Then he gathered the Papers up and sayd, "Then I shall take Temptation
out of your Way;" and pressing 'em to his Heart as he did soe, sayth,
"They are as deare to me as they can be to you;" and soe left me,
looking out as though I noted (but I noted not) the cleare-shining
_Thames_. 'Twas Twilighte, and I stoode there I know not how long,
alone and lonely; with Tears coming, I knew not why, into mine Eyes.
There was a Weight in the Ayr, as of coming Thunder; the Screaming,
ever and anon, of _Juno_ and _Argus_, inclined me to Mellancholie,
as it alwaies does: and at length I beganne to note the Moon rising,
and the deepening Clearnesse of the Water, and the lazy Motion of the
Barges, and the Flashes of Light whene'er the Rowers dipt theire Oars.
And then I beganne to attend to the Cries and different Sounds from
acrosse the Water, and the Tolling of a distant Bell; and I felle back
on mine olde heart-sighinge, "_Fecisti nos ad te, Domine; et inquietum
est cor nostrum, donec requiescat in te_."
Or ever the Week was gone, my Father had contrived for me another
Journey to _New Hall_, to abide with the Lay Nuns, as he calleth them,
Aunt _Nan_ and Aunt _Fan_, whom my Step-mother loveth not, but whom I
love and whom _Father_ loveth. Indeede, 'tis sayd in _Essex_ that at
first he inclined to Aunt _Nan_ rather than to my Mother; but that,
perceiving my Mother affected his Companie and Aunt _Nan_ affected it
not, he diverted his hesitating Affections unto her and took her to
wife. Howbeit, Aunt _Nan_ loveth him dearlie as a Sister ought: indeed,
she loveth alle, except, methinketh, herself, to whom, alone, she is
rigid and severe. How holie are my Aunts' Lives! Cloistered Nuns could
not be more pure, and could scarce be as usefulle. Though wise, they
can be gay; though noe longer young, they love the Young. And theire
Reward is, the Young love them; and I am fulle sure in this World they
seek noe better.
Returned to _Chelsea_, I spake much in Prayse of mine Aunts, and of
single Life. On a certayn Evening, we Maids were sett at our Needles
and Samplers on the Pavilion Steps; and, as Follie will out, 'gan
talk of what we would fayn have to our Lots, shoulde a good Fairie
starte up and grant eache a Wish. _Daisy_ was for a Countess's Degree,
with Hawks and Hounds. _Bess_ was for founding a College, _Mercy_ a
Hospital, and she spake soe experimentallie of its Conditions that
I was fayn to goe Partners with her in the same. _Cecy_ commenced,
"Supposing I were married; if once that I were married"--on which,
_Father_, who had come up unperceived, burst out laughing and sayth,
"Well, Dame _Cecily_, and what State would you keep?" Howbeit, as he
and I afterwards paced together, _juxta Fluvium_, he did say, "_Mercy_
hath well propounded the Conditions of an Hospital or Alms-house for
aged and sick Folk, and 'tis a Fantasie of mine to sett even such an
one afoot, and give you the Conduct of the same."
From this careless Speech, dropped as 'twere by the Way, hath sprung
mine House of Refuge! and oh, what Pleasure have I derived from it! How
good is my Father! how the Poor bless him! and how kind is he, through
them, to me! Laying his Hand kindly on my Shoulder, this Morning, he
sayd, "_Meg_, how fares it with thee now? Have I cured the Payn in thy
Head?" Then, putting the House-key into mine Hand, he laughingly added,
"'Tis now yours, my Joy, by _Livery_ and _Seisin_."
_Aug. 6th._
I wish _William_ would give me back my Testament. 'Tis one thing to
steal a Knot or a Posie, and another to borrow the most valuable Book
in the House, and keep it Week after Week. He soughte it with a kind
of Mysterie, soe as that I forbeare to ask it of him in Companie, lest
I should doe him an ill Turn; and yet I have none other Occasion.
Alle Parties are striving which shall have _Erasmus_, and alle in vayn.
E'en thus it was with him when he was here last,--the _Queen_ would
have had him for her Preceptor, the _King_ and _Cardinall_ prest on him
a royall Apartment and Salarie, _Oxford_ and _Cambridge_ contended for
him, but his Saying was, "Alle these I value less than my Libertie, my
Studdies, and my literarie Toyls." How much greater is he than those
who woulde confer on him Greatnesse! Noe Man of Letters hath equall
Reputation, or is soe much courted.
_Aug. 7th._
Yester-even, after overlooking the Men playing at Loggats, _Father_
and I strayed away along _Thermopylæ_ into the Home-field; and as we
sauntered together under the Elms, he sayth with a Sigh, "_Jack_ is
_Jack_, and no _More_ ... he will never be anything. An' 'twere not for
my beloved Wenches, I should be an unhappy Father. But what though!--My
_Meg_ is better unto me than ten Sons; and it maketh no Difference at
Harvest-time whether our Corn were put into the Ground by a Man or a
Woman."
While I was turning in my Mind what Excuse I might make for _John_,
_Father_ taketh me at unawares by a sudden Change of Subject; saying,
"Come, tell me, _Meg_, why canst not affect _Will Roper_?"
I was a good while silent, at length made Answer, "He is so unlike alle
I esteem and admire ... so unlike alle I have been taught to esteem and
admire by you."--
"Have at you," he returned laughing, "I wist not I had been sharpening
Weapons agaynst myself. True, he is neither _Achilles_ nor _Hector_,
nor even _Paris_, but yet well enough, meseems, as Times go--smarter
and comelier than either _Heron_ or _Dancey_."
I, faltering, made Answer, "Good Looks affect me but little--'tis in
his better Part I feel the Want. He cannot ... discourse, for instance,
to one's Mind and Soul, like unto you, dear _Father_, or _Erasmus_."
"I should marvel if he could," returned _Father_ gravelie, "thou art
mad, my Daughter, to look, in a Youth of _Will's_ Years, for the Mind
of a Man of fifty. What were _Erasmus_ and I, dost thou suppose, at
_Will's_ age? Alas, _Meg_, I should not like you to know what I was!
Men called me the Boy-sage, and I know not what, but in my Heart and
Head was a World of Sin and Folly. Thou mightst as well expect _Will_
to have my Hair, Eyes, and Teeth, alle getting the worse for Wear,
as to have the Fruits of my life-long Experience, in some Cases full
dearly bought. Take him for what he is, match him by the young Minds
of his owne standing: consider how long and closelie we have known
him. His Parts are, surelie, not amiss: he hath more Book-lore than
_Dancey_, more mother Wit than _Allington_."
"But why need I to concern myself about him?" I exclaymed; "_Will_ is
very well in his way: why should we cross each other's Paths? I am
young, I have much to learn, I love my Studdies,--why interrupt them
with other and less wise Thoughts?"
"Because nothing can be wise that is not practical," returned _Father_,
"and I teach my Children Philosophie to fitt them for living in the
World, not above it. One may spend a Life in dreaming over _Plato_,
and yet goe out of it without leaving the World a whit the better for
our having made Part of it. 'Tis to little Purpose we studdy, if it
onlie makes us exact Perfections in others which they may in vayn seek
for in ourselves. It is not even necessary or goode for us to live
entirelie with congeniall Spiritts. The vigourous tempers the inert,
the passionate is evened by the cool-tempered, the prosaic balances the
visionarie. Woulde thy Mother suit me better, dost thou suppose, if she
coulde discuss Polemicks like _Luther_ or _Melancthon_? E'en thine owne
sweet Mother, _Meg_, was less affected to Studdy than thou art,--she
learnt to love it for my Sake, but I made her what she was."
And, with a suddain Burste of fond Recollection, he hid his Eyes on my
Shoulder, and for a Moment or soe, cried bitterlie. As for me, I shed,
oh! such salt Teares!...
_Aug. 17th._
Entering, o' the suddain, into _Mercy's_ Chamber, I founde her all
be-wept and waped, poring over an old Kirtle of Mother's she had bidden
her re-line with Buckram. Coulde not make out whether she were sick of
her Task, had had Words with Mother, or had some secret Inquietation
of her owne; but, as she is a Girl of few Words, I found I had best
leave her alone after a Caress and kind Saying or two. We alle have our
Troubles.
_Wednesday, 19th._
Trulie may I say soe. Here have they ta'en a Fever of some low Sorte
in my House of Refuge, and _Mother_, fearing it may be the Sicknesse,
will not have me goe neare it, lest I should bring it home. _Mercy_,
howbeit, hath besought her soe earnestlie to let her goe and nurse
the Sick, that _Mother_ hath granted her Prayer, on Condition she
returneth not till the Fever bates ... thus setting her Life at lower
Value than our owne. Deare _Mercy_! I would fayn be her Mate.
_21st._
We are alle mightie glad that _Rupert Allington_ hath at lengthe
zealouslie embraced the Studdy of the Law. 'Twas much to be feared at
the Firste there was noe Application in him, and though we alle pitied
him when _Father_ first broughte him Home, a pillaged, portionlesse
Client, with none other to espouse his Rightes, yet 'twas a Pitie soone
allied with Contempt when we founde how emptie he was, caring for
nought but Archerie and Skittles and the Popinjaye out o' the House,
and Dicing and Tables within, which _Father_ would on noe Excuse
permitt. Soe he had to conform, ruefullie enow, and hung piteouslie on
Hand for awhile. I mind me of _Bess's_ saying, about _Christmasse_,
"Heaven send us open Weather while _Allington_ is here; I don't believe
he is one that will bear shutting up." Howbeit, he seemed to incline
towards _Daisy_, who is handsome enow, and cannot be hindered of
Two-hundred Pounds, and soe he kept within Bounds, and when _Father_
got him his Cause he was mightilie thankfulle, and woulde have left
us out of Hand, but _Father_ persuaded him to let his Estate recover
itself, and turn the mean Time to Profitt, and, in short, soe wrought
on him, that he hath now become a Student in righte earneste.
_22nd._
Soe we are going to lose not only Mr. _Clement_, but Mr. _Gunnel_!
How sorrie we alle are! It seemeth he hath long been debating for and
agaynst the Church, and at length finds his Mind soe stronglie set
towards it, as he can keep out of it noe longer. Well! we shall lose
a good Master, and the Church will gayn a good Servant. _Drew_ will
supplie his Place, that is, according to his beste, but our worthy
Welshman careth soe little for young People, and is soe abstract from
the World about him, that we shall oft feel our Loss. _Father_ hath
promised _Gonellus_ his Interest with the _Cardinall_.
I fell into Disgrace for holding Speech with _Mercy_ over the Pales,
but she is confident there is noe Danger; the Sick are doing well,
and none of the Whole have fallen sick. She sayth _Gammer Gurney_ is
as tender of her as if she were her Daughter, and will let her doe
noe vile or paynfull Office, soe as she hath little to doe but read
and pray for the poor Souls, and feed 'em with savourie Messes, and
they are alle so harmonious and full of Cheer, as to be like Birds in
a Nest. _Mercy_ deserves theire Blessings more than I. Were I a free
Agent, she should not be alone now, and I hope ne'er to be withheld
therefrom agayn.
[Illustration: "I fell into disgrace for holding Speech with Mercy over
the Pales."]
_30th._
Busied with my Flowers the chief o' the Forenoon, I was fayn to rest
in the Pavilion, when, entering therein, whom shoulde I stumble upon
but _William_, layd at length on the Floor, with his Arms under his
Head, and his Book on the Ground. I was withdrawing brisklie enow, when
he called out, "Don't goe away, since you _are_ here," in a Tone soe
rough, soe unlike his usuall Key, as that I paused in a Maze, and then
saw that his Eyes were red. He sprung to his Feet and sayd, "_Meg_,
come and talk to me;" and, taking my Hand in his, stepped quicklie
forthe without another Word sayd, till we reached the Elm-tree Walk.
I marvelled to see him soe moven, and expected to hear Somewhat that
shoulde displease me, scarce knowing what; however, I might have guest
at it from then till now, without ever nearing the Truth. His first
Words were, "I wish _Erasmus_ had ne'er crost the Thresholde; he has
made me very unhappie;" then, seeing me stare, "Be not his Council
just now, deare _Meg_, but bind up, if thou canst, the Wounds he has
made.... There be some Wounds, thou knowest, though but of a cut Finger
or the like, that we cannot well bind up for ourselves."