Chapter 12

I askt Nurse how there came to have beene a Separation betweene Father and Mother, soone after their Marriage. She made Answer, she never could understand the Rights of it, having beene before her Time; but they were both so good, and tenderly affectioned, she never could believe there had beene anie reall Wrong on either Side. She always thought my Grandmother must have promoted the Misunderstanding. Men were seldom fond of their Mothers-in-law. He was very kind to the whole Family the Winter before _Anne_ was born, when, but for him, they would not have had a Roof over their Heads. Old Mr. _Powell_ died in this House, the very Day before _Christmas_, which cast a Gloom over alle, insomuch that my Mother would never after keep _Christmas Eve_; and, as none of the Puritans did, they were alle of a Mind. My other Grandfather dropt off a few Months after; he was very fond of Mother. At this time Grandmother was going to Law for her Widow's Thirds, which was little worth the striving for, except to One soe extreme poor. Yet, spite of Gratitude and Interest, she must quarrel with Father, and remove herself from his House; which even her own Daughter thought very wrong. Howbeit, Mother would have her first Child baptized after her; and sent her alle the little Helps she could from her owne Purse, from Time to Time, with Father's Privity and Concurrence. He woulde have his next Girl called _Mary_, after Mother; though the Name _she_ went by with him was "Sweet _Moll_;"--'tis now always "Poor _Moll_," or "Your Mother." Her health fayled about that Time, and they summered at _Forest Hill_--a Place she was always hankering after; but when she came back she told Nurse she never wished to see it agayn, 'twas soe altered. Father's Sight was, meantime, getting worse and worse. She read to him, and wrote for him often. He had become _Cromwell's_ Secretary, and had received the public Thanks of the Commonwealth. . . . Great as his Reputation was at Home, 'twas greater Abroad; and Foreigners came to see him, as they still occasionally doe, from all Parts. My Mother not onlie loved him, but was proud of him. All her Pleasures were in Home. From my Birth to that of the little Boy who died, her Health and Spiritts were good; after that they failed; but she always tried to be chearfull with Father. She read her _Bible_ much, and was good to the Poor. Nurse says 'twas almost miraculous how much Good she did at how little Cost, except of Forethought and Trouble; and all soe secretlie. She began to have an Impression she was for an early Grave, but did not seem to lament it. One Night, Nurse being beside her, awoke her from what she supposed an uneasie Dream, as she was crying in her Sleep; but as soone as she oped her Eyes, she looked surprised, and said it was a Vision of Peace. She thought the Redeemer of alle Men had been talking with her. Face to Face, as a Man talketh with his Friend, and that she had fallen at his Feet in grateful Joy, and was saying, "Oh! I can't express . . . I can't express--"

About a Week after, she dyed, without any particular Warning, except a short Prick or two at the Heart. My Father was by. 'Twas much talked of at the Time, she being soe young.

Discoursing of this and that, 'twas Midnight ere we went to Bed.

_Chalfont_.

ARRIVED at last; after what a Journey! _Ned_ had sent me Word Overnight to expect, this Forenoon, a smart young Cavalier, on a fine prancing Steed, with rich Accoutrements. Howbeit, Cousin is neither smart nor handsome; and, at the Time specifyde, there was brought up to the Door an old white Horse, blind of one Eye, with an aquiline Nose, and, I should think, eight Feet high. The Bridle was diverse from the Pillion, which was finely embroidered, but tarnish, with the Stuffing oozing out in severall Places. Howbeit, 'twas the onlie Equipage to be hired in the Ward, for Love or Money . . . so _Ned_ sayd. . . . And he had a huge Pair of gauntlett Gloves, a Whip, that was the smartest Thing about him, and a kind of Vizard over his Nose and Mouth, which, he sayd, was to prevent his being too alluring; but I know 'twas to ward off Infection. I had meant to be brave; and Nurse and I had brushed up the green camblet Skirt, but the rent Mother had made in it would show; however, Nurse thought that, when I was up she could conceal it with a Corking-pin. Thus appointed, _Ned_ led the Way, saying, the onlie Occasion on which a Gentleman needed not to excuse himself to a Lady for going first, was when they were to ride a Pillion. Noe more jesting when once a-Horseback; for, after pacing through a few deserted Streets, we found ourselves amidst such a Medly of Carts, Coaches, and Wagons, full of People and Goods, all pouring out of Town, that _Ned_ had enough to do to keep cleare of 'em, and of the Horsemen and empty Vehicles coming back for fresh Loads. Dear Heart! what jostling, cursing, and swearing! And how awfull the Cause! Houses padlocked and shuttered wherever we passed, and some with red Crosses on the Doors. At the first Turnpike 'twas worst of all--a complete Stoppage; Men squabbling, Women crying, and much good Daylight wasted. Howbeit, _Ned_ desired me to keep my Mouth shut, my Eyes open, and to trust to his good Care; and, by Dint of some shrewd Pilotage, weathered the Strait; after which, our old Horse, whose Paces, to do him Justice, proved very easie, took longer Steps than anie other on the Road, by which Means we soon got quit of the Throng; onlie, we continuallie gained on fresh Parties,--some dreadfully overloaded, some knocked up alreadie, some baiting at the Roadside, and many of the poorer Sort erecting 'emselves rude Tents and Cabins under the Hedges. Soon I began to rejoyce in the green Fields, and sayd how sweet was the Air; and _Ned_ sayd, "Ah!--a Brick-kiln," and signed at one with his Whip. But I knew the Wind came t'other Way; and e'en Bricks are better than dead Rats.

Half-way to _Amersham_ found _Hob Carter's_ Wagon, with Father's Organ in't, sticking in the Hedge, without Man or Horse; and, by-and-by, came upon _Hob_ himself, with a Party, carousing. _Ned_ gave it him well, and sent him back at double-quick Time. 'Twas too bad. He had left Town overnight, and promised to be at _Chalfont_ by Noon. I should have beene fain to keep him in Advance of us; howbeit, we were forct to leave him in the Rear; and, about two Miles beyond _Amersham_, we turned off the high Road into a country Lane, which soon brought us to a small retired Hamlet, shaded with Trees, and surrounded with pleasant Meadows and Orchards, which was no other than _Chalfont_. There was Mother near the Gate, putting some fine Things to bleach on a Sweetbriar-hedge. _Ned_ stopt to chat with her, and learn where he might put his Horse, while I went to seek Father; and soon found him, sitting up in a strait Chair, outside the Garden-door. Sayd, kissing him, "Dear Father, how is't with you? Are you comfortable here?"

"Anything but that," replies he, very shortlie. "I am not in any Way at my Ease in this Place. I can get no definite Notion of what 'tis like, and what Notion I have is unfavourable. To finish all, they have stuck me up here, like a Bottle in the Smoke."

"But here is a Cushion for you," quoth I, running in and back agayn; "and I will set your Seat in the Sun, and out of the Wind, and put your Staff within Reach."

"Thanks, dear _Deb_. And now, look about, Child, and tell me, with Precision, what the Place is like."

Soe I told him 'twas an irregular two-storied Tenement, parcel Wood, parcel Brick, with a deep Roof of old Tiles that had lost their Colour, and were curiouslie variegated with green and yellow Moss; and that the Eaves were dentilled, with Birds' Nests built in 'em, and a big Honeysuckle growing to the upper Floor; and there was a great and a little Gable, and a heavy Chimney-stack; a Casement of four Compartments next the Door, and another of two over it; four Lattice-windows at t'other End. In Front, a steep Meadow, enamelled with King-cups and Blue-bells; alongside the Gable-end, a Village Road, with deep Cart-ruts, and Hawthorn Hedges. Onlie one small Dwelling at hand, little better than a crazy Haystack; Sheep in the Field, Bees in the Honeysuckle; and a little rippling Rivulet flowing on continually.

"Why, now you have sett me quite at Ease!" cries he, turning his bright Eyes thankfully towards the Sky. "I begin to like the Place, and to bless the warm Sun and pure Air. Ha! so there is a rippling Rivulet, that floweth on continually! . . . Lord, forgive me for my peevish Petulance . . . for forgetting that I could still hear the Lark sing her Morning Hymn, scent the Meadow-sweet and new-mown Hay, detect the Bee at his Industry, and the Woodpecker at his Mischief, discern the Breath of Cows, and hear the Lambs bleat, and the Rivulet ripple continually! Come! let us go and seek _Ned_."

And, throwing his Arm about me, draws me to him, saying, "This is my best Walking-stick," and steps forward briskly and fearlessly.

Truly, I think _Ned_ loves him as though he were his own Father; and, indeed, he hath scarce known any other. Kissing his Hand reverently, he says,--"Honoured _Nunks_, how fares it with you? Do you like _Chalfont_?"

"Indeed I do, _Ned_," responds Father heartily. "'Tis a little _Zoar_, whither I and my fugitive Family have escaped from the wicked City; and, I thank God, my Wife has no Mind to look back."

"We may as well go in now," says Mother.

"No, no," says Father; "I feel there is an Hour of Summer's Sunset still left. We will abide where we are, and keep as long as we can out of the Smell of your Soapsuds. . . . Let's sit upon the Ground."

"And tell strange Stories of the Deaths of Kings," says _Ned_, laughing,

"That was the Saying, _Ned_, of one who writ much well, and much amiss."

"Let's forgive what he writ amiss, for the Sake of what he writ well," says _Ned_.

"That will I never," says Father. "If paltry Wits cannot be holy and witty at the same Time, that does not hold good with nobler Spiritts. . . . If it did, they had best never be witty at all. Thy Brother _Jack_ hath yet to learn that Strength is not Coarseness."

_Ned_ softly hummed--

"Sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's Child!"

"Ah! you may quote me against myself," says Father; "you may quote _Beza_ against _Beza_, and _Erasmus_ against _Erasmus_; but that will not shake the eternal Laws of Purity and Truth. But, mind you, _Ned_, never did anie reach a more lofty or tragic Height than this Child of Fancy; never did any represent Nature more purely to the Life; and e'en where the Polishments of Art are most wanting in him, he pleaseth with a certain wild and native Elegance."

"And what have you now in Hand, Uncle?" _Ned_ asks.

"_Firmianus Chlorus_," says Father. "But I don't find Much in him."

"I mean, what of your own?"

"Oh!" laughing; "Things in Heaven, _Ned_, and Things on Earth, and Things under the Earth. The old Story, whereof you have alreadie seen many Parcels; but, you know, my Vein ne'er flows so happily as from the autumnal to the vernal Equinox. Howbeit, there is Something in the Quality of this Air would arouse the old Man of _Chios_ himself."

"Sure," cries _Ned_, "you have less Need than any blind Man to complayn, since you have but closed your Eyes on Earth to look on Heaven!"

Father paused; then, stedfastly, in Words I've since sett down, sayd:--

"When I consider how my Light is spent, Ere half my Days, in this dark World and wide, And that one Talent, which is Death to hide, Lodged with me useless, though my Soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true Account, lest He, returning, chide; 'Doth God exact Day-labour, Light denied?' I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent That Murmur, soon replies,--'God doth not need. Either Man's Work, or his own Gifts. Who best Bear his mild Yoke, they serve him best. His State Is kingly; Thousands at his Bidding speed, And post o'er Land and Ocean without Rest, They also serve who only stand and wait.'"

. . . We were all quiet enough for a while after this . . . _Ned_ onlie breathing hard, and squeezing Father's Hand. At length, Mother calls from the House, "Who will come in to Strawberries and Cream?"

"Ah!" says Father, "that is not an ill Call. And when we have discussed our neat Repast, thou, _Ned_, shalt touch the Theorbo, and let us hear thy balmy Voice. Time was, when thou didst sing like a young Chorister."

. . . Just as we were returning to the House, _Mary_ ran forth, crying, "Oh, _Deb_! you have not seen our Cow. She has just been milked, and is being turned out, even now, to the Pasture. See, there she is; but all the Others have gone out of Sight, over the Hill."

Mother observed, "Left to herself, she will go, her own Calf speedily seeking."

"My Dear," says Father, "that's a Hexameter: do try to make another."

"Indeed, Mr. _Milton_, I know nothing of Hexameters or Hexagons either: 'tis enough for me to keep all straight and tight. Let's to Supper."

_Anne_ had crushed his Strawberries, and mixed them with Cream, and now she put his Spoon into his Hand, saying, in jest, "Father, this is Angels' Food, you know. I Have pressed the Meath from many a Berry, and tempered dulcet Creams."

"Hush, you Rogue," says he; "_Ned_ will find us out."

"Is Uncle still at his great Work?" whispers Cousin to Mother.

"Indeed, I know not if you call it such," she replies, in the same Undertone. "He hath given over all those grand Things with hard Names, that used to make him so notable abroad, and so esteemed by his own Party at Home; and now only amuses himself by making the _Bible_ a Peg to hang his Idlenesse upon."

Sure what a Look _Ned_ gave her! Fearful lest Father should overhear (for Blindness quickens the other Senses), he runs up to the Bookshelf, and cries, "Why, Uncle, you have brought down Plenty of Entertainment with you! Here are _Plato, Xenophon_, and _Sallust, Homer_ and _Euripides, Dante_ and _Petrarch, Chaucer_ and _Spenser_, . . . and . . . oh, oh! you read Plays sometimes, though you were so hard upon _Shakspeare_. . . . Here's 'La Scena Tragica d' _Adamo_ ed _Eva_,' dedicated to the Duchess of _Mantua_."

"Come away from that Corner, _Ned,"_ says Father; "there's a Rat behind the Books; he will bite your Fingers--I hear him scratching now. You had best attack your Strawberries."

"I think this Sort will preserve well," says Mother. "_Betty_, in 'lighting from the Coach, must needs sett her Foot on the only Pot of Preserve I had left; which she had stuffed under the Seat, instead of carrying it, as she was bidden, in her Hand."

"How fine it is, though," says Father, laughing, "to peacock it in a Coach now and then! _Pavoneggiarsi in un Cocchio_! Only, except for the Bravery of it, I doubt if little _Deb_ were not better off on her Pillion. I remember, on my Road to _Paris_, the Bottom of the Caroche fell out; and there sate I, with _Hubert_, who was my Attendant, with our Feet dangling through. Even the grave _Grotius_ laughed at the Accident."

"Was _Grotius_ grave?" says _Ned_.

"Believe me, he was," says Father. "He had had Enough to make him so. One feels taller in the Consciousness of having known such a Man. He was great in practical! Things; he was also a profound Scholar, though he made out the fourth Kingdom in _Daniel's_ Prophecy to be the Kingdoms of the _Lagidae_ and the _Seleucidae_; which, you know, _Ned_, could not possibly be."

Chatting thus of this and that, we idled over Supper, had some Musick, and went to Bed. And soe much for the only Guest we are like to have for some Months.

_Anne_ told me, at Bed-time, of the Journey down. The Coach, she sayd, was most uncomfortable, Mother having so over-stuffed it. For her Share, she had a Knife-box under her Feet, a Plate-basket at her Back, a Bird-cage bobbing over her Head, and a Lapfull of Crockery-ware. Providentially, _Betty_ turned squeamish, and could not ride inside, soe she was put upon the Box, to the great Comfort of all within. Father, at the Outset, was chafed and captious, but soon settled down, improved the Circumstances of the Times, made Jokes on Mother, recalled old Journies to _Buckinghamshire_, and, finally, set himself to silent Self-communion, with a pensive Smile on his Face, which, as _Anne_ said, let her know well enow what he was about. Arrived at _Chalfont_, her first Care was to make him comfortable; while Mother, _Mary_, and _Betty_ were turning the House upside down; and in this her Care, she so well succeeded, that, to her Dismay, he bade her take Pen and Ink, and commenced dictating to her as composedly as if they were in _Bunhill Fields_. This was somewhat inopportune, for every Thing was to seek and to set in Order; and, indeed, Mother soon came in, all of a Heat, and sayd, "I wonder, my Dear, you can keep _Nan_ here, at such idling, when she has her Bed to make, and her Box to unpack." Father let her go without a Word, and sate in peacefull Cogitation all the Rest of the Evening--the only Person at Leisure in the House. Howbeit, the next Time he heard Mother chiding--which was after Supper--at _Anne_, for trying to catch a Bat, which was a Creature she longed to look at narrowly, he sayd, "My Dear, we should be very cautious how we cut off another Person's Pleasures. 'Tis an easy Thing to say to them, 'You are wrong or foolish,' and soe check them in their Pursuit; but what have we to give them that will compensate for it? How many harmless Refreshments and Refuges from sick or tired Thought may thus be destroyed! We may deprive the Spider of his Web, and the Robin of his Nest, but can never repair the Damage to them. Let us live, and let live; leave me to hunt my Butterfly, and _Anne_ to catch her Bat."

Our Life here is most pleasant. Father and I pass almost the whole of our Time in the open Air--he dictating, and I writing; while Mother and _Mary_ find 'emselves I know not whether more of Toyl or Pastime, within Doors,--washing, brewing, baking, pickling, and preserving; to say Nought of the Dairy, which supplies us with endless Variety of Country Messes, such as Father's Soul loveth. 'Tis well we have this Resource, or our Bill of Fare would be somewhat meagre; for the Butcher kills nothing but Mutton, except at _Christ-mass_. Then, we make our own Bread, for we now keep strict Quarantine, the Plague having now so much spread, that there have e'en been one or two Cases in _Chalfont_. The only One to seek for Employment has been poor _Anne_, whose great Resources at Home have ever been Church-going and visiting poor Folk. She can do neither here, for we keep close, even on the Sabbath; and she can neither read to Father, take long, lonely Rambles, nor help Mother in her Housewifery. Howbeit, a Resource hath at length turned up; for the lonely Cot (which is the only Dwelling within Sight) has become the Refuge of a poor, pious Widow, whose only Daughter, a Weaver of Gold and Silver Lace, has been thrown out of Employ by the present Stagnation of all Business. _Anne_ picked up an Acquaintance with 'em shortly after our coming; and, being by Nature a Hoarder, in an innocent Way, so as always to have a few Shillings by her for charitable Uses, when _Mary_ and I have none, she hath improved her Commerce with _Joan Elliott_ to that Degree, as to get her to teach her her pretty Business, at the Price of the Contents of her little Purse. So these two sit harmoniously at their Loom, within Earshot of Father and me, while he dictates to me his wondrous Poem. We are nearing the End of it now, and have reached the Reconciliation of _Adam_ and _Eve_, which, I think, affected him a good deal, and abstracted his Mind all the Evening; for why, else, should he have so forgotten himself as to call me sweet _Moll_? . . . _Mary_ lookt up, thinking he meant her; but he never calls her _Moll_ or _Molly_; and, I believe, was quite unaware he had done so to me: but it showed the Course his Mind was taking.

This Morning, I was straying down a Blackthorn Lane, when a blue-eyed, fresh-coloured young Lady, in a sad-coloured Skirt, and large-flapped Beaver, without either Feather or Buckle, swept by me on a small white Palfrey. She held a Bunch of Tiger Lilies in her Hand, the gayety of which contrasted strangelie enow with her sober Apparell; and I wondered why a peculiar Classe of Folks should deem they please God by wearing the dullest of Colours, when He hath arrayed the Flowers of the Field in the liveliest of Hues. Somehow, I conceited her to be Mistress _Gulielma Springett_--and so, indeed, she proved; for, on reaching Home after a lengthened Ramble, I saw the Tiger Lilies lying on the Table, and found she had spent a full Hour with Father, who much relished her Talk. Sure, she might have brought a blind Man Flowers that had some Fragrance, however dull of hue.

To-day, as we were sitting under the Hedge, we heard a rough Voice shouting, "Hoy! hoy! what are you about there?" To which another Man's Voice, just over against us, deprecatingly replied, "No Harm, I promise you, Master. . . . We have clean Bills of Health; and my Wife and I, Foot-sore and hungry, do but Purpose to set up our little Cabin against the Bank, till the Sabbath is overpast."

"But you must set it up Somewhere else," cries the other, who was the _Chalfont_ Constable; "for we _Chalfont_ Folks are very particular, and can't have Strangers come harbouring here in our Highways and Hedges,--dying, and making themselves disagreeable."

"But we don't mean to die or be disagreeable," says the other. "We are on our Way to my Wife's Parish; and, sure, you cannot stop us on the King's Highway."

"Oh! but we can, though," says the Constable. "And, besides, this is not the King's Highway, but only a Bye-way, which is next to private Property; and the Gentleman at present in Occupation of that private Property will be highly and justly offended if you go to give him the Plague."

"That's me," says Father. "Do tell him, _Deb_, not to be so hard on the poor People, but to let them abide where they are till the Sabbath is over. I dare say they have clean Bills of Health, as they state, and the Spot is so lonely, they need not be denied Fire and Water, which is next to Excommunication."

So I parleyed with _John Constable_, and he parleyed with the Travellers, who really had Passports, and seemed Honest as well as Sound. So they were permitted, without Let or Hindrance, to erect their little Booth; and in a little while they had collected Sticks enough to light a Fire, the Smoke of which annoyed us not, because we were to Windward.

"What have we for Dinner To-day?" says Father.

"A cold Shoulder of Mutton," says Mother, who had thrown 'em a couple of Cabbages.

"Well," says Father, "'twas to a cold Shoulder of Mutton that _Samuel_ set down _Saul_; and what was good enough for a Prophet may well content a Poet. I propose, that what we leave of ours To-day, should be given to these poor People for their Sabbath's Dinner; and I, for one, shall eat no Meat To-day."

In fact, none did but _Mary_ and Mother, who find fasting not good for their Stomachs; soe _Anne_, who is the most fearlesse of us all, handed the Joint over to them, with some broken Bread and Dripping, which was most thankfully received. In Truth, I believe them harmless People, for they are now a singing Psalms.