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Samuel Richardson PAMELA: or, Virtue Rewarded. In a SERIES of Familiar Letters from a Beautiful Young Damsel, To her PARENTS. Now first Published In order to cultivate the Principles of Virtue and Religion in the Minds of the Youth of Both Sexes. A Narrative which has its Foundation in TRUTH and NATURE; and at the same time that it agreeably entertains, by a Variety of curious and affecting Incidents, is intirely divested of all those Images, which, in too many Pieces calculated for Amusement only, tend to inflame the Minds they should instruct. In Two VOLUMES. Vol. I. If to Divert and Entertain, and at the same time to Instruct, and Improve the Minds of the Youth of both Sexes: If to inculate Religion and Morality in so easy and agreeable a manner, as shall render them equally delightful and profitable to the younger Class of Readers, as well as worthy of the Attention of Persons of maturer Years and Understandings: If to set forth in the most exemplary Lights, the Parental, the Filial, and the Social Duties, and that from low to high Life: If to paint Vice in its proper Colours, to make it deservedly Odious; and to set Virtue in its own amiable Light, to make it truly Lovely: If to draw Characters justly, and to support them equally: If to raise a Distress from natural Causes, and to excite Compassion from proper Motives: If to teach the Man of Fortune how to use it; the Man of Passion how to subdue it; and the Man of Intrigue, how, gracefully, and with Honour to himself, to reclaim: If to give practical Examples, worthy to be followed in the most critical and affecting Cases, by the modest Virgin, the chaste Bride, and the obliging Wife: If to effect all these good Ends, in so probable, so natural, so lively a manner, as shall engage the Passions of every sensible Reader, and strongly interest them in the edifying Story: And all without raising a single Idea throughout the Whole, that shall shock the exactest Purity, even in those tender Instances where the exactest Purity would be most apprehensive: If these, (embellished with a great Variety of entertaining Incidents) be laudable or worthy Recommendations of any Work, the Editor of the following Letters, which have their Foundation in Truth and Nature, ventures to assert, that all these desirable Ends are obtained in these Sheets: And as he is therefore confident of the favourable Reception which he boldly bespeaks for this little Work; he thinks any further Preface or Apology for it, unnecessary: And the rather for two Reasons, 1st. Because he can Appeal from his own Passions, (which have been uncommonly moved in perusing these engaging Scenes) to the Passions of Every one who shall read them with the least Attention: And, in the next place, because an Editor may reasonably be supposed to judge with an Impartiality which is rarely to be met with in an Author towards his own Works. The Editor. To the Editor of the Piece intitled, Pamela; or, Virtue Rewarded Dear Sir, I have had inexpressible Pleasure in the Perusal of your Pamela. It intirely answers the Character you give of it in your Preface; nor have you said one Word too much in Commendation of a Piece that has Advantages and Excellencies peculiar to itself. For, besides the beautiful Simplicity of the Style, and a happy Propriety and Clearness of Expression (the Letters being written under the immediate Impression of every Circumstance which occasioned them, and that to those who had a Right to know the fair Writer's most secret Thoughts) the several Passions of the Mind must, of course, be more affectingly described, and Nature may be traced in her undisguised Inclinations with much more Propriety and Exactness, than can possibly be found in a Detail of Actions long past, which are never recollected with the same Affections, Hopes, and Dreads, with which they were felt when they occurred. This little Book will infallibly be looked upon as the hitherto much-wanted Standard or Pattern for this Kind of Writing. For it abounds with lively Images and Pictures; with Incidents natural, surprising, and perfectly adapted to the Story; with Circumstances interesting to Persons in common Life, as well as to those in exalted Stations. The greatest Regard is every where paid in it to Decency, and to every Duty of Life: There is a constant Fitness of the Style to the Persons and Characters described; Pleasure and Instruction here always go hand in hand: Vice and Virtue are set in constant Opposition, and Religion every-where inculcated in its native Beauty and chearful Amiableness; not dressed up in stiff, melancholy, or gloomy Forms, on one hand, nor yet, on the other, debased below its due Dignity and noble Requisites, in Compliment to a too fashionable but depraved Taste. And this I will boldly say, that if its numerous Beauties are added to its excellent Tendency, it will be found worthy a Place, not only in all Families (especially such as have in them young Persons of either Sex) but in the Collections of the most curious and polite Readers. For, as it borrows none of its Excellencies from the romantic Flights of unnatural Fancy, its being founded in Truth and Nature, and built upon Experience, will be a lasting Recommendation to the Discerning and Judicious; while the agreeable Variety of Occurrences and Characters, in which it abounds, will not fail to engage the Attention of the gay and more sprightly Readers. The moral Reflections and Uses to be drawn from the several Parts of this admirable History, are so happily deduced from a Croud of different Events and Characters, in the Conclusion of the Work, that I shall say the less on that Head. But I think, the Hints you have given me, should also prefatorily be given to the Publick; viz. That it will appear from several Things mentioned in the Letters, that the Story must have happened within these Thirty Years past: That you have been obliged to vary some of the Names of Persons, Places, &c. and to disguise a few of the Circumstances, in order to avoid giving Offence to some Persons, who would not chuse to be pointed out too plainly in it; tho' they would be glad it may do the Good so laudably intended by the Publication. And as you have in Confidence submitted to my Opinion some of those Variations, I am much pleased that you have so managed the Matter, as to make no Alteration in the Facts; and, at the same time, have avoided the digressive Prolixity too frequently used on such Occasions. Little Book, charming Pamela! face the World, and never doubt of finding Friends and Admirers, not only in thine own Country, but far from Home; where thou mayst give an Example of Purity to the Writers of a neighbouring Nation; which now shall have an Opportunity to receive English Bullion in Exchange for its own Dross, which has so long passed current among us in Pieces abounding with all the Levities of its volatile Inhabitants. The reigning Depravity of the Times has yet left Virtue many Votaries. Of their Protection you need not despair. May every head-strong Libertine whose Hands you reach, be reclaimed; and every tempted Virgin who reads you, imitate the Virtue, and meet the Reward of the high-meriting, tho' low-descended, Pamela. I am, Sir, Your most Obedient, and Faithful Servant, J. B. D. F. To my worthy Friend, the Editor of Pamela, &c. SIR, I return the Manuscript of Pamela by the Bearer, which I have read with a great deal of Pleasure. It is written with that Spirit of Truth and agreeable Simplicity, which, tho' much wanted, is seldom found in those Pieces which are calculated for the Entertainment and Instruction of the Publick. It carries Conviction in every Part of it; and the Incidents are so natural and interesting, that I have gone hand-in-hand, and sympathiz'd with the pretty Heroine in all her Sufferings, and been extremely anxious for her Safety, under the Apprehensions of the bad Consequences which I expected, every Page, would ensue from the laudable Resistance she made. I have interested myself in all her Schemes of Escape; been alternately pleas'd and angry with her in her Restraint; pleas'd with the little Machinations and Contrivances she set on foot for her Release, and angry for suffering her Fears to defeat them; always lamenting, with a most sensible Concern, the Mifcarriages of her Hopes and Projects. In short, the whole is so affecting, that there is no reading it without uncommon Concern and Emotion. Thus far only as to the Entertainment it gives. As to Instruction and Morality, the Piece is full of both. It shews Virtue in the strongest Light, and renders the Practice of it amiable and lovely. The beautiful Sufferer keeps it ever in her View, without the least Ostentation, or Pride; she has it so strongly implanted in her, that thro' the whole Course of her Sufferings, she does not so much as hesitate once, whether she shall sacrifice it to Liberty and Ambition, or not; but, as if there were no other way to free and save herself, carries on a determin'd Purpose to persevere in her Innocence, and wade with it throughout all Difficulties and Temptations, or perish under them. It is an astonishing Matter, and well worth our most serious Consideration, that a young beautiful Girl, in the low Scene of Life and Circumstance in which Fortune placed her, without the Advantage of a Friend capable to relieve and protect her, or any other Education than what occurr'd to her from her own Observation and little Reading, in the Course of her Attendance on her excellent Mistress and Benefactress, could, after having a Taste of Ease and Plenty in a higher Sphere of Life than what she was born and first brought up in, resolve to return to her primitive Poverty, rather than give up her Innocence. I say, it is surprizing, that a young Person, so circumstanced, could, in Contempt of proffer'd Grandeur on the one side, and in Defiance of Penury on the other, so happily and prudently conduct herself thro' such a Series of Perplexities and Troubles, and withstand the alluring Baits, and almost irresistible Offers of a fine Gentleman, so universally admired and esteemed, for the Agreeableness of his Person and good Qualities, among all his Acquaintance; defeat all his Measures with so much Address, and oblige him, at last, to give over his vain Pursuit, and sacrifice his Pride and Ambition to Virtue, and become the Protector of that Innocence which he so long and so indefatigably labour'd to supplant: And all this without ever having entertain'd the least previous Design or Thought for that Purpose: No Art used to inflame him, no Coquetry practised to tempt or mtice him, and no Prudery or Affectation to tamper with his Passions; but, on the contrary, artless and unpractised in the Wiles of the World, all her Endeavours, and even all her Wishes, tended only to render herself as un-amiable as she could in his Eyes: Tho' at the same time she is so far from having any Aversion to his Person, that she seems rather prepossess'd in his Favour, and admires his Excellencies, whilst she condemns his Passion for her. A glorious Instance of Self-denial! Thus her very Repulses became Attractions: The more she resisted, the more she charm'd; and the very Means she used to guard her Virtue, the more indanger'd it, by inflaming his Passions: Till, at last, by Perseverance, and a brave and resolute Defence, the Besieged not only obtain'd a glorious Victory over the Besieger, but took him Prisoner too. I am charmed with the beautiful Reflections she makes in the Course of her Distresses; her Soliloquies and little Reasonings with herself, are exceeding pretty and entertaining: She pours out all her Soul in them before her Parents without Disguise; so that one may judge of, nay, almost see, the inmost Recesses of her Mind. A pure clear Fountain of Truth and Innocence, a Magazine of Virtue and unblemish'd Thoughts! I can't conceive why you should hesitate a Moment as to the Publication of this very natural and uncommon Piece. I could wish to see it out in its own native Simplicity, which will affect and please the Reader beyond all the Strokes of Oratory in the World; for those will but spoil it: and, should you permit such a murdering Hand to be laid upon it, to gloss and tinge it over with superfluous and needless Decorations, which, like too much Drapery in Sculpture and Statuary, will but incumber it; it may disguise the Facts, marr the Reflections, and unnaturalize the Incidents, so as to be lost in a Multiplicity of fine idle Words and Phrases, and reduce our Sterling Substance into an empty Shadow, or rather frenchify our English Solidity into Froth and Whip-syllabub. No; let us have Pamela as Pamela wrote it; in her own Words, without Amputation, or Addition. Produce her to us in her neat Country Apparel, such as she appear'd in, on her intended Departure to her Parents; for such best becomes her Innocence and beautiful Simplicity. Such a Dress will best edify and entertain. The flowing Robes of Oratory may indeed amuse and amaze, but will never strike the Mind with solid Attention. In short, Sir, a Piece of this Kind is much wanted in the World, which is but too much, as well as too early debauched by pernicious Novels. I know nothing Entertaining of that Kind that one might venture to recommend to the Perusal (much less the Imitation) of the Youth of either Sex: All that I have hitherto read, tends only to corrupt their Principles, mislead their Judgments, and initiate them into Gallantry and loose Pleasures. Publish then, this good, this edifying and instructive little Piece for their Sakes. The Honour of Pamela's Sex demands Pamela at your Hands, to shew the World an Heroine, almost beyond Example, in an unusual Scene of Life, whom no Temptations, or Sufferings, could subdue. It is a fine, and glorious Original, for the Fair to copy out and imitate. Our own Sex, too, require it of you, to free us, in some measure, from the Imputation of being incapable of the Impressions of Virtue and Honour; and to shew the Ladies, that we are not inflexible while they are so. In short, the Cause of Virtue, calls for the Publication of such a Piece as this. Oblige then, Sir, the concurrent Voices of both Sexes, and give us Pamela for the Benefit of Mankind: And as I believe its Excellencies cannot be long unknown to the World, and that there will not be a Family without it; so I make no Doubt but every Family that has it, will be much improv'd and better'd by it. T will form the tender Minds of Youth for the Reception and Practice of Virtue and Honour; confirm and establish those of maturer Years on good and steady Principles; reclaim the Vicious, and mend the Age in general; insomuch that as I doubt not Pamela will become the bright Example and Imitation of all the fashionable young Ladies of Great Britain; so the truly generous Benefactor and Rewarder of her exemplary Virtue, will be no less admired and imitated among the Eeau Monde of out own Sex. I am, Your affectionate Friend, &c. PAMELA; or, Virtue Rewarded. In a Series of Familiar Letters, &c. 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 Taid, 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 Morning 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. I have been scared out of my Senses; for just now, as I was folding this Letter, in my late Lady's Dressing-room, in comes my young Master! Good Sirs! how was I frightned! I went to hide the Letter in my Bosom, and he seeing me frighted, said, smiling, Who have you been writing to, Pamela? -I said, in my Fright, Pray your Honour forgive me! -Only to my Father and Mother. He said, Well then, Let me see how you are come on in your Writing! O how I was sham'd! - He, in my Fright, took it, without saying more, and read it quite thro', and then gave it me again;-and I said, Pray your Honour forgive me;-yet I know not for what. For he was always dutiful to his Parents; and why should he be angry, that I was so to mine! And indeed he was not angry; for he took me by the Hand, and said, You are a good Girl, Pamela, to be kind to your aged Father and Mother. I am not angry with you. Be faithful, and diligent; and do as you should do, and I like you the better for this. And then he said, Why, Pamela, you write a very pretty Hand, and spell tolerably too. I see my good Mother's Care in your Learning has not been thrown away upon you. My Mother used to say, you lov'd reading; you may look into any of her Books to improve yourself, so you take care of them. To be sure I did nothing but curchee and cry, and was all in Confusion, at his Goodness. Indeed he is the best of Gentlemen, I think! But I am making another long Letter. So will only say more, I shall ever be, Your dutiful Daughter, Pamela Andrews. 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, 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 robb'd. With our Blessings and our hearty Prayers for you, we remain, Your careful, but loving Father and Mother, John and Elizabeth Andrews. 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, In ever 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. 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 most 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 rold 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 Pray make use of the Money; you may now do it safely. 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 was 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. 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 his 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. 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. 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. Besure don't let People's telling you you are pretty, puff you up: for you did not make yourself, and so can have no Praise due to you for it. It is Virtue and Goodness only, that make the Beauty. Remember that, Pamela. 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. Dear Mother, You and my good Father may wonder that you have not had a Letter from me in so many Weeks; but a sad, sad Scene has been the Occasion of it. For, to be sure, now it is too plain, that all your Cautions were well-grounded. O my dear Mother! I am miserable, truly miserable! -But yet, don't be frighted, I am honest! -God, of his Goodness, keep me so! O this Angel of a Master! this fine Gentleman! this gracious Benefactor to your poor Pamela! who was to take care of me at the Prayer of his good dying Mother; who was so careful of me, lest I should be drawn in by Lord Davers's Nephew; that he would not let me go to Lady Davers's: This very Gentleman (yes, I must call him Gentleman, tho' he has fallen from the Merit of that Title) has degraded himself to offer Freedoms to his poor Servant! He has now shew'd himself in his Colours, and to me, nothing appears so black and so frightful. I have not been idle; but have writ from time to time how he, by sly mean Degrees, exposed his wicked Views: But somebody stole my Letter, and I know not what is become of it. It was a very long one. I fear he that was mean enough to do bad things, in one respect, did not stick at this; but be it as it will, all the Use he can make of it will be, that he may be asham'd of his Part; I not of mine. For he will see I was resolv'd to be honest, and glory'd in the Honesty of my poor Parents. I will tell you all, the next Opportunity; for I am watch'd, and such-like, very narrowly; and he says to Mrs. Jervis, This Girl is always scribbling; I think she may be better employ'd. And yet I work all Hours with my Needle, upon his Linen, and the fine Linen of the Family; and am besides about flowering him a Waistcoat. - But, Oh! my Heart's broke almost; for what am I likely to have for my Reward, but Shame and Disgrace, or else ill Words, and hard Treatment! I'll tell you all soon, and hope I shall find my long Letter. Your most afflicted Daughter. I must he and him him now; for he has lost his Dignity with me! 1740 |