I know very well. But, maybe, without these uneasinesses to mingle with these benefits, I might be too much puffed up: so I will conclude, all that happens is for our good; and God bless you, my dear father and mother; and I know you constantly pray for a blessing upon me; who am, and shall always be,

Your dutiful DAUGHTER.

LETTER VIII.

DEAR PAMELA,

I CANNOT but renew my cautions on your master's kindness, and his free expression to you about the stockings; 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 happiness in this world and the next, it is enough to make one fearful for you. Arm yourself, my dear child, for the worst; and resolve to lose your life rather than your virtue. What though the doubts I filled you with lessen the pleasure you would have had in your master's kindness, yet what signify the delights that arise from a few fine clothes, 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. As you say, it would have been more proper for Mrs Jervis to have been the dispenser of them to you, if he had thought so fit. I cannot say that I much like of it, that it was not so. I trust that you will be always on your guard; yet, when you say, he looked so amiably, and like an angel, how afraid I am, that they should make too great an impression upon you! For, though you are blessed with sense and prudence above your years, yet, I tremble to think, what a sad hazard a poor maiden, of little 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. Methinks I could wish, so could your mother, that you might be taken by good Lady Davers. That would be an high honour, and what is of more account, a great ease to our hearts concerning your virtue.

But if this be, or be not to be, I repeat my charge to you, my dear child, on both our blessings, 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. Be sure don't let people's telling you, you are

pretty, puff you up; for you did not make yourself, and so no praise can be due to you for it.

It is virtue and goodness only, that make the true beauty. Remember that, Pamela.

LETTER IX.

I AM Sorry, my dear father and mother, to write you word, that the hopes I had of going to wait on Lady Davers, are quite over. My lady would have had me, but my master, as I heard by the by, would not consent to it. He said her nephew might be taken with me, and I might draw him in, or be drawn in by him; and he thought, as his mother loved me, and committed me to his care, he ought to continue me with him; and Mrs Jervis would be a mother to me.

Mrs Jervis tells me, my 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 cautions, or of 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 such a gentleman, and so poor a girl. But yet Mrs Jervis seemed to build something upon Lady Davers's shaking her head, and saying, Ah, brother! and no more.

God, I hope, will give me his grace; and so I will not, if I can help it, make myself too uneasy; for I hope there is no occasion. But every little matter that happens, I will acquaint you with, that you may continue to me your good advice, and pray for

Your thoughtful

LETTER X.

MY DEAR MOTHER,

PAMELA.

You and my good father may wonder you have not had a letter from me in so many weeks; but a sad, sad scene has been the occasion of it. For, to be sure, now it is too plain, that all your cautions were well-grounded. O my dear mother, I am miserable! truly miserable! But yet, don't be frighted, I am honest! And I hope God, of his goodness, will 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 apprehensive for 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, though he has fallen from the merit of that title) has degraded himself to offer freedoms to his poor servant; he

I have not been idle; but had writ from time to time, how he, by sly, mean degrees, exposed his wicked views; but somebody stole my letter, and I know not what is become of it. It was a very long one. I fear, he that was mean enough to attempt 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 ashamed of his part; I am not of mine: for he will see I was resolved to be virtuous, and gloried in the honesty of my poor parents.

I will tell you all, the next opportunity; for I am watched very narrowly; and he says to Mrs Jervis, This girl is always scribbling; I think she may be better employed. 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.

Maybe I he and him him too much: but it is his own fault if I do. For why did he lose all his dignity with me?

LETTER XI.

DEAR MOTHER,

WELL, I can't find my letter, and so I'll try to recollect it all, and be as brief as I can. All went well enough in the main for some time after my letter but one. At last, I saw some reason to suspect; for he would look upon me, whenever he saw me, in such a manner, as shewed not well; and one day he came to me, as I was in the summer-house in the little garden, at work with my needle, and Mrs Jervis was just gone from me; and I would have gone out, but he said, No, don't go, Pamela; I have something to say to you; and you always fly me when I come near you, as if you were afraid of me.

I was much out of countenance, you may well think; but said, at last, It does not become your poor servant to stay in your presence, sir, without your business required it; and I hope I shall always know my place.

Well, says he, my business does require it sometimes; and I have a mind should stay you to hear what I have to say to you. I stood still confounded, and began to tremble, and the more when he took me by the hand, for now no soul was near us.

My sister Davers, said he, (and seemed, I thought, to be as much at a loss for words as I,) would have had you live with her; but she

would not do for you what I am resolved to do, if you continue faithful and obliging. What say'st thou, my girl? said he, with some eagerness: hadst thou not rather stay with me, than go to my sister Davers? He looked so, as filled me with affrightment; I don't know how; wildly, I thought.

I said, when I could speak, Your honour will forgive me; but as you have no lady for me to wait upon, and my good lady has been now dead this twelvemonth, I had rather, if it would not displease you, wait upon Lady Davers, be

cause

I was proceeding, and he said, a little hastily, Because you are a little fool, and know not what's good for yourself. I tell you I will make a gentlewoman of you, if you be obliging, and don't stand in your own light; and so saying, he put his arm about me, and kissed me!

Now, you will say, all his wickedness appeared plainly. I struggled and trembled, and was so benumbed with terror, that sunk down, not in a fit, and yet not myself; and I found myself in his arms, quite void of strength; and he kissed me two or three times, with frightful eagerness. At last I burst from him, and was getting out of the summer-house; but he held me back, and shut the door.

I would have given my life for a farthing. And he said, I'll do you no harm, Pamela; don't be afraid of me. I said, I won't stay. You won't, hussy! said he: Do you know whom you speak to? I lost all fear, and all respect, and said, Yes I do, sir, too well! well may I forget that I am your servant, when you forget what belongs

to a master.

I sobbed and cried most sadly. What a foolish hussy you are! said he: Have I done you any harm?—Yes, sir, said I, the greatest harm in the world: you have taught me to forget myself and what belongs to me, and have lessened the distance that fortune has made between us, by demeaning yourself, to be so free to a poor servant. Yet, sir, I will be bold to say, I am honest, though poor; and if you was a prince, I would not be

otherwise.

He was angry, and said, Who would have you otherwise, you foolish slut? Cease your blubbering. I own I have demeaned myself;' but it was only to try you: If you can keep this matter secret, you'll give me the better opinion of your prudence; and here's something, said he, putting some gold in my hand, to make you amends for the fright I put you in. Go, take a walk in the garden, and don't go in till your blubbering is over: and I charge you say nothing of what is past, and all shall be well, and I'll forgive you.

I won't take the money, indeed, sir, said I, poor as I am: I won't take it. For, to say truth, I thought it looked like taking earnest, and so I put it upon the bench; and as he seemed vexed and confused at what he had done, I took the

opportunity to open the door, and went out of the summer-house.

He called to me, and said, Be secret, I charge you, Pamela; and don't go in yet, as I told you.

O how poor and mean must those actions be, and how little must they make the best of gentlemen look, when they offer such things as are unworthy of themselves, and put it into the power of their inferiors to be greater than they! I took a turn or two in the garden, but in sight of the house, for fear of the worst; and breathed upon my hand to dry my eyes, because I would not be too disobedient. My next shall tell you

more.

Pray for me, my dear father and mother; and don't be angry I have not yet run away from this house, so late my comfort and delight, but now my terror and anguish. I am forced to break off hastily.

Your dutiful and honest Daughter.

LETTER XII.

DEAR MOTHER,

WELL, I will now proceed with my sad story.. And so, after I had dried my eyes, I went in, and began to ruminate with myself what I had best to do. Sometimes I thought I would leave the house, and go to the next town, and wait an opportunity to get to you; but then I was at a loss to resolve whether to take away the things he had given me or no, and how to take them away: Sometimes I thought to leave them behind me, and only go with the clothes on my back, but then I had two miles and a half, and a bye-way, to the town; and, being pretty well dressed, I might come to some harm, almost as bad as what I would run away from; and then, maybe, thought I, it will be reported I have stolen something, and so was forced to run away; and to carry a bad name back with me to my dear parents, would be a sad thing indeed!O how I wished for my grey russet again, and my poor honest dress, with which you fitted me out, (and hard enough too it was for you to do it,) for going to this place, when I was not twelve years old, in my good lady's days! Sometimes I thought of telling Mrs Jervis, and taking her advice, and only feared his command to be secret; for, thought I, he may be ashamed of his actions, and never attempt the like again: And as poor Mrs Jervis depended upon him, through misfortunes that had attended her, I thought it would be a sad thing to bring his displeasure upon her for my sake.

In this quandary, now considering, now crying, and not knowing what to do, I passed the time in my chamber till evening; when, desiring to be excused going to supper, Mrs Jervis came up to me, and said, Why, must I sup without you, Pamela? Come, I see you are troubled at something; tell me what is the matter.

I begged I might be permitted to lie with her on nights; for I was afraid of spirits, and they would not hurt such a good person as she. That was a silly excuse, she said; for why was not you afraid of spirits before? -(Indeed I did not think of that.) But you shall be my bed-fellow with all my heart, added she, let your reason be what it will; only come down to supper. I begged to be excused; for, said I, I have been crying so, that it will be taken notice of by my fellow servants; and I will hide nothing from you, Mrs Jervis, when we are alone.

She was so good to indulge me; but made haste to come up to bed; and told the servants that I should lie with her, because she could not rest well, and would get me to read her to sleep; for she knew I loved reading, she said.

When we were alone, I told her all that had passed; for, I thought, though he had bid me not, yet if he should come to know I had told, it would be no worse; for to keep a secret of such a nature, would be, as I apprehended, to deprive myself of the good advice which I never wanted more; and might encourage him to think I did not resent it as I ought, and would keep worse secrets, and so make him do worse by me. Was I right, my dear mother?

Mrs Jervis could not help mingling tears with my tears; for I cried all the time I was telling her the story, and begged her to advise me what to do; and I shewed her my dear father's two letters, and she praised the honesty and inditing of them, and said pleasing things to me of you both. But she begged I would not think of leaving my service; for, said she, in all likelihood, you behaved so virtuously, that he will be ashamed of what he has done, and never offer the like to you again: though, my dear Pamela, said she, I fear more for your prettiness than for any thing else; because the best man in the land might love you: so she was pleased to say. She wished it was in her power to live independent; then she would take a little private house, and I should live with her like her daugh

ter.

And so, as you ordered me to take her advice, I resolved to tarry to see how things went, except he was to turn me away; although, in your first letter, you ordered me to come away the moment I had any reason to be apprehensive. --So, dear father and mother, it is not disobedience, I hope, that I stay; for I could not expect a blessing, or the good fruits of your prayers for me, if I was disobedient.

All the next day I was very sad, and began my long letter. He saw me writing, and said, (as I mentioned,) to Mrs Jervis, That girl is always scribbling; methinks she might find something else to do, or to that purpose. And when I had finished my letter, I put it under the toilet in my late lady's dressing-room, whither nobody comes but myself and Mrs Jervis, besides my master; but, when I came up again to seal it,

LETTER XIII.

PAMELA.

MY DEAREST CHILD, OUR hearts bleed for your distress, and the temptations you are exposed to. You have our hourly prayers; and we would have you flee this evil great house and man, if you find he renews his attempts. You ought to have done it at first, had you not had Mrs Jervis to advise with. We can find no fault in your conduct hitherto : but it makes our hearts ache for fear of the worst. O my child! temptations are sore things; but yet, without them, we know not ourselves, nor what we are able to do.

Your danger is very great; for you have riches, youth, and a fine gentleman, as the world reckons him, to withstand; but how great will be your honour to withstand them! And when we consider your past conduct, and your virtuous education, and that you have been bred to be more ashamed of dishonesty than poverty, we trust in God, that he will enable you to overcome. Yet, as we can't see but your life must be a burden to you, through the great apprehensions always upon you; and that it may be presumptuous to trust too much to your own strength; and that you are but very young; and the devil may put it into his heart to use some stratagem, of which great men are full, to decoy you; I think you had better come home to share our poverty with safety, than live with so much discontent in a plenty, that itself may be dangerous. God direct you for the best! While you have Mrs Jervis for an adviser, and bed-fellow, (and, O my dear child! that was prudently done of you,)

we are easier than we should otherwise have been; and so committing you to the Divine protection, remain

Your truly loving, but careful
FATHER and MOTHER.

LETTER XIV.

Dear Father and Mother, MRS JERVIS and I have lived very comfortably together for this fortnight past; for my master was all that time at his Lincolnshire estate, and at his sister's, the Lady Davers. But he came home yesterday. He had some talk with Mrs Jervis soon after, and mostly about me. He said to her, it seems, Well, Mrs Jervis, I know Pamela has your good word; but do you think her of any use in the family? She told me she was surprised at the question, but said, That I was one of the most virtuous and industrious young creatures that ever she knew. Why that word virtuous, said he, I pray you? Was there any reason to suppose her otherwise? Or has any body taken it into his head to try her ?—I wonder, sir, says she, you ask such a question! Who dare offer any thing to her in such an orderly and well-governed house as yours, and under a master of so good a character for virtue and hoyour good opinion; but pray, if any body did, do nour?--Your servant, Mrs Jervis, says he, for you think Pamela would let you know it?-Why, sir, said she, she is a poor innocent young creature, and, I believe, has so much confidence in me, that she would take my advice as soon as she would her mother's.-Innocent! again, and virtuous, I warrant! Well, Mrs Jervis, you abound with your epithets; but I take her to be an artful young baggage; and had I a young handsome butler or steward, she'd soon make her market of one of them, if she thought it worth while to snap at him for a husband.Alack-a-day, sir, said she, it is early days with Pamela; and she does not yet think of a husband, I dare say; and your steward and butler matter.-No, said he, if they were younger, are both men in years, and think nothing of the they'd have more wit than to think of such a girl. I'll tell you my mind of her, Mrs Jervis ; I don't think this same favourite of yours so very artless a girl as you imagine. I am not to dispute with your honour, said Mrs Jervis ; but, I dare say, if the men will let her alone, she'll never trouble herself about them.-Why, Mrs Jervis, said he, are there any men that will not let her alone, that you know of ?-No, indeed, sir, said she; she keeps herself so much to herself, and yet behaves so prudently, that they all esteem her, and shew her as great a respect as if she was a gentlewoman born.

of; but, let me tell you, the girl has vanity and Ay, says he, that's her art, that I was speaking

conceit, and pride too, or I am mistaken; and, perhaps, I could give you an instance of it.-Sir, said she, you can see farther than such a poor silly woman as I am; but I never saw any thing but innocence in her. And virtue too, I'll warrant ye! said he. But suppose I could give you an instance, where she has talked a little too freely of the kindnesses that have been shewn her from a certain quarter; and has had the vanity to impute a few kind words, uttered in mere compassion to her youth and circumstances, into a design upon her, and even dared to make free with names that she ought never to mention but with reverence and gratitude; what would you say to that?-Say! sir, said she, I cannot tell what to say. But I hope Pamela is incapable of such ingratitude.

Well, no more of this silly girl, says he; you may only advise her, as you are her friend, not to give herself too much licence upon the favours she meets with; and, if she stays here, that she will not write the affairs of my family purely for an exercise to her pen, and her invention. I tell you she is a subtle, artful gipsy, and time will shew it you.

Was ever the like heard, my dear father and mother? It is plain he did not expect to meet with such a repulse, and mistrusts that I have told Mrs Jervis, and has my long letter too, that I intended for you; and so is vexed to the heart. But I can't help it. I had better be thought artful and subtle, than be so, in his sense; and, as light as he makes of the words virtue and innocence in me, he would have made a less angry construction, had I less deserved that he should do so; for then, maybe, my crime would have been my virtue with him; naughty gentleman as he is!

I will soon write again; but must now end with saying, that I am, and shall always be, Your honest DAUGHTER.

LETTER XV.

DEAR MOTHER,

I BROKE off abruptly my last letter; for I feared he was coming; and so it happened. I put the letter in my bosom, and took up my work, which lay by me; but I had so little of the artful, as he called it, that I looked as confused as if I had been doing some great harm.

Sit still, Pamela, said he, mind your work, for all me. You don't tell me I am welcome home, after my journey to Lincolnshire.-It would be hard, sir, said I, if you was not always welcome to your honour's own house.

I would have gone; but he said, Don't run away, I tell you. I have a word or two to say to you. Good sirs, how my heart went pit-apat!-When I was a little kind to you, said he, in the summer-house, and you carried yourself

so foolishly upon it, as if I had intended to do you great harm, did I not tell you you should take no notice of what passed to any creature? And yet you have made a common talk of the matter, not considering either my reputation, or your own.-I made a common talk of it, sir! said I; I have nobody to talk to, hardly.

He interrupted me, and said, Hardly! you little equivocator! What do you mean by hardly? Let me ask you, have not you told Mrs Jervis for one?-Pray, your honour, said I, all in agitation, let me go down; for it is not for me to hold an argument with your honour.-Equivocator, again! said he, and took my hand, what do you talk of an argument? Is it holding an argument with me to answer a plain question? Answer me what I asked.-O, good sir, said I, let me beg you will not urge me farther, for fear I forget myself again, and be saucy.

Answer me then, I bid you, says he, Have you not told Mrs Jervis? It will be saucy in you if you don't answer me directly to what I ask.-Sir, said I, and fain would have pulled my hand away, perhaps I should be for answering you by another question, and that would not become me.- -What is it you would say ? replies he; speak out.

Then, sir, said I, why should your honour be so angry I should tell Mrs Jervis, or any body else, what passed, if you intended no harm?

Well said, pretty innocent and artless! as Mrs Jervis calls you, said he; and is it thus you taunt and retort upon me, insolent as you are! But still I will be answered directly to my question.-Why then, sir, said I, I will not tell a lie for the world; I did tell Mrs Jervis; for my heart was almost broken; but I opened not my mouth to any other.-Very well, bold-face, said he, and equivocator again! You did not open your mouth to any other; but did not you write to some other?-Why now, and please your honour, said I, (for I was quite courageous just then,) you could not have asked me this question, if you had not taken from me my letter to my father and mother, in which I own I had broken my mind freely to them, and asked their advice, and poured forth my griefs!

And so I am to be exposed, am I, said he, in my own house, and out of my house, to the whole world, by such a saucebox as you?—No, good sir, said I, and I hope your honour won't be angry with me; it is not I that expose you, if I say nothing but the truth.-So, taunting again! Assurance as you are! said he; I will not be thus talked to!

Pray, sir, said I, of whom can a poor girl take advice, if it must not be of her father and mother, and such a good woman as Mrs Jervis, who, for her sex-sake, should give it me when asked ?-Insolence! said he, and stamped with his foot, am I to be questioned thus by such a