 Section 1. Pamela or Virtue rewarded. This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Ann Boyer. Pamela or Virtue rewarded by Samuel Richardson. Section 1. Publisher's note. Samuel Richardson, the first in order of time of the great English novelists, was born in 1689 and died in London in 1761. He was a printer by trade and rose to be a master at the stationer's company. That he also became a novelist was due to his skill as a letter writer, which brought him, in his 50th year, a commission to write a volume of model familiar letters as an aid to persons too illiterate to compose their own. The notion of connecting these letters by a story which had interested him suggested the plot of Pamela and determined its epistolary form, a form which was retained in his later works. This novel, published 1740, created an epic in the history of English fiction and with its successors exerted a wide influence upon continental literature. It is appropriately included in a series which is designed to form a group of studies of English life by the masters of English fiction. For it marked the transition from the novel of adventure to the novel of character, from the narration of entertaining events to the study of men and of manners, of motives and of sentiments. In it the romantic interest of the story, which is of the slightest, is subordinated to the moral interest in the conduct of its characters in the various situations in which they are placed. Upon this aspect of the drama of human life, Richardson cast a most observant, if not always, a penetrating glance. His works are an almost microscopically detailed picture of English domestic life in the early part of the 18th century. Pamela or Virtue Rewarded 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 mentioned to you, and left us all much grieved for the loss of her. For she was a dear good lady and kind to all us her servants. Much I feared that as I was taken by her ladyship to wait upon her person, I should be quite destitute again, and forced to return to you and my poor mother, who have enough to do to maintain yourselves. And as my ladys goodness had put me to write and cast accounts and made me a little expert in my needle, and otherwise qualified above my degree, it was not every family that could have found a place that your poor Pamela was fit for. But God, whose graciousness to us we have so often experienced at a pinch, put it into my good lady's heart on her death bed, just an hour before she expired, 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, oh 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 obliged to return back to be a clog upon my dear parents. For my master said, I will take care of you all, my good maidens, and for you, Pamela, and took me by the hand, yes, he took my 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, dear father and mother, for blessing upon him, for he has given mourning and a year's wages to all my lady's servants. And I, having no wages as yet, my lady having said she should do for me as I deserved, ordered the housekeeper to give me mourning with the rest, and gave me with his own hand four golden guineas, and some silver, which were in my old lady's pocket when she died. 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 providence will not let me want, and so you may pay some old debt with part, and give 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 loved and cherished me when I could do nothing for myself. I send them by John, our footman, who goes your way, but he does not know what he carries, because I seal them up in one of the little pill-boxes which my lady had, wrapped close in paper, that they maint clink, 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 beautiful daughter. I have been scared out of my senses, for just now as I was folding up this letter in my late lady's dressing-room, in comes my young master. Good sirs how I was frightened! I went to hide the letter in my bosom, and he, seeing me tremble, said smiling. To whom have you been writing, Pamela? I said in my confusion, pray your honour forgive me, only to my father and mother. He said, well then, let me see how you'll come on in your writing. Oh, how ashamed I was! He took it, without saying more, and read it quite through, and then gave it to 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'm not angry with you for writing such innocent matters as these, though you ought to be wary of what tales you send out of a family. Be faithful and diligent, and do as you should do, and I like you the better for this. And then he said, my 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. She used to say you loved 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 curtsy and cry, and was all in confusion of his goodness. Indeed he is the best of gentlemen, I think, but I'm making another long letter, so we'll only add to it that I shall ever be your beautiful daughter, Pamela Andrews. Letter 2 In answer to the proceeding 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, through your four years past, has always been giving you clothes and linen, and everything that a gentlewoman need not be ashamed to appear in. But our chief trouble is, and indeed a very great one, for fear you should be brought to anything dishonest or wicked by being set so above yourself. Everybody 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 your last, I should have thought so myself, if you was not our child. But what avails all this, if you are to be ruined and undone? Indeed, my dear Pamela, we begin to be in great fear for you. For what signify all the riches of the world with a bad conscience, and to be dishonest? We are, tis true, very poor, and find it hard enough to live, though once, as you know, it was better with us. But we would sooner live upon the water, and, if possible, the clay of the ditches I contendedly dig, than live better at the price of our child's room. 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 he 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 person to her waiting maid, and to such a 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 ache for you, and then you seem so full of joy at his goodness, so taken with his kind expressions, which truly are 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 anything 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 have been honest, and doubt not to be happy hereafter, if we continue to be good, though 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 then you love us, if you wish for God's blessing in 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 everything behind you, and come away to us. For we had rather see you all covered with rags, and even follow you to the churchyard, than have it said a child of ours preferred any worldly conveniences to her virtue. We accept kindly your dutiful present, but till we are out of 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 robbed. With our blessings, and our hearty prayers for you, we remain your careful but loving father and mother. John and Elizabeth Andrews. Letter 3 Dear father, I must need say your letter has filled me with trouble, for it has made my heart, which was overflowing with gratitude for my master's goodness, suspicious and fearful, and yet I hope I shall never find him to act unworthy of his character. For what could he get by ruining such a poor young creature as me? That which gives us most trouble is, that you seem to mistrust the honesty of your child. No, my dear father and mother, be assured that by God's grace I will never do anything that shall bring your gray hairs with sorrow to the grave. I will die a thousand deaths, rather than be dishonest any way. Of that be assured, and set your hearts at rest, for although I have lived 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 pray rest satisfied, and think better of your beautiful daughter till death. My master continues to be very affable to me. As yet I see no cause to fear anything. Mrs. Jervis, the housekeeper 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 everyone, and that nobody would do me more hurt than I am sure I would do to them. Our John, oh, 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 four. Dear mother, for the last was to my father in answer to his letter, and so I will now write to you, though I have nothing to say, but what will make me look more like a vain hussy than anything else? However, I hope I shan't be so proud as to forget myself. Yet there is a secret pleasure one has to hear oneself praised. You must know then that my Lady Davors, who I need not tell you, is my master's sister, has been a 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 pretty wench, and that everybody gave me very good character and loved me, and bid me take care to keep the fellows at a distance, and said that I might do and be more valued for it, even by themselves. But what pleased me much was, what I'm going to tell you, for a table, as Mrs. Jervis says, my master and her ladyship talking of me. 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 bachelor's house, since no lady he might marry would care to continue me with her. He said I was vastly improved, and had a good share of prudence, and sense above my years, and that 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, a consult my lord about it. She asked how old I was, and Mrs. Jervis said I was fifteen last February. Oh, says she, if the wench, for so she calls all his 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, though this may look too vain to be repeated by me, yet are you not rejoiced, as well as I, to see my master so willing to part with me? This shows 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. Letter five. My dear father and mother, John being to go your way, I am willing to write, because he is so willing to carry anything for me. He says it does him good it is hard to see you both, and to hear you talk. He says you're both so sensible, and so honest, that he always learns something from you to the purpose. It is a thousand pitties, he says, that such worthy heart should not have better luck in the world. And wonders that you, my father, who are so well able to teach, and write so good a hand, succeed to know better in the school you attempted to set up, who was forced to go to such hard labor. 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 mid-lady davers. I am very easy at present here, for Mrs. Jervis uses me as if I were her own daughter, and as a very good woman, and makes my master's interest her own. She's always giving me good counsel, and I love her next to you too, I think, best of anybody. She keeps so good rule and order she's mildly respected by us all, and takes the like to hear me read to her, and all she loves to hear read is good books, which we read whenover 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 called me his pretty Pamela, and took hold of me as if he would kiss me, for which you may be sure I was very angry. And she took him to task, and was as angry with him as could be, and told me she was very well pleased 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 to carry it civilly to everybody, but yet me thinks I cannot bear to be looked upon by these men's servants, for they seem as if they would look one through. And as I generally breakfast, dine, and stuff with Mrs. Jervis, so good she is to me, I am very easy that I have so little to say to them. Not but they are civil to me in the main, for Mrs. Jervis' sake, who they see loves me. And they stand in awe of her knowing her to be a gentle woman born, though she has had misfortunes. I am going on again with a long letter, for I love writing and she'll tire you. But when I began I only intended to say that I am quite fearless of any danger now, and indeed cannot but wonder at myself, though your caution to me was your watchful love, that I should be so foolish as to be so easy 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, who to be sure may expect one of the best ladies in the land. So no more at present, but that I am your ever-dutiful daughter. Letter 6 Dear father and mother, my master has been very kind to sense my last, for he has given me a suit for my lady's clothes and half a dozen of her shifts, and six fine handkerchiefs, and three of her cambrick aprons, and four holland ones. The clothes or fine silk can 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 good. You will be full of fears I warrant now of some design upon me till I tell you that he was with Mrs. Jervits 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 morning is laid to buy, and wear them for your good mistress's sake. Mrs. Jervits gives you a very good word, and I would have you continue to behave as prudently as you have done hitherto, and everybody will be your friend. I was so surprised at his goodness that I could not tell what to say. I curtsied to him and to Mrs. Jervits for her good word, and said I wished I might be deserving of his favor and her kindness. And nothing should be wanting in me to the best of my knowledge. Oh, how amable a thing as doing good is all I envy great folks for. I always thought my young master fine gentleman as everybody says he is, but he gave these good things to us both with such a graciousness as I thought he looked like an angel. Mrs. Jervits says, he asked her, if I kept the men in distance. For, he said, I was very pretty, and to be drawn in to have any of them might be my ruin, and may be poor and miserable be times. 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 has said no more than I shall try to deserve, though I have made at present. I am sure I will always love her next to you and my dear mother. So I rest, your ever-dutiful daughter. Bloodward Seven Dear Father Since my last, my master gave me more fine things. He called me up to my late lady's closet, and pulling out her drawers, he gave me two suits of fine flander's laced head clothes, three pair of fine silk shoes, two hardly the worst, and just fit for me. For my lady had a very little foot, and the other with wrought silver buckles in them, and silver ribbons, and top knots of all colors. Four pair of white fine cotton stockings, and three pair of fine silk ones, and two pair of rich stays. I was quite astonished and unable to speak for a while. But yet I was in really ashamed to take the stockings, for Mrs. Jervis was not there. If she had, it would have been nothing. I believe I received them very awkwardly, for he smiled to my awkwardness and said, Don't blush, Pamela, does think I don't know pretty mage to wear shoes and stockings? 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 curtsying and blushing, I'm sure, up to the years. For there 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 looked to her, she said, as if he would fit me in a dress for a waiting maid's place, a Lady Davar's own person. But still your kind fatherly cautions came into my head, and made all these gifts nothing near to me than what they would have been. But yet I hope there is no reason, for what good could it do to 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 it 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, dear father and mother. And I know you constantly pray for blessing upon me, who am, and shall always be, you dutiful daughter. Letter 8 Dear Pamela, I cannot but renew by 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, anything in it. But when I reflect that there possibly may, and that 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 for you. Arm yourself, my dear child, for the worst, and resolve to lose your life sooner than your virtue. What, though the doubts I filled you with, less than the pleasure you would have had in your master's kindness. Yet what signified the delights that arise from a few paltry fine clothes, in a comparison with a good conscience? These are indeed great favors that he heaps upon you, but so much the more to be suspected. And when you say he looks so amably, 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 a 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. 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 gentle woman, 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 everything. 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're pretty puff you up, for you did not make yourself and can have no praise due to you for it. It is virtue and goodness only that make the true beauty. Remember that Pamela. Letter 9 Dear father and mother, I am sorry to write you word that hopes I had of going to wait on Lady Davos 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 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 such a gentleman and so poor a girl. But yet Mrs. Jervis seems to build something upon Lady Davos 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't help it, make myself too uneasy. For I hope there's 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 sad hearted Pamela. Letter 10 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. Oh my dear mother, I am miserable, truly miserable. But yet, don't be frightened, I am honest. God of his goodness, keep me so. Oh, 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 Davos' nephew, that he will not let me go to Lady Davos. 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 has now showed himself in his true colours, and to me nothing appears so black and so frightful. I have not been idle, but had written from time to time how he, by sly mean degrees, exposed his wicked views, but somebody stole my letter, and I know not what has become of it. It was a very long one. I fear that he, that was mean enough to do bad things, in one respect, did not stick at this. But be as it will, all the use he can make of it will be, that he may be ashamed of his part, I 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 I work all hours with my needle upon his linen, and the fine linen of the family, and then 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 too much, but it is his own fault if I do, for why did he lose all his dignity with me? Letter 11 Dear mother, while 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 showed to 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 will always fly me when I come near you, as if you are afraid of me. I was much out of countenance you may well think, but at last said, It does not become your good 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 some time, and I have a mind you should stay 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 Dabbers, said he, and seemed I thought to be as much of 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 sayest thou, my girl, said he, with some eagerness, hast thou not rather stay with me than go to my sister Dabbers? He looked so, as filled me with a frightment, I don't know why, 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 down-done this twelve months, I had rather to wait upon Lady Dabbers, because I was proceeding, and he said a little hastily, because you were little fool, and know not what's good for yourself. I tell you, I will make a gentle woman of you, if you be obliging, and don't stand in your own light, and so say, he put his arm around me, and kissed me. Now you will sell all his wickedness, appeared plainly. I struggled and trembled, and was so benumb with terror, and I 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 front 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 will speak to? I lost all fear, and all respect, and said, yes, I do, sir, too well. Well, may I forget 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? Seize your blubbering. I own I have demeaned myself, but it was only to try you. If you could 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 men's for the fright I put you in. Go, take a walk in the garden, and don't go then until 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, for 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 of 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. Oh, how poor and mean must those actions be, and how little must they make the best of a gentleman look, when they offer such things as are unworthy in 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 inside 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 of 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, you dutiful and honest daughter. End of Section 1. Section 2. Pamela, or virtue rewarded. This is a Libra Vox recording. All Libra Vox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibraVox.org. Recording by Ann Boyer. Pamela, or virtue rewarded. By Samuel Richardson. Section 2. Letter 12. 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 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 go only with the clothes on my back. But then I had two miles and a half, and a byway 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. Oh how I wished for my gray russet again, and my poor honest dress, with which you fitted me out and hard enough to it was for you to do it. For going to this place when I was not twelve years old in my good ladies days. Sometimes I thought of telling Mrs. Jervis and taking her advice, but 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 be 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 you not afraid of spirits before? Indeed, I did not think of that. But you shall be my bedfellow 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 to bed, and told the servants that I should be 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 showed her my dear father's two letters, and she praised the honesty and the deadening 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 behave so virtuously that you 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 anything else, because the best band in the land might love you, so she was pleased to say. She wished it was in her power to live independent, than she would take a little private house, and I should live with her like her daughter. 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 goodfruits 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, me think 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 ladies' dressing room, where there nobody comes for myself and Mrs. Jervis, besides my master. But when I came up again to seal it, to my great concern it was gone, and Mrs. Jervis knew nothing of it, and nobody knew of my masters having been near the place in the time. So I have been sadly troubled about it, but Mrs. Jervis, as well as I, thinks he has it. Somehow or other, and he peers cross and angry, and seems to shun me as much as he said I did him. It had better be so than worse. But he has ordered Mrs. Jervis to bid me not pass on which time in writing, which is a poor matter for such a gentleman as he to take notice of, as I am not idle in other ways, if he did not resent what he thought I wrote upon. And this has no very good look. But I am a good little easier since I lie with Mrs. Jervis, though, after all, the fears I live in on one side and his frowning and his pleasure of what I do on the other make me more miserable than enough. Oh, that I had never left my little bed in the loft to be thus exposed to temptations on one hand or disgusts on the other. How happy was I a while ago. How contrarious now. Pity and pay for. Your afflicted Pamela. Letter 13 My dearest child, our hearts bleed for your distress and the temptations you're exposed to. You have our hourly prayers, and we would have you flee this evil great house and man if you find human use 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, Heather, too, but it makes our hearts ache for fear of the worst. Oh, 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 honor 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 our 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'd better come home to share a poverty with safety than live with so much discontent and plenty. That itself may be dangerous. God direct you for the best, while you have Mrs. Jervis for an advisor and bedfellow, and oh, my dear child, that was prudently done of you. We are easier than we should be, and so committing you to the divine protection remain your loving, but careful father and mother. Letter 14 Dear father and mother, Mrs. Jervis and I have lived very comfortably together for this fortnight past, for my master was all that time as a lingershire estate, and as his sister as 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, but I pray you. Was there any reason to suppose her otherwise, or has anybody taken it into his head to try her? I wonder, so says she, you ask such a question. Who dare offer anything to her in such orderly and well-governed house as yours, and under a master so good a character for virtue and honour? Your servant, Mrs. Jervis, says he, for your good opinion, but pray, if anybody did, do you think Pamela would let you know it? Why, sir, said she, she's 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 are 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, and she thought it worth while to snap at him for a husband. Like 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, both men and years, and think nothing of the matter. No, said he, if they were younger they'd have more wit than to think of such a girl. I'll tell you of my mind of her, Mrs. Jervis, I don't think this same favourite of yours is so very artless a girl as you imagine. I'm 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 she'll wear as great a respect as if she were a gentle woman born. I, says he, that's her art that I was speaking of. But let me tell you the girl has vanity and 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 anything but innocence in her, and virtue too I warrant you, said he. But suppose I should give you an instance where she talked a little too freely of the kindnesses that have been shown 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, says she, I cannot tell what to say, but I hope Pamela 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 license upon the favors she meets with. And if she stays here, then she will not write the affairs of my family purely for an exercise to her pen and her invention. I tell you she's a subtle, artful gypsy, and time will show it to you. Was there ever the like heard, my dear father and mother, it is plainly did not expect to meet with such a repulse and mistrust that I have told Mrs. Jervis, and it has my long letter too that I intended for you, and so is vexed to the heart, but I can't help it. I'd better be thought artful and subtle than be so in his sense, and as light as he makes of the words of virtue and innocence in me, he would have made a less angry construction had a less deserved that he should do so. For then may be my crime should have been my virtue with him a 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 15 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. Said still Pamela said he, mind your work, for all me. You don't tell me I'm 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 sir is how my heart went pit-a-pat. When I was little kind to you, said he, in the summer house, and you cared yourself so foolishly upon it as if I had intended to do you great harm. Does it not tell you you should take no notice of what passed to any treacher? And you two 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 you not told Mrs. Juravist 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 ask. O good sir, said I, let me beg you will not urge me father, for fear I forget myself again and be saucy. Answer me, then I bid you, says he, have you not told Mrs. Juravist? It will be saucy in you if you don't answer me directly to what I ask. Sir, said I, and fame would have pulled my hand away. Perhaps I should be for answering you by another question, and that would not be coming. What is it you would say, replies he, speak out. Then sir, said I, why should your honour be so angry that I should tell Mrs. Juravist, or anybody else what passed, if you intended no harm? Well said, pretty innocent, and artless, as Mrs. Juravist calls you, said he. And is it thus you con to 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. Juravist, for my heart was almost broken, but I opened not my mouth to any other. Very well bold faced, said he, and equivocator again. You did not open your mouth to any other, but did you not 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 to my mind freely to them. I asked her advice and poured out forth my griefs. And so I am to be exposed, and I, said he, in my own house and out of my house to the whole world by such a sauce-box 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. Praise, 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? Insolent, said he, and he stamped with his foot, am I to be questioned thus by such as one as you? I fell down on my knees and said, for heaven's sake, your honour, pity a poor creature that knows nothing of her duty, but how to cherish her virtue and good name. I have nothing else to trust to, and though poor and friendless here, yet I have always been taught to value honesty above my life. Here is the deal with your honesty, said he, foolish girl. Is it not one part of honesty to be beautiful and grateful to your master, do you think? Indeed, sir, said I, it is impossible I should be ungrateful to your honour, or disobedient, or deserve the names of bold-face or insolent which you call me. But when your commands are contrary to that first duty which shall ever be the principle of my life. He seemed to be moved and rose up, and walked into the great chamber two or three turns, leaving me on my knees. And I threw my apron over my face, and laid my head on a chair and cried as if my heart would break, having no power to stir. At last he came in again, but alas with mischief in his heart, and raising me up, he said, Rise Pamela, rise, you are your own enemy. Your perverse folly will be your ruin. I tell you this, that I am very much displeased with the freedoms you have taken with my name to my housekeeper, as also to your father and mother. And you may as well have real cause to take these freedoms with me, as to make my name suffer for imaginary ones. And saying so, he offered to take me on his knee with some force. Oh, how I was terrified! I said, like as I had read in a book a night or two before, angels and saints and all the host of heaven defend me. And may I never survive one moment to that fatal one in which I forfeit my innocence. Pretty fool, said he, how will you forfeit your innocence if you are obliged to yield to a force you cannot withstand. Be easy, said he, for let the worst happen that can. You will have the merit and I the blame, and it will be a good subject for letters to your father and mother, and a tale unto the bargain from Mrs. Jervis. He by force kissed my neck and lips, and said, Whoever blameeth Lucretia, all the shame lay on the ravisher only, and I am content to take all the blame upon me, as I have already borne too great a share for what I have not deserved. May I, said I, Lucretia like, justify myself of my death if I am used barbarously. Oh, my good girls, said he tauntingly, You are well read, I see, and we shall make out between us. Before he we have done, a pretty story in romance I warrant ye. He then put his hand in my bosom, and indignation gave me double strength, and I got loose from him by a sudden spring, and ran out of the room. And the next chamber being open I made shifts to get into it, and threw to the door, and it locked after me. But he followed me so close he got a hold of my gown and tore a piece off, which had hung without the door, for the key was on the inside. I just remember I got into the room for I knew nothing further of the matter till afterwards, for I fell into a fit with my terror, and there I lay till he, as I suppose, looking through the keyhole, spied me upon the floor, stretched out at length on my face, and they called Mrs. Jervis to me, who by his assistance, bursting open the door, he went away, seeing me coming to myself, and better say nothing of the matter if she was wise. Poor Mrs. Jervis thought it was worse, and cried over me as if she was my mother, and I was two hours before I came to myself, and just as I got a little up on my feet, he coming in, I fainted away again with the terror, and so he withdrew. But he stayed in the next room to let nobody come near us that his vow proceedings might not be known. Mrs. Jervis gave me her smelling-bottle, and had cut my laces, and set me in a great chair, and he called her to him. How was the girl, said he, I never saw such a fool in my life, I did nothing at all to her. Mrs. Jervis could not speak for crying, so he said, she has told you it seems that I was kind to her in the summer house, though while I assure you I was quite innocent then as well as now. And I desire you to keep this matter to yourself, and let what may not be named in it. O sir, said she, for your honour's sake, and for Christ's sake, but he would not hear her, and said, for your own sake I tell you, Mrs. Jervis, say not a word more. I have done her no harm, and I won't have her stay in my house, preying, perverse fool as she is. But since you so apt to have fallen to fits, or at least pretend to do so, prepare her to see me tomorrow after dinner in my mother's closet. And do you be with her, and you shall hear what passes between us. And so he went out in a pet, and ordered his chariot, and forward to be got ready, and went to visiting somewhere. Mrs. Jervis then came to me, and I told her all that had happened, and said I was resolved not to stay in the house. And she, replying, he seemed to threaten as much. I said, I'm glad of that, then I shall be easy. So she told me all that he had said to her, as above. Mrs. Jervis is very loath that I should go, and yet, poor woman, she begins to be afraid for herself, but would not have me ruined for the world. She says to be sure he means no good, but may be, now he sees me so resolute, he would give over all attempts, and that I shall better know what to do after tomorrow, when I am to appear before a very bad judge, I doubt. O how I dread this tomorrow's appearance! But be as assured, my dear parents, of the honesty of your poor child, as I am of your prayers, for your dutiful daughter. O this frightful tomorrow, how I dread it! Letter 16 My dear parents, I know you long to hear from me soon, and I send you as soon as I could. Well you may believe how uneasily I passed the time, until a appointed hour came. Every minute, as it grew nearer, my terrors increased, and sometimes I had great courage, and sometimes not at all. And I thought I should faint when it came to the time my master had dined. I could neither eat nor drink, for my part, and do what I could, my eyes were swelled with crying. At last he went up to the closet, which was my good lady's dressing-room, a room I once loved, but then as much hated. Don't your heart ache for me? I am sure mine fluttered about like a new caught bird in a cage. O Pamela said I to myself, Why art thou so foolish and fearful? Thou hast done no harm. What of thou fierest and unjust judge, when thou art innocent? Which doth thou do before a just one, if thou werest guilty? Have courage, Pamela, thou knowest the worst, and how easy a choice poverty and honesty is, rather than plenty and wickedness. So I cheered myself, but yet my poor heart sunk, and my spirits were quite broken. Everything that stirred I thought was to call me to my account. I dreaded it, and yet I wished it to come. Well, at last he rung the bell. Oh, thought I, that it was my passing bell. Mrs. Jervis went up with a full-hard enough poor good woman. He said, Where's Pamela? Let her come up, and do you come with her? She came to me. I was ready to go with my feet, but my heart withers my dear father and mother, wishing to share your poverty and happiness. I went up, however. Oh, how can wicked men seem so steady and untouched with such black hearts, while poor innocents stand like malfactors before them? He looked so stern that my heart failed me, and I wished myself anywhere but there. Though I had before been summoning up all my courage, good heavens that I to myself give me courage to stand before this naughty master. Oh, soften him, or harden me. Come in full, said he angrily, as soon as he saw me, and snatched my hand with a pull. You may well be ashamed to see me after your noise and nonsense, and exposing me as you have done. I am ashamed to see you. Thought I, very pretty indeed, but I said nothing. Mrs. Jervis said he, here you are both together. Do you sit down, but let her stand, if she will. A thought I, if I can, for my knees beat one against the other. Did you not think, when you saw the girl in the way you found her in, that I had given her the greatest occasion for complaint that could possibly be given to a woman, and that I had actually ruined her as she calls it? Tell me, could you think anything less? Indeed, said she, I feared so as my first, as she told you what I did to her and all I did to her to occasion all this folly, about which my reputation might have suffered in your opinion, and in that of all the family. Inform me, what has she told you? She was a little too much frightened as she owned afterwards at his sternness, and said, indeed she told me you only pulled her on your knee and kissed her. Then I plucked up my spirits a little, only Mrs. Jervis said I, and was that not enough to show me what I had to fear? When a master of his honor's degree demeans himself to be so free as to such a poor servant as me, what is the next to be expected? But your honor went farther as you did, and threatened me to do what you would do, and talked of Lucretia and her hard to fate. Your honor knows you went too far for a master to a servant, or even to his equal, and I cannot bear it. So I fell a crying most sadly. Mrs. Jervis began to excuse me and to beg you at pity a poor maiden that had such a value for her reputation. He said, I speak it to her face. I think her very pretty, and I thought her humble, and one that would not grow upon my favors, or the notice I took of her. But I pour the thoughts of forcing her to anything. I know myself better, said he, and what belongs to me. And to be sure I have enough demeaned myself to take notice of such a one as she. But I was bewitched by her, I think, to be freer than became me, though I had no intention to carry the jest further. What poor stuff was all this, my dear mother, from a man of his sense, but see how a bad cause and bad actions confound the greatest wits. It gave me a little more courage then, for innocence I find, and a low fortune, and weak mind has many advantages over guilt, with all its riches and wisdom. So I said, your honor may call this jest or sport or watch you please, but indeed, sir, it is not a jest that becomes the distance between a master and a servant. Do you hear Mrs. Jervis, said he? Do you hear the pertinence of the creature? I had a good deal of this sort before in the summer house, and yesterday, too, which made me rougher with her than perhaps I had otherwise been. Says Mrs. Jervis. Pamela, don't be so pertinent to his honor. You should know your distance. You see, his honor was only in jest. Oh, dear Mrs. Jervis, said I, don't you blame me, too. It is very difficult to keep one's distance to the greatest of men, when they want to keep it themselves to their meanest servants. See again, said he, would you believe this of the young baggage, if you had not heard it? Good your honor, said the well-meaning gentlewoman. Pity and forgive the poor girl, she is but a girl, and her virtue is very dear to her. And upon my life for her she will never be pert to your honor, if you would be so good as to molester no more, nor frighten her again. You saw, sir, by her fit, she was in terror. She could not help it, and though your honor intended her no harm, yet the apprehension was almost death to her. And I had much adieu to bring her to herself again. Oh, the little hypocrite, said he. She has all the arts of her sex. They were born with her. And I told you a while ago you did not know her. But this was not the reason principally of my calling you before me together. I find I am likely to suffer my reputation by the perverseness of folly of this girl. She has told you all, and perhaps more than all. Nay, I make no doubt of it. And she has written the letters, for I find she is a mighty letter-writer. To her father and mother, and others as far as I know, in which representing herself as an angel of light she makes her kind master and benefactor a devil incarnate. Oh, how people will sometimes thought I called themselves by the right names. And all this added he, I won't hear. And so I am resolved she shall return to the distresses and poverty she was taken from, and let her be careful how she uses my name with freedom when she's gone from me. I was brightened up at once by these welcome words, and I threw myself upon my knees at his feet with a most sincere glad heart. And I said, May your honor be forever blessed for your resolution. Now I shall be happy. And permit me, O my bended knees, to thank you for all the benefits and favors you have heaped upon me. For the opportunities I have had of improvement in learning, through my good ladies' means and yours, I will now forget all your honor has offered me, and I promise you that I will never let your name pass my lips but with reverence and gratitude. And so God Almighty bless your honor, forever and ever. Amen. Then rising from my knees I went away with another guy sort of heart that I came into his presence with. And so I fell to writing this letter, and thus all is happily over. And now, dearest father and mother, expect to see soon your poor daughter with a humble and dutiful mind returned to you. And don't fear but I know how to be as happy with you as ever, for I will be in the loft as I used to do, and pray let my little bed be got ready. And I have a small matter of money which will buy me a suit of clothes, fitter for my condition than what I have. And I will get Mrs. Mumford to help me to some needlework, and fear not that I shall be a burden to you if my health continues. I know I shall be blessed if not for my own sake, for both your sakes, who have and all your trials and misfortunes, preserve so much integrity as makes everybody speak well of you both. But I hope he will let good Mrs. Jervis give me a character, for fear it should be thought that I was turned away for dishonesty. And so, my dear parents, may you be blessed for me and I for you, and I will always pray for my master and Mrs. Jervis. So good night, for it is late and I shall soon be called to bed. I hope Mrs. Jervis is not angry with me, she has not called me to supper, though I could eat nothing if she had. But I make no doubt I shall sleep purely tonight, and dream that I am with you in my dear, dear happy loft once more. So good night again, my dear father and mother, says your poor, honest daughter. Perhaps I may come this week, because I must get up the linen and leave and order everything belonging to my place. So send me a line, if you can, to let me know if I shall be welcome by John, who will call for it as he returns. But say nothing of my coming away to him as yet, for it will be, as said I blab everything. My dearest daughter, welcome, welcome, ten times welcome shall you be to us, for you come to us innocent and happy and honest. And you are the staff of our old age and our comfort, and though we cannot do for you as we would, yet fear not we shall live happily together. And what with my diligent labour, and your poor mother's spinning and your needled work, I make no doubt we can do better and better. Only your poor mother's eyes began to fail her, though I bless God I am as strong and able, and willing to labour as ever. And oh my dear child, your virtue has made me, I think, stronger and better than I was before. What blessed things are trials and temptations, when we have the strength to resist and subdue them. But I am uneasy about those same four guineas, I think you should give them back again to your master, and yet I have broken them. Alas, I have only three left, but I will borrow the fourth, if I can, part upon my wages and part of Mrs. Mumford, and send the whole sum back to you, that you may return it against John comes next, if he comes again before you. I want to know how you come, I fancy honest John will be glad to bear your company part of the way, if your master is not so cross as to forbid him. And if I know time enough, your mother will go one five miles, and I will go ten on the way, or till I meet you as far as one holiday will go, for that I could get leave to make on such an occasion. And we shall receive you with more pleasure than we had at your birth, when all the worst was over or than we ever had in our lives. And so God bless you until the happy time comes, say both your mother and I, which is all at present, from your loving parents. Letter 18. Dear Father and Mother I thank you a thousand times for your goodness to me, expressed in your last letter. I vow long to get my business done, and come to my new old lot again, as I may call it. I have been quite another thing since my master has turned me off. And as I shall come to you an honest daughter, what pleasure it is to what I should have had, if I could not have seen you but as a guilty one. Well, my writing time will soon be over, and so I will make use of it now, and tell you all that has happened since my last letter. I wondered Mrs. Jervis did not call me up to sup with her, and feared she was angry, and when I had finished my letter I longed for her coming to bed. At last she came up, but seemed shy and reserved, and I said, my dear Mrs. Jervis, I am glad to see you. You are not angry with me, I hope. She said she was sorry things had gone so far, and that she had a great deal of talk with my master after I was gone. That he seemed moved at what I said, and at my falling on my knees to him, and my prayer for him at my going away. He said I was a strange girl he knew not what to make of me. And is she gone, said he. I intended to say something else to her, but she behaved so oddly that I had not the power to stop her. She asked if she should call me again. He said yes, and then no, let her go. It is best for her and me too, and she shall go now that I have given her warning. Where she had it I can't tell, but ever met with a fellow of her in my life and in the age. She said he had ordered her not to tell me all, but she believed he would never offer anything to me again, and I might stay, she fancied, if I would beg it as a favour, though she was not sure, neither. I stayed, dear Mrs. Jervis said I. Why is the best news that could have come to me that he will let me go? I do nothing but long to go back again to my poverty and distress, as he threatened I should. For though I am sure of the poverty, I shall not have half the distress I have had for some months past, I assure you. Mrs. Jervis, dear good soul, wept over me, and said well, well Pamela, I did not think I shone so little love to you that you should express so much joy upon leaving me. I am sure I never had a child half so dear to me as you are. I went to hear her so good to me, as indeed she has always been, and said, What would you have me do, dear Mrs. Jervis? I love you next to my own father and mother, and to leave you as the chief concern I have at quitting this place. But I am sure it is certain ruin if I stay. After such offers, and such threatenings, and his comparing himself to a wicked ravisher, and the very time of his last offer, and turning it into a jest, that we should make a pretty story in our romance, how can I stay and be safe? Has he not demeaned himself twice? And he behoves me to be aware of the third time, for fear he should lay his snare sureer, for perhaps he did not expect a poor servant would resist her master so much, and must not be looked upon as a sort of warrant for such actions if I stay after this. For I think, when one of our sex-fines she has attempted, is an encouragement to the attempter to proceed, if one puts oneself in the way of it, when one can help it. Does neither more nor less than inviting him to think that one forgives, what in short ought not to be forgiven, which is no small countenance to foul actions, I assure you. She hugged me to her and said, I'll assure you. Pretty face, regardless thou all thy knowledge, and thy good notions at these years, thou art a miracle for thy age, and I shall always love thee. But do you resolve to leave us, Pamela? Yes, my dear and Mrs. Jervis, said I, for as a matter stand, how can I do otherwise? But I'll finish the duties of my place first, if I may, and hope you'll give me a character, as to my honesty, that may not be thought I was turned away for any harm. Ay, that I will, said she, I will give thee such a character as never a girl with thy years deserved, and I am sure, said I, I will always love and honor you as my third best friend, wherever I go, or whatever becomes of me. And so we went to bed, and I never waked till twas time to rise, which I did as Blythe as a bird, and went about my business with great pleasure. But I believe my master is fearfully angry with me, for he passed by me two or three times, and would not speak to me. And towards the evening he met me in the passage going into the garden, and said such a word to me as I never heard of my life from him to man, woman or child. For first he said, this creature is always in the way I think. I said, standing up as close as I could, and the entry was wide enough for a coach too. I hope I shan't be long in your honor's way. Dempia said he, that was the hard word, for a little witch I have no patience with you. I profess I trembled to hear him say so, but I saw he was vexed, as I am going away I minded at the less. Well, I see my dear parents, that when a person will do wicked things, it is no wonder he will speak wicked words. May God keep me out of the way of them both. You dutiful daughter. End of Section 2. Section 3 of Pamela or Virtue Rewarded. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Pamela or Virtue Rewarded by Samuel Richardson. Section 3. Letter 19. Dear father and mother, Our John having an opportunity to go your way, I write again and send both letters at once. I can't say yet when I shall get away, nor how I shall come, because Mrs. Dervis showed my master the waistcoat I am flowering for him, and he said it looks well enough. I think the creature had best stay till she has finished it. There was some private talk carried on betwixt him and Mrs. Dervis that she don't tell me of, but yet she is very kind to me and I don't mistrust her at all. I should be very base if I did, but to be sure she must oblige him and keep all his lawful commands, and other I dare say she won't keep. She is too good and loves me too well, but she must stay when I am gone, and so must get no ill-will. She has been at me again to ask to stay and humble myself, but what have I done, Mrs. Dervis, said I? If I have been a sauce-box and a bold-face and a pert and a creature as he calls me, have I not had reason? Do you think I should ever have forgot myself if he had not forgot to act as my master? Tell me from your own heart, dear Mrs. Dervis," said I, if you think I could stay and be safe. What would you think or how would you act in my case? My dear Pamela said she and kissed me. I don't know how I should act or what I should think. I hope I should act as you do, but I know nobody else that would. My master is a fine gentleman. He has a great deal of wit and sense and is admired, as I know, by half a dozen ladies who would think themselves happy in his addresses. He has a noble estate, and yet I believe he loves my good maiden, though his servant, better than all ladies in the land. And he has tried to overcome it because you are so much his inferior. And to my opinion he finds he can't, and that vexes his proud heart and makes him resolve you shan't stay. And so he speaks so cross to you when he sees you by accident. Well, but Mrs. Jervis said I, let me ask you if he can stoop to like such a poor girl as me, as perhaps he may, for I have read of things almost as strange from great men to poor damsels. What can it be for? He may condescend perhaps to think I may be good enough for his harlot, and those things don't disgrace men that ruin poor women as the world goes. And so if I was wicked enough he would keep me till I was undone until his mind changed, for even wicked men I have read soon grow weary of wickedness with the same person and love variety. Well then poor Pamela must be turned off and looked upon as a vile abandoned creature and everybody would despise her, I and justly too, Mrs. Jervis, for she that can't keep her virtue ought to live in disgrace. But Mrs. Jervis, I continued, let me tell you that I hope if I was sure he would always be kind to me and never turn me off at all that I shall have so much grace as to hate and withstand his temptations were he not only my master but my king and that for sin's sake. This my poor dear parents have always taught me and I should be a sad wicked creature indeed if for the sake of riches or favor I should forfeit my good name. Yay and worse than any other young body of my sex because I can so contentedly return to my poverty again and think it a less disgrace to be obliged to wear rags and live upon rye bread and water as I used to do than to be a harlott to the greatest man in the world. Mrs. Jervis lifted up her hands and had her eyes full of tears. God bless you my dear love, said she, you are my admiration and delight. How shall I do to part with you? Well, good Mrs. Jervis, said I, let me ask you now. You and he have had some talk and you may not be suffered to tell me all but do you think if I was to ask to stay that he is sorry for what he has done I am ashamed of it too for I am sure he ought considering his high degree and my low degree and how I have nothing in the world to trust to but my honesty. Now, in your own conscience now pray answer me truly that he would never offer anything to me again and that I could be safe. Alas my dear child, said she, don't put thy home questions to me with that pretty becoming earnestness in thy look I know this that he is vexed at what he has done he was vexed the first time more vexed the second time. Yes, said I and so he will be vexed till he has quite ruined your poor maiden and who will have caused to be vexed then. Nay Pamela, said she don't imagine that I would be accessory to your ruin for the world I only can say that he has yet done you no hurt and it is no wonder he should love you you are so pretty though so much beneath him but I dare swear for him he never will offer you any force. You say, said I this first offer in the summer house well and how long did his sorrow last only till he found me by myself and then he was worse than before and so became sorry again and if he has dained to love me and you say can't help it why he can't help it neither if he should have an opportunity a third time to distress me and I have read that many a man has been ashamed of his wicked attempts when he has been repulsed that would never have been ashamed of them had he succeeded besides Mrs. Jervis if he really intends to offer no force what does that mean while you say he can't help liking me for love it cannot be does it not imply that he hopes to ruin me by my own consent I think, said I and I hope I should have grace to do so that I should not give way to his temptations on any account but it would be very presumptuous in me to rely upon my own strength against a gentleman of his qualifications and a state and who is my waster and thinks himself entitled to call me boldface and what not only for standing on my necessary defense and that too where the good of my soul and body and my duty to God and my parents are all concerned how then Mrs. Jervis, said I can I ask or wish to stay well well says she as he seems very desirous you should not stay I hope it is from a good motive for fear he should be tempted to disgrace himself as well as you no no Mrs. Jervis said I I have thought of that too for I would be glad to consider him with that duty that becomes me but then he would have let me go to Lady Davers and not have hindered my preferment and he would not have said I should return to my poverty and distress when by his mother's goodness but that he intended to fright me and punish me as he thought for not complying with his wickedness and this shows me well enough what I have to expect from his future goodness except I will deserve it at his own dear price she was silent and I added well there's no more to be said I must go that certain all my concern will be how to part with you and indeed after you with everybody for all my fellow servants and you and they will cost me a sigh and a tear too now and then I am sure and so I fell a crying I could not help it for it is a pleasant thing to want to be in a house among a great many fellow servants and be beloved by them all nay I should have told you before now how kind and civil Mr. Longman our steward is vastly courteous indeed on all occasions and he said once to Mrs. Jervis he wished he was a young man for my sake I should be his wife and he would settle all he had upon me on marriage and you must know he is reckoned worth a power of money I take no pride in this but bless God and your good examples my dear parents that I have been enabled so to carry myself as to have everybody's good word not but our cook one day who is a little snappish and cross sometimes said once to me why this Pamela of ours is so fancy see what it is to have a fine face I wonder what the girl will come to it last she was hot with her work and I sneaked away for I seldom go down into the kitchen and I heard the butler say why Jane nobody has your good word what has Mrs. Pamela done to you I am sure she offends nobody and what said the peevish wench have I said to her full a turn but that she was pretty they quarreled afterwards I heard I was sorry for it but troubled myself no more about it forgive this silly prattle from your dutiful daughter oh I forgot to say that I would stay to finish the waistcoat if I might with safety Mrs. Dervis tells me I certainly may I never did a prettier piece of work and I am up early and late to get it over for I long to be with you letter 20 Dear father and mother I did not send my last letters so soon as I hoped because John whether my master mistrusts or no I can't say had been sent to Lady Davers instead of Isaac who used to go and I could not be so free with nor so well trust Isaac though he is very civil to me too so I was forced to stay till John returned as I may not have opportunity to send again soon but as I know you keep my letters and read them over and over so John told me when you have done work so much does your kindness make you love all that comes from your poor daughter and as it may be some little pleasure to me perhaps to read them myself when I am come to you to remind me of what I have gone through and how great God's goodness has been to me which I hope will further strengthen my good resolutions that I may not hear after and as it were for all these reasons I say I will write as I have time and as matters happen and send the scribble to you as I have opportunity and if I don't every time in form subscribe as I ought I am sure you will always believe that it is not for want of duty so I will begin where I left off about the talk between Mrs. Dervis and me for me to ask to stay unknown to Mrs. Dervis I put a project in practice I thought with myself some days ago here I shall go home to my poor father and mother and have nothing on my back that will be fit for my condition for how should your poor daughter look with a silk nightgown silk and petticoats cambrick head clothes fine holland linen laced shoes that were my ladies and fine stockings and how in a little while must these have looked as people would have said for poor folks are envious as well as rich see there Goody Andrews's daughter turned home from her fine place what a tawdry figure she makes and how well that garb becomes her poor parent's circumstances and how would they look upon me thought I to myself when they should come to be threadbare and worn out and how should I look even if I could purchase homes fun clothes maybe an old silk gown and a Lindsay Woolsey petticoat and the like so thought I I had better get myself at once equipped in the dress that will become my condition and though it may look but poor to what I have been used to wear of late days yet it will serve me when I am with you for a good holiday and Sunday suit and what by a blessing on my industry I may perhaps I bought of Farmer Nichols's wife and daughters a good sad colored stuff of their own spinning enough to make me a gown and two petticoats and I made robings and facings of a pretty bit of printed calico I had by me I had a pretty good quilted coat that I thought might do tolerably well and I bought two flannel undercoats not so good as my swan skin now and then as sometimes I used to do formerly for I am resolved to do all your good neighbors what kindness I can and hope to make myself as much be loved about you as I am here I got some pretty good scotch cloth and made me of mornings and nights when nobody saw me two shifts and I have enough left for two shirts and two shifts for you my dear father and mother then I bought of a peddler two pretty enough round-eared caps a little straw hat and a pair of knit mittens turned up with white calico and two pair of ordinary blue worsted hose that make a smartish appearance with two white clocks I'll assure you and two yards of black ribbon for my shift sleeves and to serve as a necklace and when I had them all come home here for you must know though I be with Mrs. Jervis I keep my own little apartment still for my clothes and nobody goes thither but myself you'll say I was no bad housewife to have saved so much money but my dear good lady was always giving me something I believed myself the more obliged to do this because as I was turned away for what my good master thought want of duty but just to leave his presence behind me when I went away for you know if I would not earn his wages why should I have them don't trouble yourself about the four guineas nor borrow to make them up for they were given me with some silver as I told you as a perquisite being what my lady had about her when she died and as I hope for no wages I am so vain as to think that she good soul overpaid me before in learning and other kindnesses had she lived none of these things might have happened but I ought to be thankful to know worse everything will turn out for the best that's my confidence so as I was saying I have provided a new and more suitable dress and I long to appear in it more than ever I did in any new clothes in my life for then I shall be soon after but mom here he comes I believe I am etc letter 21 my dear father and mother I was forced to break off for I feared my master was coming but it proved to be only Mrs. Jervis she said I can't endure you should be so much by yourself Pamela and I said I dread nothing so much as company for my heart was up at my mouth now for fear my master was coming but I always rejoiced to see dear Mrs. Jervis said she I have had a world of talk with my master about you I am sorry for it said I that I am made of so much consequence as to be talked of by him oh said she I must not tell you all but you are of more consequence to him than you think for or wish for said I for the fruits of being of consequence none to myself or anybody else said she thou art as witty as any lady in the land I wonder where thou goddessed it but they must be poor ladies with such great opportunities I am sure if they have no more with than I but let that pass I suppose said I that I am of so much consequence however as to vex him if he be but to think he can't make a fool of such a one as I can't think at all but a rebuke to the pride of his high condition which he did not expect and knows not how to put up with there is something in that maybe said she but indeed Pamela he is very angry with you too and cause you 20 perverse things wonders at his own folly to have shown you so much favor as he calls it which he was first inclined to he says for his mother's sake and would have persisted to show you me nay now I shan't love you Mrs. Jervis said I you are going to persuade me to ask to stay though you know the hazards I run no said she he says you shall go for he thinks it won't be for his reputation to keep you but he wished don't speak of it for the world Pamela that he knew a lady of birth just such another as yourself in person in mind and he would marry her tomorrow he said yet if I was a lady of birth and he would offer to be rude first as he has twice done to poor me I don't know whether I would have him for she that can bear an insult of that kind I should think not worthy to be a gentleman's wife any more than he would be a gentleman that would offer it nay now Pamela said she thou curious to thy notions a great way well dear Mrs. Jervis said I very seriously for I could not help it I am more full of tears than ever I have only to beg of you as one of the best friends I have in the world to say nothing of my asking to stay to say my master likes me when I know what and he aims at is abomination to my ears and I shan't think myself safe till I am at my poor fathers and mothers she was a little angry with me till I assured her that I had not the least uneasiness on her account but thought myself safe under her protection and friendship and so we dropped the discourse for that time I hope to have finished this ugly waistcoat in two days after which I have only some linen to get up and shall then let you know how I can try as to my passage for the heavy rains will make it sad traveling on foot but maybe I may get my place to which is ten miles of the way in Farmer Nichols's close cart for I cannot sit a horse well at all and maybe nobody will be suffered to see me on upon the way but I hope to let you know more from etc letter 22 my dear father and mother all my fellow servants have now some notion that I am to go away but can't imagine for what Mrs. Jervis tells them that my father and mother growing in years cannot live without me and so I go home to them to help to comfort their old age but they seem not to believe it what they found it out by was the butler heard him say to me as I passed by him in the entry leading to the hall who's that Pamela sir said I Pamela said he how long are you to stay here only please your honor said I till I have done the waistcoat and it is almost finished you might says he very roughly indeed have finished that long enough would have thought indeed and please your honor said I I have worked early and laid upon it there is a great deal of work in it work in it said he you mind your pen more than your needle I don't want such idle sluts to stay in my house he seemed startled when he saw the butler as he entered the hall where Mr. Jonathan stood what do you hear said he the butler was as much confounded roughly I could not help crying sadly and got out of both their ways to Mrs. Jervis and told my complaint this love said she is the D in how many strange shapes does it make people show themselves and in some of the farthest from the hearts so one and then another has been since whispering praying Mrs. Jervis are we to lose Mrs. Pamela as they always call me and she tells them as above about going home to you she said afterwards to me well Pamela you have made our master from the sweetest tempered gentleman in the world one of the most peevish but you have it in your power to make him as sweet tempered as ever though I hope you'll never do it on his terms this was very good in Mrs. Jervis but it intimated that she thought as ill of his designs as I and as she knew his mind more than I it convinced me that I ought to get away as fast as I could my master came in just now to speak to Mrs. Jervis about household matters having some company to dine with him tomorrow and I stood up and having been crying at his roughness in the entry I turned away my face you may well said he turn away your cursed face I wish I had never seen it Mrs. Jervis in this waistcoat sir said I if your honour had pleased I would have taken it with me and though it would be now finished in a few hours I will do so still and remove this hated poor Pamela out of your house in sight forever Mrs. Jervis said he not speaking to me I believe this little slut has the power of witchcraft if ever there was a witch for she enchants all that come near her she makes even you think she is think her an angel of light I offered to go away for I believe he wanted me to ask to stay in my place for all this his great wrath and he said stay here stay here when I bid you and snatched my hand I trembled and said I will, I will for he hurt my fingers he grasped me so hard he seemed to have a mind as fast as I could and he and Mrs. Jervis had a deal of talk as she told me and among the rest he expressed himself vexed to have spoken in Mr. Jonathan's hearing now you must know that Mr. Jonathan, our butler is a very grave good sort of old man with his hair as white as silver and an honest worthy man he is I was hurrying out with a flea in my ear as the saying is and going downstairs into the parlour of my hand in a gentler manner though than my master with both his and he said ah sweet sweet Mrs. Pamela what is it I heard but just now I am sorry at my heart but I am sure I will sooner believe anybody in fault than you thank you Mr. Jonathan said I but as you value your place don't be seen speaking to such a one as me I cried too unless he should be seen to pity me and now I will give you an instance how much I am in Mr. Lawnman's esteem also I had lost my pen somehow and my paper being written out I stepped to Mr. Lawnman's our stewards office to beg him to give me a pen or two and a sheet or two of paper he said I that I will my sweet maiden and gave me three pens some wafers a stick of wax some wafers of paper and coming from his desk where he was writing he said let me have a word or two with you my sweet little mistress for so these two good old gentlemen often call me for I believe they love me dearly I hear bad news that we are going to lose you I hope it is not true yes it is sir said I but I was in hopes it would not be known until I went away and I saw such an alteration in any man in my life he is pleased with nobody as I see and by what Mr. Jonathan tells me just now he was quite out of the way with you what could you have done to him troll only Mrs. Jervis is a very good woman or I should have feared she had been your enemy no said I nothing like it Mrs. Jervis is a just good woman and next to my father and mother the best friend I have in the world he said he it must be worse shall I guess you are too pretty my sweet mistress and maybe too virtuous ah have I not hit it no good Mr. Longman said I don't think anything amiss of my master he is cross and angry with me indeed that's true but I may have given occasion for it possibly and because I am desirous to go to my father and mother rather than stay here no sir said I that a father and mother's comfort is the dearest thing to a good child that can be sweet excellence said he this becomes you but I know the world in mankind too well though I must hear and see and say nothing and so a blessing attend my little sweeting said he wherever you go and away I went with a curtsy and thanks now this pleases me my dear father and mother to be so beloved how much better by good fame and integrity is it to get everyone's good word but one then by pleasing that one to make everyone else one's enemy and be an execrable creature besides I am etc letter 23 my dear father and mother we had a great many neighboring gentlemen and their ladies this day at dinner and my master made a fine entertainment and Isaac and Mr. Jonathan and Benjamin waited at table and Isaac tells Mrs. Jervis that the ladies will by and by come to see the house and have the curiosity to see me for it seems they said to my master when the jokes flew about well Mr. B we understand you have a servant made who is the greatest beauty in the county and we promise ourselves to see her before we go the wenches well enough said he she was my mother's waiting made who on her deathbed engaged me to be kind to her she is young and everything is pretty that is young I said one of the ladies that's true but if your mother had not recommended her so strongly there is so much merit in beauty that I make no doubt such a fine gentleman would have wanted no inducement to be kind to it they all laughed at my master and he it seems laughed for company but said I don't know how it is but I see with different eyes from other people for I have heard much more talk of her prettiness than I think it deserves she is well enough as I said but her greatest excellence is that she is humble and courteous and faithful and makes all her fellow servants love her my housekeeper in particular dotes upon her and you know ladies I am sure Mr. Longman and Jonathan here if they thought themselves young enough I am told they would fight for her is it not true Jonathan trot sir said he and please your honor I never knew her peer and all your honors family are of the same mind do you hear now said my master well said the ladies we will make a visit to Mrs. Jervis by and by we will tell you the rest by and by I wish they had come and were gone why can't they make their game without me well these fine ladies have been here and are gone back again I would have been absent if I could and did step into the closet so they saw me when they came in there were four of them Lady Arthur at the great white house on the hill Lady Brooks Lady Towers and the other it seems a countess forget what so Mrs. Jervis says one of the ladies how do you do we are all come to inquire after your health I am much obliged to your ladies ships said Mrs. Jervis will your ladies ships please to sit down but said the countess we are not only come to ask after Mrs. Jervis's health neither but we are come to see our rarity besides ah says Lady Arthur I have not seen your Pamela these two years and they tell me she has grown wondrous pretty in that time then I wished I had not been in the closet for when I came out they must needs know I heard them but I have often found that bashful bodies owe themselves a spite and frequently confound themselves more by endeavoring to avoid confusion why yes says Mrs. Jervis Pamela is very pretty indeed she is but in the closet there Pamela pray step hither I came out all covered with flushes and they smiled at one another the countess took me by the hand why indeed she was pleased to say report has not been too lavish I'll assure you don't be ashamed child and stared full in my face I wish I had just such a face to be ashamed of oh how like a fool I looked Lady Arthur said I my good Pamela I say as your ladyship does don't be so confused though indeed it becomes you too I think your good lady departed made a sweet choice of such a pretty attendant she would have been mighty proud of you as she was always praising you had she lived till now ah madam said lady Brooks do you think that so dutiful a son is our neighbor who always admired what his mother loved does not pride himself for all that he said at table she looked with such a malicious sneering countenance I can't abide her Lady Towers said with a free air for it seems she has called a wit well Mrs. Pamela I can't say I like you so well as these ladies do for I should never care if you were my servant to have you and your master in the same house together then they all set up a great laugh I know what I could have said if I durst but they are ladies who are always praising says Lady Towers can the pretty image speak Mrs. Dervis I vow she has speaking eyes oh you little rogue said she and tapped me on the cheek you seem born to undo or to be undone God forbid and please your ladieship said I it should be either I beg said I to withdraw for the sense I have of my unworthiness renders me unfit for such a presence I then went away to the seas and Lady Towers said as I went out prettily said I vow and Lady Brooks said see that shape I never saw such a face and shape in my life why she must be better descended than you have told me and so they run on for half an hour more in my praises as I was told and glad was I when I got out of the hearing of them but it seems they went down with such a story to my master and so full of me I had no idea how to understand it but as it was very little to my reputation I am sure I could take no pride in it and I feared it would make no better for me this gives me another cause for wishing myself out of this house this is Thursday morning and next Thursday I hope to set out for I have finished my task and my master is Horrid Cross and I am vexed his crossness affects me so if ever he had any kindness towards me I believe he now hates me heartily is it not strange that love borders so much upon hate but this wicked love is not like the true virtuous love to be sure that and hatred must be as far off as light and darkness and how must this hate have been increased if he had met with such a base compliance after his wicked will had been gratified well one may see by little what a great deal means for if innocence cannot attract common civility when novelty has ceased to have its charms and changeableness has taken place of it thus we read in holy writ that wicked Amnon when he had ruined poor Tamar hated her more than he ever loved her and would have turned her out of door how happy am I to be turned out of door with that sweet companion my innocence oh may that be always my companion and while I presume not upon my own strength and am willing to avoid the tempter I hope the divine grace will assist me forgive me that I repeat in my letter part of my hourly prayer I owe everything next to God's goodness to your piety and good examples my dear parents my poor dear parents I say that word with pleasure for your poverty is my pride as your integrity shall be my imitation as soon as I have dined I will put on my new clothes I long to have them on I know I shall surprise Mrs. Dervis with them for she shan't see me till I am full dressed John has come back and I'll soon send you some of what I have written I find he is going early in the morning and so I shall close here that I am your most dutiful daughter don't lose your time in meeting me because I am so uncertain it is hard if somehow or other I can't get passage to you but maybe my master won't refuse I can ride behind him I believe well enough for he is very careful and very honest and you know John as well as I for he loves you both besides maybe Mrs. Dervis can put me in some way end of section 3