Letter XX

My dear Father and Mother,

I Did not send my last Letters so soon as I would, 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; tho’ he is very civil to me too. So I was forced to stay till John return’d.

As I may not have Opportunity to send again soon, and yet as I know you keep my Letters, and read them over and over (so John told me) when you have done Work, so much does your Kindness make you love all that comes from your poor Daughter; and as it may be some little Pleasure to me, may-hap, to read them myself, when I am come to you, to remind me what I have gone thro’, and how great God’s Goodness has been to me (which, I hope, will rather strengthen my good Resolutions, that I may not hereafter, from my bad Conduct, have Reason to condemn myself from my own Hand, as it were): For all these Reasons, I say, I will write as I have Time, and as Matters happen, and send the Scribble to you as I have Opportunity; and if I don’t every time, in Form, subscribe as I ought, I am sure you will always believe that it is not for want of Duty. So I will begin where I left off about the Talk between Mrs. Jervis and me, for me to ask to stay.

Unknown to Mrs. Jervis, I put a Project, as I may call it, in Practice. I thought with myself some Days ago, Here I shall go home to my poor Father and Mother, and have nothing on my Back, that will be fit for my Condition; for how should your poor Daughter look with a Silk Night-gown, Silken Petticoats, Cambrick Head-cloaths, fine Holland Linen, lac’d Shoes, that were my Lady’s, and fine Stockens! And how in a little while must they have look’d, like old Cast-offs indeed, and I look’d so for wearing them! And People would have said, (for poor Folks are envious, as well as rich) See there Goody Andrews’s Daughter, turn’d 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 come to be in Tatters, and worn out? And how should I look, even if I could get homespun Cloths, to dwindle into them one by one, as I could get them?—May-be, an old Silk Gown, and a new Linsey-woolsey Petticoat, and so on. So, thinks I, I had better get myself at once ‘quipt in the Dress that would become my Condition; and tho’ it might look but poor to what I was us’d to wear of late Days, yet it would serve me, when I came to you, for a good Holiday and Sunday Suit, and what by God’s Blessing on my Industry, I might, may-be, 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-colour’d 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 Calicoe, I had by me.

I had a pretty good Camlet quilted Coat, that I thought might do tolerably well; and I bought two Flannel Under-coats, not so good as my Swan-skin and fine Linen ones; but what would keep me warm, if any Neighbour should get me to go out to help ’em to milk, now-and-then, as sometimes I us’d to do formerly; for I am resolv’d to do all your good Neighbours what Kindness I can; and hope to make myself as much belov’d about you, as I am here.

I got some pretty good Scots Cloth, and made me at 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 ’em for you, and desire your Acceptance as my first Present.

Then I bought of a Pedlar, two pretty enough round-ear’d Caps, a little Straw Hat, and a Pair of knit Mittens, turn’d up with white Calicoe; 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 Ribbon for my Shift Sleeves, and to serve as a Necklace; and when I had ’em all come home, I went and look’d upon them once in two Hours, for two Days together: For, you must know, tho’ I lay with Mrs. Jervis, I kept my own little Apartment still for my Cloaths; and nobody went thither but myself. You’ll say, I was no bad Housewife to have sav’d so much Money; but my dear good Lady was always giving me something.

I believ’d myself the more oblig’d to do this, because as I was turn’d away for what my good Master thought Want of Duty; and, as he expected other Returns for his Presents, than I intended, I bless God, 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, now I think of it, about the Four Guineas, nor borrow to make them up; for they were given me, with some Silver, as I told you, as a Perquisite, being what my Lady had about her when she dy’d; and, as I hope for no other Wages, I am so vain as to think I have deserv’d them in the fourteen Months, since my Lady’s Death: For she, good Soul! overpaid me before in Learning and other Kindnesses.—O had she liv’d, none of these Things might have happen’d!—But God be prais’d, ’tis no worse. Every thing turns 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 my new Cloaths, more than ever I did in any new Cloaths in my Life; for then I shall be soon after with you, and at Ease in my Mind.—But mum—I am, &c.

Letter XXI

My dear Father and Mother,

I Was forc’d to break off; for I fear’d my Master was coming; but it prov’d to be only Mrs. Jervis. She came to me, and said, I can’t endure you should be so much by yourself, Pamela. And I, said I, dread nothing so much as Company; for my Heart was up at my Mouth now, for fear my Master was coming. But I always rejoice to see my 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 talk’d of by him. O, said she, I must not tell you all; but you are of more Consequence to him, than you think for—

Or wish for, said I; for the Fruits of being of Consequence to him, would make me of none to myself, or any body else.

Said she, thou art as witty as any Lady in the Land. I wonder where thou gottest it. But they must be poor Ladies, with such great Opportunities, I am sure, if they have no more 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, says she; but indeed, Pamela, he is very angry at you too; and calls you twenty perverse Things; wonders at his own Folly, to have shewn you so much Favour, as he calls it; which he was first inclin’d 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, tho’ 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 wish’d (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 colour’d 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 any Gentleman’s Wife; any more than he would be a Gentleman that would offer it.

Nay, now, Pamela, said she, thou carriest thy Notions a great way. Well, dear Mrs. Jervis, said I, very seriously, for I could not help it, I am more full of Fears than ever. I have only to beg of you as one of the best Friends I have in the World, to say nothing of my asking to stay. To say my Master likes me, when I know what End he aims at, is Abomination to my Ears; and I shan’t think myself safe till I am at my poor Father’s and Mother’s.

She was a little angry at me, ‘till I assur’d 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 finish’d this ugly Waistcoat in two Days; after which, I have only some Linen to get up, and do something to, and shall then let you know how I shall 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 suffer’d 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, cannot live without me; and so I go to them to help to comfort their old Age; but they seem not to believe it.

What they found it out by, was, the Butler heard him say to me, as I pass’d by him, in the Entry leading to the Hall, Who’s that? Pamela, Sir, said I. Pamela! said he, How long are you to stay here!—Only, please your Honour, said I, till I have done the Waistcoat; and it is almost done.—You might, says he, (very roughly indeed) have finish’d that long enough ago, I should have thought! Indeed, and please your Honour said I, I have work’d early and late upon it; there is a great deal of Work in it! Work in it! said he; yes, you mind your Pen more than your Needle; I don’t want such idle Sluts to stay in my House.

He seem’d startled, when he saw the Butler. As he enter’d the Hall, where Mr. Jonathan stood, What do you here, said he?—The Butler was as much confounded as I; for I never having been tax’d so roughly, 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—1! 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 then 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-temper’d Gentleman in the World, one of the most peevish. But you have it in your Power to make him as sweet-temper’d as ever; tho’ I hope in God you’ll never do it on his Terms!

This was very good in Mrs. Jervis; but it intimated, that she thought as ill of his Designs as I; and as she knew his Mind more than I, it convinc’d me, that I ought to get away as fast as I could.

My Master came in, just now, to speak to Mrs. Jervis about Houshold Matters, having some Company to dine with him Tomorrow; and I stood up, and having been crying, at his Roughness in the Entry, I turn’d 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 tho’ it will be now finish’d in a few Hours, I will do so still; and remove this hateful 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 inchants all that come near her. She makes even you, who should know better what the World is, think her an Angel of Light.

I offer’d to go away; for I believ’d 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 snatch’d my Hand. I trembled, and said, I will! I will! for he hurt my Fingers, he grasp’d me so hard.

He seem’d to have a mind to say something to me; but broke off abruptly; and said, Begone! And away I tripp’d, as fast as I could; and he and Mrs. Jervis had a deal of Talk, as she told me; and among the rest, he express’d himself vex’d to have spoke in Mr. Jonathan’s Hearing.

Now you must know, that Mr. Jonathan our Butler, is a very grave good sort of old Man, with his Hair as white as Silver! and an honest worthy Man he is. I was hurrying out, with a Flea in my Ear, as the Saying is, and going down Stairs into the Parlour, met him. He took hold of my Hand, in a gentler manner tho’, than my Master, with both his; and he said, Ah! sweet, sweet Mrs. Pamela! what is it I heard 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 cry’d 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 wrote out, I stepp’d 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, Aye, that I will, my sweet Maiden! And gave me three Pens, some Wafers, a Stick of Wax, and twelve Sheets of Paper; and coming from his Desk, where he was writing, he said, Let me have a Word or two with you, my sweet little Mistress (for so these two good old Gentlemen often call me; for I believe they love me dearly): I hear bad News; that we are going to lose you: I hope it is not true. Yes, it is, Sir, said I; but I was in Hopes it would not be known till I went away.

What a D—l, said he, ails our Master of late! I never saw such an Alteration in any Man in my Life! He is pleas’d with nobody, as I see; and by what Mr. Jonathan tells me just now, he was quite out of the way with you. What could you have done to him, tro’? Only Mrs. Jervis is a very good Woman, or I should have fear’d she had been your Enemy.

No, said I, nothing like it. Mrs. Jervis is a just good Woman, and next to my Father and Mother, the best Friend I have in the World.—Well then, says he, it must be worse. Shall I guess? You are too pretty, my sweet Mistress, and, may-be, too virtuous. Ah! have I not hit it? No, good Mr. Longman, said I, don’t think any thing amiss of my Master; he is cross and angry with me indeed, that’s true; but I may have given Occasion for it, may-be; and because I am oblig’d to go to my Father and Mother, rather than stay here, may-hap, he may think me ungrateful. But you know, Sir, said I, that a Father and Mother’s Comfort is the dearest thing to a good Child that can be. Sweet Excellence! said he, this becomes you; but I know the World and Mankind too well; tho’ I must hear, and see, and say nothing! But God bless my little Sweeting, said he, where-ever you go! And away went I, with a Curchee and Thanks.

Now this pleases one, my dear Father and Mother, to be so beloved.—How much better, by good Fame and Integrity, is it to get every one’s good Word but one, than by pleasing that one, to make every one else one’s Enemy, and be an execrable Creature besides! I am, &c.

Letter XXIII

My dear Father and Mother,

We had a great many neighbouring Gentlemen, and their Ladies, this Day at Dinner; and my Master made a fine Entertainment for them. And Isaac, and Mr. Jonathan, and Benjamin waited at Table. And Isaac tells Mrs. Jervis, that the Ladies will by-and-by come to see the House, and have the Curiosity to see me; for it seems, they said to my Master, when the Jokes flew about, Well Mr. B—, we understand that you have a Servant-maid, who is the greatest Beauty in the Country; 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, and she on her Death-bed engag’d me to be kind to her. She is young, and every thing is pretty that is young.

Aye, aye, says one of the Ladies, that is true; but if your Mother had not recommended her so strongly, there is so much Merit in Beauty, that I make no doubt such a fine Gentleman would have wanted no such strong Inducement to be kind.

They all laugh’d at my Master: And he, it seems, laugh’d 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 she deserves: She is well enough, as I said; but I think her greatest Excellence is, that she is humble, and courteous, and faithful, and makes all her Fellow-servants love her; my House-keeper in particular doats upon her, and you know, Ladies, she is a Woman of Discernment; and, as for Mr. Longman, and Jonathan, here, if they thought themselves young enough, I am told, they would fight for her. Is it not true, Jonathan? Troth, Sir, said he, an’t please your Honour, I never knew her Peer, and all your Honour’s Family are of the same Mind. Do you hear now? said my Master—Well, said the Ladies, we will make a Visit to Mrs. Jervis by-and-by, and hope to see this Paragon.

Well, I believe, they are coming, and I will tell you more by-and-by. I wish they had come, and were gone. Why can’t they make their Game without me!

Well, these fine Ladies have been here, and gone back again. I would have been absent if I could, and did step into the Closet, so they saw me not 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 oblig’d 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. Aye, 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 wish’d 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 Spight, 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 cover’d with Blushes; and they smil’d at one another.

The Countess took me by the Hand: Why, indeed, she was pleas’d to say, Report has not been too lavish, I’ll assure you. Don’t be asham’d, Child (and star’d full in my Face); I wish I had just such a Face to be asham’d of! O how like a Fool I look’d!—

Lady Arthur said, Aye, my good Pamela, I say as her Ladyship says: Don’t be so confus’d; tho’ 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 liv’d till now.

Ah! Madam, said Lady Brooks, do you think, that so dutiful a Son as our Neighbour, who always admir’d what his Mother lov’d, does not pride himself, for all what he said at Table, in such a pretty Maiden?

She look’d with such a malicious sneering Countenance, I cannot abide her.

Lady Towers said, with a free Air; for it seems she is call’d a Wit; Well, Mrs. Pamela, I can’t say, I like you so well as these Ladies do; for I should never care, if you were my Servant, to see you and your Master in the same House together. Then they all set up a great Laugh.

I know what I could have said, if I durst. But they are Ladies—and Ladies may say any thing.

Says Lady Towers, Can the pretty Image speak, Mrs. Jervis? I vow she has speaking Eyes! O you little Rogue, says she, and tapt 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 Curchees; and Lady Towers said, as I went out, Prettily said, I vow!—And Lady Brooks said, See that Shape! I never saw such a Face and Shape in my Life; why she must be better descended than you have told me!

And so, belike, their Clacks run for half an Hour in my Praises, and glad was I, when I got out of the Hearing of them.

But it seems they went down with such a Story to my Master, and so full of me, that he had a hard Life to stand it; but as it was very little to my Reputation, I am sure I could take no Pride in it; and I fear’d it would make no better for me. This gives me another Cause for leaving this House.

This is Thursday Morning, and next Thursday I hope to set out; for I have finish’d my Task, and my Master is horrid cross: And I am vex’d, his Crossness affects me so. If ever he had any Kindness towards me, I believe he now hates me heartily.

Is it not strange, that Love borders so much upon Hate? But this wicked Love is not like the true virtuous Love, to be sure: That and Hatred must be as far off, as Light and Darkness. And how must this Hate have been increased, if he had met with a base Compliance, after his wicked Will had been gratify’d?

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 had ceas’d to have its Charms, and Change-ableness had taken place of it? Thus we read in Holy Writ, that wicked Amnon8, when he had ruin’d poor Tamar, hated her more than ever he lov’d her, and would have turn’d her out of Door!

How happy am I, to be turn’d out of Door, with that sweet Companion my Innocence!—O may that be always my Companion! And while I presume not upon my own Strength, and am willing to avoid the Tempter, I hope the Divine Grace will assist me.

Forgive me, that I repeat in my Letter Part of my hourly Prayer. I owe every thing, next to God’s Goodness, to your Piety and good Examples, my dear Parents; my dear poor Parents, I will say, because your Poverty is my Pride, as your Integrity shall be my Imitation.

As soon as I have din’d, I will put on my new Cloaths. 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-dress’d.—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.

Letter XXIV

Dear Father and Mother,

I Shall write on, as long as I stay, tho’ I should have nothing but Sillinesses to write; for I know you divert yourselves at Nights with what I write, because it is mine. John tells me how much you long for my coming; but he says, he told you, he hop’d something would happen to hinder it.

I am glad you did not tell him the Occasion of my coming away; for if they should guess, it were better so, than to have it from you or me: Besides, I really am concern’d that my poor Master should cast such a Thought upon such a Creature as me; for besides the Disgrace, it has quite turn’d his Temper; and I begin to think 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 din’d, up Stairs I went, and lock’d myself into my little Room. There I trick’d myself up as well as I could in my new Garb, and put on my round-ear’d ordinary Cap; but with a green Knot however, and my homespun Gown and Petticoat, and plain-leather Shoes; but yet they are what they call Spanish Leather, and my ordinary Hose, ordinary I mean to what I have been lately used to; tho’ I shall think good Yarn may do very well for every Day, when I come home. A plain Muslin Tucker I put on, and my black Silk Necklace, instead of the French Necklace my Lady gave me, and put the Ear-rings out of my Ears; and when I was quite ’quip’d, I took my Straw Hat in my Hand, with its two blue Strings, and look’d about me in the Glass, as proud as any thing.—To say Truth, I never lik’d myself so well in my Life.

O the Pleasure of descending with Ease, Innocence and Resignation!—Indeed there is nothing like it! An humble Mind, I plainly see, cannot meet with any very shocking Disappointment, let Fortune’s Wheel turn round as it will.

So I went down to look for Mrs. Jervis, to see how she lik’d me.

I met, as I was upon the Stairs, our Rachel, who is the Housemaid, and she made me a low Curchee, and I found did not know me. So I smil’d, 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 pull’d off her Spectacles; and said, Do you want me, forsooth? I could not help laughing, and said, Hey-day! Mrs. Jervis, what! don’t you know me?—She stood all in Amaze, and look’d at me from Top to Toe; Why you surprise me, said she; what! Pamela! Thus metamorphos’d! How came this about? As it happen’d, 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 with her?—She turn’d me about and about, and I shew’d 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 Cloaths suitable to my Condition when I return’d to my Father’s; and so it was better to begin here, as I was soon to go away, that all my Fellow-servants might see, I knew how to suit myself to the State I was returning to.

Well, said she, I never knew the like of thee. But this sad Preparation for going away (for now I see you are quite in Earnest) is what I know not how to get over. O my dear Pamela, how can I part with you!

My Master rung in the back Parlour, and so I withdrew, and Mrs. Jervis went to attend him. It seems he said to her, I was coming in to let you know that I shall go to Lincolnshire, and may-be to my Sister Davers’s, and be absent some Weeks. But, pray, what pretty neat Damsel was that with you? She says, she smil’d, and ask’d 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?—Tho’ I did not see her Face neither, said he. If your Honour won’t be angry, said she, I will introduce her into your Presence; for I think, says she, she out-does our Pamela.

Now I did not thank her for this, as I told her afterwards (for it brought a great deal of Trouble upon me, as well as Crossness, as you shall hear). That can’t be, he was pleased to say. But if you can find an Excuse for it, let her come in.

At that she stept to me, and told me, I must go in with her to my Master; but, said she, for Goodness sake, let him find you out; for he don’t know you. Good Sirs! Mrs. Jervis, said I, how could you serve me so? Besides, it looks too free both in me, and to him. I tell you, said she, you shall come in; and pray don’t reveal yourself till he finds you out.

So I went in, foolish as I was; tho’ 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 Curchee, but said never a Word. I dare say, he knew me as soon as he saw my Face; but was as cunning as Lucifer. He came up to me, and took me by the Hand, and said, Whose pretty Maiden are you?—I dare say you are Pamela’s Sister, you are so like her. So neat, so clean, so pretty! Why, Child, you far surpass your Sister Pamela!

I was all Confusion, and would have spoken; but he took me about the Neck; Why, said he, you are very pretty, Child; I would not be so free with your Sister, you may believe; but I must kiss you.

O Sir, said I, I am Pamela, indeed I am: Indeed I am Pamela, her own 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, tho’ I would not do her so much Favour.

This was a sad Bite upon me indeed, and what I could not expect; and Mrs. Jervis look’d like a Fool as much as I, for her Officiousness.—At last I got away, and ran out of the Parlour, most sadly vex’d, as you may well think.

He talk’d a good deal to Mrs. Jervis, and at last order’d me to come in to him. Come in, said he, you little Villain! for so he call’d me; good Sirs! what a Name was there! Who is it you put your Tricks upon? I was resolved never to honour your Unworthiness, said he, with so much Notice again; and so you must disguise yourself, to attract me, and yet pretend, like an Hypocrite as you are—

I was out of Patience, then; Hold, good Sir, said I; don’t impute Disguise and Hypocrisy to me, above all things; for I hate them both, mean as I am. I have put on no Disguise.—What a-plague, said he, for that was his Word, do you mean then by this Dress?—Why, and please your Honour, said I, I mean one of the honestest things in the World. I have been in Disguise indeed ever since my good Lady, your Mother, took me from my poor Parents. I came to her Ladyship so poor and mean, that these Cloaths I have on, are a princely Suit, to those I had then. And her Goodness heap’d upon me rich Cloaths, and other Bounties: And as I am now returning to my poor Parents again so soon, I cannot wear those good things without being whooted at; and so have bought what will be more suitable to my Degree, and be a good Holiday Suit too, when I get home.

He then took me in his Arms, and presently push’d me from him. Mrs. Jervis, said he, take the little Witch from me; I can neither bear, nor forbear her! (Strange Words these!)—But stay, you shan’t go!—Yet begone!—No, come back again.

I thought he was mad, for my Share; for he knew not what he would have. But I was going however, and 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 look’d at me, and look’d as silly as such a poor Girl as I, I thought afterwards.—At last, he said, Well, Mrs. Jervis, as I was telling you, you may suffer 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 Fault. Pride and Perverse-ness, said he, with a Vengeance! Yet this is your Doating-piece!—Well, for once I’ll submit myself, to tell you, Hussy, said he to me, you may stay a Fortnight longer, till I see my Sister Davers: Do you hear what I say to you, Statue! can you neither speak, nor be thankful?—Your Honour frights me so, said I, that I can hardly speak: But I will venture to say, that I have only to beg, as a Favour, that I may go to my Father and Mother.—Why, Fool, says 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 was pleased to say, I might be in Danger from her Ladyship’s Nephew, or he from me?—D—d Impertinence! said he; do you hear, Mrs. Jervis, do you hear, how she retorts upon me? Was ever such matchless Assurance!—

I then fell a weeping; for Mrs. Jervis said, Fie, Pamela, fie!—And I said, My Lot is very hard indeed! I am sure I would hurt nobody; and I have been, it seems, guilty of Indiscretions, which have cost me my Place, and my Master’s Favour, and so have been turn’d away. And when the Time is come, that I should return to my poor Parents, I am not suffer’d to go quietly. Good your Honour, what have I done, that I must be used worse than if I had robb’d you!—Robb’d me! said he, why so you have, Hussy; you have robb’d me. Who! I! Sir, said I, have I robb’d you? Why then you are a Justice of Peace, and may send me to Gaol, if you please, and bring me to a Tryal for my Life5! If you can prove that I have robb’d you, I am sure I ought to die!

Now I was quite ignorant of his Meaning; tho’ I did not like it when it was afterwards explain’d, neither; and, well, thought I, what will this come to at last, if poor Pamela is thought 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 call’d Names for it; for I don’t mean disrespectfully; Why, if I have done amiss, am I not left to be discharged by your Housekeeper, as the other Maids have been? And if Jane, or Rachel, or Hannah, were to offend, would your Honour stoop to take Notice of them? And why should you so demean yourself to take Notice of me? Pray, Sir, if I have not been worse than others, why should I suffer more than others? and why should I not be turn’d away, and there’s an End of it? For indeed I am not of Consequence enough for my Master to concern himself and be angry about such a Creature as me.

Do you hear, Mrs. Jervis, cry’d he again, how pertly I am interrogated by this sawcy Slut? Why, Sauce-box, says he, did not my good Mother desire me to take care of you? and have you not been always distinguish’d by me, above a common Servant? and does your Ingratitude upbraid me for this?

I said something mutteringly, and he vow’d he would hear it. I begg’d 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 sawcy, 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 his 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 fearful now.

Just now Mr. Jonathan sent me these Lines—(Lord 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—I will have her! Burn this instantly.’

O pray for your poor Daughter! I am called to go to-bed by Mrs. Jervis, for it is past Eleven; and I am sure she shall hear of it; for all this is owing to her, tho’ 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 the Morning; but may-be not; so won’t conclude; tho’ yet I must say, I am

Your most dutiful Daughter.

Letter XXV

My dear Parents,

O Let me take up my Complaint, and say, Never was poor Creature so unhappy, and so barbarously used, as your Pamela! O 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 left me!—But yet, don’t be frighted—for,—I hope—I hope, I am honest!—But if my Head and my Heart will let me, you shall hear all.—Is there no Constable nor Headborough, tho’, 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, and is a Justice himself; such a Justice, deliver me from!—But God Almighty, I hope, in time, will right me!—For he knows the Innocence of my Heart!6—

John went your way in the Morning; but I have been too much distracted to send by him; and have seen nobody but Mrs. Jervis, and Rachel, and one I hate to see: And indeed I hate now to see any body. Strange things I have to tell you, that happen’d since last Night, that good Mr. Jonathan’s Letter, and my Master’s Harshness put me into such a Fluster. But I will no more preambulate.

I went to Mrs. Jervis’s Chamber; and Oh! my dear Father and Mother, my wicked Master had hid himself, base Gentleman as he is! in her Closet, where she has a few Books, and Chest of Drawers, and such-like. I little suspected it; tho’ I used, till this sad Night, always to look into that Closet, and another in the Room, and under the Bed, ever since the Summer-house Trick, but never found any thing; and so I did not do it then, being fully resolv’d to be angry with Mrs. Jervis for what had happen’d 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 suffer’d 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 turn’d out so? Ay, said I, little thinking who heard me, Lucifer always is ready to promote his own Work and Workmen. You see, presently, what Use he made of it, pretending not to know me, on purpose to be free with me: And when he took upon himself to know me, to quarrel with me, and use me hardly: And you too, said I, to cry, Fie, fie, Pamela! cut me to the Heart: For that encourag’d him.

Do you think, my Dear, said she, that I would encourage him?—I never said so to you before; but since you force it from me, I must tell you, that ever since you consulted me, I have used my utmost Endeavours to divert him from his wicked Purposes; and he has promised fair; but, to say all in a Word, he doats upon you; and I begin to see it is not in his Power to help it.

I luckily said nothing of the Note from Mr. Jonathan; for I began to suspect all the World almost: But I said, to try Mrs. Jervis, Well then, what would you have me do? You see he is for having me wait on Lady 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 Master has been often desiring me to put you upon asking him to let you stay.—

Yes, said I, Mrs. Jervis, let me interrupt you: I will tell you why I could not think of that: It was not the Pride of my Heart; but the Pride of my Honesty: For what must have been the Case? Here my Master has been very rude to me, once and twice; and you say he cannot help it, tho’ he pretends to be sorry for it: Well, he has given me Warning to leave my Place, and uses me very harshly; may-hap, to frighten me to his Purposes, as he supposes I would be fond of staying (as indeed I should, if I could be safe; for I love you and all the House, and value him, if he would act as my Master). Well then, as I know his Designs, and that he owns he cannot help it; must I not have asked to stay, knowing he would attempt me again? for all you could assure me of, was, he would do nothing by Force; so I, a poor weak Girl, was to be left to my own Strength, God knows! And was not this to allow him to tempt me, as one may say? and to encourage him to go on in his wicked Devices?—How then, Mrs. Jervis, could I ask or wish to stay?

You say well, my dear Child, says she; and you have a Justness of Thought above your Years; and for all these Confederations, and for what I have heard this Day, after you run away, (and I am glad you went as you did) I cannot persuade you to stay; and I shall be glad, which is what I never thought I could have said, that you was 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, said I, when I was gone? Why, says she, he was very angry with you. But he would hear it, said I! I think it was a little bold; but then he provoked me to it. And had not my Honesty been in the Case, I would not by any means have been so sawcy. 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 asham’d to continue in the same Mind. But, said she, when you had mutter’d this to yourself, you might have told him any thing else. Well, said I, I cannot tell a wilful Lye, and so there’s an End of it. But I find you now give him up, and think there’s Danger in staying!—Lord bless me, I wish I was well out of the House; tho’ it was at the Bottom of a wet Ditch, on the wildest Common in England!

Why, said she, it signifies nothing to tell you all he said; but it was enough to make me fear you would not be so safe as I could wish; and upon my Word, Pamela, I don’t wonder he loves you; for, without Flattery, you are a charming Girl! and I never saw you look more lovely in my Life, than in that same new Dress of yours. And then it was such a Surprize upon us all!—I believe truly, you owe some of your Danger to the lovely Appearance you made. Then, said I, I wish the Cloaths 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, says I, I think I heard something rustle!—May-be, says she, the Cat may be got there: But I hear nothing.

I was hush; but she said, Pr’ythee, my good Girl, make haste to-bed. See if the Door be fast. So I did, and was thinking to look in the Closet; but hearing no more Noise, thought it needless, and so went again and sat myself down on the Bedside, and went on undressing myself. And Mrs. Jervis being by this time undrest, stept into Bed, and bid me hasten, for she was sleepy.

I don’t know what was the Matter; but my Heart sadly misgave me; but Mr. Jonathan’s Note was enough to make it do so, with what Mrs. Jervis had said. I pulled off my Stays, and my Stockens, and my Gown, all to an Under-petticoat; and then hearing a rustling again in the Closet, I said, God protect us! but before I say my Prayers, I must look into this Closet. And so was going to it slip shod, when, O dreadful! out rush’d my Master, in a rich silk and silver Morning Gown.

I scream’d, and run to the Bed; and Mrs. Jervis scream’d 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 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 God’s sake! for Pity’s sake! Mrs. Jervis, said I, if I am not betray’d, don’t leave me; and, I beseech you, raise all the House. No, said Mrs. Jervis, I will not stir, my dear Lamb; I will not leave you. I wonder at you, Sir, said she, and kindly threw herself upon my Coat, clasping me round the Waist, you shall not hurt this Innocent, said she; for I will lose my Life in her Defence. Are there not, said she, enough wicked ones in the World, for your base Purpose, but you must attempt such a Lamb as this!

He was desperate angry, and threaten’d to throw her out of the Window; and to turn her out of the House the next Morning. You need not, Sir, said she; for I will not stay in it. God defend my poor Pamela till To-morrow, and we will both go together.—Says he, let me but expostulate a Word or two with you, Pamela. Pray, Pamela, said Mrs. Jervis, don’t hear a Word, except he leaves the Bed, and goes to the other End of the Room. Aye, out of the Room! said I; expostulate To-morrow, if you must expostulate!

I found his Hand in my Bosom, and when my Fright let me know it, I was ready to die; and I sighed, and scream’d, 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, clammy 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 prov’d to be, I found myself in Bed, and Mrs. Jervis sitting up on one side, with her Wrapper about her, and Rachel on the other; and no Master, for the wicked Wretch was gone. But I was so overjoy’d, 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? God be prais’d! God be prais’d!—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 judg’d Mrs. Rachel knew nothing of the Matter; and it seems my wicked Master had, upon Mrs. Jervis’s second Noise on my going away, slipt out, and, as if he had come from his own Chamber, disturbed by the Screaming, went up to the Maids Room, (who hearing the Noise, lay trembling, and afraid to stir) and bid them go down and see what was the Matter with Mrs. Jervis and me. And he charged Mrs. Jervis, and promised to forgive her for what she had said and done, if she would conceal the Matter. So the Maids came down; for the Men lie in the Out-houses; and all went up again, when I came to myself a little, except Rachel, who staid to sit up with me, and bear Mrs. Jervis Company. I believe they all guess the Matter to be bad enough; tho’ they dare not say any thing.

When I think of my Danger, and the Freedoms he actually took, tho’ I believe Mrs. Jervis saved me from worse, and she says she did, (tho’ what can I think, who was in a Fit, and knew nothing of the Matter?) I am almost distracted.

At first I was afraid of Mrs. Jervis; but I am fully satisfied she is very good, and I should have been lost but for her; and she takes on grievously about it. What would have become of me, had she gone out of the Room, to still the Maids, as he bid her. He’d certainly have shut her out, and then, Mercy on me! what would have become of your poor Pamela!

I must leave off a little, for my Eyes and my Head are sadly bad.—O this was a dreadful Trial! This was the worst of all! God send me safe from this dreadful 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 Enquiries about me. My wicked Master went out early to hunt; but left word, he would be in to breakfast. And so he was.

He came up to our Chamber about Eleven, and had nothing to do to be sorry: for he was our Master, and so put on sharp Anger at first.

I had great Emotions at his entring the Room, and threw my Apron over my Head, and fell a crying, as if my Heart would break.

Mrs. Jervis, said he, since I know you, and you me so well, I don’t know how we shall live together for the future. Sir, said she, I will take the Liberty to say what I think is best for us. I have so much Grief, that you should attempt to do any Injury to this poor Girl, and especially in my Chamber, that I should think myself accessary to the Mischief, if I was not to take Notice of it. Tho’ my Ruin therefore may depend upon it, I desire not to stay; but pray let poor Pamela and I go together. With all my Heart, said he, and the sooner the better. She fell a crying. I find, says he, this Girl has made a Party of the whole House in her Favour against me. Her Innocence deserves it of us all, said she very kindly: And I never could have thought that the Son of my dear good Lady departed, could have so forfeited his Honour, as to endeavour to destroy what 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 at falling into Fits, when she pleases. But the cursed Yellings of you both made me not my self. 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 rais’d 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 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 discompos’d me extremely; but I was sorry to hear myself the unhappy Occasion of Mrs. Jervis’s losing her Place, and hope that may be made up.

Well, said he, let Mr. Longman make up your Accounts, as soon as you will; and Mrs. Jewkes (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 disoblig’d you till now, and let me tell you, Sir, if you knew what belong’d to your own Reputation or Honour—No more, no more, said he, of these antiquated Topicks. I have been no bad Friend to you; and I shall always esteem you, tho’ you have not been so faithful to my Secrets, as I could have wish’d, 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 pass’d Yesterday, and last Night, I think I went rather too far in favour of your Injunctions than otherwise; and I should have deserv’d every body’s Censure for the basest of Creatures, had I been capable of contributing to your lawless Attempts. Still, Mrs. Jervis, still reflecting upon me, and all for imaginary Faults! for what Harm have I done the Girl?—I won’t bear it, I’ll assure you. But yet, in respect to my Mother, I am willing to part friendly with you. Tho’ 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 expect 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 sollicitous, 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 clasp’d my Hands together thro’ my Apron, over-joy’d at this, tho’ I was so soon to go away: For, naughty as he has been to me, I wish his Prosperity with all my Heart, for my good old Lady’s sake.

Well, Pamela, said he, you need not now be afraid to speak to me; tell me what you lifted up your Hands at? I said not a Word. Says he, If you like what I have said, give me your Hand upon it. I held my Hand thro’ my Apron; for I could not speak to him, and he took hold of it, and press’d it, tho’ 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’re asham’d 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 shall triumph in their Guilt!

And so saying, I went up Stairs to my Chamber, and wrote all this; for tho’ he vex’d me, at his Taunting, yet I was pleas’d to hear he was likely to be marry’d, and that his wicked Intentions were so happily overcome as to me; and this made me a little easier. And, I hope I have pass’d the worst; or else it is very hard: And yet I shan’t think my self at Ease quite, till I am with you. For methinks, after all, his Repentance and Amendment are mighty suddenly resolv’d upon. But God’s Grace is not confin’d to Space; and Remorse may, and I hope has, smote him to the Heart at once, for his Injuries to poor me! Yet I won’t be too secure neither.

Having Opportunity, I send now what I know will grieve you to the Heart. But I hope I shall bring my next Scribble myself; and so conclude, tho’ half broken-hearted,

Your ever dutiful Daughter.

Letter XXVII

Dear Father and Mother,

I Am glad I desir’d you not to meet me, and John says you won’t; for he says, he told you, he is sure I shall get a Passage well enough, either behind some one of my Fellow-servants on Horseback, or by Farmer Nichols’s Means: But as for the Chariot he talk’d to you of, I can’t expect that Favour, to be sure; and I should not care for it, because it would look so much above me. But Farmer Brady, they say, has a Chaise with one Horse, and we hope to borrow that, or hire it rather than fail; tho’ Money runs a little lowish, after what I have laid out; but I don’t care to say so here, tho’ I warrant I might have what I would of Mrs. Jervis, or Mr. Jonathan, or Mr. Longman; but then how shall I pay it, you’ll say? And besides, I don’t love to be beholden.

But the chief Reason I am glad you don’t set out to meet me is the Uncertainty; for it seems I must stay another Week still, and hope certainly to go Thursday after. For poor Mrs. Jervis will go at the same time, she says, and can’t be ready before.

God send me with you!—Tho’ he is very civil now, at present, and not so cross as he was; and yet he is as vexatious another way, as you shall hear. For Yesterday he had a rich Suit of Cloaths brought home, which they call a Birth-day Suit7; for he intends to go to London against next Birth-day, to see the Court, and our Folks will have it he is to be made a Lord.—I wish they may make him an honest Man, as he was always thought; but I have not found it so, God help me!

And so, as I was saying, he had these Cloaths come home, and he try’d them on. And before he pull’d them off, he sent for me, when nobody else was in the Parlour with him: Pamela, said he, you are so neat and so nice in your own Dress, (Alas! for me, I did’n’t know I was!) that you must be a Judge of ours. How are these Cloaths made? Do they fit me!—I am no Judge, said I, and please your Honour; but I think they look very fine.

His Waistcoat stood an End with Gold Lace, and he look’d very grand. But what he did last, has made me very serious, and I could make him no Compliments. Said he, Why don’t you wear your usual Cloaths? Tho’ I think every thing looks well upon you. For I still continue in my new Dress. I said, I have no Cloaths, Sir, I ought to call my own, but these: And it is no Matter what such a one as I wears! Says he, Why you look very serious, Pamela. I see you can bear Malice.—Yes, so I can, Sir, said I, according to the Occasion! Why, said he, your Eyes always look red, I think. Are you not a Fool to take my last Freedom so much to Heart? I am sure you, and that Fool Mrs. Jervis, frightened me, by your hideous Squalling, as much as I could frighten you. That is all we had for it, said I; and if you could be so afraid of your own Servants knowing of your Attempts upon a poor unworthy Creature, that is under your Protection while I stay, surely your Honour ought to be more afraid of God Almighty, in whose Presence we all stand, in every Action of our Lives, and to whom the greatest as well as the least, must be accountable, let them think what they list.

He took my Hand, in a kind of good-humour’d Mockery, and said, Well said, my pretty Preacher! when my Lincolnshire Chaplain dies, I’ll put thee on a Gown and Cassock, and thou’lt make a good Figure in his Place!—I wish, said I, a little vex’d at his Jeer, your Honour’s Conscience would be your Preacher, and then you would need no other Chaplain. Well, well, Pamela, said he, no more of this unfashionable Jargon. I did not send for you so much for your Opinion of my new Suit, as to tell you, you are welcome to stay, since Mrs. Jervis desires it, till she goes. I welcome! said I; I am sure I shall rejoice when I am out of the House!

Well, said he, you are an ungrateful Baggage; but I am thinking it would be Pity, with these fair soft Hands, and that lovely Skin (as he call’d it) that you should return again to hard Work, as you must, if you go to your Father’s; and so I would advise her to take a House in London, and let Lodgings to us Members of Parliament, when we come to Town, and such a pretty Daughter as you may pass for, will always fill her House, and she’ll get a great deal of Money.

I was sadly vex’d at this barbarous Joke; but was ready to cry before, and I gush’d out into Tears, and said, I can expect no better from such a rude Gentleman! Your Behaviour, Sir, to me has been just of a Piece with these Words; nay, I will say’t tho’ you was to be ever so angry.—I angry, Pamela, no, no, said he, I have overcome all that; and as you are to go away, I look upon you now as Mrs. Jervis’s Guest, while you both stay, and not as my Servant, and so you may say what you will. But I’ll tell you, Pamela, why you need not take this Matter in such high Disdain!—You have a very pretty romantic Turn for Virtue, and all that!—And I don’t suppose but you’ll hold it still; and no body will be able to prevail upon you. But, my Child, (fleeringly he spoke it) do but consider what a fine Opportunity you will then have, for a Tale every Day to good Mother Jervis, and what Subjects for Letter-writing to your Father and Mother, and what pretty Preachments you may hold forth to the young Gentlemen. Ad’s my Heart, I think it would be the best Thing you and she could do.

You do well, Sir, said I, to even your Wit to such a poor Maiden as me! But, Sir, let me say, that if you was not rich and great, and I poor and little, you would not insult me so in my Misery!—Let me ask you, Sir, if you think this becomes your fine Cloaths! and a Master’s Station? Why so serious, my pretty Pamela? said he; why so grave? and would kiss me; but my Heart was full, and I said, Let me alone! I will tell you, if you was a King, and said to me as you have done, that you are no Gentleman: And I won’t stay to be used thus! I will go to the next Farmer’s, and there wait for Mrs. Jervis, if she must go: And I’d have you know, Sir, that I can stoop to the ordinary’st Work of your Scullions, for all these nasty soft Hands, sooner than bear such ungentlemanly Imputations.

Well, said he, I sent for you in, in high good Humour; but ’tis impossible to hold it with such an Impertinent: However I’ll keep my Temper. But while I see you here, pray don’t put on those dismal grave Looks: Why, Girl, you should forbear ‘em, if it were but for your Pride-sake; for the Family will think you are grieving to leave the House. Then, Sir, said I, I will try to convince them of the contrary, as well as your Honour; for I will endeavour to be more chearful while I stay, for that very Reason.

Well, said he, I will set this down by itself, as the first Time that ever what I advis’d had any Weight with you. And I hope, said I, as the first Advice you have given me of late, that was fit to be follow’d!—I wish, said he, (I’m almost asham’d to write it, impudent Gentleman as he is! I wish) I had thee as quick another Way, as thou art in thy Repartees—And he laugh’d, and I tripp’d away as fast as I could. Ah! thinks I, marry’d! I’m sure ’tis time you was marry’d, or at this Rate no honest Maiden will live with you.

Why, dear Father and Mother, to be sure he grows quite a Rake! Well, you see, how easy it is to go from bad to worse, when once People give way to Vice!

How would my poor Lady, had she liv’d, have griev’d to see it! But may-be he would have been better then!—Tho’, it seems, he told Mrs. Jervis, he had an Eye upon me in his Mother’s Life-time; and he intended to let me know as much by the Bye, he told her! Here’s Shamelessness for you!—Sure the World must be near an End! for all the Gentlemen about are as bad as he almost, as far as I can hear!—And see the Fruits of such bad Examples: There is ’Squire Martin in the Grove, has had three Lyings-in, it seems, in his House, in three Months past, one by himself; and one by his Coachman; and one by his Woodman; and yet he has turn’d none of them away. Indeed, how can he, when they but follow his own vile Example. There is he, and two or three more such as he, within ten Miles of us; who keep Company and hunt with our fine Master, truly; and I suppose he’s never the better for their Examples. But, God bless me, say I, and send me out of this wicked House!

But, dear Father and Mother, what Sort of Creatures must the Womenkind be, do you think, to give way to such Wickedness? Why, this it is that makes every one be thought of alike: And, alack-a-day! what a World we live in! for it is grown more a Wonder that the Men are resisted, than that the Women comply. This, I suppose, makes me such a Sawce-box, and Boldface, and a Creature; and all because I won’t be a Sawce-box and Boldface indeed.

But I am sorry for these Things; one don’t know what Arts and Stratagems these Men may devise to gain their vile Ends; and so I will think as well as I can of these poor Creatures, and pity them. For you see by my sad Story, and narrow Escapes, what Hardships poor Maidens go thro’, whose Lot is to go out to Service; especially to Houses where there is not the Fear of God, and good Rule kept by the Heads of the Family.

You see I am quite grown grave and serious; so it becomes

Your dutiful Daughter.

Letter XXVIII

Dear Father and Mother,

John says you wept when you read my last Letters, that he carry’d. I am sorry you let him see that; for they all mistrust already how Matters are; and as it is no Credit, that I have been attempted; tho’ it is that I have resisted; yet I am sorry they have Cause to think so evil of my Master from any of us.

Mrs. Jervis, has made up her Accounts with Mr. Longman; and I believe will stay again. I am glad of it, for her own sake, and for my Master’s; for she has a good Master of him; so indeed all have, but poor me!—and he has a good Housekeeper in her.

Mr. Longman, it seems, took upon him to talk to my Master, how faithful and careful of his Interests she was, and how exact in her Accounts; and he told him, there was no Comparison between her Accounts and Mrs. Jewkes’s, at the Lincolnshire Estate. He said so many fine Things, it seems, of Mrs. Jervis, that my Master sent for her in Mr. Longman’s Presence, and said, I might come along with her: I suppose to mortify me, that I must go while she was to stay: But as, when I go away, I am not to go with her, nor she with me; so I did not matter it much; only it would have been creditable to such a poor Girl, that the House-keeper would bear me Company, if I went.

Said he, to her, Well Mrs. Jervis, Mr. Longman says you have made up your Accounts with him, with your usual Fidelity and Exactness. I had a good mind to make you an Offer of continuing with me, if you can be a little sorry for your hasty Words, which indeed were not so respectful as I have deserv’d at your Hands. She seem’d at a sad Loss what to say, because Mr. Longman was there, and she could not speak of the Occasion of those Words, which was me.

Indeed, said Mr. Longman, I must needs say before your Face, that since I have known my Master’s Family, I have never found such good Management, and so much Love and Harmony too. I wish the Lincolnshire Estate was as well serv’d!—No more of that, said my Master; but Mrs. Jervis may stay, if she will; and here, Mrs. Jervis, pray accept of this, which at the Close of every Year’s Accounts I will present you with, besides your Salary, as long as I find your Care so useful and agreeable. And he gave her five Guineas!—She made him a low Curchee, and pray’d God to bless him; and look’d to me, as if she would have spoken of me.

He took her Meaning, I believe; for he said,—Indeed I love to encourage Merit and Obligingness, Mr. Longman; but I can never be equally kind to those who don’t deserve it at my Hands; and then he look’d full at me; Mr. Longman, continued he, I said that Girl might come in with Mrs. Jervis; because they love to be always together. For Mrs. Jervis is very good to her, as if she was her Daughter. But else—Mr. Longman, interrupting him, said, Good to Mrs. Pamela! Aye, Sir, and so she is, to be sure! But every body must be good to her,—

He was going on. But my Master said, No more, no more, Mr. Longman. I see old Men are taken with pretty young Girls, as well as other Folks; and fair Looks hide many a Fault, where a Person has the Art to behave obligingly. Why, and please your Honour, said Mr. Longman, every body—and was going on, I believe to say something more in my Praise; but he interrupted him, and said, Not a Word more of this Pamela. I can’t let her stay, I’ll assure you; not only for her own Freedom of Speech; but her Letter-writing of all the Secrets of my Family. Aye, said the good old Man! I’m sorry for that too! But Sir,—No more, I say, said my Master; for my Reputation’s so well known (mighty fine, thought I!) that I care not what any body writes or says of me: But to tell you the Truth, not that it need go further, I think of changing my Condition soon; and, you know, young Ladies of Birth and Fortune will chuse their own Servants, and that’s my chief Reason why Pamela can’t stay. As for the rest, said he, the Girl is a good sort of Body, take her all together; tho’ I must needs say, a little pert, since my Mother’s Death, in her Answers, and gives me two Words for one; which I can’t bear; nor is there Reason I should, says he, you know, Mr. Longman. No, to be sure, Sir, said he; but ’tis strange methinks, she should be so mild and meek to every one of us in the House, and forget herself so where she should shew most Respect! Very true, Mr. Longman, said he, I’ll assure you; and it was from her Pertness that Mrs. Jervis and I had the Words: And I should mind it the less; but that the Girl (there she stands, I say it to her Face)! has Wit and Sense above her Years, and knows better.

I was in great Pain to say something; but yet I knew not what, before Mr. Longman; and Mrs. Jervis, look’d at me, and walk’d to the Window to hide her Concern for me. At last, I said, It is for You, Sir, to say what you please; and for me only to say, God bless your Honour!

Poor Mr. Longman falter’d in his Speech, and was ready to cry. Said my insulting Master to me; why pr’ythee, Pamela, now, shew thy self as thou art, before Mr. Longman. Canst not give him a Specimen of that Pertness which thou hast exercis’d upon me sometimes? Did not he, my dear Father and Mother, deserve all the Truth to be told; yet I overcame myself, so far, as to say, Well, your Honour may play upon a poor Girl, that you know can answer you, but dare not. Why pr’ythee now, Insinuator, said he, say the worst you can before Mr. Longman and Mrs. Jervis!—I challenge the utmost of thy Impertinence; and as you are going away, and have the Love of every body, I would be a little justify’d to my Family, that you have no Reason to complain of Hardships from me, as I have of pert saucy Answers from you, besides exposing me by your Letters.

Well, Sir, said I, I am of no Consequence equal to this, sure, in your Honour’s Family, that such a great Gentleman as you, my Master, should need to justify yourself about me. I am glad Mrs. Jervis stays with your Honour; and I know I have not deserv’d to stay; and more than that, I don’t desire to stay.

Ads-bobbers! said Mr. Longman, and ran to me; don’t say so, don’t say so, dear Mrs. Pamela! We all love you dearly; and pray down of your Knees, and ask his Honour Pardon, and we will all become Pleaders in a Body, and I, and Mrs. Jervis too, at the Head of it, to beg his Honour’s Pardon, and to continue you, at least till his Honour marries.—No, Mr. Longman, said I, I cannot ask; nor will I stay, if I might. All I desire is to return to my poor Father and Mother, and tho’ I love you all, I won’t stay;—O well-a-day, well-a-day! said the good old Man, I did not expect this!—When I had got Matters thus far, and had made all up for Mrs. Jervis, I was in Hopes to have got a double Holiday of Joy for all the Family, in your Pardon too. Well, said my Master, this is a little Specimen of what I told you, Mr. Longman. You see there’s a Spirit you did not expect.

Mrs. Jervis told me after, that she could stay no longer to hear me so hardly used, and must have spoke, had she stay’d, what would never have been forgiven her; so she went out. I look’d after her to go too; but my Master said, Come, Pamela, give another Specimen, I desire you, to Mr. Longman: I am sure you must, if you will but speak. Well, Sir, said I, since it seems your Greatness wants to be justified by my Lowness, and I have no Desire you should suffer in the Sight of your Family, I will say, on my bended Knees (and so I kneeled down) that I have been a very faulty, and a very ingrateful Creature to the best of Masters! I have been very perverse, and sawcy; and have deserv’d nothing at your Hands, but to be turn’d out of your Family with Shame and Disgrace. I, therefore, have nothing to say for myself, but that I am not worthy to stay, and so cannot wish to stay, and will not stay: And so God Almighty bless you, Sir, and you, Mr. Longman, and good Mrs. Jervis, and every living Soul of the Family! and I will pray for you all as long as I live.—And so I rose up, and was forc’d to lean upon my Master’s Elbow Chair, or I should have sunk down.

The poor old Man wept more than I, and said, Ads-bobbers! was ever the like heard! ’Tis too much, too much; I can’t bear it. As I hope to live, I am quite melted. Dear Sir, forgive her: The poor Thing prays for you; she prays for us all! She owns her Fault; yet won’t be forgiven! I profess I know not what to make of it.

My Master himself, harden’d Wretch as he was, seem’d a little mov’d, and took his Handkerchief out of his Pocket, and walk’d to the Window: What Sort of a Day is it, said he?—And then getting a little more Hard-heartedness, he said, Well, you may be gone from my Presence, thou strange Medley of Inconsistence! but you shan’t stay after your Time in the House.

Nay, pray Sir, pray Sir, said the good old Man, relent a little! Ads-heartlikins, you young Gentlemen are made of Iron and Steel, I think: I’m sure, said he, my Heart’s turn’d into Butter, and is running away at my Eyes. I never felt the like before.—Said my Master, with an imperious Tone, Get out of my Presence, Hussy, I can’t bear you in my Sight. Sir, said I, I’m going as fast as I can.

But indeed, my dear Father and Mother, my Head was so giddy, and my Limbs trembled so, that I was forc’d to go holding by the Wainscot all the way, with both my Hands, and thought I should not have got to the Door; But when I did, as I hop’d this would be my last Interview with this terrible hard-hearted Master; I turn’d about, and made a low Curchee, and said, God bless you, Sir! God bless you, Mr. Longman! And I went into the Lobby leading to the great Hall, and dropt into the first Chair; for I could get no further a good while.

I leave all these Things to your Reflection, my dear Parents; but I can write no more. My poor Heart’s almost broke! Indeed it is.—O when shall I get away!—Send me, good God, in Safety, once to my poor Father’s peaceful Cot!—and there the worst that can happen will be Joy in Perfection to what I now bear!—O pity

Your distressed Daughter.

Letter XXIX

My dear Father and Mother,

I Must write on, tho’ I shall come so soon; for now I have hardly any thing else to do. For I have finish’d all that lay upon me to do, and only wait the good Time of setting out. Mrs. Jervis said, I must be low in Pocket, for what I had laid out; and so would have presented me with two Guineas of her Five; but I could not take them of her, because, poor Gentlewoman! she pays old Debts for her Children that were extravagant, and wants them herself. This, tho’, was very good in her.

I am sorry, I shall have but little to bring with me; but I know you won’t; you are so good!—and I will work the harder when I come home, if I can get a little Plain-work, or any thing to do. But all your Neighbourhood is so poor, that I fear I shall want Work; but may-be Dame Mumford can help me to something, from some good Family she is acquainted with.

Here, what a sad Thing it is! I have been brought up wrong, as Matters stand. For, you know, my Lady, now with God, lov’d Singing and Dancing; and, as she would have it I had a Voice, she made me learn both; and often and often has she made me sing her an innocent Song, and a good Psalm too, and dance before her. And I must learn to flower and draw too, and to work fine Work with my Needle; why, all this too I have got pretty tolerably at my Finger’s End, as they say, and she us’d to praise me, and was a good Judge of such Matters.

Well now, what is all this to the Purpose, as Things have turn’d about?

Why, no more nor less, than that I am like the Grashopper in the Fable, which I have read of in my Lady’s Books7 and I will write it down, in the very Words.

So I shall make a fine Figure with my Singing and my Dancing when I come home to you. Nay, even I shall be unfit for a May-day Holiday-time; for these Minuets, Rigadoons, and French Dances, that I have been practising, will make me but ill Company for my rural Milkmaid Companions that are to be. Be sure I had better, as Things stand, have learn’d to wash and scour, and brew and bake, and such-like. But I hope, if I can’t get Work, and can get a Place, to learn these soon, if any body will have the Goodness to bear with me, till I can learn. For I bless God! I have an humble, and a teachable Mind, for all what my Master says; and, next to his Grace, that is all my Comfort: For I shall think nothing too mean that is honest. It may be a little hard at first, but woe to my proud Heart, if I shall find it so, on Tryal! for I will make it bend to its Condition, or will break it.

I have read of a good Bishop that was to be burnt for his Religion; and he try’d how he could bear it, by putting his Fingers into the lighted Candle: So I, t’other Day, try’d, when Rachel’s Back was turn’d, if I could not scour the Pewter Plate she had begun. I see I could do’t by Degrees; tho’ I blister’d my Hand in two Places.

All the Matter is, if I could get Needle-work enough, I would not spoil my Fingers by this rough Work. But if I can’t, I hope to make my Hands as red as a Blood-pudden, and as hard as a Beechen Trencher, to accommodate them to my Condition.—But I must break off, here’s some-body coming!—

’Twas only our Hannah with a Message from Mrs. Jervis!—But, good Sirs, there is some body else!—Well, it is only Rachel. I am as much frighted as were the City Mouse and the Country Mouse in the same Book of Fables, at every thing that stirs. Oh! I have a Power of these Things to entertain you with in Winter Evenings, when I come home. If I can but get Work, with a little Time for reading, I hope we shall be very happy, over our Peat Fires!

What made me hint to you, that I should bring but little with me, is this.

You must know, I did intend to do, as I have this Afternoon done: And that is, I took all my Cloaths, and all my Linen, and I divided them into three Parcels; and I said, It is now Monday, Mrs. Jervis, and I am to go away on Thursday Morning betimes; so, tho’ I know you don’t doubt my Honesty, I beg you will look over my poor Matters, and let every one have what belongs to them; for, said I, you know, I am resolv’d to take with me only what I can properly call my own.

Said she, (I did not know her Drift then; to be sure, she meant well; but I did not thank her for it, when I did know it) Let your Things be brought down into the green Room, and I will do any thing you would have me do.

With all my Heart, said I, green Room or any where; but I think you might step up, and see ’em as they lie.

However, I fetch’d ’em down, and laid them in three Parcels, as before; and, when I had done, I went down to call her up to look at them.

Now, it seems, she had prepar’d my Master for this Scene, unknown to me; and in this green Room was a Closet, with a Sash-door and a Curtain before it; for there she puts her Sweet-meats and such Things; and she did it, it seems, to turn his Heart, as knowing what I intended, I suppose that he should make me take the Things; and if he had, I should have made Money of them, to help us when we got together; for, to be sure, I could never have appear’d in them.

Well, as I was saying, he had got unknown to me in this Closet; I suppose while I went to call Mrs. Jervis: And she since told me, it was at his Desire, when she told him something of what I intended, or else she would not have done it. Tho’ I have Reason, I am sure, to remember the last Closet-work!

So I said, when she came up, Here, Mrs. Jervis, is the first Parcel; I will spread it all abroad. These are the Things my good Lady gave me.—In the first place, said I,—and so I went on describing the Cloaths and Linen my Lady had given me, mingling Blessings, as I proceeded, for her Goodness to me; and when I had turn’d over that Parcel, I said, Well, so much for the first Parcel, Mrs. Jervis, that was my Lady’s Presents.

Now I come to the Presents of my dear virtuous Master: Hay, you know, Closet for that, Mrs. Jervis! She laugh’d, and said, I never saw such a comical Girl in my Life. But go on. I will, Mrs. Jervis, said I, as soon as I have open’d the Bundle; for I was as brisk and as pert as could be, little thinking who heard me.

Now here, Mrs. Jervis, said I, are my ever worthy Master’s Presents; and then I particulariz’d all those in the second Bundle.

After which, I turn’d to my own, and said,

Now, Mrs. Jervis, comes poor Pamela’s Bundle, and a little one it is, to the others. First, here is a Calicoe Night-gown, that I used to wear o’ Mornings. ‘Twill be rather too good for me when I get home; but I must have something. Then there is a quilted Callimancoe Coat, and a Pair of Stockens I bought of the Pedlar, and my Straw-hat with blue Strings; and a Remanant of Scots Cloth, which will make two Shirts and two Shifts, the same I have on, for my poor Father and Mother. And here are four other Shifts, one the Fellow to that I have on; another pretty good one, and the other two old fine ones, that will serve me to turn and wind with at home, for they are not worth leaving behind me; and here are two Pair of Shoes, I have taken the Lace off, which I will burn, and may-be will fetch me some little Matter at a Pinch, with an old Shoe-buckle or two.

What do you laugh for, Mrs. Jervis? said I.—Why you are like an April-day; you cry and laugh in a Breath.

Well, let me see; aye, here is a Cotton Handkerchief I bought of the Pedlar; there should be another somewhere. O here it is! And here too are my new-bought knit Mittens. And this is my new Flannel Coat, the Fellow to that I have on. And in this Parcel pinn’d together, are several Pieces of printed Callicoe, Remnants of Silks, and such-like, that, if good Luck should happen, and I should get Work, would serve for Robings and Facings, and such-like Uses. And here too are a Pair of Pockets; they are too fine for me; but I have no worse. Bless me! said I, I didn’t think I had so many good Things!

Well, Mrs. Jervis, said I, you have seen all my Store, and I will now sit down, and tell you a Piece of my Mind.

Be brief then, said she, my good Girl; for she was afraid, she said afterwards, that I should say too much.

Why then the Case is this: I am to enter upon a Point of Equity and Conscience, Mrs. Jervis, and I must beg, if you love me, you’d let me have my own Way. Those Things there of my Lady’s, I can have no Claim to, so as to take them away; for she gave them me, supposing I was to wear them in her Service, and to do Credit to her bountiful Heart. But since I am to be turn’d away, you know, I cannot wear them at my poor Father’s; for I should bring all the little Village upon my Back: And so I resolve not to have them.

Then, Mrs. Jervis, said I, I have far less Right to these of my worthy Master’s. For you see what was his Intention in giving them to me. So they were to be the Price of my Shame, and if I could make use of them, I should think I should never prosper with them; and besides, you know, Mrs. Jervis, if I would not do the good Gentleman’s Work, why should I take his Wages? So in Conscience, in Honour, in every thing, I have nothing to say to thee, thou second wicked Bundle!

But, said I, come to my Arms, my dear third Parcel, the Companion of my Poverty, and the Witness of my Honesty; and may I never deserve the least Rag that is contained in thee, when I forfeit a Title to that Innocence that I hope will ever be the Pride of my Life; and then I am sure it will be my highest Comfort at my Death, when all the Riches and Pomps of the World will be worse than the vilest Rags that can be worn by Beggars! And so I hugg’d my third Bundle.—

But, said I, Mrs. Jervis, (and she wept to hear me) one thing I have more to trouble you with, and that’s all.

There are four Guineas, you know, that came out of my good Lady’s Pocket, when she dy’d, that, with some Silver, my Master gave me: Now those same four Guineas I sent to my poor Father and Mother, and they have broke them; but would make them up, if I would. And if you think it should be so, it shall. But pray tell me honestly your Mind: As to the three Years before my Lady’s Death, do you think, as I had no Wages, I may be supposed to be Quits?—By Quits, I cannot mean, that my poor Services should be equal to my Lady’s Goodness; for that’s impossible. But as all her Learning and Education of me, as Matters have turn’d, will be of little Service to me now; for it had been better for me to have been brought up to hard Labour, to be sure; for that I must turn to at last, if I can’t get a Place; (and you know, in Places too, one is subject to such Temptations as are dreadful to think of): So I say, by Quits, I only mean, as I return all the good Things she gave me, whether I may not set my little Services against my Keeping; because, as I said, my Learning is not now in the Question; and I am sure my dear good Lady would have thought so, had she liv’d: But that, too, is now out of the Question. Well then, if so, I would ask, whether in above this Year that I have liv’d with my Master; as I am resolv’d to leave all his Gifts behind me, I may not have earn’d besides my Keeping, these four Guineas; and these poor Cloaths here upon my Back, and in my third Bundle? Now tell me your Mind freely, without Favour or Affection.

Alas! my dear Maiden, said she, you make me unable to speak to you at all: To be sure, it will be the highest Affront that can be offer’d, for you to leave any of these Things behind you; and you must take all your Bundles with you, or my Master will never forgive you.

Well, well, Mrs. Jervis, said I, I don’t care; I have been too much used to be snubb’d and hardly treated by my Master: Of late I have done him no Harm; and I shall always pray for him, and wish him happy. But I don’t deserve these Things, I know I don’t. Then I can’t wear ‘em, if I should take them; so they can be of no Use to me: And I trust God will provide for me, and not let me want the poor Pittance, that is all I desire, to keep Life and Soul together. Bread and Water I can live upon, Mrs. Jervis, with Content. Water I shall get any-where; and if I can’t get me Bread, I will live like a Bird in Winter upon Hips and Haws, and at other times upon Pignuts, and Potatoes or Turneps, or any thing. So what Occasion have I for these Things?—But all I ask is about these four Guineas, and if you think I need not return them, that is all I want to know?—To be sure, my Dear, you need not, said she, you have well earn’d them by that Waistcoat only. No, I think not so, in that only; but in the Linen, and other Things, do you think I have? Yes, yes, said she, and more. And my Keeping allow’d for, I mean, said I, and these poor Cloaths on my Back, besides? remember that Mrs. Jervis. Yes, my dear Odd-ones, no doubt you have! Well then, said I, I am as happy as a Princess. I am quite as rich as I wish to be! And, once more, my dear third Bundle, I will hug thee to my Bosom. And I beg you’ll say nothing of all this till I am gone, that my Master mayn’t be so angry, but that I may go in Peace; for my Heart, without other Matters, will be ready to break to part with you all.

Now, Mrs. Jervis, said I, as to one Matter more: And that is my Master’s last Usage of me, before Mr. Longman.—Said she, Pr’ythee, dear Pamela, step to my Chamber, and fetch me a Paper I left on my Table. I have something to shew you in it. I will, said I, and stept down; but this was only a Fetch to take the Orders of my Master, I found; it seems he said, he thought two or three times to have burst out upon me; but he could not stand it, and wish’d I might not know he was there. But I tript up again so nimbly, for there was no Paper, that I just saw his Back, as if coming out of that green Room, and going into the next to it, the first Door, that was open.—I whipt in, and shut the Door, and bolted it. O Mrs. Jervis, said I, what have you done by me?—I see I can confide in nobody. I am beset on all Hands! Wretched, wretched Pamela! where shalt thou expect a Friend, if Mrs. Jervis joins to betray me thus?—She made so many Protestations, telling me all; and that he own’d I had made him wipe his Eyes two or three times, and said she hop’d it would have a good Effect, and remember’d me, that I had said nothing but would rather move Compassion than Resentment, that I forgave her. But oh! that I was safe from this House! for never poor Creature sure was so fluster’d as I have been, for so many Months together!—I am called down from this most tedious Scribble. I wonder what will next befall

Your dutiful Daughter.