"All the foolish work
Of fancy, and the bitter close of all."
Tennyson.
"On all the sweet smile falleth
Of Him who loveth so,
But to one the sweet voice calleth,
`Arise, and let us go;
They wait to welcome thee,
This night, at Home, with Me.'"
"B.M."
(_In Milisent's handwriting_.)
SELWICK HALL, FEBRUARY YE II.
This day was called of old time _Candlemas_, by reason of the great
number of candles, saith _Father_, which were brent afore the altar at
the Purification of Saint _Mary_. Being an holy day, all we to church
this morrow, after the which I was avised to begin my chronicling.
And afore I set down anything else, 'tis meet I should say that I do now
see plain how I have played the fool, and have erred exceedingly. I
would not think now to tear forth those pages I writ this last
_November_, though they be such a record of folly and sin as few maids
should need to set down. I would rather keep them, that I may see in
future days all the ill that was once in _Milisent Louvaine_, and all
the great mercy and goodness which the Lord my God did show me.
Oh, the bitter anger that was in mine heart that night toward dear Aunt
_Joyce_!--who, next unto _Father_ and _Mother_, hath been to me as an
angel of God. For had she not stopped me in my madness, where and what
had I been to-night? I can scarce bear to think on it. Perchance I
feel it the more, sith I am ever put in mind thereof by the woefully
changed face of poor _Blanche_--_Blanche_, but three months gone the
merriest of us all, and now looking as though she should never know a
day's merriment again. Her whole life seems ruined: and Dr _Bell_, the
chirurgeon at _Keswick_, told _Mother_ but yesterday that _Blanche_
should not live long. She hath, said he, a leaning of her nature toward
the consumption of the lungs, the which was greatly worsened by those
days that she hid in the copse, fearing to come home, until Aunt _Joyce_
went to her.
And to think that I might have been thus now--with nought but a wasted
life to look back on, and nought to look forward to but a rapid and
early death! And to know well, as I do know, that I have but mine own
headstrong foolery to thank for the danger, and am far from having any
wisdom of mine to thank for the rescue. Verily, I should be the
humblest of women, all the days of my life.
Oh, when will young maids learn, without needing to have it brent into
them of hot irons, that they which have dwelt forty or sixty years in
this world be like to know more about its ways than they that have lived
but twenty; or that their own fathers and mothers, which have loved and
cared for them since they lay in the cradle, be not like to wreck their
happiness, even for a while, without they have good cause! Of force, I
know 'tis not every maid hath such a father and mother as we--thank God
for the same!--but I do think, nevertheless, there be few mothers that
be good women at all, which should not be willing to have their
daughters bring their sorrows and joys to them, rather than pour them
into the ear of the first man that will flatter them. I have learned,
from Aunt _Joyce_, that there is oft a deal more in folk than other folk
reckon, and that if we come not on the soft spot in a woman's heart,
'tis very commonly by reason that we dig not deep enough. Howbeit, Aunt
_Joyce_ saith there be women that have no hearts. The good Lord keep
them out of my path, if His will be!
SELWICK HALL, FEBRUARY YE V.
This morrow, we maids were sat a-work in the great chamber, where was
Aunt _Joyce_ a-work likewise, and _Mother_ coming in and out on her
occasions. _Father_ was there, but he was wrapped in a great book that
lay afore him. I cannot well mind how we gat on the matter, but Aunt
_Joyce_ 'gan speak of the blunders that men do commonly make when they
speak of women.
"Why," saith she, "we might be an other sort of animal altogether,
instead of the one half of themselves. Do but look you what I have
heard men to say in my life. A woman's first desire is to be wed;
that's not true but of some women, and they be the least worthy of the
sex. A woman can never keep a secret: that's not true but of some. A
woman can never take a joke: that's as big a falsehood as _Westminster_
Abbey. A woman cannot understand reason and logic: that's as big an one
as all _England_. Any woman can keep a house or manage a babe: heyday,
can she so? I know better. Poor loons, what should they say if we made
as great blunders touching them? And an other thing I will tell you
which hath oft-times diverted me: 'tis the queer ways whereby a man will
look to win favour of a woman. Nine men of every ten will suppose they
shall be liked of a woman for telling her (in substance) that she is as
good as if she had not been one. Now, that should set the man that did
it out of my grace for ever and ever."
"How mean you, _Aunt_, an' it like you?" saith _Nell_.
"Why, look you here," saith Aunt _Joyce_. "But this last week, said I
to Master _Coward_, touching somewhat he had said, `But,' said I, `that
were not just.' Quoth he, `How, my mistress!--you a woman, and love
justice?' Again: there was once a companion would fain have won me to
wed him. When I said `Nay,' (and meant it), quoth he, `Oh, a maid doth
never say yea at the first.' And I do believe that both these thought
to flatter me. If they had but known how I longed to shake them! For
look you what the words meant. A woman is never just: a woman is never
sincere. And the dolts reckon it shall please us to know that they take
us for such fools! Verily, I would give a pretty penny but to make them
conceive that the scrap of flattery which they do offer to my particular
is utterly swamped in the vast affront which they give to my sex in the
general. But you shall rarely see a man to guess that. Moreover, there
be two other points. Mark you how a man shall serve a woman, if he come
to know that she hath the tongues [knows the classical languages]. Doth
he take it as he should with an other man? Never a whit. He treats the
matter as though an horse should read _English_, or a cat play the
spinnet. What right hath he to account my brains so much worser than
his (I being the same creature as he) that I cannot learn aught he can?
`So mean-brained a thing as a woman to know as much as any man!' I
grant you, he shall not say such words: but he shall say words that mean
it. And then, forsooth, he shall reckon he hath paid me a compliment!
I trow no woman should have brains as dull as that. And do tell me,
belike, why a man that can talk right good sense to his fellows, shall
no sooner turn him around to a woman, than he shall begin to chatter the
veriest nonsense? It doth seem me, that a man never thinks of any woman
but the lowest quality. He counts her loving, if you will; but alway
foolish, frothy, witless. He'll take every one of you for that make of
woman, till he find the contrary. Oh, these men! these men!"
"Ah!" saith _Father_. "I feel myself one of the inferior sex."
"_Aubrey_, what business hast thou hearkening?" quoth she. "I thought
thou wert lost in yonder big book."
"I found myself again, some minutes gone," saith _Father_. "But thou
wist, 'tis an old saw that listeners do never hear any good of
themselves."
"I didn't mean thee, man!" saith Aunt _Joyce_. "Present company always
excepted."
"Methought I was reckoned absent company," saith _Father_, with a
twinkle in his eyes, and lifting his big book from the table. "Howbeit,
I am not too proud to learn."
"Even from a woman?" quoth Aunt _Joyce_. "Thou art the pearl of men, if
so be."
_Father_ laughed, and carried off his book, pausing at the door to
observe--"There is some truth in much thou hast said, _Joyce_."
"Lack-a-day, what an acknowledgment from a man!" cries Aunt _Joyce_.
"Yet 'tis fenced round, look you. `There is _some_ truth in _much_' I
have said. Ah, go thy ways, my good _Aubrey_; thou art the best man
ever I knew: but, alack! thou art a man, after all."
"Why, Aunt _Joyce_," saith _Edith_, who was laughing rarely, "what
should we do, think you, if there were no men?"
"I would do some way, thou shouldst see," saith Aunt _Joyce_, sturdily.
And so she let the matter drop; or should so have done, but _Nell_
saith--
"I reckon we all, both men and women, have in us a touch of our father,
old _Adam_!"
"And our mother, old _Eva_," said I.
"You say well, childre," quoth Aunt _Joyce_: "and she that hath the
biggest touch of any I know is a certain old woman of _Oxfordshire_, by
name _Joyce Morrell_."
Up springeth _Edith_, and giveth Aunt _Joyce_ a great hug.
"She is the best, sweetest, dearest old woman (if so be) ever I knew,"
saith she. "I except not even _Mother_, for I count not her an old
woman."
Aunt _Joyce_ laughed, and paid _Edith_ back her hug with usury.