God ! this time ! this one time ! deliver me from this distress ! or strike me dead this moment ! And then I screamed again and again. Says he, One word with you, Pamela ; one word hear me but ; and hitherto you see I offer nothing to you. Is this nothing, said I, to be in bed here? To hold my hands be- tween you ! I will hear, if you will instantly leave the bed, and take this villanous woman from me ! Said she, (O disgrace of womankind !) What you do, sir, do ; don't stand dilly-dallying. She cannot exclaim worse than she has done: and she'll be quieter, when she knows the worst. Silence! said he to her; I must say one word to you, Famela! it is this: You see now you are in my power! You cannot get from me, nor help yourself: Yet have I not offered any thing amiss to you. But if you resolve not to comply with my proposals, I will not lose this opportu- nity : If you do, I will yet leave you. O sir, said I, leave me, leave me but, and I will do any thing I ought to do. Swear then to me, said he, that you will accept my proposals! and then (for this was all detest- able grimace) he put his hand in my bosom. With strug- gling, fright, terror, I fainted away quite, and did not come to mjselfsoon; so that they both, from the cold sweats that I was in, thought me dying.- And I remember no more, than that, when with gnat difficulty they brought 276 PAMELA ; OR, me to myself, she was sitting on one side of the bed, with her clothes on ; and he on the other with his, and in his gown and slippers. Your poor Pamela cannot answer for the liberties taken with her in her deplorable state of death. And when I saw them there, 1 sat up in my bed, without any regard to what appearance 1 made, and nothing about my neck ; and he soothing me, with an aspect of pity and concern, I put my hand to his mouth, and said, O tell me, yet tell me not, what have I suffered in this distress] And I talked quite wild, and knew not what ; for, to be sure, I was on the point of distraction. He most solemnly, and with a bitter imprecation, vowed, that he had not offered the least indecency ; that he was frightened at the terrible manner I was taken with the fit : that he should desist from his attempt ; and begged but to see me easy and quiet, and he would leave me directly, and go to his own bed. O then, said I, take with you this most wicked woman, this vile Mrs. Jewkes, as an earnest, that I may believe you ! And will you, sir, said the wicked wretch, for a fit or two, give up such an opportunity as this 1 I thought you had known the sex better. She is now, you see, quite well again ! This I heard ; more she might say ; but I fainted away once more, at these words, and at his clasping his arms about me again. And, when I came a little to myself, I saw him sit there, and the maid Nan, holding a smelling- bottle to my nose, and no Mrs. Jewkes. He said, taking my hand, Now will I vow to yon, my dear Pamela, that I will leave you the moment I see you better, and pacified. Here's Nan knows, and will tell you, my concern for you. I vow to God, I have not offered VIRTUE REWARDED. 2/7 any indecency to you: and, since I found Mrs. Jewkes so offensive to you, I have sent her to the maid's bed, and the maid shall lie with you tonight. And but promise me, that you will compose yourself, and I will leave you. Rut, said I, will not Nan also hold my hand ? And will not she let you come in again to me ? He said, By heaven ! I will not come in again to-night. Nan, undress yourself, go to bed, and do all you can to comfort the dear creature : And now, Pamela, said he, give me but your hand, and sav you forgive me, and I will leave you to your repose. 1 held out my trembling hand, which he vouchsafed to kiss; and I said, God forgive you, sir, as you have been just in my distress; and as you will be just to what you promise! And he withdrew, with a countenance of remorse, as L hoped ; and she shut the doors, and, at my request, brought the keys to bed. This, O my dear parents ! was a most dreadful trial. I tremble still to think of it ; and dare not recall all the horrid circumstances of it. I hope, as he assures me, he was not guilty of indecency ; but have reason to bless God, who, by disabling me in my faculties, empowered me to preserve my innocence; and, when all my strength would have signified nothing, magnified himself in ni\ weakness. I was so weak all day on Monday, that I could not get out of my bed. My master shewed great tenderness for me ; aud I hope he is really sorry, and that this will be his last attempt ; but he does not say so neither. He came in the morning, as soon as he heard the door open : and I began to be fearful. He stopped short of the bed, and said, Rather than give you apprehensions, I will come no farther. I said, Your honour, sir, and your mercy, 278 PAMELA; OR, is all I have to beg. He sat himself on the side of the bed, and asked kindly, how I did ? begged me to be com- posed ; said, I still looked a little wildly. And I said, Pray, good sir, let me not see this infamous Mrs. Jewkes ; I doubt I cannot bear her sight. She shan't come near you all this day, if you'll promise to compose yourself. Then, sir, I will try. He pressed my hand very tenderly, and went out. What a change does this shew ! O may it be lasting! But, alas! he seems only to have altered his method of proceeding ; and retains, I doubt, his wicked purpose. On Tuesday, about ten o'clock, when my master heard I was up, he sent for me down into the parlour. As soon as he saw me, he said, Come nearer to me, Pamela. I did so, and he took my hand, and said, You begin to look well again: I am glad of it. You little slut, how did you frighten me on Sunday night ! Sir, said I, pray name not that night ; and my eyes over- flowed at the remembrance, and I turned my head aside. Said he, Place some little confidence in me : I know what those charming eyes mean, and you shall not need to explain yourself: for I do assure you, that as soon as I saw you change, and a cold sweat bedew your pretty face, and you fainted away, I quitted the bed, and Mrs. Jewkes did so too. And I put on my gown, and she, fetched her smel- ling-bottle, and we both did all we could to restore you ; and my passion for you was all swallowed up in the con- cern I had for your recovery ; for I thought I never saw a fit so strong and violent in my life : and feared we should not bring you to life again ; for what I saw you in ouce be- fore was nothing to it. This, said he, might be my folly, and my unacquaintedness with what passion your sex can shew when they are in earnest. But this I repeat to you, VIRTUE REWARDED. 279 that your mind may be entirely comforted Whatever I offered to you, was before you fainted away, and that, I am sure, was innocent. Sir, said I, that was very bad : and it was too plain you had the worst designs. When, said he, I tell you the truth in one instance, you may believe me in the other. I know not, I declare, beyond this lovely bosom, your sex : but that I did intend what you call the worst is most certain : and though I would not too much alarm you now, I could curse my weakness, and my folly, which makes me own, that I love you beyond all your sex, and cannot live with- out you. But if I am master of myself, and my own reso- lution, I will not attempt to force you to any thing again. Sir, said I, you may easily keep your resolution, if you'll send ine out of your way, to my poor parents ; that is all I beg. 'Tis a folly to talk of it, said he. You must not, shall not go ! And if I could be assured you would not attempt it, you should have better usage, and your confinement should be made easier to you. But to what end, sir, am I to stay ? said I : You your- self seem not sure you can keep your own present good re- solutions; and do you think, if I was to stay, when I could get away, and be safe, it would not look, as if either I con- fided too much in my own strength, or would tempt my ruin ? And as if I was not in earnest to wish myself safe, and out of danger? And then, how long am 1 to stay? And to what purpose ? And in what light must I appear to the world ? Would not that censure me, although I might be innocent ? And you will allow, sir, that, if there be any thing valuable or exemplary in a good name, or fair repu- tation, one must not despise the world's censure, if one can avoid it. 280 PAMELA; OR, Well, said he, I sent not for you on tliis account, just now ; but for two reasons. The first is, That you promise me, that for a fortnight to come you will not offer to go away without my express consent ; and this 1 expect for your oivn sake, that I may give you a little more liberty. And the second is, That you Mill see and forgive Mrs. Jewkes : she takes on much, and thinks, that, as all her fault was her obedience to me, it would be very hard to sacrifice her, as she calls it, to your resentment. As to the first, sir, said I, it is a hard injunction, for the reasons I have mentioned. And as to the second, consi- dering her vile, unwomanly wickedness, and her endea- vours to instigate you more to ruin me, when your return- ing goodness seemed to have some compassion upon me, it is still harder. But, to shew my obedience to your com- mands, (for you know, my dear parents, I might as well make a merit of my compliance, when my refusal would stand me in no stead,) I will consent to both ; and to every thing else, that you shall be pleased to enjoin, which I can do with innocence. That's my good girl ! said he, and kissed me : This is quite prudent, and shews me, that you don't take insolent advantage of my favour for you ; and will, perhaps, stand you in more stead than you are aware of. So he rung the bell, and said, Call down Mrs. Jewkes. She came down, and he took my hand, and put it into hers ; and said, Mrs. Jewkes, I am obliged to you for all your di- ligence and fidelity to me ; but Pamela, I must own, is not ; because the service I employed you in was not so very obliging to her, as I could have wished she would have thought it : and you were not to favour her, but obey me. But yet I'll assure you, at the very first word, she has once obliged me, by consenting to be friends with you ; and if VIRTUE REWARDED. 281 she gives me no great cause, I shall not, perhaps, put you on such disagreeable service again. Now, therefore, be you once more bed-fellows and board-fellows, as I may say, for some days longer ; and see that Pamela sends no letters nor messages out of the house, nor keeps a correspond- ence unknown tome, especially with that Williams; and, as for the rest, shew the dear girl all the respect that is due to one I must love, if she will deserve it, as I hope she will yet; and let her be under no unnecessary or harsh re- straints. But your watchful care is not, however, to cease : and remember that you are not to disoblige me, to oblige her; and that I will not, cannot, yet part with her. Mrs. Jewkes looked very sullen, and as if she would be glad still to do me a good turn, if it lay in her power. I took courage then to drop a word or two for poor Mr. Williams ; but he was angry with me for it, and said he could not endure to hear his name in my mouth ; so I was forced to have done for that time. All this time, my papers, that I buried under the rose- bush, lay there still; and I begged for leave to send a let- ter to you. So I should, he said, if he might read it first. But this did not answer my design ; and yet I would have sent you such a letter as he might see, if I had been sure my danger was over. But that I cannot ; for he now seems to take another method, and what I am more afraid of, because, may-be, he may watch an opportunity, and join force with it, on occasion, when I am hast prepared : for now he seems to abound with kindness, and talks of love without reserve, and makes nothing of allowing himself in the liberty of kissing me, which he calls innocent ; but which I do not like, and especially in the manner he does it : but for a master to do it at all to a servant, has mean- ing too much in it, not to alarm an honest body. 582 PAMELA ; OR, Wednesday morning. I FIND I am watched and suspected still very close ; and I wish I was with you ; but that must not be, it seems, this fortnight. I don't like this fortnight ; and it will be a tedious and a dangerous one to me, I doubt. My master just now sent for me down to take a walk with him in the garden : but I like him not at all, nor his ways ; for he would have, all the way, his arm about my waist, and said abundance of fond things to me, enough to make me proud, if his design had not been apparent. After walking about, he led me into a little alcove, on the farther part of the garden ; and really made me afraid of my- self, for he began to be very teasing, and made me sit on his knee ; and was so often kissing me, that I said, Sir, I don't like to be here at all, I assure you. Indeed you make me afraid ! And what made me the more so, was what he once said to Mrs. Jewkes, and did not think I heard him, and which, though always uppermost with me, I did not mention before, because I did not know how to bring it in, in my writing. She, I suppose, had been encouraging him in his wicked- ness ; for it was before the last dreadful trial : and I only heard what he answered. Said he, I will try once more ; but I have begun wrong : for I see terror does but add to her frost ; but she is a charming girl, and may be thawed by kindness ; and I should have melted her by love, instead of freezing her by fear. Is he not a wicked, sad man for this 1 To be sure, I blush while I write it. But I trust, that that God, who has delivered me from the paw of the lion and the bear ; that is, his and Mrs. Jewkes's violences, will soon deliver me from this Philistine, that I may not defy the commands of the living God! VIRTUE REWARDED. 283 But, as I was saying, this expression coming into my thoughts, I was of opinion, I could not be too much on my guard, at all times : more especially when he took such liberties : for he professed honour all the time with his mouth, while his actions did not correspond. I begged and prayed he would let me go : and had I not appeared quite regardless of all he said, and resolved not to stay, if I could help it, I kuow not how far he would have pro- ceeded ; for I was forced to fall down upon my knees. At last he walked out with me, still bragging of his honour and his love. Yes, yes, sir, said I, your honour is to destroy mine : and your love is to ruin me ; I see it too plainly. But, indeed, I will not walk with you, sir, said I, any more. Do you know, said he, whom you talk to, and where you are ? You may believe I had reason to think him not so decent as he should be ; for I said, As to where 1 am, sir, 1 know it too well ; and that I have no creature to befriend me : and, as to whom I talk to, sir, let me ask you, What you would have me answer ? Why, tell me, said he, what answer you would make ? It will only make you angry, said I ; and so I shall fare worse, if possible. I won't be angry, said iie. Why then, sir, said I, you cannot be my late good lady's son ; for she loved me, and taught me virtue. You cannot then be my master ; for no master demeans himself so to his poor servant. He put his arm round me, and his other hand on my neck, which made me more angry and bold : and he said, W r hat then am I ? Why, said I, (struggling from him, and in a great passion,) to be sure you are Lucifer himself, in the shape of my master, or you could not use me thus. These are too great liberties, said he, iu anger; and I 284 PAMELA ; OR, desire that you will not repeat thein, for your own sake : For if you have no decency towards me, I'll have none towards you. I was running from him, and he said, Come back, when I bid you. So, knowing every place was alike dangerous to me, and I had nobody to run to, I came back, at his call ; and seeing him look displeased, I held my hands together, and wept, and said, Pray, sir, forgive me. No, said he, rather say, Pray, Lucifer, forgive me ! And, now, since you take me for the devil, how can you expect any good from me 1 How, rather, can you expect any thing but the worst treatment from me 1 You have given me a character, Pamela; and blame me not that I act up to it. Sir, said I, let me beg you to forgive me : I am really sorry for my boldness ; but indeed you don't use me like a gentleman : and how can I express my resentment, if I mince the matter, while you are so indecent ? Precise fool ! said he, what indecencies have I offered you ? I was bewitched I had not gone through my pur- pose last Sunday night ; and then your licentious tongue had not given the worst name to little puny freedoms, that shew my love and my folly at the same time. But, begone ! said he, taking my hand, and tossing it from him, and learn another conduct and more wit; and I will lay aside my foolish regard for you, and assert myself. Begone ! said he, again, with a haughty air. Indeed, sir, said I, I cannot go, till you pardon me, which I beg on my bended knees. I am truly sorry for my boldness. But I see how you go on : you creep by little and little upon me ; and now soothe me, and now threaten me ; and if I should forbear to shew my resentment, when you offer incivilities to me, would not that be to be lost by VIRTUE REWARDED. 285 degrees ? Would it not shew, that I could bear any thing from you, if I did not express all the indignation I could express, at the first approaches you make to what I dread? And have you not as good as avowed my ruin? And have you once made me hope you will quit vour purposes against me ] How then, sir, can I act, but by shewing my abhorrence of every step that makes towards my undoing ? And what is left me but words ? And can these words be other than such strong ones, as shall shew the detestation which, from the bottom of my heart, I have for every attempt upon my virtue '} Judge for me, sir, and pardon me. Pardon you ! said he, What ! when you don't repent ? When you have the boldness to justify yourself in vour fault 1 Why don't you say, you never will again offend me ? I will endeavour, sir, said I, always to preserve that decency towards you which becomes me. But really, sir, I must beg your excuse for saying, That when you forget what belongs to decency in your actions, and when words are all that are left me, to shew my resentment of such actions, I will not promise Lo forbear the strongest expres- sions that my distressed mind shall suggest to me : nor shall your angriest frowns deter me, when my honesty is in question. What, then, said he, do you beg pardon for ? Where is the promise of amendment, fur which 1 should forgive you ? Indeed, sir, said I, 1 own that must absolutely depend on your usage of me : for I will bear any thing you can inflict upon me with patience, even to the laying down of my life, to shew my obedience to you in other cases ; but I cannot be patient, I cannot be passive, when my virtue is at stake ! It would be criminal in me, if I was. 286 PAMELA ; OR, He said, he never saw such a fool in his life. And In- walked hy the side of me some yards, without saying a word, and seemed vexed ; and at last walked in, bidding me attend him in the garden, after dinner. So having a little time, 1 went up, and wrote thus far. Wednesday uight. If, my dear parents, I am not destined more surely than ever for ruin, I have now more comfort before me than ever I yet knew : and am either nearer my happiness, or my misery, than ever I was. God protect me from tine latter, if it be his blessed will ! I have now such a scene to open to you, that, I know, will alarm both your hopes and your fears, as it does mine. And this it is : After my master had dined, he took a turn into the stables, to look at his stud of horses ; and, when he came in, he opened the parlour-door, where Mrs. Jewkes and I sat at dinner ; and, at his entrance, we both rose up ; but he said, Sit still, sit still, and let me see how you eat your victuals, Pamela. O, said Mrs. Jewkes, very poorly, indeed, sir ! No, said I, pretty well, sir, considering. None of your considerings, said he, pretty face ; and tapped me on the cheek. I blushed, but was glad he was so good-humoured ; but I could not tell how to sit before him, nor to behave myself. So he said, I know, Pamela, you are a nice carver : my mother used to say so. My lady, sir, said I, was very good to me in every thing, and would always make me do the honours of her table for her, when she was with her few select friends that she loved. Cut up, said he, that chicken. I did so. VIRTUE REWARDED. 287 Now, said he, and took a knife and fork, and put a wing upon my plate, let me see you eat that. O, sir, said I, I have eaten a whole breast of a chicken already, aud cannot eat so much. But he said, I must eat it for his sake, and he would teach me to eat heartily : So I did eat it ; but was much confused at his so kind and unusual freedom and condescension. And, good lack ! you can't imagine how Mrs. Jewkes looked and stared, and how respectful she seemed to ine, and called me good madam, I'll assure you, urging me to take a little bit of tart. My master took two or three turns about the room, musing and thoughtful, as I had never before seen him ; and at last he went out, saying, I am going into the garden : You know, Pamela, what I said to you before dinner. I rose, and courtesied, saying, I would attend his honour ; aud he said, Do, good girl ! Well, said Mrs. Jewkes, I see how things will go. O, madam, as she called me again, I am sure you are to be our mistress ! And then I know what will become of me. Ah ! Mrs. Jewkes, said I, if I can but keep myself virtuous, 'tis the most of my ambition ; and, I hope, no temptation shall make me otherwise. Notwithstanding I had no reason to be pleased with his treatment of me before dinner, yet I made haste to attend him ; and I found him walking by the side of that pond, which, for want of grace, and through a sinful despondence, had like to have been so fatal to me, and the sight of which, ever since, has been a trouble and reproach to me. And it was by the side of this pond, and not far from the place where I had that dreaded conflict, that my present hopes, if I am not to be deceived again, began to dawn : which 1 presume to flatter myself with being a happy omen for me, a> if God Almighty would shew your poor sinful 288 Pamela ; OR, daughter, how well I did to put my affiance in his goodness, and not to throw away myself, because my ruin seemed inevitable, to my short-sighted apprehension. So he was pleased to say, Well, Pamela, I am glad you are come of your own accord, as I may say : give me your hand. I did so; and he looked at me very steadily, and pressing my hand all the time, at last said, I will now talk to you in a serious manner. You have a good deal of wit, a great deal of penetration, much beyond your years, and, as I thought, your opportu- nities. You are possessed of an open, frank, and generous mind ; and a person so lovely, that you excel all your sex, in my eyes. All these accomplishments have engaged my affections so deeply, that, as I have often said, I cannot live without you ; and 1 would divide, with all my soul, my estate with you, to make you mine upon my own terms. These you have absolutely rejected ; and that, though in saucy terms enough, yet in such a manner as makes me admire you the more. Your pretty chit-chat to Mrs. Jewkes, the last Sunday night, so innocent, and so full of beautiful simplicity, half disarmed my resolution before I approached your bed : And I see you so watchful over your virtue, that though I hoped to find it otherwise, I cannot but con- fess my passion for you is increased by it. But now, what shall I say farther, Pamela] 1 will make you, though a party, my adviser in this matter, though not, perhaps, my definitive judge. You know I am not a very abandoned profligate ; I have hitherto been guilty of no very enormous or vile actions. This of seizing you, and confining you thus, may perhaps be one of the worst, at least to persons of real innocence. Had I been utterly given up to my passions, I should before now have gratified them, and not have shewn that VIRTUE REWARDED. 289 remorse and compassion for you, which have reprieved yon, mere than once, when absolutely in my power; and you are as inviolate a virgin as you were when you came into my house. But what can I do? Consider the pride of my con- dition. I cannot endure the thought of marriage, even with a person of equal or superior degree to mvself; and have declined several proposals of that kind : How then, with the distance between us in the world's judgment, can I think of making you my wife? Yet I must have you; I cannot bear the thoughts of any other mau supplanting me in your affections : and the very apprehension of that has made me hate the name of Williams, and use him in a manner unworthy of my temper. Now, Pamela, judge for me; and, since I have told you, thus candidly, my mind, and I see yours is big with some important meaning, by your eyes, your blushes, and that sweet confusion which I behold struggling in your bosom, tell me, with like openness and candour, what you think I ought to do, and what you would have me do. It is impossible for me to express the agitations of my mind, on this unexpected declaration, so contrary to his former behaviour. His manner too had something so noble, and so sincere, as I thought, that, alas for me! I found I had need of all my poor discretion, to ward off the blow which this treatment gave to my most guarded thoughts. I threw mvself at his feet; for I trembled, and could hardlv stand : O sir, said I, spare your poor servant's confusion! O spare the poor Pamela '.-Speak out, said he, and tell me, when I Lid you, What you think I ought to do ? 1 cannot say what you ought to do, answered I : vol. I. u ggo PAMELA; Olt, but I only beg you will not ruin me; and, if you think me virtuous, if you think me sincerely honest, let me go to my poor parents. 1 will vow to you, that I will never suffer myself to be engaged without your approbation. Still he insisted upon a more explicit answer to his question, of what I thought he ought to do. And I said, As to my poor thoughts of what you ought to do, I must needs say, that indeed 1 think you ought to regard the world's opinion, and avoid doing any thing disgraceful to your birth and fortune; and, therefore, if you really honour the poor Pamela with your respect, a little time, absence, and the conversation of worthier persons of my sex, will effectually enable you to overcome a regard so unworthy your condition : And this, good sir, is the best advice I can offer. Charming creature! lovely Pamela! said he, (with an ardour that was never before so agreeable to me,) this generous manner is of a piece with all the rest of your con- duct. But tell me, still more explicitly, what you would advise me to, in the case. O, sir ! said I, take not advantage of my credulity, and these my weak moments : but were I the first lady in the land, instead of the poor abject Pamela, I would, I could tell you. But I can say no more O my dear father and mother! now I know you will indeed be concerned for me ; for now I am for myself. And now I begin to be afraid I know too well the reason why all his hard trials of me, and my black apprehensions, would not let me hate him. But be assured still, by God's grace, that I shall do nothing unworthy of your Pamela ; and if I find that he is still capable of deceiving me, and that this conduct VIRTUE REWARDED. 291 is only put on to delude me more, I shall think nothing in t Ills world so vile, and so odious; and nothing, if he be not the worst of his kind, (as he says, and, I hope, he is not,) so desperately guileful, as the heart of man. He generously said, I will spare your confusion, Pamela. But I hope I may promise myself, that you can love me preferably to any other man ; and that no one in the world has had any share in your affections ; for I am very jealous of what I love; and if I thought you had a secret whispering in your soul, that had not yet come up to a wish, for any other man breathing, I should not forgive myself \o persist in my affection for you; nor you, if you did not frankly acquaint me with it. As I still continued on my knees, on the grass border by the pond-side, he sat himself down on the grass by me, and took me in his arms: Why hesitates my Pamela? said he. Can you not answer me with truth, as I wish? If you cannot, speak, and I will forgive you. O good sir, said I, it is not that ; indeed it is not: but a frightful word or two that you said to Mrs. Jewkes, when you thought I was not in hearing, comes cross my mind ; and makes me dread that I am in more danger than ever I was in my life. You have never found me a common liar, said he, (too fearful and foolish Pamela!) nor will I answer how long I may hold in my present mind ; for my pride struggles hard within me, I'll assure you; and if you doubt me, I have no obligation to your confidence or opinion. But, at present, I ain really sincere in what I say: And I expect you will be so tun; and answer directly my question. 92 PAMELA ; OR, I find, sir, said I, I know not myself; and your ques- tion is of such a nature, that I only want to tell you what I heard, and to have your kiud answer to it ; or else, what I have to say to your question, may pave the way to my ruin, and shew a weakness that I did not believe was in me. Well, said he, you may say what you have overheard; for, in not answering me directly, you put my soul upon the rack ; and half the trouble I have had with you would have brought to my arms one of the finest ladies in Eng- land. sir, said I, my virtue is as dear to me, as if I was of the highest quality ; and my doubts (for which you know I have had too much reason) have made me troublesome. But now, sir, I will tell you what I heard, which has given me great uneasiness. You talked to Mrs. Jewkes of having begun wrong with me, in trying to subdue me with terror, and of frost, and such like You remember it well: And that you would, for the future, change your conduct, and try to melt me, that was your word, by kindness. 1 fear not, sir, the grace of God supporting me, that any acts of kindness would make me forget what I owe to my virtue : but, sir, I may, I find, be made more miserable by such acts, than by terror; because my nature is too frank and open to make me wish to be ungrateful: and if I should be taught a lesson I never yet learnt, with what regret should I descend to the grave, to think that I could not hate my undoer : and that, at the last great day, I must stand up as an accuser of the poor un- happy soul, that I rould wish it in my power to save ! VIRTUE REWARDED. QQ3 Exalted girl ! said he, what a thought is that ! Why, now, Pamela, you excel yourself! You have given me a hint that will hold me long. But, sweet creature, said he, tell me what is this lesson, which you never yet learnt, and which you are so afraid of learning ? If, sir, said I, you will ag;iin generously spare my con- fusion, I need not speak it: But this I will say, in answer to the question you seem most solicitous about, that I know not the man breathing that I would wish to be mar- ried to, or that ever I thought of with such an idea. I had brought my mind so to love poverty, that 1 hoped for nothing but to return to the best, though the poorest of parents ; and to employ myself in serving God, and com- forting them ; and you know not, sir, how you disappointed those hopes, and my proposed honest pleasures, when you sent me hither. Well then, said he, I may promise myself, that neither the parson, nor any oilier man, is any the least secret motive to your steadfast refusal of my offers ? Indeed, sir, said I, \ou may ; and, as vou was pleased to ask, I answer, that I have not the least shadow of a wish, or thought, for any man living. But, said he, (for I am foolishly jealous, and yet it shews my fondness for you,) have you not encouraged Williams to think you will have him ? Indeed, sir, said I, I have not ; but the very contrary. And would you not have had him, said he, if you had got away by his means ? I had resolved, sir, said I, in my mind, otherwise; and he knew it; and the poor man I charge you, said he, say not a word in his favour! You will excite a whirlwind iu my soul, if you name him with kindness; and then you'll be borne away with the tempest. 294 PAMELA ; OK, Sir, said I, I have done! Nay, said lie, but do not have done; let me know the whole. If you have any regard for him, speak out ; for it would end fearfully for you, for me, and for him, if I found that you dis- guised any secret of your soul from me, in this nice par- ticular. Sir, said I, if I have ever given you cause to think me sincere Say then, said he, interrupting me with great vehemence, and taking both my hands between his, Say, that you now, in the presence of God, declare that you have not any the most hidden regard for Williams, or any other man. Sir, said I, I do. As God shall bless me, and preserve my innocence, I have not. Well, said he, I will believe you, Pamela; and in time, perhaps, I may better bear that man's name. Aud, if I am convinced that you are not prepossessed, my vanity makes me assured, that I need not to fear a place in your esteem, equal, if not preferable, to any man in England. But yet it stings my pride to the quick, that you was so easily brought, and at such a short acquaintance, to run away with that college novice ! O good sir, said I, may I be heard one thing ? And though I bring upon me your highest indignation, I will tell you, perhaps, the unnecessary and imprudent, but yet the whole truth. My honesty (I am poor and lowly, au d am not entitled to call it honour) was in danger. I saw no means of securing myself from your avowed attempts. You had shewed you would not stick at little matters ; and what, sir, could any body have thought of my sincerity, in pre- ferring that to all other considerations, if I had not escaped from these dangers, if I could have found any VIRTUE REWARDED. 295 way for it? I am not going to say any thing for him; but, indeed, indeed, sir, I was the cause of putting him upon assisting me in my escape. I got him to acquaint me what gentry there were in the neighbourhood that I might fly to; and prevailed upon him Don't frown at me, good sir; for I must tell you the whole truth to apply to one Lady Jones ; to Lady Darnford ; and he was so good to apply to Mr. Peters, the minister: But they all refused me ; and then it was he let me know, that there was no honourable way but marriage. That I declined ; and he agreed to assist me for God's sake. Now, said he, you are going I boldly put my hand before his mouth, hardly knowing the liberty I took : Pray, sir, said I, don't be angry; I have just done I would only say, that rather than have staid to be ruined, 1 would have thrown myself upon the poorest beggar that ever the world saw, if I thought him honest. And I hope, when you duly weigh all matters, you will forgive me, and not think me so bold, and so forward, as you have been pleased to call me. Well, said he, even in this your last speech, which, let me tell you, shews more your honesty of heart than your p udence, you ha ve not over-much plt?Hi?tHl m ou; and since I have avowedly made several of these attempts, do you think it is possible for you to love me preferably to any other of my sex ? Ah, sir! said I, and here my doubt recurs, that you may thus graciously use me, to take advantage of my cre- dulitv. 295 PAMELA ; OH, Still perverse and doubting ! said he Cannot you take me as I am at present s And that, I have told you, is bin- cere and undesigning, whatever I may be hereafter. Ah, sir ! replied I, what can I say ? I have already said too much, if this dreadful hereafter should take place. Don't bid me say how well I cau And then, my face glowing as the fire, I, all abashed, leaned upon his shoulder, to hide my confusion. He clasped me to him with great ardour, and said, Hide your dear face in my bosom, my beloved Pamela ! your innocent freedoms charm me ! But then say, How well what ? If you will be good, said I, to your poor servant, and spare her, I cannot say too much ! But if not, I am doubly undone ! Undone indeed ! Said he, I hope my present temper will hold ; for I tell you frankly, that 1 have known, in this agreeable hour, more sincere pleasure than I have experienced in all the guilty tumults that my desiring soul compelled me into, in the hopes of possessing you on my own terms. And, Pamela, you must pray for the continuance of this temper ; and I hope your prayers will get the better of my temp- tations. This sweet goodness overpowered all my reserves. I threw myself at his feet, and embraced his knees: What pleasure, sir, you give me at these gracious words, is not lent your poor servant to express ! I shall be too much rewarded for all my sufferings, if this goodness hold ! God grant it may, for your own soul's sake as well as mine. And oh ! how happy should I be, if He stopt me, and said, But, my dear girl, what must we do about the world, and the world's censure ? Indeed, I cannot marry ! VIRTUE REWARDED. Q7 Now was I again struck all of a heap. However, soon recollecting myself, Sir, said I, I have not the presumption to hope such an honour. If I may be permitted to return in peace and safety to my poor parents, to pray for you there, it is all I at present request ! This, sir, after all my apprehensions and dangers, will be a great pleasure to me. And, if I know my own poor heart, I shall wish you happy in a lady of suitable degree; and rejoice most sincerely in every circumstance that shall make for the happiness of my late good lady's most beloved son. Well, said he, this conversation, Pamela, is gone farther than I intended it. You need not be afraid, at this rate, ot trusting yourself with me: but it is I that ought to be doubtful of myself, when I am with you. But, before I say any thing farther on this subject, I will take my proud heart to task; and, till then, let every thing be as if this conversation had never passed. Only, let me tell you, that the more confidence you place in me, the more you'll oblige me: but your doubts will only beget cause of doubts. And with this ambiguous saying, he saluted me with a more formal maimer, if I may so say, than before, and lent me his hand ; and so we walked toward the house, side by side, he seeming very thoughtful and pen- sive, as if he had already repented him of his goodness. What shall I do, what steps take, if all this be design- ing! O the perplexities of these cruel doubtings! To bo. sure, if he be false, as 1 may call it, I have gone too far, much too far ! I am ready, on the apprehension of this, to bite my forward tongue (or rather to beat my more forward heart, that dictated to that poor machine) for what I have said. But sure, at least, he must be sincere for the time! He could not be such a practised dis- VOL. I. \ 298 PAMELA, &C. sembler ! If he could, O how desperately wicked is tin heart of man ! And where could he learn all these bar barous arts? If so, it must be native surely to the sex! But, silent be my rash censurings ; be hushed, ye stormy tumults of my disturbed mind ! for have I not a father win is a man 1 A man who knows no guile ! who would do m wrong! who would not deceive or oppress, to gain ; kingdom ! How then can I think it is native to the sex ' And I must also hope my good lady's son cannot be tin worst of men! If he is, hard the lot of the excellent woman that bore him ! But much harder the hap of youi poor Pamela, who has fallen into such hands ! But yet 1 will trust in God, and hope the best : and so lay down raj tired pen for this time. END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. J. MOYES, PRINTER, Grevillc Street, llatlon Garden, London. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. IH7B LD-UB1 use OCT 9 ^CT 121970 K ^W 974 OCT 7 1980 in jUN 1 5 1984 (JJS. P 1? # PJ ^ &//, W> QLJMflO" '2219* 10w-9,'66(G5925s4) REC'D LD-URL fiL JAN 1 5 1990 -3AM 9 1998 QL JflN 2 1 1991 Jam <. [KM 3 1158 00619 3014 D R 3661 M31 v.l UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY