Letter I

Dear Father and Mother,

I Have great Trouble, and some Comfort, to acquaint you with. The Trouble is, that my good Lady died of the Illness I mention’d to you, and left us all much griev’d for her Loss; for she was a dear good Lady, and kind to all us her Servants. Much I fear’d, that as I was taken by her Goodness to wait upon her Person, I should be quite destitute again, and forc’d to return to you and my poor Mother, who have so much to do to maintain yourselves; and, as my Lady’s Goodness had put me to write and cast Accompts, and made me a little expert at my Needle, and other Qualifications above my Degree, it would have been no easy Matter to find a Place that your poor Pamela was fit for: But God, whose Graciousness to us we have so often experienc’d at a Pinch, put it into my good Lady’s Heart, on her Death-bed, just an Hour before she expir’d, to recommend to my young Master all her Servants, one by one; and when it came to my Turn to be recommended, for I was sobbing and crying at her Pillow, she could only say, My dear Son!—and so broke off a little, and then recovering—Remember my poor Pamela!—And these were some of her last Words! O how my Eyes run!—Don’t wonder to see the Paper so blotted!

Well, but God’s Will must be done!—and so comes the Comfort, that I shall not be oblig’d to return back to be a Clog upon my dear Parents! For my Master said, I will take care of you all, my Lasses; and for you, Pamela, (and took me by the Hand; yes, he took me by the Hand before them all) for my dear Mother’s sake, I will be a Friend to you, and you shall take care of my Linen. God bless him! and pray with me, my dear Father and Mother, for God to bless him: For he has given Mourning and a Year’s Wages to all my Lady’s Servants; and I having no Wages as yet, but what my Lady said she would do for me as I deserv’d, order’d the House-keeper to give me Mourning with the rest, and gave me with his own Hand Four golden Guineas, besides lesser Money, which were in my old Lady’s Pocket when she dy’d; and said, If I was a good Girl, and faithful and diligent, he would be a Friend to me, for his Mother’s sake. And so I send you these four Guineas for your Comfort; for God will not let me want: And so you may pay some old Debt with Part; and keep the other Part to comfort you both. If I get more, I am sure it is my Duty, and it shall be my Care to love and cherish you both; for you have lov’d me and cherish’d me, when I could do nothing for myself: And so you have for us all, or what must have become of us! I send it by John our Footman, who goes your way; but he does not know what he carries; because I seal it up in one of the little Pill-boxes which my Lady had, wrapt close in Paper, that it mayn’t chink; and be sure don’t open it before him.

I know, dear Father and Mother, I must give you both Grief and Pleasure; and so I will only say, Pray for your Pamela; who will ever be,

Your most dutiful Daughter.

Letter II

In Answer to the preceding

Dear Pamela,

Your Letter was indeed a great Trouble and some Comfort to me, and your poor Mother. We are troubled, to be sure, for your good Lady’s Death, who took such care of you, and gave you Learning, and for Three Years past has always been giving you Cloaths and Linen, and every thing that a Gentlewoman need not be asham’d to appear in. But our chief Trouble is, and indeed a very great one, for fear you should be brought to any thing dishonest or wicked, by being set so above yourself. Every body talks how you have come on, and what a genteel Girl you are, and some say, you are very pretty; and indeed, Six Months since, when I saw you last, I should have thought so too, if you was not our Child. But what avails all this, if you are to be ruin’d and undone!—Indeed, my dear Child, we begin to be in great Fear for you; for what signifies all the Riches in the World with a bad Conscience, and to be dishonest? We are, ’tis true, very poor, and find it hard enough to live; tho’ once, as you know, it was better with us. But we would sooner live upon the Water and Clay of the Ditches I am forc’d to dig, than to live better at the Price of our dear Child’s Ruin.

I hope the good ’Squire has no Design; but when he has given you so much Money, and speaks so kindly to you, and praises your coming on; and Oh! that fatal Word, that he would be kind to you, if you would do as you should do, almost kills us with Fears.

I have spoken to good old Widow Mumford about it, who, you know, has formerly lived in good Families, and she puts us in some Comfort; for she says, it is not unusual, when a Lady dies, to give what she has about her to her Waiting-maid, and to such as sit up with her in her Illness. But then, why should he smile so kindly upon you? Why should he take such a poor Girl as you by the Hand, as your Letter says he has done twice? Why should he stoop to read your Letter to us; and commend your Writing and Spelling? And, why should he give you Leave to read his Mother’s Books!—Indeed, indeed, my dearest Child, our Hearts ake for you; and then you seem so full of Joy at his Goodness, so taken with his kind Expressions, which truly are very great Favours, if he means well, that we fear—Yes, my dear Child, we fear—you should be too grateful,—and reward him with that Jewel, your Virtue, which no Riches, nor Favour, nor any thing in this Life, can make up to you.

I, too, have written a long Letter; but will say one Thing more; and that is, That in the Midst of our Poverty and Misfortunes, we have trusted in God’s Goodness, and been honest, and doubt not to be happy hereafter, if we continue to be good, tho’ our Lot is hard here; but the Loss of our dear Child’s Virtue, would be a Grief that we could not bear, and would bring our grey Hairs to the Grave at once.

If you love us then, if you value God’s Blessing, and your own future Happiness, we both charge you to stand upon your Guard; and, if you find the least Attempt made upon your Virtue, be sure you leave every thing behind you, and come away to us; for we had rather see you all cover’d with Rags, and even follow you to the Church-yard, than have it said, a Child of ours preferr’d worldly Conveniencies to her Virtue.

We accept kindly of your dutiful Present; but ‘till we are out of our Pain, cannot make use of it, for fear we should partake of the Price of our poor Daughter’s Shame: So have laid it up in a Rag among the Thatch, over the Window, for a while, lest we should be robb’d. With our Blessings and our hearty Prayers for you, we remain,

Your careful, but loving Father and Mother,
John and Elizabeth Andrewes.

Letter III

Dear Father

I Must needs say, that your Letter has fill’d me with much Trouble. For it has made my Heart, which was overflowing with Gratitude for my young Master’s Goodness, suspicious and fearful; and yet, I hope I never shall find him to act unworthy of his Character; for what could he get by ruining such a poor young Creature as me? But that which gives me most Trouble is, that you seem to mistrust the Honesty of your Child. No, my dear Father and Mother, be assur’d, that, by God’s Grace, I never will do any thing that shall bring your grey Hairs with Sorrow to the Grave. I will die a thousand Deaths, rather than be dishonest any way. Of that be assur’d, and set your Hearts at rest; for altho’ I have liv’d above myself for some Time past, yet I can be content with Rags and Poverty, and Bread and Water, and will embrace them rather than forfeit my good Name, let who will be the Tempter. And of this rest satisfy’d, and think better of

Your dutiful Daughter till Death.

My Master continues to be very affable to me. As yet I see no Cause to fear any thing. Mrs. Jervis the House-keeper too is very civil to me, and I have the Love of every body. Sure they can’t all have Designs against me because they are civil. I hope I shall always behave so as to be respected by every one; and hope nobody would do me more hurt, than I am sure I would do them. Our John so often goes your way, that I will always get him to call that you may hear from me, either by Writing, for it brings my Hand in, or by Word of Mouth.

Letter IV

Dear Mother,

FOR the last Letter was to my Father, in Answer to his Letter; and so I will now write to you; tho’ I have nothing to say but what will make me look more like a vain Hussy, than any thing else: Yet I hope I shan’t be so proud as to forget myself. Yet there is a secret Pleasure one has to hear one’s self prais’d. You must know then, that my Lady Davers, who, you know, is my Master’s Sister, has been a whole Month at our House, and has taken great Notice of me, and given me good Advice to keep myself to myself; she told me I was a very pretty Wench, and that every body gave me a very good Character, and lov’d me; and bid me take care to keep the Fellows at a Distance; and said, that I might do, and be more valu’d for it, even by themselves. But what pleas’d me much, was, that at Table, as Mrs. Jervis was telling me, my Master and her Ladyship were talking of me, and she told him, she thought me the prettiest Wench she ever saw in her Life; and that I was too pretty to live in a Batchelor’s House; and that no Lady he might marry, would care to continue me with her. He said, I was vastly improv’d, and had a good Share of Prudence, and Sense above my Years; and it would be Pity, that what was my Merit, should be my Misfortune.—No, says my good Lady, Pamela shall come and live with me, I think. He said, With all his Heart, he should be glad to have me so well provided for. Well, said she, I’ll consult my Lord about it. She ask’d how old I was; and Mrs. Jervis said, I was Fifteen last February. O! says she, if the Wench (for so she calls all us Maiden Servants) takes care of herself, she’ll improve yet more and more, as well in her Person as Mind.

Now, my dear Father and Mother, tho’ this may look too vain to be repeated by me, yet are you not rejoic’d as well as I, to see my Master so willing to part with me?—This shews that he has nothing bad in his Heart. But John is just going away, and so I have only to say, that I am, and will always be,

Your honest, as well as dutiful Daughter.

Letter V

My dear Father and Mother

JOHN being going your way, I am willing to write, because he is so willing to carry any thing for me. He says it does him good at his Heart to see you both, and to hear you talk. He says you are both so good, and so honest, that he always learns something from you to the Purpose. It is a thousand Pities, he says, that such honest Hearts should not have better Luck in the World. But this is more Pride to me, that I am come of such honest Parents, than if I had been born a Lady.

I hear nothing yet of going to Lady Davers. And I am very easy at present here. For Mrs. Jervis uses me as if I were her own Daughter, and is a very good Woman, and makes my Master’s Interest her own. She is always giving me good Counsel, and I love her, next to you two, I think, best of any body. She keeps so good Rule and Order, she is mightily respected by us all; and takes Delight to hear me read to her; and all she loves to hear read, is good Books, which we read whenever we are alone; so that I think I am at home with you. She heard one of our Men, Harry, who is no better than he should be, speak freely to me; I think he call’d me his pretty Pamela, and took hold of me, as if he would have kiss’d me; for which you may be sure I was very angry; and she took him to Task, and was as angry at him as could be, and told me she was very well pleas’d to see my Prudence and Modesty, and that I kept all the Fellows at a Distance. And indeed I am sure I am not proud, and carry it civil to every body; but yet, methinks I can’t bear to be look’d upon by these Men-servants; for they seem as if they would look one thro’; and, as I almost always breakfast, dine, and sup with Mrs. Jervis, so good she is to me, so I am very easy that I have so little to say to them. Not but they are very civil to me in the main, for Mrs. Jervis’s sake, who they see loves me; and they stand in Awe of her, knowing her to be a Gentlewoman born, tho’ she has had Misfortunes. I am going on again with a long Letter; for I love Writing, and shall tire you. But when I began, I only intended to say, that I am quite fearless of any Danger now: And indeed can but wonder at myself, (tho’ your Caution to me was your watchful Love) that I should be so foolish as to be so uneasy as I have been: For I am sure my Master would not demean himself so, as to think upon such a poor Girl as I, for my Harm. For such a Thing would ruin his Credit as well as mine, you know: For, to be sure, he may expect one of the best Ladies in the Land. So no more at present; but that I am

Your ever dutiful Daughter.

Letter VI

Dear Father and Mother,

My Master has been very kind since my last; for he has given me a Suit of my old Lady’s Cloaths, and half a Dozen of her Shifts, and Six fine Handkerchiefs, and Three of her Cambrick Aprons, and Four Holland ones: The Cloaths are fine Silks, and too rich and too good for me, to be sure. I wish it was no Affront to him to make Money of them, and send it to you: it would do me more good.

You will be full of Fears, I warrant now, of some Design upon me, till I tell you, that he was with Mrs. Jervis when he gave them me; and he gave her a Mort of good Things at the same Time, and bid her wear them in Remembrance of her good Friend, my Lady, his Mother. And when he gave me these fine Things, he said, These, Pamela, are for you; have them made fit for you, when your Mourning is laid by, and wear ’em for your good Mistress’s sake. Mrs. Jervis gives you a very good Word; and I would have you continue to behave as prudently as you have done hitherto, and every body will be your Friend.

I was so surpris’d at his Goodness, that I could not tell what to say. I curcheed to him, and to Mrs. Jervis for her good Word; and said, I wish’d I might be deserving of his Favour, and her Kindness: And nothing should be wanting in me, to the best of my Knowledge.

O how amiable a Thing is doing good!—It is all I envy great Folks for!

I always thought my young Master a fine Gentleman, as every body says he is: But he gave these good Things to us both with such a Graciousness, as I thought he look’d like an Angel.

Mrs. Jervis says, he ask’d her, If I kept the Men at a Distance; for he said, I was very pretty, and to be drawn in to have any of them, might be my Ruin, and make me poor and miserable betimes. She never is wanting to give me a good Word, and took Occasion to launch out in my Praise, she says. But I hope she said no more than I shall try to deserve, tho’ I mayn’t at present. I am sure I will always love her next to you and my dear Mother. So I rest,

Your ever dutiful Daughter

Letter VII

Dear Father,

Since my last, my Master gave me more fine Things. He call’d me up to my old Lady’s Closet, and pulling out her Drawers, he gave me Two Suits of fine Flanders lac’d Headcloths, Three Pair of fine Silk Shoes, two hardly the worse, and just fit for me; for my old Lady had a very little Foot; and several Ribbands and Topknots of all Colours, and Four Pair of fine white Cotton Stockens, and Three Pair of fine Silk ones; and Two Pair of rich Stays, and a Pair of rich Silver Buckles in one Pair of the Shoes. I was quite astonish’d, and unable to speak for a while; but yet I was inwardly asham’d to take the Stockens; for Mrs. Jervis was not there: If she had, it would have been nothing. I believe I receiv’d them very awkwardly; for he smil’d at my Awkwardness; and said, Don’t blush, Pamela: Dost think I don’t know pretty Maids wear Shoes and Stockens?

I was so confounded at these Words, you might have beat me down with a Feather. For, you must think, there was no Answer to be made to this: So, like a Fool, I was ready to cry; and went away curcheeing and blushing, I am sure, up to the Ears; for, tho’ there was no Harm in what he said, yet I did not know how to take it. But I went and told all to Mrs. Jervis, who said, God put it into his Heart to be good to me; and I must double my Diligence. It look’d to her, she said, as if he would fit me in Dress for a Waiting-maid’s Place on his Sister Lady Davers’s own Person.

But still your kind fatherly Cautions came into my Head, and made all these Gifts nothing near to me what they would have been. But yet I hope there is no Reason; for what Good could it do him to harm such a simple Maiden as me? Besides, to be sure, no Lady would look upon him, if he should so disgrace himself. So I will make myself easy; and indeed, I should never have been otherwise, if you had not put it into my Head; for my Good, I know very well. But, may be, without these Uneasinesses to mingle with these Benefits, I might be too much puff’d up: So I will conclude, All that happens is for our Good; and so God bless you, my dear Father and Mother; and I know you will pray to God to bless me; who am, and shall always be,

Your dutiful Daughter

Letter VIII

Dear Pamela

I Cannot but renew my Cautions to you on your Master’s Kindness to you, and his free Expression to you about the Stockens. Yet there may not be, and I hope there is not, any thing in it. But when I reflect, that there possibly may, and that if there should, no less depends upon it than my Child’s everlasting Happiness in this World and the next; it is enough to make one fearful of the worst. Arm yourself, my dear Child, for the worst; and resolve to lose your Life sooner than your Virtue. What tho’ the Doubts I fill’d you with, lessen the Pleasure you would have had in your Master’s Kindness, yet what signify the Delights that arise from a few paltry fine Cloaths, in Comparison with a good Conscience?

These are indeed very great Favours that he heaps upon you, but so much the more to be suspected; and when you say he look’d so amiable, and like an Angel, how afraid I am, that they should make too great an Impression upon you! For, tho’ God has bless’d you with Sense and Prudence above your Years, yet, I tremble to think what a sad Hazard a poor Maiden of no more than Fifteen Years of Age stands against the Temptations of this World, and a designing young Gentleman, if he should prove so, who has so much Power to oblige, and has a kind of Authority to command as your Master.

I charge you, my dear Child, on both our Blessings, poor as we are, to be on your Guard; there can be no Harm in that: and since Mrs. Jervis is so good a Gentlewoman, and so kind to you, I am the easier a great deal, and so is your Mother; and we hope you will hide nothing from her, and take her Counsel in every thing. So with our Blessings and assured Prayers for you, more than for ourselves, we remain

Your loving Father and Mother.

Letter IX

Dear Father and Mother

I Am sorry to write you word, that the Hopes I had of going to wait on Lady Davers are quite over. My Lady would have had me; but my Master, as I hear by the bye, would not consent to it. He said, Her Nephew might be taken with me, and I might draw him in, or be drawn in by him; and he thought, as his Mother lov’d me, and committed me to his Care, he ought to continue me with him; and Mrs. Jervis would be a Mother to me. Mrs. Jervis tells me, the Lady shook her Head, and said, Ah! Brother! and that was all. And as you have made me fearful by your Cautions, my Heart at times misgives me. But I say nothing yet of your Caution, or my own Uneasiness, to Mrs. Jervis; not that I mistrust her, but for fear she should think me presumptuous, and vain, and conceited, to have any Fears about the matter, from the great Distance between so great a Man, and so poor a Girl. But yet Mrs. Jervis seem’d to build something upon Lady Davers’ shaking her Head, and saying, Ah! Brother, and no more! God, I hope, will give me his Grace; and so I will not, if I can help it, make myself too uneasy; for I hope there is no Occasion. But every little matter that happens, I will acquaint you with, that you shall continue to me your good Advice, and pray for

Your sad-hearted Pamela.