_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.
Did _Rose_ know the Bitter-sweet she was imparting to me, when she gave
me, by Stealth as 'twere, the latelie publisht Volume of my Husband's
_English_ Versing? It hath beene my Companion ever since; for I had
perused the _Comus_ but by Snatches, under the Disadvantage of crabbed
Manuscript. This Morning, to use his owne deare Words:--
I sat me down to watch, upon a Bank,
With Ivy canopied, and interwove
With flaunting Honeysuckle, and beganne,
Wrapt in a pleasing Fit of Melancholic,
To meditate.