Chapter 5

It seemeth that _Ralph Hewlett_, shocked at my Teares and the Alteration in my Looks, broughte back a dismall Report of me to deare _Father_ and _Mother_, pronouncing me either ill or unhappie. Thereupon, _Richard_, with his usuall Impetuositie, prevayled on _Father_ to let him and _Ralph_ fetch me Home for a While, at leaste till after _Michaelmasse_.

How surprised was I to see _Dick_ enter! My Arms were soe fast about his Neck, and my Face prest soe close to his Shoulder, that I did not for a While perceive the grave Looke he had put on. At the last, I was avised to ask what broughte him soe unexpectedlie to _London_; and then he hemmed and looked at _Ralph_, and _Ralph_ looked at _Dick_, and then _Dick_ sayd bluntly, he hoped Mr. _Milton_ woulde spare me to go Home till after _Michaelmasse_, and _Father_ had sent him on Purpose to say soe. Mr. _Milton_ lookt surprised and hurte, and sayd, how could he be expected to part soe soone with me, a Month's Bride? it must be some other Time: he had intended to take me himselfe to _Forest Hill_ the following Spring, but coulde not spare Time now, nor liked me to goe without him, nor thought I should like it myself. But my Eyes said I _shoulde_, and then he gazed earnestlie at me and lookt hurt; and there was a dead Silence. Then _Dick_, hesitating a little, sayd he was sorrie to tell us my _Father_ was ill; on which I clasped my Hands and beganne to weepe; and Mr. _Milton_, changing Countenance, askt sundrie Questions, which _Dick_ answered well enough; and then said he woulde not be soe cruel as to keepe me from a Father I soe dearlie loved, if he were sick, though he liked not my travelling in such unsettled Times with so young a Convoy. _Ralph_ sayd they had brought _Diggory_ with them, who was olde and steddy enough, and had ridden my _Mother's_ Mare for my Use; and _Dick_ was for our getting forward a Stage on our Journey the same Evening, but Mr. _Milton_ insisted on our abiding till the following Morn, and woulde not be overruled. And gave me leave to stay a Month, and gave me Money, and many kind Words, which I coulde mark little, being soe overtaken with Concern about dear _Father_, whose Illness I feared to be worse than _Dick_ sayd, seeing he seemed soe close and dealt in dark Speeches and Parables. After Dinner, they went forth, they sayd, to look after the Horses, but I think to see _London_, and returned not till Supper.

We got them Beds in a House hard by, and started at earlie Dawn.

Mr. _Milton_ kissed me most tenderlie agayn and agayn at parting, as though he feared to lose me; but it had seemed to me soe hard to brook the Delay of even a few Hours when _Father_, in his Sicknesse, was wanting me, that I took leave of my Husband with less Affection than I mighte have shewn, and onlie began to find my Spiritts lighten when we were fairly quit of _London_, with its vile Sewers and Drains, and to breathe the sweete, pure Morning Ayre, as we rode swiftlie along. _Dick_ called _London_ a vile Place, and spake to _Ralph_ concerning what they had seen of it overnighte, whence it appeared to me, that he had beene pleasure-seeking more than, in _Father's_ state, he ought to have beene. But _Dick_ was always a reckless Lad;--and oh, what Joy, on reaching this deare Place, to find _Father_ had onlie beene suffering under one of his usual Stomach Attacks, which have no Danger in them, and which _Dick_ had exaggerated, fearing Mr. _Milton_ woulde not otherwise part with me;--I was a little shocked, and coulde not help scolding him, though I was the gainer; but he boldlie defended what he called his "Stratagem of War," saying it was quite allowable in dealing with a _Puritan_.

As for _Robin_, he was wild with Joy when I arrived; and hath never ceased to hang about me. The other Children are riotous in their Mirth. Little _Joscelyn_ hath returned from his Foster-mother's Farm, and is noe longer a puny Child--'tis thought he will thrive. I have him constantly in my Arms or riding on my Shoulder; and with Delight have revisited alle my olde Haunts, patted _Clover_, etc. Deare _Mother_ is most kind. The Maids as oft call me Mrs. _Molly_ as Mrs. _Milton_, and then smile, and beg Pardon. _Rose_ and _Agnew_ have been here, and have made me promise to visit _Sheepscote_ before I return to _London_. The whole House seems full of Glee.

_Monday_.

It seemes quite strange to heare _Dick_ and _Harry_ singing loyal Songs and drinking the _King's_ Health after soe recentlie hearing his M. soe continuallie spoken agaynst. Also, to see a Lad of _Robin's_ Age, coming in and out at his Will, doing aniething or nothing; instead of being ever at his Taskes, and looking at Meal-times as if he were repeating them to himselfe. I know which I like best.

A most kind Letter from Mr. _Milton_, hoping _Father_ is better, and praying for News of him. How can I write to him without betraying _Dick_? _Robin_ and I rode, this Morning, to _Sheepscote_. Thoughte Mr. _Agnew_ received me with unwonted Gravitie. He tolde me he had received a Letter from my Husband, praying News of my Father, seeing I had sent him none, and that he had writ to him that _Father_ was quite well, never had been better. Then he sayd to me he feared Mr. _Milton_ was labouring under some false Impression. I tolde him trulie, that _Dick_, to get me Home, had exaggerated a trifling Illness of _Father's_, but that I was guiltlesse of it. He sayd _Dick_ was inexcusable, and that noe good End coulde justifie a Man of Honour in overcharging the Truth; and that, since I was innocent, I shoulde write to my Husband to clear myself. I said briefly, I woulde; and I mean to do soe, onlie not to-daye. Oh, sweet countrie Life! I was made for you and none other. This riding and walking at one's owne free Will, in the fresh pure Ayre, coming in to earlie, heartie, wholesome Meals, seasoned with harmlesse Jests,--seeing fresh Faces everie Daye come to the House, knowing everie Face one meets out of Doores,--supping in the Garden, and remaining in the Ayre long after the Moon has risen, talking, laughing, or perhaps dancing,--if this be not Joyfulnesse, what is?

For certain, I woulde that Mr. _Milton_ were here; but he woulde call our Sports mistimed, and throw a Damp upon our Mirth by not joining in it. Soe I will enjoy my Holiday while it lasts, for it may be long ere I get another--especiallie if his and _Father's_ Opinions get wider asunder, as I think they are doing alreadie. My promised Spring Holiday may come to nothing.

_Monday_.

My Husband hath writ to me strangelie, chiding me most unkindlie for what was noe Fault of mine, to wit, _Dick's_ Falsitie; and wondering I can derive anie Pleasure from a Holiday so obtayned, which he will not curtayl, but will on noe Pretence extend. Nay! but methinks Mr. _Milton_ presumeth somewhat too much on his marital Authoritie, writing in this Strayn. I am no mere Child neither, nor a runaway Wife, nor in such bad Companie, in mine own Father's House, where he firste saw me; and, was it anie Fault of mine, indeed, that _Father_ was not ill? or can I wish he had beene? No, truly!

This Letter hath sorelie vexed me. Dear _Father_, seeing me soe dulle, askt me if I had had bad News. I sayd I had, for that Mr. _Milton_ wanted me back at the Month's End. He sayd, lightlie, Oh, that must not be, I must at all Events stay over his Birthdaye, he could not spare me sooner; he woulde settle all that. Let it be soe then--I am content enoughe.

To change the Current of my Thoughts, he hath renewed the Scheme for our Visit to Lady _Falkland_, which, Weather permitting, is to take Place tomorrow. 'Tis long since I have seene her, soe I am willing to goe; but she is dearer to _Rose_ than to me, though I respect her much.

_Wednesday_.

The whole of Yesterday occupyde with our Visit. I love Lady _Falkland_ well, yet her religious Mellanchollie and Presages of Evil have left a Weight upon my Spiritts. To-daye, we have a Family Dinner. The _Agnews_ come not, but the _Merediths_ doe, we shall have more Mirthe if less Wit. My Time now draweth soe short, I must crowd into it alle the Pleasure I can; and in this, everie one conspires to help me, saying, "Poor _Moll_ must soon return to _London_." Never was Creature soe petted or spoylt. How was it there was none of this before I married, when they might have me alwaies? ah, therein lies the Secret. Now, we have mutuallie tasted our Losse.

_Ralph Hewlett_, going agayn to Town, was avised to ask whether I had anie Commission wherewith to charge him. I bade him tell Mr. _Milton_ that since we should meet soe soone, I need not write, but would keep alle my News for our Fire-side. _Robin_ added, "Say, we cannot spare her yet," and _Father_ echoed the same.

But I begin to feel now, that I must not prolong my Stay. At the leaste, not beyond _Father's_ Birthday. My Month is hasting to a Close.

_Sept. 21, 1643_.

Battle at _Newbury--_Lord _Falkland_ slayn. Oh, fatal Loss! _Father_ and _Mother_ going off to my Lady: but I think she will not see them. Aunt and Uncle _Hewlett_, who brought the News, can talk of nothing else.

_Sept. 22, 1643_.

Alle Sadnesse and Consternation. I am wearie of bad News, public and private, and feel less and less Love for the Puritans, yet am forced to seem more loyal than I really am, soe high runs party Feeling just now at Home.

My Month has passed!

_Sept. 28, 1643_.

A most displeased Letter from my Husband, minding me that my Leave of Absence hath expired, and that he likes not the Messages he received through _Ralph_, nor the unreasonable and hurtfulle Pastimes which he finds have beene making my quiet Home distastefulle. Asking, are they suitable, under Circumstances of nationall Consternation to _my owne_ Party, or seemlie in soe young a Wife, apart from her Husband? To conclude, insisting, with more Authoritie than Kindnesse, on my immediate Return.

With Tears in my Eyes, I have beene to my Father. I have tolde him I must goe. He sayth, Oh no, not yet. I persisted, I must, my Husband was soe very angry. He rejoined, What, angry with my sweet _Moll_? and for spending a few Days with her old Father? Can it be? hath it come to this alreadie? I sayd, my Month had expired. He sayd, Nonsense, he had always askt me to stay over _Michaelmasse_, till his Birthday; he knew _Dick_ had named it to Mr. _Milton_. I sayd, Mr. _Milton_ had taken no Notice thereof, but had onlie granted me a Month. He grew peevish, and said, "Pooh, pooh!" Thereat, after a Silence of a Minute or two, I sayd yet agayn, I must goe. He took me by the two Wrists and sayd, Doe you wish to go? I burst into Teares, but made noe Answer. He sayd, That is Answer enough,--how doth this Puritan carry it with you, my Child? and snatched his Letter. I sayd, Oh, don't read that, and would have drawn it back; but _Father_, when heated, is impossible to controwl; therefore, quite deaf to Entreaty, he would read the Letter, which was unfit for him in his chafed Mood; then, holding it at Arm's Length, and smiting it with his Fist,--Ha! and is it thus he dares address a Daughter of mine? (with Words added, I dare not write)--but be quiet, _Moll_, be at Peace, my Child, for he shall not have you back for awhile, even though he come to fetch you himself. The maddest Thing I ever did was to give you to this Roundhead. He and _Roger Agnew_ talked me over with soe many fine Words.--What possessed me, I know not. Your Mother always said evil woulde come of it. But as long as thy Father has a Roof over his Head, Child, thou hast a Home.

As soone as he woulde hear me, I begged him not to take on soe, for that I was not an unhappy Wife; but my Tears, he sayd, belied me; and indeed, with Fear and Agitation, they flowed fast enough. But I sayd, I _must_ goe home, and wished I had gone sooner, and woulde he let _Diggory_ take me! No, he sayd, not a Man Jack on his Land shoulde saddle a Horse for me, nor would he lend me one, to carry me back to Mr. _Milton_; at the leaste not for a While, till he had come to Reason, and protested he was sorry for having writ to me soe harshly.

"Soe be content, _Moll_, and make not two Enemies instead of one. Goe, help thy Mother with her clear-starching. Be happy whilst thou art here."

But ah! more easily said than done. "Alle Joy is darkened; the Mirthe of the Land is gone!"

_Michaelmasse Day_.

At Squire _Paice's_ grand Dinner we have been counting on soe many Days; but it gave me not the Pleasure expected.

_Oct. 13, 1643_.

The Weather is soe foul that I am sure Mr. _Milton_ woulde not like me to be on the Road, even would my Father let me goe.

--While writing the above, heard very angrie Voices in the Courtyard, my Father's especiallie, louder than common; and distinguished the Words "Knave," and "Varlet," and "begone." Lookt from my Window and beheld a Man, booted and cloaked, with two Horses, at the Gate, parleying with my Father, who stood in an offensive Attitude, and woulde not let him in. I could catch such Fragments as, "But, Sir?" "What! in such Weather as this?" "Nay, it had not overcast when I started." "'Tis foul enough now, then." "Let me but have speech of my Mistress." "You crosse not my Threshold." "Nay, Sir, if but to give her this Letter:"--and turning his Head, I was avised of its being _Hubert_, old Mr. _Milton's_ Man; doubtless sent by my Husband to fetch me. Seeing my Father raise his Hand in angrie Action (his Riding-whip being in it), I hasted down as fast as I coulde, to prevent Mischiefe, as well as to get my Letter; but, unhappilie, not soe fleetlie as to see more than _Hubert's_ flying Skirts as he gallopped from the Gate, with the led Horse by the Bridle; while my Father flinging downe the torne Letter, walked passionatelie away. I clasped my Hands, and stood mazed for a while,--was then avised to piece the Letter, but could not; onlie making out such Words as "Sweet _Moll_," in my Husband's Writing.

_Oct. 14, 1643_.

_Rose_ came this Morning, through Rain and Mire, at some Risk as well as much Inconvenience, to intreat of me, even with Teares, not to vex Mr. _Milton_ by anie farther Delays, but to return to him as soon as possible. Kind Soule, her Affection toucht me, and I assured her the more readilie I intended to return Home as soone as I coulde, which was not yet, my Father having taken the Matter into his own Hands, and permitting me noe Escort; but that I questioned not, Mr. _Milton_ was onlie awaiting the Weather to settle, to fetch me himself. That he will doe so, is my firm Persuasion. Meanwhile, I make it my Duty to joyn with some Attempt at Cheerfullenesse in the Amusements of others, to make my Father's Confinement to the House less irksome; and have in some Measure succeeded.

_Oct. 23, 1643_.

Noe Sighte nor Tidings of Mr. _Milton_.--I am uneasie, frighted at myself, and wish I had never left him, yet hurte at the Neglect. _Hubert_, being a crabbed Temper, made Mischief on his Return, I fancy. _Father_ is vexed, methinks, at his owne Passion, and hath never, directlie, spoken, in my Hearinge, of what passed; but rayleth continuallie agaynst Rebels and Roundheads. As to _Mother_,--ah me!

_Oct. 24, 1643_.

Thro' dank and miry Lanes and Bye-roads with _Robin_, to _Sheepscote_.

Waiting for _Rose_ in Mr. _Agnew's_ small Studdy, where she mostlie sitteth with him, oft acting as his Amanuensis, was avised to take up a printed Sheet of Paper that lay on the Table; but finding it to be of _Latin_ Versing, was about to laye it downe agayn, when _Rose_ came in. She changed Colour, and in a faltering Voice sayd, "Ah, _Cousin_, do you know what that is? One of your Husband's Proofe Sheets. I woulde that it coulde interest you in like manner as it hath me." Made her noe Answer, laying it aside unconcernedlie, but secretlie felt, as I have oft done before, how stupid it is not to know _Latin_, and resolved to get _Robin_ to teach me. He is noe greate Scholar himselfe, soe will not shame me.--I am wearie of hearing of War and Politicks; soe will try Studdy for a while, and see if 'twill cure this dull Payn at my Heart.

_Oct. 28, 1643_.

_Robin_ and I have shut ourselves up for three Hours dailie, in the small Book-room, and have made fayre Progresse. He liketh his Office of Tutor mightilie.

_Oct. 31, 1643_.

My Lessons are more crabbed, or I am more dull and inattentive, for I cannot fix my Minde on my Book, and am secretlie wearie, _Robin_ wearies too. But I will not give up as yet; the more soe as in this quiete Studdy I am out of Sighte and Hearinge of sundrie young Officers _Dick_ is continuallie bringing over from _Oxford_, who spend manie Hours with him in Countrie Sports, and then come into the House, hungry, thirstie, noisie, and idle. I know Mr. _Milton_ woulde not like them.

--Surelie he will come soone?--I sayd to _Father_ last Night, I wanted to hear from Home. He sayd, "Home! Dost call yon Taylor's Shop your Home?" soe ironicalle that I was shamed to say more.

Woulde that I had never married!--then coulde I enjoy my Childhoode's Home. Yet I knew not its Value before I quitted it, and had even a stupid Pleasure in anticipating another. Ah me! had I loved Mr. _Milton_ more, perhaps I might better have endured the Taylor's Shop.

_Sheepscote, Nov. 20, 1643_.

Annoyed by _Dick's_ Companions, I prayed _Father_ to let me stay awhile with _Rose_; and gaining his Consent, came over here Yester-morn, without thinking it needfulle to send Notice, which was perhaps inconsiderate. But she received me with Kisses and Words of Tendernesse, though less Smiling than usualle, and eagerlie accepted mine offered Visitt. Then she ran off to find _Roger_, and I heard them talking earnestlie in a low Voice before they came in. His Face was grave, even stern, when he entred, but he held out his Hand, and sayd, "Mistress _Milton_, you are welcome! how is it with you? and how was Mr. _Milton_ when he wrote to you last?" I answered brieflie, he was well: then came a Silence, and then _Rose_ took me to my Chamber, which was sweet with Lavender, and its hangings of the whitest. It reminded me too much of my first Week of Marriage, soe I resolved to think not at all lest I shoulde be bad Companie, but cheer up and be gay. Soe I askt _Rose_ a thousand Questions about her Dairie and Bees, laught much at Dinner, and told Mr. _Agnew_ sundrie of the merrie Sayings of _Dick_ and his _Oxford_ Friends. And, for my Reward, when we were afterwards apart, I heard him tell _Rose_ (by Reason of the Walls being thin) that however she might regard me for old Affection's sake, he thought he had never knowne soe unpromising a character. This made me dulle enoughe all the rest of the Evening, and repent having come to _Sheepscote_: however, he liked me the better for being quiete: and _Rose_, being equallie chekt, we sewed in Silence while he read to us the first Division of _Spencer's Legend of Holinesse_, about _Una_ and the Knight, and how they got sundered. This led to much serious, yet not unpleasing, Discourse, which lasted till Supper. For the first Time at _Sheepscote_, I coulde not eat, which Mr. _Agnew_ observing, prest me to take Wine, and _Rose_ woulde start up to fetch some of her Preserves; but I chekt her with a Motion, not being quite able to speak; for their being soe kind made the Teares ready to starte, I knew not why.

Family Prayers, after Supper, rather too long; yet though I coulde not keep up my Attention, they seemed to spread a Calm and a Peace alle about, that extended even to me; and though, after I had undressed, I sat a long while in a Maze, and bethought me how piteous a Creature I was, yet, once layed down, I never sank into deeper, more composing Sleep.

_Nov. 21,1643_.

This Morning, _Rose_ exclaimed, "Dear _Roger_! onlie think! _Moll_ has begun to learn _Latin_ since she returned to _Forest Hill_, thinking to surprise Mr. _Milton_ when they meet." "She will not onlie surprise but _please_ him," returned dear _Roger_, taking my Hand very kindlie; "I can onlie say, I hope they will meet long before she can read his _Poemata_, unless she learnes much faster than most People." I replyed, I learned very slowly, and wearied _Robin's_ Patience; on which _Rose_, kissing me, cried, "You will never wearie mine; soe, if you please, deare _Moll_, we will goe to our Lessons here everie Morning; and it may be that I shall get you through the Grammar faster than _Robin_ can. If we come to anie Difficultie we shall refer it to _Roger_."

Now, Mr. _Agnew's_ Looks exprest such Pleasure with both, that it were difficult to tell which felt the most elated; soe calling me deare _Moll_ (he hath hitherto Mistress _Miltoned_ me ever since I sett Foot in his House), he sayed he would not interrupt our Studdies, though he should be within Call, and soe left us. I had not felt soe happy since _Father's_ Birthday; and, though _Rose_ kept me close to my Book for two Hours, I found her a far less irksome Tutor than deare _Robin_. Then she went away, singing, to make _Roger's_ favourite Dish, and afterwards we took a brisk Walke, and came Home hungrie enoughe to Dinner.

There is a daily Beauty in _Rose's_ Life, that I not onlie admire, but am readie to envy. Oh! if _Milton_ lived but in the poorest House in the Countrie, methinks I coulde be very happy with him.

_Bedtime_.

Chancing to make the above Remark to _Rose_, she cried, "And why not be happy with him in _Aldersgate Street_?" I briefly replied that he must get the House first, before it were possible to tell whether I coulde be happy there or not. _Rose_ started, and exclaimed, "Why, where do you suppose him to be now?" "Where but at the Taylor's in _Bride's Churchyard_?" I replied. She claspt her Hands with a Look I shall never forget, and exclaimed in a Sort of vehement Passion, "Oh, _Cousin, Cousin_, how you throw your own Happinesse away! How awfulle a Pause must have taken place in your Intercourse with the Man whom you promised to abide by till Death, since you know not that he has long since taken Possession of his new Home; that he strove to have it ready for you at _Michaelmasse_!"

Doubtlesse I lookt noe less surprised than I felt;--a suddain Prick at the Heart prevented Speech; but it shot acrosse my Heart that I had made out the Words "_Aldersgate_" and "new Home," in the Fragments of the Letter my Father had torn. _Rose_, misjudging my Silence, burst forth anew with, "Oh, _Cousin_! _Cousin_! coulde anie Home, however dull and noisesome, drive me from _Roger Agnew_? Onlie think of what you are doing,--of what you are leaving undone!--of what you are preparing against yourself! To put the Wickednesse of a selfish Course out of the Account, onlie think of its Mellancholie, its Miserie,--destitute of alle the sweet, bright, fresh Well-springs of Happinesse;--unblest by _God_!"

Here _Rose_ wept passionatelie, and claspt her Arms about me; but, when I began to speak, and to tell her of much that had made me miserable, she hearkened in motionlesse Silence, till I told her that _Father_ had torn the Letter and beaten the Messenger. Then she cried, "Oh, I see now what may and shall be done! _Roger_ shall be Peacemaker," and ran off with Joyfulnesse; I not withholding her. But I can never be joyfulle more--he cannot be Day's-man betwixt us now--'tis alle too late!

_Nov. 28, 1643_.

Now that I am at _Forest Hill_ agayn, I will essay to continue my Journalling.--