I am now come down in my Writing to this present Saturday, and a deal I have written.

My wicked Bed-fellow has very punctual Orders it seems; for she locks me and herself in, and ties the two Keys (for there is a double Door to the Room) about her Wrist, when she goes to Bed. She talks of the House having been attempted to be broke open two or three times; whether to fright me, I can’t tell; but it makes me fearful; but not so much as I should be, if I had not other and greater Fears.

I slept but little the preceding 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 resolv’d 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 reserv’d.

I wonder’d I saw not Mr. Williams the Clergyman, but would not ask after him, apprehending it might give her some Jealousy; but when I had beheld the rest, he was the only one I had Hopes of; for I thought his Cloth would set him above assisting in my Ruin.—But, in the Afternoon he came; for it seems he has a little Latin School in the neighbouring Village, which he attends, and this brings him in a little Matter, additional to my Master’s Favour, till something better falls, of which he has Hopes.

He is a sensible, sober young Gentleman, and when I saw him, I confirm’d myself in my Hopes of him; for he seem’d to take great Notice of my Distress and Grief; for I could not hide it; tho’ he appear’d fearful of Mrs. Jewkes, who watch’d all our Motions and Words.

He has an Apartment in the House; but is mostly at a Lodging in the Town, for Conveniency of his little School; only on Saturday Afternoons and Sundays; and he preaches sometimes for the Parson 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 ask’d her, for a Feint, (because she shan’t think I am so well provided) to indulge me with Pen and Ink, tho’ I have been using my own so freely when her Absence would let me; for I begg’d 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 lov’d Writing; but I had nobody to send to, she knew well enough.

No, not at present, may-be, said she; but I am told you are a great Writer, and it is in my Instructions to see all you write; so, look you here, said she, I will let you have a Pen and Ink, and two Sheets of Paper; for this Employment will keep you out of worse Thoughts: but I must see them always when I ask, written or not written. That’s very hard, said I; but may I not have the Closet in the Room where we lie, to myself, 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.

So I resolv’d to hide a Pen of my own here, and another there, for fear I should come to be deny’d, 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 Wax and a few Wafers in several Places, lest I should be search’d; and something I thought might happen to open a Way for my Deliverance, by these or some other Means. O the Pride, thought I, I shall have, if I can secure my Innocence, and escape the artful Wiles of this wicked Master! For, if he comes hither, I am undone to be sure! For this naughty Woman will assist him, rather than fail, in the worst of his Attempts, and he’ll have no Occasion to send her out of the Way, as he would have done Mrs. Jervis once. So I must set all my little Wits at Work!

It is a Grief to me to write, and not to be able to send to you what I write; but now it is all the Diversion I have, and if God will favour my Escape with my Innocence, as I trust he graciously will, for all these black Prospects, with what Pleasure shall I read them afterwards!

I was going to say, Pray for your dutiful Daughter, as I used; but, alas! you cannot know my Distress! tho’ 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 send. 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 deny’d by this barbarous Woman, to go to Church, as I had built upon I might. And she has huffed poor Mr. Williams all to pieces, for pleading for me. I find he is to be forbid the House, if she pleases. Poor Gentleman! all his Dependence is upon my Master, who has a very good Living for him, if the Incumbent die, and he has kept his Bed these four Months, of old Age and Dropsy.

He pays me great Respect; and I see pities me; and would perhaps assist my Escape from these Dangers, but I have nobody to plead for me; and why should I wish to ruin a poor Gentleman, by engaging him against his Interest? Yet one would do any thing to preserve one’s Innocence; and God Almighty would, may-be, make it up to him!

O judge (but how shall you see what I write!) my distracted Condition, to be reduc’d to such a Pass as to desire to lay Traps for Mankind!—But he wants sadly to say something to me, as he whisperingly hinted.

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, don’t offer, Madam, 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! why, where would you go, I trow? Why, barbarous Mrs. Jewkes, said I, only to look a little up the Elm-walk, as 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 frighten’d at this, that I have not Power even to relieve my Mind by my Tears. I am quite stupify’d, to be sure! Here I was forc’d 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 God made can be ugly; 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 over her Eyes; a dead, spiteful, grey, goggling Eye, to be sure, she has. And her Face is flat and broad; and as to Colour, looks like as if it had been pickled a Month in Saltpetre: I dare say she drinks!—She has a hoarse man-like Voice, and is as thick as she’s long; and yet looks so deadly strong, that I am afraid she would dash me at her Foot in an Instant, if I was to vex her.—So that with a Heart more ugly than her Face, she frightens me sadly; and I am undone, to be sure, if God does not protect me; for she is very, very wicked—indeed she is.

This is but poor helpless Spight in me!—But the Picture is too near the Truth notwithstanding. She sends me a Message just now, that I shall have my Shoes again, if I will accept of her Company to walk with me in the Garden—To waddle with me, rather, thought I.

Well, ’tis not my Business to quarrel with her downright. I shall be watch’d 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’m out of my Wits, for Joy! Just as I have got my Shoes on, I am told, John, honest John, is come, on Horseback!—God bless him! What Joy is this! But I’ll tell you more by-and-by. I must not let her know, I am so glad to see this dear blessed John, to be sure!—O 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 to take up my Pen again! But I am in a sad Taking truly! Another puzzling Tryal, to be sure!

Here is John, as I said; and the poor Man came to me, with Mrs. Jewkes, who whisper’d, that I would say nothing about the Shoes, for my own sake, as she said. The poor Man saw my Distress, and my red Eyes, and my haggard Looks, I suppose; for I had had a sad Time of it, you must needs think; and he would have hid it, but his Eyes run over. Oh Mrs. Pamela! said he; Oh Mrs. Pamela!—Well, honest Fellow-servant, said I, I cannot help it at present! I am oblig’d 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 sobb’d.—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 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 who it comes from, well enough; or else, may-be, I must desire to see 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, 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 long’d to say more, only that nasty Mrs. Jewkes—

So I came up hither, and lock’d myself in my Closet, and open’d the Letter; and this is a Copy of it.

The Letter he prescribed for me was this:

I knew not what to do on this most strange Request and Occasion. But my Heart bled so much for you, my dear Father, who had taken the Pains to go yourself and inquire after your poor Daughter, as well as for my dear Mother, that I resolv’d 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 Matter. And I wrote this to this strange wicked Master himself:

I thought, when I had written this Letter, and that which he had prescrib’d, it would look like placing a Confidence in Mrs. Jewkes, to shew them to her; and I shew’d her at the same time my Master’s Letter to me; for I believ’d, the Value he express’d for me, would give me Credit with one who profess’d in every thing to serve him right or wrong; tho’ I had so little Reason, I fear, to pride myself in it: And I was not mistaken; for it has seem’d 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 all my Miseries, and his honourable Intentions, as she calls them; when I see, that she is capable of thinking, as I fear he does, that every thing that makes for his wicked Will, is honourable, tho’ to the Ruin of the Innocent. Pray God I may find it otherwise. I hope, whatever the naughty Gentleman may intend, that I shall be at least rid of her impertinent bold Way of Talk, when she seems to think, by 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 lov’d me, and so she brought up a Message to me from him this Morning, that he was going. I desir’d he might come up to my Closet, as I call’d it; and she came with him: And the honest Man, as I thought him, was as full of Concern as before, at taking Leave. And I gave him my two Letters, the one for Mrs. Jervis, inclos’d in that for my Master: But Mrs. Jewkes would see me seal them up, for fear of any other—I was surpriz’d, 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 Mrs. Jewkes’s seeing me; but I was a thousand times more surpriz’d, when I return’d to my Closet, and opening it, read as follows:

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, and a perfidious Wretch, and helping to carry on my Ruin!

But he says enough of himself; and I can only sit down with this sad Reflection, That Power and Riches never want Tools to promote their vilest Ends, and that there is nothing so hard to be known as the Heart of Man!—Yet I can but pity the poor Wretch, since he seems to have some Remorse, and I believe it best to keep his Wickedness secret; and, if it lies in my way, to encourage his Penitence; for I may possibly make some Discoveries by it.

One thing I should mention in this Place; he brought down, in a Portmanteau, all the Cloaths and Things my Lady and Master had presented me, and moreover two Velvet Hoods, and a Velvet Scarf, that used to be worn by my Lady; but I have no Comfort in them!

Mrs. Jewkes had the Portmanteau brought into my Closet, and she shew’d 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 set me a wanting to go abroad, may-be; and so the insolent Woman put it in her Pocket.

I gave myself over to sad Reflections upon this strange and surprizing Discovery of John’s, and wept much for him, and for myself too; for now I see, as he says, my Ruin has been so long a hatching, that I can make no Doubt what my Master’s honourable Professions will end in. What a Heap of Names does the poor Fellow call himself! But what must they deserve, who set him to work? O what has this wicked Master to answer for, to be so corrupt himself, and to corrupt others, who would have been innocent; and all to carry on further a more corrupt Scene, and to ruin a poor Creature, who never did him Harm, nor wish’d him any; and who can still pray for his Happiness, and his Repentance?

I can but wonder what these Gentlemen, as they are called, can think of themselves for these vile Doings? John had some Inducement; for he hoped to please his Master, who rewarded him, and was bountiful to him; and the same may be said, bad as she is, for this same odious Mrs. Jewkes. But what Inducement has my Master for taking so much Pains to do the Devil’s Work?—If he loves me, as ’tis falsely called, must he therefore ruin me, and lay Traps for me, and endeavour to make me as bad as himself? I cannot imagine what good the Undoing of such a poor Creature as I can procure him!—To be sure, I am a very worthless Body. People indeed say I am handsome; but if I was so, should not a Gentleman prefer an honest Servant to a guilty Harlot?—And must he be more earnest to seduce me, because I dread of all things to be seduced, and would rather lose my Life than my Honesty!

Well, these are strange things to me! I cannot account for them, for my Share; but sure nobody will say, that these fine Gentlemen have any Tempter but their own wicked Wills!—This naughty Master could run away from me, when he thought none but his Servants should know his base Attempts, 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 black poisonous Heart of his, and its most secret Motions, could not be hid?—But what avail me these sorrowful Reflections? He is and will be wicked; and I am, I fear, to be a Victim to his lawless Attempts, if the God in whom I trust, and to whom I hourly pray, prevent it not!

Tuesday and Wednesday.

I Have been hinder’d, by this wicked Woman’s watching me too 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 turn’d, (encourag’d by the Hint he had before given me) I said, Sir, I see two Tiles upon that Parsley-bed; cannot one cover them with Mould, with a Note between them, on Occasion?—A good Hint, said he; let that Sun-flower by the Backdoor of the Garden be the Place; I have a Key to that; for it is my nearest way to the Town.

So I was forced to begin. O what Inventions will Necessity be the Parent of! I hugg’d myself with the Thought; and she coming to us, he said, as if he was continuing the Discourse we were in; No, not extraordinary pleasant. What’s that? what’s that? said Mrs. Jewkes—Only, said he, the Town, I’m saying, is not very pleasant. No, indeed, said she, ’tis not; ’tis 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 turfted 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.

I wish, said I, you’d be so kind to fetch me a Rod and Baits. Pretty Mistress! said she—I know better than that, I’ll assure you! at this time!—I mean no Harm, said I, indeed. Let me tell you, said she, I know nobody has 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, turn’d the Discourse to a general Subject. I saunter’d 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 (putting what I was about in my Bosom): You know I have wrote 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 Wrapper, you know; and see how I scribbled the other Half; and so I shewd her a Parcel of broken Scraps of Verses, which I had try’d to recollect, and which I had wrote purposely that she might see, and think me usually employ’d 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, thinks I, I hope still, Argus, to be too hard for thee. Now Argus10, the Poets say, had an hundred Eyes, and was made to watch with them all, as she is.

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 as good to me, as I would be to her, if I had it in my Power!’—That’s pretty now! said she; well, I hope I am; but what then? ‘Why then (wrote I) she would do me the Favour to let me know, what I have done to be made her Prisoner; and what she thinks is to become of me.’ Well, and what then, said she? ‘Why then, of Consequence, (scribbled I) she would let me see her Instructions, that I may know how far to blame her, or acquit her.’

Thus I fooled on, to shew her my Fondness for scribbling; for I had no Expectation of any Good from her; that so she might suppose I employ’d 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 had me go on a little further. No, said I, you have not answer’d me. Why, said she, what can you doubt, when my Master himself assures you of his Honour? Ay, says I; but lay your Hand to your Heart, Mrs. Jewkes, and tell me, if you yourself believe him. Yes, said she, to be sure I do. But, said I, what do you call Honour?—Why, said she, what does he call Honour, think you?—Ruin! Shame! Disgrace! said I, I fear!—Pho, pho, said she; if you have any Doubt about it, he can best explain his own Meaning!—I’ll send him word to come to 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 wouldst, than say such another Word!—But I hope there is no 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, said I?—Means! said she (turning it off); why I mean, I would come, if I was he, and put an End to all your Fears—by making you as happy as you wish. ’Tis out of his Power, said I, to make me happy, great and rich as he is, but by leaving me innocent, and giving me Liberty to go to my dear Father and Mother.

She went away soon after, and I ended my Letter, in Hopes to have an Opportunity to lay it in the appointed Place. So I went to her, and said; I suppose, as it is not dark, I may take another Turn in the Garden. ’Tis 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 Wench following me, and dropt purposely my Hussy: And when I came near the Tiles, I said, Mrs. Ann, I have dropt my Hussy; be so kind to look for it. I had it by the Pond-side. The Wench went to look, and I slipt the Note between the Tiles, and cover’d them as quick as I could with the light Mould, quite unperceiv’d; and the Maid finding the Hussy, I took it, and saunter’d in again, and met Mrs. Jewkes coming to see after me. What I wrote was this:

Thursday

This completes a fatal Week since my setting out, as I hoped, to see you, my dear Father and Mother. O how different my Hopes then, from what they are now! Yet who knows what these happy Tiles may produce!

But I must tell you, first, how I have been beaten by Mrs. Jewkes! ’Tis very true!

My Impatience was great to walk in the Garden, to see if any thing had offer’d, answerable to my Hopes. But this wicked Mrs. Jewkes would not let me go without her; and she said she was not at Leisure. We had a great many Words about it; for I said, it was very hard I could not be trusted to walk by myself in the Garden for a little Air; but must be dogg’d and watch’d 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; and if you remember, said she, what you said when Mr. Williams was with us, asking if there were any Gentry in the Neighbourhood, it 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 fear’d by that Hint, she had seen my Letter under the Tiles: O how uneasy I was! At last she said, Well, since you take on so, you may take a Turn, and I will be with you in a Minute.

I went out; and when I was out of the 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 so fast? said she: What! are you upon a Wager? I stopt for her, till her pursy Sides were waddled up to me; and she held by my Arm, half out of Breath: So I was forced to pass by the dear Place, without daring to look at it.

The Gardener was at work a little further, and so we looked upon him, and I began to talk about his Art; but she said softly, My Instructions are, not to let you be so familiar with the Servants. Why, said I, are you afraid I should confederate with them to commit a Robbery upon my Master? May-be I am, said the odious Wretch; for to rob him of yourself, would be the worst that could happen to him, in his Opinion.

And pray, said I, walking on, how came I to be his Property? What Right has he in me, but such as a Thief may plead to stolen Goods?—Why, was ever the like heard, says she!—This is downright Rebellion, I protest! Well, well, Lambkin, (which the Foolish often calls me) if I was in his Place, he should not have his Property in you long questionable. Why, what would you do, said I, if you was he?—Not stand shill-I, shall-I, as he does; but put you and himself both out of your Pain.—Why, Jezebel11, 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; who do you call Jezebel?

I was so scar’d, (for you never beat me, my dear Father and Mother, in your Lives) that I was as one thunder-struck; and looked round, as if I wanted somebody to help me; but, alas! I had nobody; and said, at last, rubbing my Shoulder, Is this too in your Instructions?—Alas! for me! am I to be beaten too? and so I fell a crying, and threw myself upon the Grass-walk we were upon.—Said she, in a great Pet, I won’t be call’d 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 Doors, and I’ll lock you up, and you shall have no Shoes, nor any thing else, if this is to be the Case!

I didn’t know what to do. This was a cruel thing to me, and I blam’d myself for my free Speech; for now I had given her some Pretence; and Oh! thinks I, here I have, by my Malapertness, ruin’d 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 walk’d, to another Quarter, out of Sight.

Well, thinks I, I must put on the Dissembler a little, I see. She took my Hand roughly; Come, get up, said she, and come in Doors.—I’ll Jezebel you, I warrant ye!—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 half out of my Wits. Thinks I, I have often heard Women blam’d for their Tongues; I wish mine had been shorter. But I can’t go in, said I, indeed I can’t!—Why, said she, can’t you? I‘ll warrant I can take such a thin Body as you are under my Arm, and carry you in, if you won’t walk. You don’t know my Strength—Yes, but I do, said I, too well; and will you not use me worse when I come in?—So I arose, and she mutter’d 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 will forgive me, Mrs. Jemkes—If you will forgive my calling you that Name, I will forgive your beating me—She sat down by me, and seem’d in a great Pucker, and said, Well, come, I will forgive you for this time; and so kissed me, as a Mark of Reconciliation—But pray, said I, tell me where I am to walk, and go, and give me what Liberty you can; and when I know the most you can favour me with, you shall see I will be as content as I can; and not ask you for more.

Why, said she, that’s 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 to 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—Ay, says I, to every body but me!—He loves you too well, to be sure, said she, and that’s the Reason; so you ought to bear it. I say, love, said I! Come, said she, don’t let the Wench see you have been crying, nor tell her any Tales; for you won’t tell them fairly, I am sure; and I’ll send her, and you shall take another Walk in the Garden, if you will. May-be, said she, 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, said 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 hop’d to find some Opportunity now, to come at my Sun-flower. But I walked the other way, to take that in my Return, to avoid Suspicion.

I forced my Discourse to the Wench; but it was all upon general things; for I find she is asked after every thing I say and do. When I came near the Place, as I had been devising, I said, Pray, step to the Gardener, and ask him to gather a Sallad for me to Dinner. She called out, Jacob!—Said I, he can’t hear you so far off; and pray tell him, I should like a Cucumber too, if he has one. When she had stept about a Bow-shot from me, I popt down, and whipt my Fingers under the upper Tile, and pulled out a little Letter, without Direction, and thrust it in my Bosom, trembling for Joy. She was with me before I could well secure it; and I was in such a taking, that I feared I should discover myself. You seem frighted, Madam, said she: Why, said I, with a lucky Thought, (alas! your poor Daughter will make an Intriguer by-and-by; but I hope an innocent one!) I stoopt to smell at the Sun-flower, and a great nasty Worm run into the Ground, that startled me; for I don’t love Worms. Said she, Sun-flowers don’t smell. So I find, said I. And so we walked in; and Mrs. Jewkes said, Well, you have made haste in—You shall go another time.

I went up to my Closet, lock’d myself in, and opening my Letter, found in it these Words:

I instantly, to this pleasing Letter, wrote as follows:

I had time but just to transcribe this, before I was called to Dinner; and I put that for Mr. Williams, with a Wafer in it, in my Bosom, to get an Opportunity to lay it in the dear Place.

O good Sirs! Of all the Flowers in the Garden, the 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 discover’d; 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 promis’d 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 seem’d to have, to flounce in, when at Liberty!—Why this? says she. O Mrs. Jewkes! said I, I was thinking this poor Carp was the unhappy Pamela. I was likening you and myself to my naughty Master. As we hooked and deceived the poor Carp, so was I betrayed by false Baits; and when you said, Play it, play it, it went to my Heart, to think I should sport with the Destruction of the poor Fish I had betray’d; and I could not but fling it in again: And did you not see the Joy with which the happy Carp flounced from us! O! said I, may some good merciful Body procure me my Liberty in the same manner; for, to be sure, I think my Danger equal!

Lord bless thee! said she, what a Thought is there!—Well, said I, I can angle no more. I’ll try my Fortune, said she, and took the Rod. Well, said I, I will plant Life then, if I can, while you are destroying it. I have some Horse-beans here, and I’ll go and stick them into one of the Borders, to see how long they will be coming up; and I will call them my Garden.

So you see, dear Father and Mother (I hope now you will soon see; for, may-be, if I can’t get away so soon myself, I may send my Papers, some how) I say, you will see, that this furnishes me a good Excuse to look after my Garden another time; and if the Mould should look a little freshish, it won’t be so much suspected. She mistrusted nothing of this; and I went and stuck in here and there my Beans, for about the Length of five Ells, of each side of the Sun-flower; and easily reposited my Letter. And not a little proud am I of this Contrivance. Sure something will do at last. God grant it!

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 don’t love to turn poor Tradesfolks away without their Money: Have you any about you? How much will do, said I? I have a little! 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 laugh’d, 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 fear’d you might make a bad Use of it; and now I can trust Nan with you a little oftener, especially as I have got the Key of your Portmanteau; so that you can neither corrupt her with Money or fine things. Never did any body look more silly than I!—O how I fretted to be so foolishly outwitted!—And the more, as I had hinted to Mr. Williams, to have some to defray the Charges of my sending to you. I cry’d for Vexation!—And now I have not five Shillings left to support me, if I can get away!—Was ever such a Fool as I! I must be priding myself in my Contrivances indeed! Said I, was this in your Instructions, Wolfkin? for she called me Lambkin. Jezebel, you mean, Child, said she!—Well, I now forgive you heartily; let’s buss, and be Friends!—Out upon you, said I! I cannot bear you. But I durst not call her Names again; for I dread her huge Paw most sadly. The more I think of this thing, the more do I regret it!

This Night the Man from the Post-house brought a letter for Mrs. Jewkes, in which was one inclosed 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 chuse!—That he did not doubt her Care and Kindness to me; that I was very dear to him, and she could not use me too well; and the like. There is a Master for you, said she! Sure you will love and pray for him. I desir’d 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, said I, I cry Truce; for I have no mind to be beat again. I thought, said she, we had forgiven one another.

My Letter is as follows:

I but slightly read this Letter for the present, to give way to one I had hopes of finding by this time, from Mr. Williams. I took, in Mrs. Jewkes’s Company, an Evening Turn, as I call’d it, and walking by the Place, I said, Do you think Mrs. Jewkes, any of my Beans can have struck since Yesterday? She laugh’d, and said, You are a poor Gardener; but I love to see you divert yourself. She passing on, I found my good Friend had provided for me, and slipping it in my Bosom, for her Back was towards me, Here, said I, having a Bean in my Hand, is one of them; but it was not stirr’d. No, to be sure, said she; and turn’d upon me a most wicked Jest, unbecoming the Mouth of a Woman, about Planting, &c.—When I came in, I hy’d to my Closet, and read as follows:

I made a thousand sad Reflections upon the former Part of this honest Gentleman’s kind Letter; and but for the Hope he gave me at last, should have given up my Case as quite desperate. I then wrote to thank him most gratefully for his kind Endeavour; to lament the little Concern the Gentry had for my deplorable Case; the Wickedness of the World to first give way to such iniquitous Fashions, and then plead the Frequency of them against the Offer to amend them; and how unaffected People were to the Distresses of others. I recall’d my former Hint as to writing to Lady Davers, which I fear’d, I said, would only serve to apprize 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 determin’d on my Ruin; besides, that it might make Mr. Williams guess’d 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 lov’d and fear’d her Brother) it would have no Effect upon him; and that, therefore, I would wait the happy Event I might hope for from his kind Assistance in the Key and the Horse, &c. 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 lose all our Opportunities, &c. telling him the Money-trick of this vile Woman, &c.

I had not time to take a Copy of this Letter, I was so watch’d. But 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 receiv’d from my Master, which Point of Confidence in her, pleas’d her not a little. Ay, said she, now this is something like. Why, we’ll take a Turn in the Garden, or where you please. I pretended it was indifferent to me; and so we walk’d into the Garden. I began to talk to her of the Letter; but was far from acquainting her with all the Contents; only that he wanted my Consent to come down, and hop’d she us’d me kindly, &c. And I said, Now, Mrs. Jewkes, let me have your Advice as to this. Why then, said she, I will give it you freely. E’en send to him to come down. It will highly oblige him, and I dare say you’ll fare the better for it. How the better? said I---I dare say, you think yourself that he intends my Ruin. I hate, said she, that foolish Word; your Ruin!―Why ne’er a Lady in the Land may live happier than you, if you will, or be more honourably used.

Well, Mrs. Jewkes, said I, I shall not at this time dispute with you about the Words Ruin or honourable. I thank God, we have quite different Notions of both; but now I will speak plainer than ever I did. Do you think he intends to make Proposals to me, as to a kept Mistress, or kept Slave rather; or do you not?---Why, Lambkin, said she, what dost thou think thyself?---I fear, said I, he does. Well, said she, but if he does, for I know nothing of the Matter, I assure you; you may have your own Terms---I see that; for you may do any thing with him.

I could not bear this to be spoken, tho’ it was all I fear’d 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 to me, convinces me of the contrary; and you would have me invite him to come down, would you? Is not this to invite my Ruin?

’Tis what I would do, said she, in your Place; and if it was to be as you think, I should rather be out of my Pain, than live in continual Frights and Apprehensions, as you do. No, said 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 God 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 that a Pretence to come down. You’ll send it for me. 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 it my Garden. It is just by the Door out-yonder, I’ll shew it you; pray don’t dig them up. So I went on with him; and when we had turn’d 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 smil’d, I suppose at my Foolishness, and I popt the Letter under the Mould, and stept back, as if waiting for his Return; which being near, was immediate, and she follow’d him. What should I do with Beans? said she—and sadly scar’d me; for she whisper’d me, I am afraid of some Fetch! you don’t use to send of such simple Errands—What Fetch? said I; it is hard I can neither stir, nor speak, but I must be suspected—Why, said she, my Master writes me, that I must have all my Eyes about me; for, tho’ you are as innocent as a Dove, yet you’re as cunning as a Serpent12. But I’ll forgive you if you cheat me!

Then I thought of my Money, and could have call’d her Names, had I dar’d: 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 tho’ I have no Occasion for it, yet I know you was but in Jest, and intended to give it me again. You shall have it in a proper time, said she; but, indeed, I was in earnest to get it out of your Hands, for fear you should make an ill Use of it. And so we cavilled upon this Subject as we walk’d 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 the Offer of Mrs. Jervis to me, instead of this wicked Woman, (tho’ the most agreeable thing that could have befallen me, except my Escape from hence) nor indeed of any thing he said: For to be honourable, in the just Sense of the Word, he need not have caus’d me to be run away with, and confin’d as I am. I wrote as follows:

After I had taken a Copy of this, I folded it up, and Mrs. Jewkes coming up, just as I had done, sat down by me, and said, when she saw me direct it, I wish you would tell me if you have taken my Advice, and consented to my Master’s coming down. If it will oblige you, said I, I will read it to you. That’s good, said she, then I’ll love you dearly.—Says I, then you must not offer to alter one Word. I won’t, said she; so I read it to her, and she prais’d me much for my Wording it; but said, she thought I push’d the Matter very close; and it would better bear talking of, than writing about. She wanted an Explanation or two, as about the Proposal to a certain Person; but I said she must take it as she heard it. Well, well, said she, I make no doubt you understand one another, and will do so more and more. I seal’d up the Letter, and she undertook to convey it.