Chapter 8

_Dick_ beginneth to fancie himself in Love with _Audrey Paice--_an Attachment that will doe him noe good: his Tastes alreadie want raising, and she will onlie lower them, I feare,--a comely, romping, noisie Girl, that, were she but a Farmer's Daughter, woulde be the Life and Soul of alle the Whitsun-ales, Harvest-homes, and Hay-makings in the Country: in short, as fond of idling and merrymaking as I once was myself: onlie I never was soe riotous.

I beginne to see Faults in _Dick_ and _Harry_ I never saw before. Is my Taste bettering, or my Temper worsenning? At alle Events, we have noe cross Words, for I expect them not to alter, knowing how hard it is to doe soe by myself.

I look forward with Pleasure to my _Sheepscote_ Visitt. Dear _Mother_ returneth to-morrow. Good Dr. _Taylor_ hath twice taken the Trouble to walk over from _Oxford_ to see me, but he hath now left, and we may never meet agayn. His Visitts have beene very precious to me: I think he hath some Glimmering of my sad Case: indeed, who knows it not? At parting he sayd, smiling, he hoped he should yet hear of my making Offerings to _Viriplaca_ on _Mount Palatine_; then added, gravelie, "You know where reall Offerings may be made and alwaies accepted--Offerings of spare Half-hours and Five-minutes, when we shut the Closet Door and commune with our own Hearts and are still." Alsoe he sayd, "There are Sacrifices to make which sometimes wring our very Hearts to offer; but our gracious _God_ accepts them neverthelesse, if our Feet be really in the right Path, even though, like _Chryseis_, we look back, weeping."

He sayd . . . But how manie Things as beautifulle and true did I hear my Husband say, which passed by me like the idle Wind that I regarded not!

_Sept. 8, 1644_.

_Harry_ hath just broughte in the News of his Majesty's Success in the West. Lord _Essex's_ Army hath beene completely surrounded by the royal Troops; himself forct to escape in a Boat to _Plymouth_, and all the Arms, Artillerie, Baggage, etc., of _Skippon's_ Men have fallen into the Hands of the King. _Father_ is soe pleased that he hath mounted the Flag, and given double Allowance of Ale to his Men.

I wearie to hear from _Robin_.

_Sheepscote, Oct. 10, 1644_.

How sweete a Picture of rurall Life did _Sheepscote_ present, when I arrived here this Afternoon! The Water being now much out, the Face of the Countrie presented a new Aspect: there were Men threshing the Walnut Trees, Children and Women putting the Nuts into Osier Baskets, a Bailiff on a white Horse overlooking them, and now and then galloping to another Party, and splashing through the Water. Then we found Mr. _Agnew_ equallie busie with his Apples, mounted half Way up one of the Trees, and throwing Cherry Pippins down into _Rose's_ Apron, and now and then making as though he would pelt her: onlie she dared him, and woulde not be frightened. Her Donkey, chewing Apples in the Corner, with the Cider running out of his Mouth, presented a ludicrous Image of Enjoyment, and 'twas evidently enhanct by _Giles'_ brushing his rough Coat with a Birch Besom, instead of minding his owne Businesse of sweeping the Walk. The Sun, shining with mellow Light on the mown Grass and fresh dipt Hornbeam Hedges, made even the commonest Objects distinct and cheerfulle; and the Air was soe cleare, we coulde hear the Village Childreh afar off at theire Play.

_Rose_ had abundance of delicious new Honey in the Comb, and Bread hot from the Oven, for our earlie Supper. _Dick_ was tempted to stay too late; however, he is oft as late, now, returning from _Audrey Paice_, though my Mother likes it not.

_Oct. 15, 1644_.

_Rose_ is quite in good Spiritts now, and we goe on most harmoniouslie and happilie. Alle our Tastes are now in common; and I never more enjoyed this Union of Seclusion and Society. Besides, Mr. _Agnew_ is more than commonlie kind, and never speaks sternlie or sharplie to me now. Indeed, this Morning, looking thoughtfullie at me, he sayd, "I know not_, Cousin_, what Change has come over you, but you are now alle that a wise Man coulde love and approve." I sayd, It must be owing then to Dr. _Jeremy Taylor_, who had done me more goode, it woulde seeme, in three Lessons, than he or Mr. _Milton_ coulde imparte in thirty or three hundred. He sayd he was inclined to attribute it to a higher Source than that; and yet, there was doubtlesse a great Knack in teaching, and there was a good deal in liking the Teacher. He had alwaies hearde the Doctor spoken of as a good, pious, and clever Man, though rather too high a Prelatist. I sayd, "There were good Men of alle Sorts: there was Mr. _Milton_, who woulde pull the Church down; there was Mr. _Agnew_, who woulde onlie have it mended; and there was Dr. _Jeremy Taylor_, who was content with it as it stoode." Then _Rose_ askt me of the puritanicall Preachers. Then I showed her how they preached, and made her laugh. But Mr. _Agnew_ woulde not laugh. But I made him laugh at last. Then he was angrie with himself and with me; only not very angry; and sayd, I had a Right to a Name which he knew had beene given me, of "cleaving Mischief." I knew not he knew of it, and was checked, though I laught it off.

_Oct. 16, 1644_.

Walking together, this Morning, _Rose_ was avised to say, "Did Mr. _Milton_ ever tell you the Adventures of the _Italian_ Lady?" "Rely on it he never did," sayd Mr. _Agnew.--"Milton_ is as modest a Man as ever breathed--alle Men of first class Genius are soe." "What was the Adventure?" I askt, curiouslie. "Why, I neede not tell you, _Moll_, that _John Milton_, as a Youth, was extremelie handsome, even beautifull. His Colour came and went soe like a Girl's, that we of _Christ's_ College used to call him 'the Lady,' and thereby annoy him noe little. One summer Afternoone he and I and young _King_ (_Lycidas_, you know) had started on a country Walk, (the Countrie is not pretty, round _Cambridge_) when we met in with an Acquaintance whom Mr. _Milton_ affected not, soe he sayd he would walk on to the first rising Ground and wait us there. On this rising Ground stood a Tree, beneath which our impatient young Gentleman presentlie cast himself, and, having walked fast, and the Weather being warm, soon falls asleep as sound as a Top. Meantime, _King_ and I quit our Friend and saunter forward pretty easilie. Anon comes up with us a Caroche, with something I know not what of outlandish in its Build; and within it, two Ladies, one of them having the fayrest Face I ever set Eyes on, present Companie duly excepted. The Caroche having passed us, _King_ and I mutuallie express our Admiration, and thereupon, preferring Turf to Dust, got on the other Side the Hedge, which was not soe thick but that we could make out the Caroche, and see the Ladies descend from it, to walk up the Hill. Having reached the Tree, they paused in Surprise at seeing _Milton_ asleep beneath it; and in prettie dumb Shew, which we watcht sharplie, exprest their Admiration of his Appearance and Posture, which woulde have suited an _Arcadian_ well enough. The younger Lady, hastilie taking out a Pencil and Paper, wrote something which she laughinglie shewed her Companion, and then put into the Sleeper's Hand. Thereupon, they got into their Caroche, and drove off. _King_ and I, dying with Curiositie to know what she had writ, soon roused our Friend and possest ourselves of the Secret. The Verses ran thus. . . .

Occhi, Stelle mortali, Ministre de miei Mali, Se, chiusi, m' uccidete, Aperti, che farete?

"_Milton_ coloured, crumpled them up, and yet put them in his Pocket; then askt us what the Lady was like. And herein lay the Pleasantry of the Affair; for I truly told him she had a Pear-shaped Face, lustrous black Eyes, and a Skin that shewed '_il bruno il bel non toglie_;' whereas, _King_, in his Mischief, drew a fancy Portrait, much liker you, _Moll_, than the Incognita, which hit _Milton's_ Taste soe much better, that he was believed for his Payns; and then he declared that I had beene describing the Duenna! . . . Some Time after, when _Milton_ beganne to talk of visiting _Italy_, we bantered him, and sayd he was going to look for the Incognita. He stoode it well, and sayd, 'Laugh on! do you think I mind you? Not a Bit.' I think he did."

Just at this Turn, Mr. _Agnew_ stumbled at something in the long Grass. It proved to be an old, rustic Horse-pistol. His Countenance changed at once from gay to grave. "I thought we had noe such Things hereabouts yet," cried he, viewing it askance.--"I suppose I mighte as well think I had found a Corner of the Land where there was noe originall Sin." And soe, flung it over the Hedge.

----First class Geniuses are alwaies modest, are they?--Then I should say that young _Italian_ Lady's Genius was not of the first Class.

_Oct. 19, 1644_.

Speaking, to-day, of Mr. _Waller_, whom I had once seen at Uncle _John's_, Mr. _Agnew_ sayd he had obtayned the Reputation of being one of our smoothest Versers, and thereupon brought forth one or two of his small Pieces in Manuscript, which he read to _Rose_ and me. They were addrest to the Lady _Dorothy Sydney_; and certainlie for specious Flatterie I doe not suppose they can be matcht; but there is noe Impress of reall Feeling in them. How diverse from my Husband's Versing! He never writ anie mere Love-verses, indeede, soe far as I know; but how much truer a Sence he hath of what is reallie beautifulle and becoming in a Woman than Mr. _Waller_! The Lady _Alice Egerton_ mighte have beene more justlie proud of the fine Things written _for_ her in _Comus_, than the Lady _Dorothea_ of anie of the fine Things written _of_ her by this courtier-like Poet. For, to say that Trees bend down in homage to a Woman when she walks under them, and that the healing Waters of _Tonbridge_ were placed there by Nature to compensate for the fatal Pride of _Sacharissa_, is soe fullesome and untrue as noe Woman, not devoured by Conceite, coulde endure; whereas, the Check that Villanie is sensible of in the Presence of Virtue, is most nobly, not extravagantlie, exprest by _Comus_. And though my Husband be almost too lavish, even in his short Pieces, of classic Allusion and Personation, yet, like antique Statues and Busts well placed in some statelie Pleasaunce, they are alwaies appropriate and gracefulle, which is more than can be sayd of Mr. _Waller's_ overstrayned Figures and Metaphors.

_Oct. 20, 1644_.

News from Home: alle well. _Audrey Paice_ on a Visitt there. I hope _Mother_ hath not put her into my Chamber, but I know that she hath sett so manie Trays full of Spearmint, Peppermint, Camomiles, and Poppie-heads in the blue Chamber to dry, that she will not care to move them, nor have the Window opened lest they shoulde be blown aboute. I wish I had turned the Key on my ebony Cabinett.

_Oct. 24, 1644_.

_Richard_ and _Audrey_ rode over here, and spent a noisie Afternoone. _Rose_ had the Goose dressed which I know she meant to have reserved for to-morrow. _Clover_ was in a Heat, which one would have thoughte he needed not to have beene, with carrying a Lady; but _Audrey_ is heavie. She treats _Dick_ like a boy; and, indeede he is not much more; but he is quite taken up with her. I find she lies in the blue Chamber, which she says smells rarelie of Herbs. They returned not till late, after sundrie Hints from Mr. _Agnew_.

_Oct. 27, 1644_.

Alas, alas, _Robin's_ Silence is too sorrowfullie explained! He hath beene sent Home soe ill that he is like to die. This Report I have from _Diggory_, just come over to fetch me, with whom I start, soe soone as his Horse is bated. _Lord_, have Mercie on _Robin_.

The Children are alle sent away to keep the House quiete.

_At Robin's Bedside, Saturday Night_.

Oh, woefulle Sight! I had not known that pale Face, had I met it unawares. So thin and wan,--and he hath shot up into a tall Stripling during the last few Months. These two Nights of Watching have tried me sorelie, but I would not be witholden from sitting up with him yet agayn--what and if this Night should be his last? how coulde I forgive myself for sleeping on now and taking my Rest? The first Night, he knew me not; yet it was bitter-sweet to hear him chiding at sweet _Moll_ for not coming. Yesternight he knew me for a While, kissed me, and _fell_ into an heavie Sleepe, with his Hand locked in mine. We hoped the Crisis was come; but 'twas not soe. He raved much of a Man alle in red, riding hard after him. I minded me of those Words, "The Enemy sayd, I will overtake, I will pursue,"--and, noe one being by, save the unconscious Sufferer, I kneeled down beside him, and most earnestlie prayed for his Deliverance from all spirituall Adversaries. When I lookt up, his Eyes, larger and darker than ever, were fixt on me with a strange, wistfulle Stare, but he spake not. From that Moment he was quiete.

The Doctor thought him rambling this Morning, though I knew he was not, when he spake of an Angel in a long white Garment watching over him and kneeling by him in the Night.

_Sunday Evening_.

Poor _Nell_ sitteth up with _Mother_ to-night--right thankfulle is she to find that she can be of anie Use: she says it seems soe strange that she should be able to make any Return for my Kindnesse. I must sleep to-night, that I may watch to-morrow. The Servants are nigh spent, and are besides foolishlie afrayd of Infection. I hope _Rose_ prays for me. Soe drowsie and dulle am I, as scarce to be able to pray for myself.

_Monday_.

_Rose_ and Mr. _Agnew_ come to abide with us for some Days. How thankfulle am I! Tears have relieved me.

_Robin_ worse to-day. _Father_ quite subdued. Mr. _Agnew_ will sit up to-night, and insists on my sleeping.

_Crab_ howled under my Window yesternight as he did before my Wedding. I hope there is nothing in it. _Harry_ got up and beat him, and at last put him in the Stable.

_Tuesday_.

After two Nights' Rest, I feel quite strengthened and restored this Morning. Deare _Rose_ read me to sleep in her low, gentle Voice, and then lay down by my Side, twice stepping into _Robin's_ Chamber during the Night, and bringing me News that all was well. Relieved in Mind, I slept heavilie nor woke till late. Then, returned to the sick Chamber, and found _Rose_ bathing dear _Robin's_ Temples with Vinegar, and changing his Pillow--his thin Hand rested on Mr. _Agnew_, on whom he lookt with a composed, collected Gaze. Slowlie turned his Eyes on me, and faintlie smiled, but spake not.

Poor dear _Mother_ is ailing now. I sate with her and _Father_ some Time; but it was a true Relief when _Rose_ took my Place and let me return to the sick Room. _Rose_ hath alreadie made several little Changes for the better; improved the Ventilation of _Robin's_ Chamber, and prevented his hearing soe manie Noises. Alsoe, showed me how to make a pleasant cooling Drink, which he likes better than the warm Liquids, and which she assures me he may take with perfect Safetie.

_Same Evening_.

_Robin_ vext, even to Tears, because the Doctor forbids the use of his cooling Drink, though it hath certainlie abated the Fever. At his Wish I stept down to intercede with the Doctor, then closetted with my Father, to discourse, as I supposed, of _Robin's_ Symptoms. Insteade of which, found them earnestlie engaged on the never-ending Topick of Cavaliers and Roundheads. I was chafed and cut to the Heart, yet what can poor _Father_ do; he is useless in the Sick-room, he is wearie of Suspense, and 'tis well if publick Affairs can divert him for an odd Half-hour.

The Doctor would not hear of _Robin_ taking the cooling Beverage, and warned me that his Death woulde be upon my Head if I permitted him to be chilled: soe what could I doe? Poor _Robin_ very impatient in consequence; and raving towards Midnight. _Rose_ insisted in taking the last Half of my Watch.

I know not that I was ever more sorelie exercised than during the first Half of this Night. _Robin_, in his crazie Fit, would leave his Bed, and was soe strong as nearlie to master _Nell_ and me, and I feared I must have called _Richard_. The next Minute he fell back as weak as a Child: we covered him up warm, and he was overtaken either with Stupor or Sleep. Earnestlie did I pray it might be the latter, and conduce to his healing. Afterwards, there being writing Implements at Hand, I wrote a Letter to Mr. _Milton_, which, though the Fancy of sending it soon died away, yet eased my Mind. When not in Prayer, I often find myself silently talking to him.

_Wednesday_.

Waking late after my scant Night's Rest, I found my Breakfaste neatlie layd out in the little Ante-chamber, to prevent the Fatigue of going down Stairs. A Handfulle of Autumn Flowers beside my Plate, left me in noe Doubt it was _Rose's_ doing; and Mr. _Agnew_ writing at the Window, tolde me he had persuaded my Father to goe to _Shotover_ with _Dick_. Then laying aside his Pen, stept into the Sick-chamber for the latest News, which was good: and, sitting next me, talked of the Progress of _Robin's_ Illness in a grave yet hopefulle Manner; leading, as he chieflie does, to high and unearthlie Sources of Consolation. He advised me to take a Turn in the fresh Ayr, though but as far as the two Junipers, before I entered _Robin's_ Chamber, which, somewhat reluctantlie, I did; but the bright Daylight and warm Sun had no good Effect on my Spiritts: on the Contrarie, nothing in blythe Nature seeming in unison with my Sadnesse, Tears flowed without relieving me.

----What a solemne, pompous Prigge is this Doctor! He cries "humph!" and "aye!" and bites his Nails and screws his Lips together, but I don't believe he understands soe much of Physick, after alle, as Mr. _Agnew_.

_Father_ came Home fulle of the Rebels' Doings, but as for me, I shoulde hear them thundering at our Gate with Apathie, except insofar as I feared their distressing _Robin_.

_Audrey_ rode over with her Father, this Morn, to make Enquiries. She might have come sooner had she meant to be anie reall Use to a Family she has thought of entering. Had _Rose_ come to our Help as late in the Day, we had been poorlie off.

_Thursday_.

May _Heaven_ in its Mercy save us from the evil Consequence of this new Mischance!--_Richard_, jealous at being allowed so little Share in nursing _Robin_, whom he sayd he loved as well as anie did, would sit up with him last Night, along with _Mother_. Twice I heard him snoring, and stept in to prevail on him to change Places, but coulde not get him to stir. A third Time he fell asleep, and, it seems, _Mother_ slept too; and _Robin_, in his Fever, got out of Bed and drank near a Quart of colde Water, waking _Dick_ by setting down the Pitcher. Of course the Bustle soon reached my listening Ears. _Dick_, to do him Justice, was frightened enough, and stole away to his Bed without a Word of Defence; but poor _Mother_, who had been equallie off her Watch, made more Noise about it than was good for _Robin_; who, neverthelesse, we having warmlie covered up, burst into a profuse Heat, and fell into a sound Sleep, which hath now holden him manie Hours. Mr. _Agnew_ augureth favourablie of his waking, but we await it in prayerfulle Anxietie.

----The Crisis is past! and the Doctor sayeth he alle along expected it last Night, which I cannot believe, but _Father_ and _Mother_ doe. At alle Events, praised be _Heaven_, there is now hope that deare _Robin_ may recover. _Rose_ and I have mingled Tears, Smiles, and Thankgivings; Mr. _Agnew_ hath expressed Gratitude after a more collected Manner, and endeavoured to check the somewhat ill-governed Expression of Joy throughout the House; warning the Servants, but especiallie _Dick_ and _Harry_, that _Robin_ may yet have a Relapse.

With what Transport have I sat beside dear _Robin's_ Bed, returning his fixed, earnest, thankfulle Gaze, and answering the feeble Pressure of his Hand!--Going into the Studdy just now, I found _Father_ crying like a Child--the first Time I have known him give Way to Tears during _Robin's_ Ilnesse. Mr. _Agnew_ presentlie came in, and composed him better than I coulde.

_Saturday_.

_Robin_ better, though still very weak. Had his Bed made, and took a few Spoonfuls of Broth.

_Sunday_.

A very different Sabbath from the last. Though _Robin's_ Constitution hath received a Shock it may never recover, his comparative Amendment fills us with Thankfulnesse; and our chastened Suspense hath a sweet Solemnitie and Trustfullenesse in it, which pass Understanding.

Mr. _Agnew_ conducted our Devotions. This Morning, I found him praying with _Robin_--I question if it were for the first Time. _Robin_ looking on him with eyes of such sedate Affection!

_Thursday_.

_Robin_ still progressing. Dear _Rose_ and Mr. _Agnew_ leave us to-morrow, but they will soon come agayn. Oh faithful Friends!

* * * * * *

_April, 1646_.

Can Aniething equall the desperate Ingratitude of the human Heart? Testifie of it, Journall, agaynst me. Here did I, throughout the incessant Cares and Anxieties of _Robin's_ Sicknesse, find, or make Time, for almoste dailie Record of my Trouble; since which, whole Months have passed without soe much as a scrawled Ejaculation of Thankfullenesse that the Sick hath beene made whole.

Yet, not that that Thankfullenesse hath beene unfelt, nor, though unwritten, unexprest. Nay, O _Lord_, deeplie, deeplie have I thanked thee for thy tender Mercies. And he healed soe slowlie, that Suspense, as 'twere, wore itself out, and gave Place to a dull, mournful Persuasion that an Hydropsia would waste him away, though more slowlie, yet noe less surelie than the Fever.

Soe Weeks lengthened into Months, I mighte well say Years, they seemed soe long! and stille he seemed to neede more Care and Tendernesse; till, just as he and I had learnt to say, "Thy Will, O _Lord_, be done," he began to gain Flesh, his craving Appetite moderated, yet his Food nourished him, and by _God's_ Blessing he recovered!

During that heavie Season of Probation, our Hearts were unlocked, and we spake oft to one another of Things in Heaven and Things in Earth. Afterwards, our mutuall Reserves returned, and _Robin_, methinks, became shyer than before, but there can never cease to be a dearer Bond between us. Now we are apart, I aim to keep him mindfulle of the high and holie Resolutions he formed in his Sicknesse; and though he never answers these Portions of my Letters, I am avised to think he finds them not displeasing.

Now that _Oxford_ is like to be besieged, my Life is more confined than ever; yet I cannot, and will not leave _Father_ and _Mother_, even for the _Agnews_, while they are soe much harassed. This Morning, my Father hath received a Letter from Sir _Thomas Glemham_, requiring a larger Quantitie of winnowed Wheat, than, with alle his Loyaltie, he likes to send.

_April 23, 1646_.

_Ralph Hewlett_ hath just looked in to say, his Father and Mother have in Safetie reached _London_, where he will shortlie joyn them, and to ask, is there anie Service he can doe me? Ay, truly; one that I dare not name--he can bring me Word of Mr. _Milton_, of his Health, of his Looks, of his Speech, and whether . . .

_Ralph_ shall be noe Messenger of mine.

_April 24, 1646_.

Talking of Money Matters this Morning, _Mother_ sayd Something that brought Tears into mine Eyes. She observed, that though my Husband had never beene a Favourite of hers, there was one Thing wherein she must say he had behaved generously: he had never, to this Day, askt _Father_ for the 500 pounds which had brought him, in the first Instance, to _Forest Hill_, (he having promised old Mr. _Milton_ to try to get the Debt paid,) and the which, on his asking for my Hand, _Father_ tolde him shoulde be made over sooner or later, in lieu of Dower.