ed 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_

PAMELA.

LETTER IV

MY DEAREST FATHER AND MOTHER,

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 yo