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Pamela (Vol. II.) by Samuel Richardson

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Volume II

By Samuel Richardson


The First part of PAMELA met with a success greatly exceeding the most
sanguine expectations: and the Editor hopes, that the Letters which
compose this Part will be found equally written to NATURE, avoiding
all romantic nights, improbable surprises, and irrational machinery;
and the passions are touched, where requisite; and rules, equally
_new_ and _practicable_, inculcated throughout the whole, for the
_general conduct of life_; and, therefore, he flatters himself, that
they may expect the good fortune, which _few continuations_ have met
with, to be judged not unworthy the _First_ Part; nor disproportioned
to the more exalted condition in which PAMELA was destined to shine
as an affectionate _wife_, a faithful _friend_, a polite and kind
_neighbour_, an indulgent _mother_, and a beneficent _mistress_;
after having in the former Part supported the character of a dutiful
_child_, a spotless _virgin_, and a modest and amiable _bride_.

The reader will easily see, that in so great a choice of materials, as
must arise from a multitude of important subjects, in a married life,
to such geniuses and friendships as those of Mr. and Mrs. B. the
Editor's greatest difficulty was how to bring them within the compass
which he was determined not to exceed. And it having been left to
his own choice, in what manner to digest and publish the letters, and
where to close the work, he had intended, at first, in regard to his
other avocations, to have carried the piece no farther than the First

It may be expected, therefore, that he should enter into an
explanation of the reasons whereby he was provoked into a necessity of
altering his intention. But he is willing to decline saying any thing
upon so well-known a subject.

The Editor has been much pressed with importunities and conjectures,
in relation to the person and family of the gentleman, who are the
principal persons in the work; all he thinks himself at liberty to
say, or is necessary to be said, is only to repeat what has already
been hinted, that the story has its foundation in truth; and that
there was a necessity, for obvious reasons, to vary and disguise some
facts and circumstances, as also the names of persons, places, &c.


My dear father and mother,

We arrived here last night, highly pleased with our journey, and the
occasion of it. May God bless you both with long life and health,
to enjoy your sweet farm, and pretty dwelling, which is just what I
wished it to be. And don't make your grateful hearts too uneasy in the
possession of it, by your modest diffidence of your own unworthiness:
for, at the same time, that it is what will do honour to the best of
men, it is not so _very_ extraordinary, considering his condition,
as to cause any one to censure it as the effect of a too partial and
injudicious kindness for the parents of one whom he _delighteth to

My dear master (why should I not still call him so, bound to reverence
him as I am, in every light he can shine in to the most obliging and
sensible heart?) still proposes to fit up the large parlour, and
three apartments in the commodious dwelling he calls yours, for his
entertainment and mine, when I pay my duty to you both, for a few
happy days; and he has actually given orders to that effect; and that
the three apartments be _so_ fitted up, as to be rather suitable
to _your_ condition, than his own; for, he says, the plain simple
elegance, which he will have observed in the rooms, as well as the
furniture, will be a variety in his retirement to this place, that
will make him return to his own with the greater pleasure; and, at the
same time, when we are not there, will be of use for the reception of
any of your friends; and so he shall not, as he kindly says, rob the
good couple of any of their accommodations.

The old bow-windows he will have preserved, but will not have them
sashed, nor the woodbines, jessamines, and vines, that run up against
them, destroyed: only he will have larger panes of glass, and more
convenient casements to let in the sweet air and light, and make
amends for that obstructed by the shades of those fragrant climbers.
For he has mentioned, three or four times, how gratefully they
dispensed their intermingled odours to us, when, the last evening
we stood at the window, to hear the responsive songs of two warbling
nightingales, one at a distance, the other near, which delighted us
for above two hours, and the more, as we thought their season had been
over. And when they had done, he made _me_ sing him one, for which
he rewarded me with a kiss, saying, "How greatly do the innocent
pleasures I now hourly taste, exceed the guilty tumults that used
formerly to agitate my unequal mind!--Never talk, my Pamela, as you
frequently do, of obligation to me: one such hour as I now enjoy is an
ample reward for all the benefits I can confer on you and yours in my
whole life!"

The parlour will indeed be more elegant; though that is to be rather
plain than rich, as well in its wainscot as furniture, and to be
new-floored. The dear gentleman has already given orders, and you will
soon have workmen to put them in execution. The parlour-doors are to
have brass-hinges and locks, and to shut as close, he tells them, as
a watch-case: "For who knows," said he, "my dear, but we shall have
still added blessings, in two or three charming boys and girls,
to place there in their infancy, before they can be of age to be
benefited by your lessons and example? And besides, I shall no doubt
entertain there some of my chosen friends, in their excursions for a
day or two."

How am I, every hour of my life, overwhelmed with instances of God
Almighty's goodness and his! O spare, blessed Father of Mercies, the
precious life of this excellent man; increase my thankfulness, and
my worthiness;--and then--But what shall I say?--Only that I may
_continue_ to be what I am; for more blessed and happy, in my own
mind, I cannot be.

The beds he will have of cloth, as he thinks the situation a little
cold, especially when the wind is easterly, and purposes to be down
in the early spring season, now and then, as well as in the latter
autumn; and the window curtains of the same, in one room red, in
the other green; but plain, lest you should be afraid to use them
occasionally. The carpets for them will be sent with the other
furniture; for he will not alter the old oaken floors of the
bed-chamber, nor the little room he intends for my use, when I choose
not to join in such company as may happen to fall in: "Which, my
dear," says he, "shall be as little as is possible, only particular
friends, who may be disposed, once in a year or two, to see when I am
there, how I live with my Pamela and her parents, and how I pass my
time in my retirement, as I shall call this: or, perhaps, they will be
apt to think me ashamed of company I shall always be pleased with.
Nor are you, my dear, to take this as a compliment to yourself, but
a piece of requisite policy in me: for who will offer to reproach me
with marrying, as the world thinks, below me, when they shall see that
I not only pride myself in my Pamela, but take pleasure in owning her
relations as mine, and visiting them, and receiving visits from them:
and yet offer not to set them up in such a glaring light, as if I
would have the world forget (who in that case would always take
the more pleasure in remembering) what they were! And how will it
anticipate low reflection, when they shall see, I can bend my mind to
partake with them the pleasure of their humble but decent life?--Ay,"
continued he, "and be rewarded for it too, with better health, better
spirits, and a better mind; so that, my dear," added he, "I shall reap
more benefit by what I propose to do, than I shall confer."

In this generous manner does this best of men endeavour to disclaim
(though I must be very ungrateful, if, with me, it did not enhance)
the proper merit of a beneficence natural to him; and which, indeed,
as I tell him, may be in one respect deprecated, inasmuch as (so
excellent is his nature) he cannot help it if he would. O that it was
in my power to recompense him for it! But I am poor, as I have often
said, in every thing but will--and that is wholly his: and what a
happiness is it to me, a happiness I could not so early have hoped
for, that I can say so without reserve; since the dear object of it
requires nothing of me but what is consistent with my duty to
the Supreme Benefactor, the first mover and cause of all his own
happiness, of my happiness, and that of my dear, my ever dear parents.

_Your dutiful and happy daughter._



I need not repeat to you the sense your good mother and I have of our
happiness, and of our obligations to your honoured spouse; you both
were pleased witnesses of it every hour of the happy fortnight you
passed with us. Yet, my dear, we hardly know how to address ourselves
even to _you_, much less to the _'squire_, with the freedom he so
often invited us to take: for I don't know how it is, but though
you are our daughter, and so far from being lifted up by your high
condition, that we see no difference in your behaviour to us, your
poor parents, yet, viewing you as the lady of so fine a gentleman,
we cannot forbear having a kind of respect, and--I don't know what to
call it--that lays a little restraint upon us. And yet, we should not,
methinks, let our minds be run away with the admiration of worldly
grandeur, so as to set too much by it. But your merit and prudence are
so much above all we could ever have any notion of: and to have gentry
come only to behold and admire you, not so much for your gentleness,
and amiableness, or for your behaviour, and affability to poor as well
as rich, and to hear every one calling you an angel, and saying, you
deserve to be what you are, make us hardly know how to look upon you,
but as an angel indeed! I am sure you have been a good angel to us;
since, for your sake, God Almighty has put it into your honoured
husband's heart to make us the happiest couple in the world. But
little less we should have been, had we only in some far distant land
heard of our dear child's happiness and never partaken of the benefits
of it ourselves. But thus to be provided for! thus kindly to be owned,
and called Father and Mother by such a brave gentleman! and so placed
as to have nothing to do but to bless God, him, and you, and hourly
pray for you _both_, is a providence too mighty to be borne by us,
with equalness of temper: we kneel together every morning, noon, and
night, and weep and rejoice, and rejoice and weep, to think how our
unworthiness is distinguished, and how God has provided for us in our
latter days; when all our fear was, that, as we grew older and more
infirm, and worn out by hard labour, we should be troublesome where,
not our pride, but our industrious wills, would have made us wish not
to be so;--but to be entitled to a happier lot: for this would have
grieved us the more, for the sake of you, my dear child, and your
unhappy brother's children: for it is well known, that, though we
pretend not to boast of our family, and indeed have no reason, yet
none of us were ever sunk so low as I was: to be sure, partly by my
own fault; for, had it been for your poor aged mother's sake only, I
ought not to have done what I did for John and William; for so unhappy
were they, poor lads! that what I could do, was but as a drop of water
to a bucket.

You command me--Let me, as writing to Mr. B.'s lady, say _command_,
though, as to my dear _daughter_, I will only say _desire_: and,
indeed, I will not, as you wish me not to do, let the one condition,
which was accidental, put the other, which was natural, out of my
thought: you spoke it in better words, but this was the sense. But you
have the gift of utterance; and education is a fine thing, where it
meets with such talents to improve upon, as God has given you. Yet
let me not forget what I was going to say--You _command_--or, if you
please--you _desire_ me to write long letters, and often--And how can
I help it, if I would? For when here, in this happy dwelling, and this
well-stocked farm, in these rich meadows, and well-cropt acres, we
look around us, and which way soever we turn our head, see blessings
upon blessings, and plenty upon plenty, see barns well stored, poultry
increasing, the kine lowing and crowding about us: and are bid to
call them our own. Then think, that all is the reward of our child's
virtue!--O my dear daughter, who can bear these things!--Excuse me!
I must break off a little! For my eyes are as full as my heart: and I
will retire to bless God, and your honoured husband.

So, my dear child, I now again take up my pen: but reading what I had
written, in order to carry on the thread, I can hardly forbear again
being in one sort affected. But do you think I will call all these
things my own?--Do you think I would live rent-free? Can the honoured
'squire believe, that having such a generous example before me, if I
had no gratitude in my temper before, I could help being touched by
such an one as he sets me? If this goodness makes him know no mean in
giving, shall I be so greedy as to know none in receiving? Come, come,
my dear child, your poor father is not so sordid a wretch, neither. He
will shew the world that all these benefits are not thrown away upon
one, who will disgrace you as much by his temper, as by his condition.
What though I cannot be as worthy of all these favours as I wish, I
will be as worthy as I can. And let me tell you, my dear child, if the
king and his royal family (God bless 'em!) be not ashamed to receive
taxes and duties from his subjects; if dukes and earls, and all the
top gentry, cannot support their bravery, without having their rents
paid; I hope I shall not affront the 'squire, to pay to his steward,
what any other person would pay for his noble stock, and improving
farm: and I will do it, if it please God to bless me with life and
health. I should not be worthy to crawl upon the earth, if I did not.
And what did I say to Mr. Longman, the faithful Mr. Longman! Sure no
gentleman had ever a more worthy steward than he: it was as we were
walking over the grounds together, and observing in what good order
every thing was, he was praising some little contrivances of my own,
for the improvement of the farm, and saying, how comfortably he hoped
we might live upon it. "Ay, Mr. Longman," said I, "comfortably indeed:
but do you think I could be properly said to _live_, if I was not to
pay as much rent for it as another?"

--"I can tell you," said he, "the 'squire will not receive any thing
from you, Goodman Andrews. Why, man, he has no occasion for it: he's
worth a power of money, besides a noble and clear estate in land.
Ad's-heartlikens, you must not affront him, I can tell you that: he's
as generous as a prince, where he takes; but he is hasty, and will
have his own way."--"Why, for that reason, Mr. Longman," said I, "I
was thinking to make _you_ my friend!"--"Make _me_ your friend! You
have not a better in the world, to my power, I can tell you that,
nor your dame neither; for I love such honest hearts: I wish my own
brother would let me love him as well; but let that pass. What I can
do for you, I will, and here's my hand upon it."

"Well, then," said I, "it is this: let me account to you at the rent
Farmer Dickens offered, and let me know what the stock cost, and
what the crops are valued at; and pay the one as I can, and the other
quarterly; and not let the 'squire know it till you can't choose; and
I shall be as happy as a prince; for I doubt not, by God's blessing,
to make a comfortable livelihood of it besides."--"Why, dost believe,
Goodman Andrews," said he, "that I would do such a thing? Would not
his honour think if I hid one thing from him, I might hide another? Go
to, honest heart, I love thee dearly; but can Mr. B. do too much for
his lady, think'st thou? Come, come" (and he jeered me so, I knew not
what to say), "I wish at bottom there is not some pride in this. What,
I warrant, you would not be too much beholden to his honour, would
you?"--"No," said I, "it is not that, I'm sure. If I have any pride,
it is only in my dear child--to whom, under God, all this is owing.
But some how or other it shall be so."

And so, my dear daughter, I resolve it shall; and it will be, over
and above, one of the greatest pleasures to me, to do the good 'squire
service, as well as to be so much benefited and obliged by him.

Our eldest grandson Thomas desires to come and live with us: the boy
is honest, and, I hear, industrious. And cousin Borroughs wants me
to employ his son Roger, who understands the business of a farm very
well. It is no wonder, that all one's relations should wish to partake
of our happy lot; and if they _can_ and _will_ do their business as
well as others, I see not why relationship should be an objection:
but, yet, I think, one should not _beleaguer_, as one may say, your
honoured husband with one's relations. You, my best child, will give
me always your advice, as to my carriage in this my new lot; for I
would not for the world be thought an encroacher. And you have so
followed than yours.

Our blessing (I am sure you have blessed us!) attend you, my dearest
child; and may you be as happy as you have made us (I cannot wish you
to be happier, because I have no notion how it can be in this life).
Conclude us, _your ever-loving father and mother_,


May we hope to be favoured now and then with a letter from you, my
dear child, like some of your former, to let us know how you go on? It
would be a great joy to us; indeed it would. But we know you'll have
enough to do without obliging us in this way. So must acquiesce.



I have shewed your letter to my beloved. Don't be uneasy that I have;
for you need not be ashamed of it, since it is my pride to have such
honest and grateful parents: and I'll tell you what he said to it, as
the best argument I can use, why you should not be uneasy, but enjoy
without pain or anxiety all the benefits of your happy lot.

"Dear good souls!" said he, "now every thing they say and write
manifests the worthiness of their hearts! No wonder, Pamela, you love
and revere such honest minds; for that you would do, were they not
your parents: and tell them, that I am so far from having them believe
what I have done for them were only from my affection for their
daughter, that let 'em find out another couple as worthy as they are,
and I will do as much for them. I would not place them," he continued,
"in the _same_ county, because I would wish _two_ counties to be
blessed for their sakes. Tell them, my dear, that they have a right
to what they enjoy on the foot of their own _proper_ merit; and _bid_
them enjoy it as their patrimony; and if any thing arise that is more
than they themselves can wish for, in their way of life, let them look
among their own relations, where it may be acceptable, and communicate
to them the like solid reasons for rejoicing in the situation they are
pleased with: and do you, my dear, still farther enable them, as you
shall judge proper, to gratify their enlarged hearts, for fear they
should deny any comfort to themselves, in order to do good to others."

I could only fly to his generous bosom (for this is a subject which
most affects me), and, with my eyes swimming in tears of grateful joy,
and which overflowed as soon as my bold lips touched his dear face,
bless God, and bless him, with my whole heart; for speak I could
not! But, almost chok'd with my joy, sobb'd to him my grateful
acknowledgments. He clasped me in his arms, and said, "How, my
dearest, do you overpay me for the little I have done for your
parents! If it be thus to be bless'd for conferring benefits so
insignificant to a man of my fortune, what joys is it not in the power
of rich men to give themselves, whenever they please!--Foretastes,
indeed, of those we are bid to hope for: which can surely only exceed
these, as _then_ we shall be all intellect, and better fitted to
receive them."--"'Tis too much!--too much," said I, in broken accents:
"how am I oppressed with the pleasure you give me!--O, Sir, bless
me more gradually, and more cautiously--for I cannot bear it!" And,
indeed, my heart went flutter, flutter, flutter, at his dear breast,
as if it wanted to break its too narrow prison, to mingle still more
intimately with his own.

Surely, my beloved parents, nobody's happiness is so great as
mine!--If it proceeds thus from degree to degree, and is to be
augmented by the charming hope, that the dear second author of our
blessings, be the uniformly good as well as the partially kind man to
us, what a felicity will this be! and if our prayers shall be heard,
and we shall have the pleasure to think, that his advances in piety
are owing not a little to them, and to the example God shall give us
grace to set; then, indeed, may we take the pride to think, we have
repaid his goodness to us, and that we have satisfied the debt, which
nothing less can discharge.

Forgive me, my worthy parents, if my style on this subject be raised
above the natural simplicity, more suited to my humble talents. But
how can I help it! For when the mind is elevated, ought not the sense
we have of our happiness to make our expressions soar equally? Can the
affections be so highly raised as mine are on these occasions, and the
thoughts creep grovelling like one's ordinary self? No, indeed!--Call
not this, therefore, the gift of utterance, if it should appear to
you in a better light than it deserves. It is the gift of gratitude; a
gift which makes you and me to _speak_ and _write_, as I hope it
will make us _act_, above ourselves. Thus will our gratitude be the
inspirer of joy to our common benefactor; and his joy will heighten
our gratitude; and so we shall proceed, as cause and effect to each
other's happiness, to bless the dear man who blesses us. And will it
be right then to say, you are uneasy under such (at least as to your
wills) returned and discharged obligations? God Almighty requires only
a thankful heart for all the mercies he heaps upon the children of
men; my dear Mr. B., who in these particulars imitates Divinity,
desires no more. You _have_ this thankful heart; and that to such a
high degree of gratitude, that nobody can exceed you.

But yet, when your worthy minds would be too much affected with your
gratitude, so as to lay under the restraints you mention, to the dear
gentleman, and for his sake, to your dependent daughter; let me humbly
advise you, with more particular, more abstracted aspirations, than
at other times, to raise your thoughts upwards, and consider who it
is that gives _him_ the opportunity; and pray for him and for me; for
_him_, that all his future actions may be of a piece with this
noble disposition of mind; for _me_, that I may continue humble, and
consider myself blest for your sakes, and in order that I may be, in
some sort, a rewarder, in the hands of Providence, of this its dear
excellent agent; and then we shall look forward, all of us, with
pleasure, _indeed_, to that state, where there is no distinction of
degree, and where the humble cottager shall be upon a par with the
proudest monarch.

O my dear parents, how can you, as in your _postscript_, say, "May
we not be _favoured_ now-and-then with a letter?" Call _me_ your
daughter, your Pamela--I am no lady to you. I have more pleasure to be
called your comfort, and thought to act worthy of the sentiments with
which your example and instructions have inspired me, than in any
other thing in this life; my determined duty to our common benefactor,
the best of gentlemen and husbands, excepted. God has blessed me for
your sakes, and has thus answered for me all your prayers; nay, _more_
than answered all you or I could have wished or hoped for. We only
prayed, only hoped, that God would preserve _you_ honest, and _me_
virtuous: and, O see, my excellent parents, how we are crowned with
blessings upon blessings, till we are the talk of all that know us.

Hence, my dear parents (I mean, from the delight I have in writing to
you, which transports me far above my own sphere), you'll see, that I
_must_ write, and cannot help it, if I would. And _will_ it be a great
joy to you?--And is there any thing that can add to your joy, think
you, in the power of your Pamela, that she would not _do_? O that the
lives and healths of my dearest Mr. B. and you, my parents, may be
continued to me! And who can then be so blest as your Pamela?

I _will_ write, _depend_ upon it, on every occasion--and you augment
my joys to think it is in my power to add to your comforts. Nor can
you conceive my pleasure in hoping that this your new happy lot may,
by relieving you from corroding care, and the too wearying effects
of hard labour, add, in these your advanced years, to both your days.
For, so happy am I, I can have no grief, no pain, in looking forward,
but from reflecting, that one day we must be separated.

But it is fit that we so comport ourselves as not to embitter our
present happiness with prospects too gloomy--but bring our minds to be
cheerfully thankful for the present, wisely to enjoy that _present_
as we go along--and at last, when all is to be wound up--lie down, and
say, "_Not mine_, but _Thy will be done_."

I have written much; yet have still more to say relating to other
parts of your kind acceptable letter; and so will soon write again:
for I must think every opportunity happy, whereby I can assure you,
how much I am, and will ever be, without any addition to my name, if
it will make you easier, _your dutiful_




I now write again, as I told you I should in my last; but I am half
afraid to look at the copy of it; for your worthy hearts, so visible
in your letter and my beloved's kind deportment upon shewing it to
him, raised me into a frame of mind, bordering on ecstasy: yet I wrote
my heart. But you must not, my dear father, write to your Pamela so
affectingly. Your _steadier_ mind could hardly bear your own moving
strain, and you were forced to lay down your pen, and retire: how then
could I, who love you so dearly, if you had not _increased_ that love
by fresh and stronger instances of your worthiness, forbear being
affected, and raised above myself! But I will not again touch upon
this subject.

You must know then, that my dearest spouse commands me, with his kind
respects, to tell you, he has thought of a method to make your _worthy
hearts_ easy; those were his words: "And this is," said he, "by
putting that whole estate, with the new purchase, under your father's
care, as I at first intended: he shall receive and pay, and order
every thing as he pleases: and Longman, who grows in years, shall be
eased of that burden. Your father writes a very legible hand,
and shall take what assistants he pleases; and do you, Pamela,
see that this new task be made as easy and pleasant to him as
possible. He shall make up his accounts only to you, my dear.
And there will be several pleasures arise to me upon it: first,
that it will be a relief to honest Longman, who has business
enough on his hands. Next, it will make the good couple easy, to have
an opportunity of enjoying that as their due, which now their too
grateful hearts give them so many causeless scruples about. Thirdly,
it will employ your father's time, more suitably to _your_ liking and
mine, because with more ease to himself; for you see his industrious
will cannot be satisfied without doing something. In the fourth place,
the management of this estate will gain him more respect and reverence
among the tenants and his neighbours: and yet be all in his own way.
For," added he, "you'll see, that it is always one point in view with
me, to endeavour to convince every one, that I esteem and value them
for their own intrinsic merit, and want not any body to distinguish
them in any other light than that in which they have been accustomed
to appear."

So, my dear father, the instrument will be drawn, and brought you by
honest Mr. Longman, who will be with you in a few days to put the
last hand to the new purchase, and to give you possession of your new
commission, if you accept it, as I hope you will; and the rather, for
my dear Mr. B.'s third reason; and knowing that this trust will be
discharged as worthily and as sufficiently, after you are used to
it, as if Mr. Longman himself was in it--and better it cannot be. Mr.
Longman is very fond of this relief, and longs to be down to settle
every thing with you, as to the proper powers, the method, &c. And
he says, in his usual phrase, that he'll make it as easy to you as a

If you do accept it, my dear Mr. B. will leave every thing to you,
as to rent, where not already fixed, and, likewise, as to acts of
kindness and favour to be done where you think proper; and he says,
that, with his bad qualities, he was ever deemed a kind landlord; and
that I can confirm in fifty instances to his honour: "So that the old
gentleman," said he, "need not be afraid of being put upon severe or
harsh methods of proceeding, where things will do without; and he can
always befriend an honest man; by which means the province will
be entirely such a one as suits with his inclination. If any thing
difficult or perplexing arises," continued he, "or where a little
knowledge in law-matters is necessary, Longman shall do all that: and
your father will see that he will not have in those points a coadjutor
too hard-hearted for his wish; for it was a rule my father set me,
and I have strictly followed, that although I have a lawyer for
my steward, it was rather to know how to do _right_ things, than
oppressive ones; and Longman has so well answered this intention, that
he was always more noted for composing differences, than promoting

I dare say, my dear father, this will be acceptable to you, on the
several accounts my dearest Mr. B. was pleased to mention: and what a
charming contrivance is here! God for ever bless his considerate heart
for it! To make you useful to him, and easy to yourself: as well as
respected by, and even a benefactor to all around you! What can one
say to all things? But what signifies exulting on one's gratitude for
_one_ benefit;--every hour the dear man heaps new ones upon us, and we
can hardly thank him for one, but a second, and a third, and so on
to countless degrees, confound one, and throw back our words upon our
hearts before they are well formed, and oblige us to sit down under
all with profound silence and admiration.

As to the desire of cousin Thomas, and Roger, to live with you, I
endeavoured to sound what our dear benefactor's opinion was. He was
pleased to say, "I have no choice in this case, my dear. Your father
is his own master: he may employ whom he pleases; and, if they shew
respect to him and your mother, I think, as he rightly observes,
relationship should rather have the preference; and as he can remedy
inconveniences, if he finds any, by all means to let every branch of
your family have reason to rejoice with him."

But I have thought of this matter a good deal, since I had the favour
of your letter; and I hope, since you condescend to ask my advice, you
will excuse me, if I give it freely; yet entirely submitting all to
your liking.

First, then, I think it better to have _any body_ than relations; and
for these reasons:

One is apt to expect more regard from them, and they more indulgence
than strangers can hope for.

That where there is such a difference in the expectations of both,
uneasiness cannot but arise.

That this will subject you to bear it, or to resent it, and to part
with them. If you bear it, you will know no end of impositions: if you
dismiss them, it will occasion ill-will. They will call you unkind;
and you them ungrateful: and as your prosperous lot may raise you
enviers, such will be apt to believe _them_ rather than _you_.

Then the world will be inclined to think that we are crowding upon a
generous gentleman a numerous family of indigent people; and it will
be said, "The girl is filling every place with her relations,
and _beleaguering_," as you significantly express it, "a worthy
gentleman;" should one's kindred behave ever so worthily. So, in the
next place, one would not, for _their_ sakes, that this should be
done; who may live with _less_ reproach, and _equal_ benefit, any
where else; for I would not wish any one of them to be lifted out
of his station, and made independent, at Mr. B.'s expense, if their
industry will not do it; although I would never scruple to do any
thing reasonable to promote or assist that industry, in the way of
their callings.

Then, my dear father, I apprehend, that our honoured benefactor would
be under some difficulty, from his natural politeness, and regard for
you and me. You see how kindly, on all occasions, he treats you both,
not only as the parents of his Pamela, but as if you were his own; and
if you had any body as your servants there, who called you cousin, or
grandfather, or uncle, he would not care, when he came down, to
treat them on the foot of common servants, though they might think
themselves honoured (as they would be, and as I shall always think
_myself_) with his commands. And would it not, if they are modest
and worthy, be as great a difficulty upon _them_, to be thus
distinguished, as it would be to _him_ and to _me_, for _his_ sake?
For otherwise (believe me, I hope you will, my dear father and
mother), I could sit down and rejoice with the meanest and remotest
relation I have. But in the world's eye, to every body but my best of
parents, I must, if ever so reluctant to it, appear in a light that
may not give discredit to his choice.

Then again, as I hinted, you will be able, without the least injury
to our common benefactor, to do kinder things by any of our relations,
when _not_ with you, than you can do, if they _live_ with you.

You may lend them a little money to put them in a way, if any thing
offers that you think will be to their advantage. You can fit out
my she-cousins to good reputable places. The younger you can put to
school, or, when fit, to trades, according to their talents; and
so they will be of course in a way to get an honest and creditable

But, above all things, one would discourage such a proud and ambitious
spirit in any of them, as should want to raise itself by favour
instead of merit; and this the rather, for, undoubtedly, there are
many more happy persons in low than in high life, take number for
number all the world over. I am sure, although four or five years of
different life had passed with me, I had so much pride and pleasure
in the thought of working for my living with you, if I could but get
honest to you, that it made my confinement the more grievous, and, if
possible, aggravated the apprehensions attending it.

But I beg of you, not to think these my reasons proceed from the bad
motives of a heart tainted with pride on its high condition.
Indeed there can be no reason for it, to one who thinks after this
manner--the greatest families on earth have some among them who are
unhappy and low in life; and shall such a one reproach me with having
twenty low relations, because they have, peradventure, not above five?

Let us then, my dear parents, endeavour to judge of one another,
as God, at the last day, will judge of us all: and then the honest
peasant will stand fairer in our esteem than the guilty peer.

In short, this shall be my own rule--Every one who acts justly and
honestly, I will look upon as my relation, whether so or not; and the
more he wants my assistance, the more entitled to it he shall be, as
well as to my esteem; while those who deserve it not, must expect only
compassion from me, and my prayers were they my brothers or sisters.
'Tis true had I not been poor and lowly, I might not have thought
thus; but if it be a right way of thinking, it is a blessing that I
was so; and that shall never be matter of reproach to me, which one
day will be matter of justification.

Upon the whole, I should think it advisable, my dear father and
mother, to make such kind excuses to the offered service of my
cousins, as your better reason shall suggest to you; and to do any
thing else for them of _more_ value, as their circumstances may
require, or occasions offer to serve them.

But if the employing and having them about you, will add comfort to
your lives, I give up entirely my own opinion, and doubt not every
thing will be thought well of, that you shall think fit to do.

And so I conclude with assuring you, that I am, my ever-dear parents,
_your dutiful and happy daughter_.

The copy of this letter I will keep to myself, till I have your
answer, that you may be under no difficulty how to act in either of
the cases mentioned in it.



How shall I do to answer, as they deserve, your two last letters? Sure
no happy couple ever had such a child as we have! But it is in vain
to aim at words like yours: and equally in vain for us to offer to set
forth the thankfulness of our hearts, on the kind office your honoured
husband has given us; for no reason but to favour us still more, and
to quiet our minds in the notion of being useful to him. God grant
I may be able to be so!--Happy shall I be, if I can! But I see the
generous drift of his proposal; it is only to make me more easy from
the nature of my employment, and, in my mind too, over-loaded as I may
say, with benefits; and at the same time to make me more respected in
my new neighbourhood.

I can only say, I most gratefully accept of the kind offer; and since
it will ease the worthy Mr. Longman, shall with still greater pleasure
do all I can in it. But I doubt I shall want ability; but I will be
just and honest, however. That, by God's grace, will be within my own
capacity; and that, I hope, I may answer for.

It is kind, indeed, to put it in my power to do good to those who
shall deserve it; and I will take _double_ pains to find out the
true merit of such as I shall recommend to favour, and that their
circumstances be really such as I shall represent them.

But one thing let me desire, that I make up my accounts to Mr.
Longman, or to his honour himself, when he shall be here with us.
I don't know how-but it will make me uneasy, if I am to make up my
accounts to you: for so well known is your love to us, that though
you would no more do an unjust thing, than, by God's grace, we should
desire you; yet this same ill-willing world might think it was like
making up accounts to one's self.

Do, my dearest child, get me off this difficulty, and I can have no
other; for already I am in hopes I have hit upon a contrivance to
improve the estate, and to better the condition of the tenants, at
least not to worst them, and which, I hope, will please every body;
but I will acquaint Mr. Longman with this, and take his advice; for I
will not be too troublesome either to you, my dear child, or to your
spouse.--If I could act so for his interest, as not to be a burden,
what happy creatures should we both be in our own minds!--We find
ourselves more and more respected by every one; and so far as shall be
consistent with our new trust, we will endeavour to deserve it, that
we may interest as many as know us in our own good wishes and prayers
for the happiness of you both.

But let me say, how much convinced I am by your reasons for not taking
to us any of our relations. Every one of those reasons has its force
with us. How happy are we to have so prudent a daughter to advise
with! And I think myself obliged to promise this, that whatever I do
for any of them above the amount of--forty shillings at one time, I
will take your direction in it, that your wise hints, of making every
one continue their industry, and not to rely upon favour instead
of merit, may be followed. I am sure this is the way to make them
_happier_ as well as _better_ men and women; for, as I have often
thought, if one were to have a hundred pounds a year, it would not do
without industry; and with it, one may do with a quarter of it, and

In short, my dear child, your reasons are so good, that I wonder they
came not into my head before, and then I needed not to have troubled
you about the matter: but yet it ran in my own thought, that I could
not like to be an encroacher:--for I hate a dirty thing; and, in the
midst of my distresses, never could be guilty of one. Thank God for

You rejoice our hearts beyond expression at the hope you give us of
receiving letters from you now-and-then: it will be the chief comfort
of our lives, next to seeing you, as we expect we sometimes shall.
But yet, my dear child, don't let us inconvenience you neither. Pray
don't; you'll have enough upon your hands without--to be sure you

The workmen have made a good progress, and wish for Mr. Longman to
come down; as we also do.

You need not be afraid we should think you proud, or lifted up with
your condition. You have weathered the first dangers, and but for your
fine clothes and jewels, we should not see any difference between our
dear Pamela and the much respected Mrs. B. But God has given you
too much sense to be proud or lifted up. I remember, in your former
writings, a saying of your 'squire's, speaking of you, that it was for
persons not used to praise, and who did not deserve it, to be proud of

Every day brings us instances of the good name his honour and you, my
dear child, have left behind you in this country. Here comes one, and
then another, and a third, and a fourth;

"Goodman Andrews," cries one, and, "Goody Andrews," cries
another--(and some call us Mr. and Mrs., but we like the other full as
well) "when heard you from his honour? How does his lady do?--What a
charming couple are they!--How lovingly do they live!--What an example
do they give to all about them!" Then one cries, "God bless them
both," and another cries, "Amen;" and so says a third and a fourth;
and all say, "But when do you expect them down again?--Such-a-one
longs to see 'em--and will ride a day's journey, to have but a sight
of 'em at church." And then they say, "How this gentleman praises
them, and that lady admires them."--O what a happiness is this! How
do your poor mother and I stand fixed to the earth to hear both your
praises, our tears trickling down our cheeks, and our hearts heaving
as if they would burst with joy, till we are forced to take leave in
half words, and hand-in-hand go in together to bless God, and bless
you both. O my daughter, what a happy couple have God and you made us!

Your poor mother is very anxious about her dear child. I will not
touch upon a matter so very irksome to you to hear of. But, though the
time may be some months off, she every hour prays for your safety and
happiness, and all the increase of felicity that his honour's generous
heart can wish for.--That is all we will say at present; only, that
we are, with continued prayers and blessings, my dearest child, _your
loving father and mother_,

J. _and_ E. ANDREWS.


_From Lady Davers to Mrs. B._


I intended to have been with you before this: but my lord has been a
little indisposed with the gout, and Jackey has had an intermitting
fever: but they are pretty well recovered, and it shall not be long
before I see you, now I understand you are returned from your Kentish

We have been exceedingly diverted with your papers. You have given us,
by their means, many a delightful hour, that otherwise would have hung
heavy upon us; and we are all charmed with you. Lady Betty, and
her noble mamma, has been of our party, whenever we have read your
accounts. She is a dear generous lady, and has shed with us many a
tear over them; and my lord has not been unmoved, nor Jackey neither,
at some of your distresses and reflections. Indeed, Pamela, you are a
charming creature, and an ornament to your sex. We wanted to have had
you among us a hundred times, as we read, that we might have loved,
and kissed, and thanked you.

But after all, my brother, generous and noble as he seemed, when your
trials were over, was a strange wicked young fellow; and happy it was
for you both, that he was so cleverly caught in the trap he had laid
for your virtue.

I can assure you, my lord longs to see you, and will accompany me;
for, he says, he has but a faint idea of your person. I tell him,
and them all, that you are the finest girl, and the most improved
in person and mind, I ever beheld; and I am not afraid although they
should imagine all they can in your favour, from my account, that
they will be disappointed when they see and converse with you. But one
thing more you must do, and then we will love you still more; and that
is, send us the rest of your papers, down to your marriage at least;
and farther, it you have written farther; for we all long to see the
rest, as you relate it, though we know in general what has passed.

You leave off with an account of an angry letter I wrote to my
brother, to persuade him to give you your liberty, and a sum of money;
not doubting but his designs would end in your ruin, and, I own, not
wishing he would marry you; for little did I know of your merit and
excellence, nor could I, but for your letters so lately sent me, have
had any notion of either. I don't question, but if you have recited
my passionate behaviour to you, when at the hall, I shall make a
ridiculous figure enough; but I will forgive all that, for the sake of
the pleasure you _have_ given me, and will still farther give me, if
you comply with my request.

Lady Betty says, it is the best story she has heard, and the most
instructive; and she longs to have the conclusion of it in your own
words. She says now and then, "What a hopeful brother you have, Lady
Davers! O these intriguing gentlemen!--What rogueries do they not
commit! I should have had a fine husband of him, had I received your
proposal! The _dear_ Pamela would have run in his head, and had I been
the first lady in the kingdom, I should have stood but a poor chance
in his esteem; for, you see, his designs upon her began early."

She says, you had a good heart to go back again to him, when the
violent wretch had driven you from him on such a slight occasion: but
yet, she thinks the reasons you give in your relation, and your love
for him (which then you began to discover was your case), as well as
the event, shewed you did right.

But we'll tell you all our judgments, when we have read the rest of
your accounts. So pray send them as soon as you can, to (I won't write
myself _sister_ till then) _your affectionate_, &c.



My good dear Lady,

You have done me great honour in the letter your ladyship has been
pleased to send me; and it is a high pleasure to me, now all is so
happily over, that my poor papers in the least diverted you, and such
honourable and worthy persons as your ladyship mentions. I could wish
I might be favoured with such remarks on my conduct, so nakedly set
forth (without any imagination that they would ever appear in such an
assembly), as may be of use to me in my future life, and thus make me
more worthy than it is otherwise possible I can be, of the honour to
which I am raised. Do, dearest lady, favour me so far. I am prepared
to receive blame, and to benefit by it, and cannot expect praise so
much from my _actions_ as from my _intentions_; for indeed, these
were always just and honourable: but why, even for these do I talk of
praise, since, being prompted by impulses I could not resist, it can
be no merit in me to have been governed by them?

As to the papers following those in your hands, when I say, that they
must needs appear impertinent to such judges, after what you know,
I dare say, your ladyship will not insist upon them: yet I will not
scruple briefly to mention what they contain.

All my dangers and trials were happily at an end: so that they only
contain the conversations that passed between your ladyship's generous
brother and me; his kind assurances of honourable love to me; my
acknowledgments of unworthiness to him; Mrs. Jewkes's respectful
change of behaviour towards me; Mr. B.'s reconciliation to
Mr. Williams; his introducing me to the good families in the
neighbourhood, and avowing before them his honourable intentions. A
visit from my honest father, who (not knowing what to conclude from my
letter to him before I returned to your honoured brother, desiring
my papers from him) came in great anxiety of heart to know the worst,
doubting I had at last been caught by a stratagem, ending in my ruin.
His joyful surprise to find how happy I was likely to be. All
the hopes given me, answered by the private celebration of our
nuptials--an honour so much above all that my utmost ambition could
make me aspire to, and which I never can deserve! Your ladyship's
arrival, and anger, not knowing I was actually married, but supposing
me a vile wicked creature; in which case I should have deserved the
worst of usage. Mr. B.'s angry lessons to me, for daring to interfere;
though I thought in the tenderest and most dutiful manner, between
your ladyship and himself. The most acceptable goodness and favour of
your ladyship afterwards to me, of which, as becomes me, I shall ever
retain the most grateful sense. My return to this sweet mansion in a
manner so different from my quitting it, where I had been so happy
for four years, in paying my duty to the best of mistresses, your
ladyship's excellent mother, to whose goodness, in taking me from my
poor honest parents, and giving me what education I have, I owe, under
God, my happiness. The joy of good Mrs. Jervis, Mr. Longman, and all
the servants, on this occasion. Mr. B.'s acquainting me with Miss
Godfrey's affair, and presenting to me the pretty Miss Goodwin, at the
dairy-house. Our appearance at church; the favour of the gentry in the
neighbourhood, who, knowing your ladyship had not disdained to look
upon me, and to be favourable to me, came the more readily into a
neighbourly intimacy with me, and still so much the more readily, as
the continued kindness of my dear benefactor, and his condescending
deportment to me before them (as if I had been worthy of the honour
done me), did credit to his own generous act.

These, my lady, down to my good parents setting out to this place,
in order to be settled, by my honoured benefactor's bounty, in the
Kentish farm, are the most material contents of my remaining papers:
and though they might be the most agreeable to those for whom only
they were written, yet, _as_ they were principally matters of course,
after what your ladyship has with you; _as_ the joy of my fond heart
can be better judged of by your ladyship than described by me; and as
you are acquainted with all the particulars that can be worthy of any
other person's notice but my dear parents: I am sure your ladyship
will dispense with your commands; and I make it my humble request that
you will.

For, Madam, you must needs think, that _when_ my doubts were
dispelled; _when_ confident all my trials were over; _when_ I had a
prospect of being so abundantly rewarded for what I suffered: _when
every_ hour rose upon me with new delight, and fraught with fresh
instances of generous kindness from such a dear gentleman, my master,
my benefactor, the son of my honoured lady: your ladyship must needs
think, I say, that I must be _too_ much affected, my heart _too_ much
opened; and especially as it then (relieved from its past anxieties
and fears, which had kept down and damped the latent flame)
first discovered impressions of which before I hardly thought it
susceptible.--So that it is scarce possible, that my _joy_ and my
_prudence_, if I were to be tried by such judges of delicacy and
decorum as Lord and Lady Davers, the honoured countess, and Lady
Betty, could be so _intimately_, so _laudably_ coupled, as were to
be wished: although the continued sense of my unworthiness, and the
disgrace the dear gentleman would bring upon himself by his generous
goodness to me, always went hand in hand with my _joy_ and my
_prudence_; and what these considerations took from the _former_,
being added to the _latter_, kept me steadier and more equal to
myself, than otherwise it was possible such a young creature as I
could have been.

Wherefore my good lady, I hope I stand excused, and shall not bring
upon myself the censure of being disobedient to your commands.

Besides, Madam, since you inform me that my good Lord Davers will
attend you hither, I should never dare to look his lordship in the
face, if all the emotions of my heart, on such affecting occasions,
stood confessed to his lordship; and if I am ashamed they should to
your ladyship, to the countess, and Lady Betty, whose goodness must
induce you all three to think favourably, in such circumstances, of
one who is of your own sex, how would it concern me, for the same
to appear before such gentlemen as my lord and his nephew?--Indeed I
could not look up to either of them in the sense of this.--And give me
leave to hope, that some of the scenes, in the letters your ladyship
had, were not read to gentlemen; your ladyship must needs know which
I mean, and will think of my two grand trials of all. For though I was
the innocent subject of wicked attempts, and so cannot, I hope, suffer
in any one's opinion for what I could not help; yet, for your dear
brother's sake, as well as for the decency of the matter, one would
not, when having the honour to appear before my lord and his nephew,
he looked upon, methinks, with that levity of eye and thought, which,
perhaps, hard-hearted gentlemen may pass upon one, by reason of
those very scenes, which would move pity and concern in a good lady's
breast, for a poor creature so attempted.

So, my dear lady, be pleased to tell me, if the gentlemen _have_ heard
all--I hope not--and also to point out to me such parts of my conduct
as deserve blame: indeed, I will try to make a good use of your
censure, and am sure I shall be thankful for it; for it will make me
hope to be more and more worthy of the honour I have, of being exalted
into such a distinguished family, and the right the best of gentlemen
has given me to style myself _your ladyship's most humble, and most
obliged servant_,



_From Lady Davers, in reply._


You have given us all a great disappointment in declining to oblige me
with the sequel of your papers. I was a little out of humour with you
at first;--I must own I was:--for I cannot bear denial, when my heart
is set upon any thing. But Lady Betty became your advocate, and said,
she thought you very excusable: since, no doubt, there might be many
tender things, circumstanced as you were, well enough for your parents
to see, but for nobody else; and relations of our side, the least of
all, whose future intimacy, and frequent visits, might give occasions
for raillery and remarks, not otherwise agreeable. I regard her
apology for you the more, because I knew it was a great baulk to her,
that you did not comply with my request. But now, child, when you know
me more, you'll find, that if I am obliged to give up one point, I
always insist on another, as near it as I can, in order to see if it
be only _one_ thing I am to be refused, or _every_ thing; in which
last case, I know how to take my measures, and resent.

Now this is what I insist upon; that you correspond with me the same
as you did with your parents, and acquaint me with every passage that
is of concern to you; beginning with your account how both of you
spent your time when in Kent; for you must know we are all taken with
your duty to your parents, and the discretion of the good couple, and
think you have given a very edifying example of filial piety to all
who shall hear your story; for if so much duty is owing to parents,
where nothing can be done for one, how much more is it to be expected,
where there is power to add to the natural obligation, all the
comforts and conveniences of life? We people in upper life love to
hear how gratitude and unexpected benefits operate upon honest minds,
who have little more than plain artless nature for their guide; and
we flatter ourselves with the hopes of many a delightful hour, by your
means, in this our solitary situation, if obliged to pass the next
winter in it, as my lord and the earl threaten me, and the countess,
and Lady Betty, that we shall. Then let us hear of every thing that
gives you joy or trouble: and if my brother carries you to town, for
the winter, while he attends parliament, the advices you can give
us of what passes in London, and of the public entertainments and
diversions he will take you to, related in your own artless and
natural observations, will be as diverting to us, as if at them
ourselves. For a young creature of your good understanding, to whom
all these things will be quite new, will give us, perhaps, a better
taste of them, their beauties and defects, than we might have before;
for we people of quality go to those places, dressed out and adorned
in such a manner, outvying one another, as if we considered ourselves
as so many parts of the public entertainment, and are too much pleased
with ourselves to be able so to attend to what we see, as to form a
right judgment of it; but some of us behave with so much indifference
to the entertainment, as if we thought ourselves above being diverted
by what we come to see, and as if our view was rather to trifle away
our time, than improve ourselves by attending to the story of the

See, Pamela, I shall not make an unworthy correspondent altogether,
for I can get into thy grave way, and moralize a little now and then:
and if you'll promise to oblige me by your constant correspondence in
this way, and divest yourself of all restraint, as if you were writing
to your parents (and I can tell you, you'll write to one who will be
as candid and as favourable to you as they can be), then I am sure we
shall have truth and nature from you; and these are things which we
are generally so much lifted above, by our conditions, that we hardly
know what they are.

But I have written enough for one letter; and yet, having more to say,
I will, after this, send another, without waiting for your answer,
which you may give to both together; and am, _yours_, &c. B. DAVERS.



I am very glad thy honest man has let thee into the affair of Sally
Godfrey. But pr'ythee, Pamela, tell us how he did it, and thy thoughts
upon it, for that is a critical case, and as he has represented it,
so shall I know what to say of it before you and him: for I would not
make mischief between you for the world.

This, let me tell you, will be a trying part of your conduct. For he
loves the child, and will judge of you by your conduct towards it.
He dearly loved her mother; and notwithstanding her fault, she well
deserved it: for she was a sensible, ay, and a modest lady, and of an
ancient and genteel family. But he was heir to a noble estate, was
of a bold and enterprising spirit, fond of intrigue--Don't let this
concern you--You'll have the greater happiness, and merit too, if you
can hold him; and, 'tis my opinion, if any body can, you will. Then
he did not like the young lady's mother, who sought artfully to entrap
him. So that the poor girl, divided between her inclination for him,
and her duty to her designing mother, gave into the plot upon him: and
he thought himself--vile wretch as he was for all that!--at liberty
to set up plot against plot, and the poor lady's honour was the

I hope you spoke well of her to him--I hope you received the child
kindly--I hope you had presence of mind to do this--For it is a nice
part to act; and all his observations were up, I dare say, on the
occasion--Do let me hear how it was. And write without restraint; for
although I am not your mother, yet am I _his_ eldest sister, you know,
and as such--Come, I will say so, in hopes you'll oblige me--_your_
sister, and so entitled to expect a compliance with my request: for is
there not a duty, in degree, to elder sisters from younger?

As to our remarks upon your behaviour, they have been much to your
credit: but nevertheless, I will, to encourage you to enter into this
requested correspondence with me, consult Lady Betty, and will go over
your papers again, and try to find fault with your conduct, and if we
see any thing censurable, will freely let you know our minds.

But, before-hand, I can tell you, we shall be agreed in one opinion;
and that is, that we know not who would have acted as you have done,
upon the whole. So, Pamela, you see I put myself upon the same foot
of correspondence with you. Not that I will promise to answer every
latter: no, you must not expect that. Your part will be a kind of
narrative, purposely designed to entertain us here; and I hope to
receive six, seven, eight, or ten letters, as it may happen, before I
return one: but such a part I will bear in it, as shall let you know
our opinion of your proceedings, and relations of things. And as you
wish to be found fault with, you shall freely have it (though not in
a splenetic or ill-natured way), as often as you give occasion.
Now, Pamela, I have two views in this. One is to see how a man of my
brother's spirit, who has not denied himself any genteel liberties
(for it must be owned he never was a common town rake, and had always
a dignity in his roguery), will behave himself to you, and in wedlock,
which used to be freely sneered at by him; the next, that I may
love you more and more as by your letters, I shall be more and more
acquainted with you, as well as by conversation; so that you can't be
off, if you would.

'I know, however, you will have one objection to this; and that is,
that your family affairs will require your attention, and not give the
time you used to have for this employment. But consider, child, the
station you are raised to does not require you to be quite a domestic
animal. You are lifted up to the rank of a lady, and you must act up
to it, and not think of setting such an example, as will draw upon
you the ill-will and censure of other ladies. For will any of our sex
visit one who is continually employing herself in such works as either
must be a reproach to herself, or to them?--You'll have nothing to do
but to give orders. You will consider yourself as the task-mistress,
and the common herd of female servants as so many negroes directing
themselves by your nod; or yourself as the master-wheel, in some
beautiful pieces of mechanism, whose dignified grave motions is to
set a-going all the under-wheels, with a velocity suitable to their
respective parts. Let your servants, under your direction, do all that
relates to household management; they cannot write to entertain and
instruct as you can: so what will you have to do?--I'll answer my own
question: In the first place, endeavour to please your sovereign lord
and master; and let me tell you, any other woman in England, be her
quality ever so high, would have found enough to do to succeed in
that. Secondly, to receive and pay visits, in order, for his credit
as well as your own, to make your fashionable neighbours fond of you.
Then, thirdly, you will have time upon your hands (as your monarch
himself rises early, and is tolerably regular for such a brazen face
as he has been) to write to me in the manner I have mentioned, and
expect; and I see plainly, by your style, nothing can be easier for
you than to do this.

Thus, and with reading, may your time be filled up with reputations to
yourself, and delight to others, till a fourth employment puts itself
upon you: and that is (shall I tell you boys, [Transcriber's note:
text missing in original] to perpetuate a family, for many hundred
years esteemed worthy and eminent, which, being now reduced,
in the direct line, to him and me, _expects_ it from you; or
else let me tell you (nor will I baulk it), my brother, by descending
to the wholesome cot--excuse me, Pamela--will want one apology for his
conduct, be as excellent as you may.

I say this, child, not to reflect upon you, since the thing is done;
for I love you dearly, and will love you more and more--but to let
you know what is expected from you, and encourage you in the prospect
already opening to you both, and to me, who have the welfare of the
family I sprung from so much at heart, although I know this will be
attended with some anxieties to a mind so thoughtful and apprehensive
as yours seems to be.

O but this puts me in mind of your solicitude, lest the gentlemen
should have seen every thing contained in your letters-But this I will
particularly speak to in a third letter, having filled my paper on all
sides: and am, till then,_ yours_, &c.


You see, and I hope will take it as a favour, that I break the ice,
and begin first in the indispensably expected correspondence between


_From the same._

And so, Pamela, you are solicitous to know, if the gentlemen have seen
every part of your papers? I can't say but they have: nor, except in
regard to the reputation of your saucy man, do I see why the part you
hint at might not be read by those to whom the rest might be shewn.

I can tell you, Lady Betty, who is a very nice and delicate lady, had
no objection to any part, though read before men: only now and then
crying out, "O the vile man!--See, Lord Davers, what wretches you men
are!" And, commiserating you, "Ah! the poor Pamela!" And expressing
her impatience to hear how you escaped at this time, and at that, and
rejoicing in your escape. And now-and-then, "O, Lady Davers, what a
vile brother you have!--I hate him perfectly. The poor girl cannot be
made amends for all this, though he has married her. Who, that
knows these things of him, would wish him to be hers, with all his
advantages of person, mind, and fortune?" and his wicked attempts.

But I can tell you this, that except one had heard every tittle of
your danger, how near you were to ruin, and how little he stood
upon taking any measures to effect his vile purposes, even daring to
attempt you in the presence of a _good_ woman, which was a wickedness
that every _wicked_ man could not be guilty of; I say, except one had
known these things, one could not have judged of the merit of your
resistance, and how shocking those attempts were to your virtue, for
that life itself was endangered by them: nor, let me tell you, could
I, in particular, have so well justified him for marrying you (I mean
with respect to his own proud and haughty temper of mind), if there
had been room to think he could have had you upon easier terms.

It was necessary, child, on twenty accounts, that we, your and his
well-wishers and his relations, should know that he had tried every
stratagem to subdue you to his purpose, before he married you: and how
would it have answered to his intrepid character, and pride of heart,
had we not been particularly led into the nature of those attempts,
which you so nobly resisted, as to convince us all, that you have
deserved the good fortune you have met with, as well as all the kind
and respectful treatment he can possibly shew you?

Nor ought you to be concerned who sees any the most tender parts of
your story, except, as I said, for his sake; for it must be a very
unvirtuous mind that can form any other ideas from what you relate
than those of terror and pity for you. Your expressions are too
delicate to give the nicest ear offence, except at him. You paint no
scenes but such as make his wickedness odious: and that gentleman,
much more lady, must have a very corrupt heart, who could from such
circumstances of distress, make any reflections, but what should be to
your honour, and in abhorrence of such actions. I am so convinced of
this, that by this rule I would judge of any man's heart in the world,
better than by a thousand declarations and protestations. I do assure
you, rakish as Jackey is, and freely as I doubt not that Lord Davers
has formerly lived (for he has been a man of pleasure), they gave me,
by their behaviour on these tender occasions, reason to think they had
more virtue than not to be very apprehensive for your safety; and my
lord often exclaimed, that he could not have thought his brother such
a libertine, neither.

Besides, child, were not these things written in confidence had not
recited all you could recite, would there not have been room for any
one, who saw what you wrote, to imagine they had been still worse? And
how could the terror be supposed to have had such effects upon you, as
to endanger your life, without imagining you had undergone the worst a
vile man _could_ offer, unless you had told us what that was which he
_did_ offer, and so put a bound, as it were, to one's fears of what
you suffered, which otherwise must have been injurious to your purity,
though you could not help it?

Moreover, Pamela, it was but doing justice to the libertine himself
to tell your mother the whole truth, that she might know he was not so
very abandoned, but he could stop short of the execution of his wicked
purposes, which he apprehended, if pursued, would destroy the life,
that, of all lives, he would choose to preserve; and you owed also
thus much to your parents' peace of mind, that, after all their
distracting fears for you, they might see they had reason to rejoice
in an uncontaminated daughter. And one cannot but reflect, now he has
made you his wife, that it must be satisfaction to the wicked man, as
well as to yourself, that he was not more guilty than he _was_, nor
took more liberties than he _did_.

For my own part, I must say, that I could not have accounted for your
fits, by any descriptions short of those you give; and had you been
less particular in the circumstances, I should have judged he had been
still _worse_, and your person, though not your mind, less pure, than
his pride would expect from the woman he should marry; for this is
the case of all rakes, that though they indulge in all manner of
libertinism themselves, there is no class of men who exact greater
delicacy from the persons they marry, though they care not how bad
they make the wives, the sisters, and daughters of others.

I will only add (and send all my three letters together), that we all
blame you in some degree for bearing the wicked Jewkes in your sight,
after her most impudent assistance in his lewd attempt; much less, we
think, ought you to have left her in her place, and rewarded her; for
her vileness could hardly be equalled by the worst actions of the most
abandoned procuress.

I know the difficulties you labour under, in his arbitrary will, and
intercession for her: but Lady Betty rightly observes, that he knew
what a vile woman she was, when he put you into her power, and no
doubt employed her, being sure she would answer all his purposes:
and that therefore she should have had very little opinion of the sincerity
of his reformation, while he was so solicitous in keeping her, and having
her put upon a foot, in the present on your nuptials, with honest Jervis.

She would, she says, had she been in your case, have had _one_
struggle for her dismission, let it have been taken as it would; and
he that was so well pleased with your virtues, must have thought this
a natural consequence of it, if he was in earnest to reclaim.

I know not whether you shew him all I write: but I have written this
last part in the cover, as well for want of room, as that you may keep
it from him, if you please. Though if you think it will serve any
good end, I am not against shewing to him all I write. For I must ever
speak my mind, though I were to smart for it; and that nobody can or
has the heart to make me do, but my bold brother. So, Pamela, for this
time, _Adieu_.



I am honoured with your ladyship's three letters, the contents of
which are highly obliging to me: and I should be inexcusable if I did
not comply with your injunctions, and be very proud and thankful for
your ladyship's condescension in accepting of my poor scribble, and
promising such a rich and valuable return; of which you have already
given such ample and delightful instances. I will not plead my
defects, to excuse my obedience. I only fear that the awe which will
be always upon me, when I write to your ladyship, will lay me under so
great a restraint, that I shall fall short even of the merit my
papers have already made for me, through your kind indulgence.--Yet,
sheltering myself under your goodness, I will cheerfully comply with
every thing your ladyship expects from me, that it is in my power to

You will give me leave, Madam, to put into some little method, the
particulars of what you desire of me, that I may speak to them all:
for, since you are so good as to excuse me from sending the rest of
my papers (which indeed would not bear in many places), I will omit
nothing that shall tend to convince you of my readiness to obey you in
every thing else.

First, then, your ladyship would have the particulars of the happy
fortnight we passed in Kent, on one of the most agreeable occasions
that could befall me.

Secondly, an account of the manner in which your dear brother
acquainted me with the affecting story of Miss Godfrey, and my
behaviour upon it.

And, thirdly, I presume your ladyship, and Lady Betty, expect me to
say something upon your welcome remarks on my conduct towards Mrs.

The other particulars your ladyship mentions, will naturally fall
under one or other of these three heads--But expect not, my lady,
though I begin in method thus, that I shall keep up to it. If you will
not allow for me, and keep in view the poor Pamela Andrews in all I
write, but have Mrs. B. in your eye, what will become of me?--But I
promise myself so much improvement from this correspondence, that
I enter upon it with a greater delight than I can express,
notwithstanding the mingled awe and diffidence that will accompany me,
in every part of the agreeable task. To begin with the first article:

Your dear brother and my honest parents (I know your ladyship will
expect from me, that on all occasions I should speak of them with the
duty that becomes a good child) with myself, set out on the Monday
morning for Kent, passing through St. Albans to London, at both which
places we stopped a night; for our dear benefactor would make us take
easy journeys: and on Wednesday evening we arrived at the sweet place
allotted for the good couple. We were attended only by Abraham and
John, on horseback: for Mr. Colbrand, having sprained his foot, was in
the travelling-coach, with the cook, the housemaid, and Polly Barlow,
a genteel new servant, whom Mrs. Brooks recommended to wait on me.

Mr. Longman had been there a fortnight, employed in settling the terms
of an additional purchase of this pretty well-wooded and well-watered
estate: and his account of his proceedings was very satisfactory to
his honoured principal. He told us, he had much ado to dissuade the
tenants from pursuing a formed resolution of meeting their landlord
on horseback, at some miles distance; for he had informed them when he
expected us; but knowing how desirous Mr. B. was of being retired, he
had ventured to assure them, that when every thing was settled, and
the new purchase actually entered upon, they would have his presence
among them often; and that he would introduce them all at different
times to their worthy landlord, before we left the country.

The house is large, and very commodious; and we found every thing
about it, and in it, exceeding neat and convenient; owing to the
worthy Mr. Longman's care and direction. The ground is well-stocked,
the barns and outhouses in excellent repair; and my poor parents have
only to wish, that they and I may be deserving of half the goodness we
experience from your bountiful brother.

But, indeed. Madam, I have the pleasure of discovering every day more
and more, that there is not a better disposed and more generous man in
the world than himself, for I verily think he has not been so
careful to conceal his _bad_ actions as his _good_ ones. His heart is
naturally beneficent, and his beneficence is the gift of God for the
most excellent purposes, as I have often freely told him. Pardon me,
my dear lady; I wish I may not be impertinently grave: but I find a
great many instances of his considerate charity, which few knew of,
and which, since I have been his almoner, could not avoid coming to my
knowledge. But this, possibly, is no news to your ladyship. Every body
knows the generous goodness of your _own_ heart: every one wanting
relief tasted the bounty of your excellent _mother_ my late honoured
lady: so that 'tis a _family grace_, and I have no need to speak of it
to you. Madam.

This cannot, I hope, be construed as if I would hereby suppose
ourselves less obliged. I know nothing so godlike in human nature as
this disposition to do good to our fellow-creatures: for is it not
following immediately the example of that generous Providence which
every minute is conferring blessings upon us all, and by giving power
to the rich, makes them but the dispensers of its benefits to those
that want them? Yet, as there are but too many objects of compassion,
and as the most beneficent cannot, like Omnipotence, do good to all,
how much are they obliged who are distinguished from others!-And
this being kept in mind, will always contribute to make the benefited
receive, as thankfully as they _ought_, the favours of the obliger.

I know not if I write to be understood, in all I mean; but my grateful
heart is so over-filled when on this subject, that methinks I want to
say a great deal more at the same time that I am apprehensive I say
too much. Yet, perhaps, the copies of the letters I here inclose (that
marked [I.] written by me to my parents, on our return to Kent; that
marked [II.] from my dear father in answer to it; and that marked
[III.] mine in reply to his) will (at the same time that they may
convince your ladyship that I will conceal nothing from you in the
course of this correspondence, which may in the least amuse and divert
you, or better explain our grateful sentiments), in a great measure,
answer what your ladyship expects from me, as to the happy fortnight
we passed in Kent.

I will now conclude, choosing to suspend the correspondence, till I
know from your ladyship, whether it will not be too low, too idle for
your attention; whether you will not dispense with your own commands
when you see I am so little likely to answer what you may possibly
expect from me: or whether, if you insist upon my scribbling, you
would have me write in any other way, be less tedious, less serious-in
short, less or more any thing. For all that is in my power, your
ladyship may command from, _Madam, your obliged and faithful servant_.


Your dearest brother, from whose knowledge I would not keep any thing
that shall take up any considerable portion of my time, gives me leave
to proceed in this correspondence, if you command it; and is pleased
to say, he will content himself to see such parts of it, and _only_
such parts, as I shall shew him, or read to him.--Is not this very
good, Madam?--O, my lady, you don't know how happy I am!


_From Lady Davers to Mrs. B._

My dear Pamela,

You very much oblige me by your cheerful compliance with my request: I
leave it entirely to you to write as you shall be in the humour,
when you take up your pen; and then I shall have you write with less
restraint: for, you must know, that what we admire in _you_, are truth
and nature, not studied or elaborate epistles. We can hear at church,
or read in our closets, fifty good things that we expect not from you:
but we cannot receive from any body else the pleasure of sentiments
flowing with that artless ease, which so much affects us when we read
your letters. Then, my sweet girl, your gratitude, prudence, integrity
of heart, your humility, shine so much in all your letters and
thoughts, that no wonder my brother loves you as he does.

But I shall make you proud, I doubt, and so by praise ruin those
graces which we admire, and, but for that, cannot praise you too much.
In my conscience, if thou canst hold as thou hast begun, I believe
thou wilt have him _all to thyself_; and that was more than I once
thought any woman on this side the seventieth year of his age would
ever be able to say. The letters to and from your parents, we are
charmed with, and the communicating of them to me, I take to be as
great an instance of your confidence in me, as it is of your judgment
and prudence; for you cannot but think, that we, his relations, are
a little watchful over your conduct, and have our eyes upon you, to
observe what use you are likely to make of your power over your man,
with respect to your own relations.

Hitherto all is unexampled prudence, and you take the right method to
reconcile even the proudest of us to your marriage, and make us not
only love you, but respect your parents: for their honesty will, I
perceive, be their distinguishing character, and they will not forget
themselves, nor their former condition.

I can tell you, you are exactly right; for if you were to be an
_encroacher_, as the good old man calls it, my brother would be the
first to see it, and would gradually think less and less of you, till
possibly he might come to despise you, and to repent of his choice:
for the least shadow of an imposition, or low cunning, or mere
selfishness, he cannot bear.

In short, you are a charming girl; and Lady Betty says so too; and
moreover adds, that if he makes you not the best and _faithfullest_ of
husbands, he cannot deserve you, for all his fortune and birth. And in
my heart, I begin to think so too.

But won't you oblige me with the sequel of your letter to your father?
For, you promise, my dear charming scribbler, in that you sent me, to
write again to his letter; and I long to see how you answer the latter
part of it, about your relations desiring already to come and live
with him. I know what I _expect_ from you. But let it be what it will,
send it to me exactly as you wrote it; and I shall see whether I have
reason to praise or reprove you. For surely, Pamela, you must leave
one room to blame you for something. Indeed I can hardly bear the
thought, that you should so much excel as you do, and have more
prudence, by nature, as it were, than the best of us get in a course
of the genteelest educations and with fifty advantages, at least,
in conversation, that _you_ could not have, by reason of my mother's
retired life, while you were with her, and your close attendance on
her person.

But I'll tell you what has been a great improvement to you; it is your
own writings. This itch of scribbling has been a charming help. For
here, having a natural fund of good sense, and prudence above your
years, you have, with the observations these have enabled you to make,
been flint and steel too, as I may say, to yourself: so that you have
struck _fire_ when you pleased, wanting nothing but a few dry leaves,
like the first pair in old Du Bartas, to serve as tinder to catch your
animating sparks. So that reading constantly, and thus using yourself
to write, and enjoying besides a good memory, every thing you heard
and read became your own; and not only so, but was improved by passing
through more salubrious ducts and vehicles; like some fine fruit
grafted upon a common free-stock, whose more exuberant juices serve to
bring to quicker and greater perfection the downy peach, or the smooth
nectarine, with its crimson blush.

Really, Pamela, I believe, I, too, shall improve by writing to
you-Why, you dear saucy-face, at this rate, you'll make every one that
converses with you, better, and wiser, and _wittier_ too, as far as I
know, than they ever before thought there was _room_ for 'em to be.

As to my own part, I begin to like what I have written myself, I
think; and your correspondence may revive the poetical ideas that used
to fire my mind, before I entered into the drowsy married life; for my
good Lord Davers's turn happens not to be to books; and so by degrees
my imagination was in a manner quenched, and I, as a dutiful wife
should, endeavoured to form my taste by that of the man I
chose.--But, after all, Pamela, you are not to be a little proud of my
correspondence; and I could not have thought it ever would have come
to this; but you will observe, that I am the more free and unreserved,
to encourage _you_ to write without restraint: for already you have
made us a family of writers and readers; so that Lord Davers himself
is become enamoured of your letters, and desires of all things he
may hear read every one that passes between us. Nay, Jackey, for that
matter, who was the most thoughtless, whistling, sauntering fellow you
ever knew, and whose delight in a book ran no higher than a song or a
catch, now comes in with an enquiring face, and vows he'll set pen
to paper, and turn letter-writer himself; and intends (if my brother
won't take it amiss, he says) to begin to _you_, provided he could be
sure of an answer.

I have twenty things still to say; for you have unlocked all our
bosoms. And yet I intended not to write above ten or a dozen lines
when I began; only to tell you, that I would have you take your own
way, in your subjects, and in your style. And if you will but give me
hope, that you are in the way I so much wish to have you in, I will
then call myself your affectionate sister; but till then, it shall
only barely be _your correspondent_,

B. DAVERS. You'll proceed with the account of your Kentish affair, I
doubt not.



What kind, what generous things are you pleased to say of your happy
correspondent! And what reason have I to value myself on such an
advantage as is now before me, if I am capable of improving it as I
ought, from a correspondence with so noble and so admired a lady!
To be praised by such a genius, and my honoured benefactor's worthy
sister, whose favour, next to his, it was always my chief ambition to
obtain, is what would be enough to fill with vanity a steadier and a
more equal mind than mine.

I have heard from my late honoured lady, what a fine pen her beloved
daughter was mistress of, when she pleased to take it up. But I never
could have presumed, but from your ladyship's own motion, to hope
to be in any manner the subject of it, much less to be called your

Indeed, Madam, I _am_ very proud of this honour, and consider it as
such a heightening to my pleasures, as only _that_ could give; and I
will set about obeying your ladyship without reserve.

But, first, permit me to disclaim any merit, from my own poor
writings, to that improvement which your goodness imputes to me. What
I have to boast, of that sort, is owing principally, if it deserves
commendation, to my late excellent lady.

It is hard to be imagined what pains her ladyship took with her poor
servant. Besides making me keep a book of her charities dispensed by
me, I always set down, in my way, the cases of the distressed, their
griefs from misfortunes, and their joys of her bountiful relief; and
so I entered early into the various turns that affected worthy hearts,
and was taught the better to regulate my own, especially by the help
of her fine observations, when I read what I wrote. For many a time
has her generous heart overflowed with pleasure at my remarks, and
with praises; and I was her good girl, her dear Pamela, her hopeful
maiden; and she would sometimes snatch my hand with transport, and
draw me to her, and vouchsafe to kiss me; and always was saying,
what she would do for me, if God spared her, and I continued to be

O my dear lady! you cannot think what an encouragement this
condescending behaviour and goodness was to me. Madam, you
_cannot_ think it.

I used to throw myself at her feet, and embrace her knees; and, my
eyes streaming with tears of joy, would often cry, "O continue to me,
my dearest lady, the blessing of your favour, and kind instructions,
and it is all your happy Pamela can wish for."

But I will proceed to obey your ladyship, and write with as much
freedom as I possibly _can_: for you must not expect, that I can
entirely divest myself of that awe which will necessarily lay me under
a greater restraint, than if writing to my parents, whose partiality
for their daughter made me, in a manner, secure of their good

To shorten the work before me, in the account I am to give of the
sweet fortnight that we passed in Kent, I enclose not only the copy of
the letter your ladyship requested, but my father's answer to it.

The letters I sent before, and those I now send, will afford several
particulars; such as a brief description of the house and farm, and
your honoured brother's intentions of retiring thither now-and-then;
of the happiness and gratitude of my dear parents, and their wishes to
be able to deserve the comfort his goodness has heaped upon them; and
that in stronger lights than I am able to set them; I will only, in a
summary manner, mention the rest; and, particularly, the behaviour of
my dear benefactor to me, and my parents. He seemed always to delight
in being particularly kind to them before strangers, and before the
tenants, and before Mr. Sorby, Mr. Bennet, and Mr. Shepherd, three of
the principal gentlemen in the neighbourhood, who, with their ladies,
came to visit us, and whose visits we _all_ returned; for your
dear brother would not permit my father and mother to decline the
invitation of those worthy families.

Every day we rode out, or walked a little about the grounds; and while
we were there, he employed hands to cut a vista through a coppice,
as they call it, or rather a little wood, to a rising ground, which,
fronting an old-fashioned balcony, in the middle of the house, he
ordered it to be planted like a grove, and a pretty alcove to be
erected on its summit, of which he has sent them a draught, drawn by
his own hand. This and a few other alterations, mentioned in my letter
to my father, are to be finished against we go down next.

The dear gentleman was every hour pressing me, while there, to take
one diversion or other, frequently upbraiding me, that I seemed not to
_choose_ any thing, urging me to propose sometimes what I could _wish_
he should oblige me in, and not always to leave it to him to choose
for me: saying, he was half afraid that my constant compliance with
every thing he proposed, laid me sometimes under a restraint: and he
would have me have a will of my own, since it was impossible, that it
could be such as he should not take a delight in conforming to it.

I will not trouble your ladyship with any further particulars relating
to this happy fortnight, which was made up all of white and unclouded
days, to the very last; and your ladyship will judge better than I can
describe, of the parting between my dear parents, and their honoured
benefactor and me.

We set out, attended with the good wishes of crowds of persons of all
degrees; for your dear brother left behind him noble instances of his
bounty; it being the _first_ time, as he bid Mr. Longman say, that he
had been down among them since that estate had been in his hands.

But permit me to observe, that I could not forbear often, very often,
in this happy period, to thank God in private, for the blessed terms
upon which I was there, to what I should have been, had I gracelessly
accepted of those which formerly were tendered to me; for your
ladyship will remember, that the Kentish estate was to be part of the
purchase of my infamy.

We returned through London, by the like easy journeys, but tarried
not to see any thing of that vast metropolis, any more than we did
in going through it before; your beloved brother only stopping at his
banker's, and desiring him to look out for a handsome house, which he
proposes to take for his winter residence. He chooses it to be about
the new buildings called Hanover Square; and he left Mr. Longman there
to see one, which his banker believed would be fit for him.

And thus, my dear lady, I have answered your first commands, by the
help of the letters which passed between my dear parents and me; and
conclude this with the assurance that I am, with high respect, _your
ladyship's most obliged and faithful servant_,




I now set myself to obey your ladyship's second command, which is,
to give an account in what manner your dear brother broke to me the
affair of the unfortunate Miss Godfrey, with my behaviour upon it; and
this I cannot do better, than by transcribing scribing the relation I
gave at that time, in letters to my dear parents, which your ladyship
has not seen, in these very words.

[See Vol. I, p. 431, beginning "My dear Mr. B.," down to p. 441.]

Thus far, my dear lady, the relation I gave to my parents, at the time
of my being first acquainted with this melancholy affair.

It is a great pleasure to me, that I can already flatter myself, from
the hints you kindly gave me, that I behaved as you wished I should
behave. Indeed, Madam, I could not help it, for I pitied most
sincerely the unhappy lady; and though I could not but rejoice, that
I had had the grace to escape the dangerous attempts of the dear
intriguer, yet never did the story of any unfortunate lady make such
an impression upon me as hers did: she loved _him_, and believed, no
doubt, he loved _her_ too well to take ungenerous advantages of her
soft passion for him: and so, by degrees, put herself into his power;
and too seldom, alas I have the noblest-minded of the seducing sex the
mercy or the goodness to spare the poor creatures that do!

Then 'tis another misfortune of people in love; they always think
highly of the beloved object, and lowly of themselves, such a dismal
mortifier is love!

I say not this, Madam, to excuse the poor lady's fall; nothing can
do that; because virtue is, and ought to be, preferable to all
considerations, and to life itself. But, methinks, I love this dear
lady so well for the sake of her edifying penitence, that I would
fain extenuate her crime, if I could; and the rather, as in all
probability, it was a _first love_ on _both_ sides; and so he could
not appear to her as a _practised_ deceiver.

Your ladyship will see, by what I have transcribed, how I behaved
myself to the dear Miss Goodwin; and I am so fond of the little
charmer, as well for the sake of her unhappy mother, though personally
unknown to me, as for the relation she bears to the dear gentleman
whom I am bound to love and honour, that I must beg your ladyship's
interest to procure her to be given up to my care, when it shall be
thought proper. I am sure I shall act by her as tenderly as if I
was her own mother. And glad I am, that the poor unfaulty baby is so
justly beloved by Mr. B.

But I will here conclude this letter, with assuring your ladyship, and
I am _your obliged and humble servant,_




I now come to your ladyship's remarks on my conduct to Mrs. Jewkes:
which you are pleased to think too kind and forgiving considering the
poor woman's baseness.

Your ladyship says, that I ought not to have borne her in my sight,
after the impudent assistance she gave to his lewd attempts; much less
to have left her in her place, and rewarded her. Alas! my dear lady,
what could I do? a poor prisoner as I was made, for weeks together, in
breach of all the laws of civil society; without a soul who durst be
my friend; and every day expecting to be ruined and undone, by one of
the haughtiest and most determined spirits in the world!--and when it
pleased God to turn his heart, and incline him to abandon his wicked
attempts, and to profess honourable love to me, his poor servant, can
it be thought I was to insist upon conditions with such a gentleman,
who had me in his power; and who, if I had provoked him, might have
resumed all his wicked purposes against me?

Indeed, I was too much overjoyed, after all my dangers past (which
were so great, that I could not go to rest, nor rise, but with such
apprehensions, that I wished for death rather than life), to think of
refusing any terms that I could yield to, and keep my honour.

And though such noble ladies, as your ladyship and Lady Betty, who are
born to independency, and are hereditarily, as I may say, on a foot
with the highest-descended gentleman in the land, might have exerted
a spirit, and would have a right to choose your own servants, and to
distribute rewards and punishments to the deserving and undeserving,
at your own good pleasure; yet what had I, a poor girl, who owed even
my title to common notice, to the bounty of my late good lady, and had
only a kind of imputed sightliness of person, though enough to make
me the subject of vile attempts; who, from a situation of terror and
apprehension, was lifted up to an hope, beyond my highest ambition,
and was bid to pardon the bad woman, as an instance, that I could
forgive his own hard usage of me; who had experienced so often the
violence and impetuosity of his temper, which even his beloved mother
never ventured to oppose till it began to subside, and then, indeed,
he was all goodness and acknowledgment; of which I could give your
ladyship more than one instance.

What, I say, had I to do, to take upon me lady-airs, and to resent?
But, my dear ladies (let me, in this instance, bespeak the attention
of you both), I should be inexcusable, if I did not tell you all the
truth; and that is, that I not only forgave the poor wretch, in regard
to _his commands_, but from _my own inclination_ also. If I am wrong
in saying this, I must submit it to your ladyships; and, as I pretend
not to perfection, am ready to take the blame I deserve in your
ladyships' judgments: but indeed, were it to be again, I verily think,
I could not help forgiving her.--And were I not able to say this, I
should be thought to have made a mean court to my master's passions,
and to have done a wrong thing with my eyes open: which I humbly
conceive, no one should do.

When full power was given me over this poor creature (seemingly at
least, though it might possibly have been resumed, and I might have
been re-committed to hers, had I given him reason to think I made an
arrogant use of it), you cannot imagine what a triumph I had in my
mind over the mortified guilt, which (from the highest degree of
insolence and imperiousness, that before had hardened her masculine
features) appeared in her countenance, when she found the tables
likely to be soon turned upon her.

This change of behaviour, which at first discovered itself in a sullen
awe, and afterwards in a kind of silent respect, shewed me, what an
influence power had over her: and that when she could treat her late
prisoner, when taken into favour, so obsequiously, it was the less
wonder the bad woman could think it her duty to obey commands so
unjust, when her obedience to them was required from her master.

To be sure, if a look could have killed her, after some of her bad
treatment, she had been slain over and over, as I may say: but to
me, who was always taught to distinguish between the person and
the action, I could not hold my resentment against the poor passive
machine of mischief one day together, though her actions were so
odious to me.

I should indeed except that time of my grand trial when she appeared
so much a wretch to me, that I saw her not (even after two days that
she was kept from me) without great flutter and emotion of heart: and
I had represented to your brother before, how hard a condition it was
for me to forgive so much unwomanly wickedness.

But, my dear ladies, when I considered the latter in _one_ particular
light, I could the more easily forgive her; and _having_ forgiven
her, _bear her in my sight_, and act by her (as a consequence of that
forgiveness) as if she had not so horridly offended. Else how would it
have been forgiveness? especially as she was ashamed of her crime, and
there was no fear of her repeating it.

Thus then I thought on the occasion: "Poor wretched agent, for
purposes little less than infernal! I _will_ forgive thee, since _thy_
master and _my_ master will have it so. And indeed thou art beneath
the resentment even of such a poor girl as I. I will _pity_ thee,
base and abject as thou art. And she who is the object of my _pity_ is
surely beneath my _anger_."

Such were then my thoughts, my proud thoughts, so far was I from
being guilty of _intentional_ meanness in forgiving, at Mr. B.'s
interposition, the poor, low, creeping, abject _self_-mortified, and
_master_-mortified, Mrs. Jewkes.

And do you think, ladies, when you revolve in your thoughts, _who_ I
was, and _what_ I was, and what I had been _designed_ for; when you
revolve the amazing turn in my favour, and the prospects before me (so
much above my hopes, that I left them entirely to Providence to direct
for me, as it pleased, without daring to look forward to what those
prospects seemed naturally to tend); when I could see my haughty
persecutor become my repentant protector; the lofty spirit that used
to make me tremble, and to which I never could look up without awe,
except in those animating cases, where his guilty attempts, and the
concern I had to preserve my innocence, gave a courage more than
natural to my otherwise dastardly heart: when this impetuous spirit
could stoop to request one whom he had sunk beneath even her usual low
character of his servant, who was his prisoner, under sentence of a
ruin worse than death, as he had intended it, and had seized her for
that very purpose, could stoop to acknowledge the vileness of that
purpose; could say, at one time, that my forgiveness of Mrs. Jewkes
should stand me in greater stead than I was aware of: could tell her,
before me, that she must for the future shew me all the respect due
to one he must love; at another, acknowledged before her, that he
had been stark naught, and that I was very forgiving; again, to Mrs.
Jewkes, putting himself on a level with her, as to guilt, "We are
both in generous hands: and, indeed, if Pamela did not pardon _you_,
I should think she but half forgave _me_, because you acted by my
instructions:" another time to the same, "We have been both sinners,
and must be both included in one act of grace:"--when I was thus
lifted up to the state of a sovereign forgiver, and my lordly master
became a petitioner for himself, and the guilty creature, whom he put
under my feet; what a triumph was here for the poor Pamela? and could
I have been guilty of so mean a pride, as to trample upon the poor
abject creature, when I found her thus lowly, thus mortified, and
wholly in my power?

Then, my dear ladies, while I was enjoying the soul-charming fruits of
that innocence which the Divine Grace had enabled me to preserve, in
spite of so many plots and contrivances on my master's side, and such
wicked instigations and assistances on hers, and all my prospects were
improving upon me beyond my wishes; when all was unclouded sunshine,
and I possessed my mind in peace, and had only to be thankful to
Providence, which had been so gracious to my unworthiness; when I saw
my persecutor become my protector, my active enemy no longer my enemy,
but creeping with slow, doubtful feet, and speaking to me with awful
hesitating doubt of my acceptance; a stamp of an insolent foot
now turned into curtseying half-bent knees; threatening hands into
supplicating folds; and the eye unpitying to innocence, running
over with the sense of her own guilt; a faltering accent on her late
menacing tongue, and uplifted handkerchief, "I see she will be my
lady: and then I know how it will go with me!"--Was not this, my
ladies, a triumph of triumphs to the late miserable, now exalted,
Pamela!--could I do less than pardon her? And having declared that I
did so, was I not to shew the sincerity of my declaration?

Would it not have shewn my master, that the low-born Pamela was
incapable of a generous action, had she refused the only request her
humble condition had given her the opportunity of granting, at that
time, with innocence? Would he not have thought the humble cottager
as capable of insolence, and vengeance too, in her turn, as the better
born? and that she wanted but the power, to shew the like unrelenting
temper, by which she had so grievously suffered? And might not this
have given him room to think me (and to have resumed and prosecuted
his purposes accordingly) fitter for an arrogant kept mistress, than
an humble and obliged wife!

"I see" (might he not have said?), "the girl has strong passions and
resentments; and she that has, will be sometimes _governed_ by them.
I will improve upon the hint she herself has now given me, by her
inexorable temper: I will gratify her revenge, till I turn it upon
herself: I will indulge her pride, till I make it administer to
her fall; for a wife I cannot think of in the low-born cottager,
especially when she has lurking in her all the pride and arrogance"
(you know, my ladies, his haughty way of speaking of our sex) "of
the better descended. And by a little perseverance, and watching her
unguarded hours, and applying temptations to her passions, I shall
first discover them, and then make my advantage of them."

Might not this have been the language, and this the resolution, of
such a dear wicked intriguer?--For, my lady, you can hardly conceive
the struggles he apparently had to bring down his high spirit to so
humble a level. And though, I hope, all would have been, even in this
_worst_ case, ineffectual, through Divine Grace, yet how do I know
what lurking vileness might have appeared by degrees in this frail
heart, to encourage his designs, and to augment my trials and my
dangers? And perhaps downright violence might have been used, if he
could not, on one hand, have subdued his passions, nor, on the other,
have overcome his pride--a pride, that every one, reflecting upon the
disparity of birth and condition between us, would have dignified with
the name of _decency_; a pride that was become such an essential part
of the dear gentleman's character, in this instance of a wife, that
although he knew he could not keep it up, if he made _me_ happy, yet
it was no small motive of his choosing me, in one respect, because he
expected from me more humility, more submission, than he thought would
be paid him by a lady equally born and educated; and of this I will
send you an instance, in a transcription from that part of my
journal you have not seen, of his lessons to me, on my incurring
his displeasure by interposing between yourself and him in your
misunderstanding at the Hall: for, Madam, I intend to send, at times,
any thing I think worthy of your ladyship's attention, out of those
papers you were so kind as to excuse me from sending you in a lump,
and many of which must needs have appeared very impertinent to such

Thus (could your ladyship have thought it?) have I ventured upon a
strange paradox, that even this strongest instance of his debasing
himself, is not the weakest of his pride: and he ventured once at Sir
Simon Darnford's to say, in your hearing, as you may remember, that,
in his conscience, he thought he should hardly have made a tolerable
husband to any body but Pamela: and why? For the reasons you will
see in the inclosed papers, which give an account of the noblest and
earliest curtain-lecture that ever girl had: one of which is, that he
expects to be _borne_ with (_complied_ with, he meant) even when in
the wrong: another, that a wife should never so much as expostulate
with him, though he was in the wrong, till, by complying with all
he insisted upon, she should have shewn him, she designed rather to
convince him, for his _own_ sake, than for _contradiction's_ sake; and
then, another time, perhaps he might take better resolutions.

I hope, from what I have said, it will appear to your lady-ship,
and to Lady Betty too, that I am justified, or at least excused, in
pardoning Mrs. Jewkes.

But your dear brother has just sent me word, that supper waits for me:
and the post being ready to go off, I defer till the next opportunity
which I have to say as to these good effects: and am, in the mean

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