"Bring to their Sweetness no Sobriety."
"Sobriety?" interrupted he, "Satiety, Satiety! the Blockhead!--and that I
should live to call a Woman soe.--Sobriety, indeede! poor _Mary_, her
Wits must have been wool-gathering. 'Bring to their Sweetness no
Sobriety!' What Meaning coulde she possibly affix to such Folly?"
"Sure, Father," sayd I, "here's Enough that she could affix no Meaning
to, nor I neither, without your condescending to explayn it--Cycle,
Epicycle, nocturnal Rhomb."
"Well, well," returned he, beginning to smile, "'twas unlikely she
shoulde be with such Discourse delighted. Not capable, alas! poor
_Mary's_ Ear, of what is high. And yet, thy Mother, Child, woulde have
stretched up towards Truths, though beyond her Reach, yet to the
inquiring Mind offering rich Repast. And now write Satiety for Sobriety,
if you love me."
While erasing the obnoxious Word, I cried, "Dear Father, pray answer me
one Question--What is a Rhomb?"
"A Rhomb, Child?" repeated he, laughing, "why, a Parallelogram or
quadrangular Figure, consisting of parallel Lines, with two acute and two
obtuse Angles, and formed by two equal and righte Cones, joyned together
at their Base! There, are you anie wiser now? No, little Maid, 'tis
best for such as you
Not with perplexing Thoughts
To interrupt the Sweet of Life, from which
God hath bid dwell far off all anxious Cares,
And not molest us, unless we ourselves
Seek them, with wandering Thoughts and Notions vain.'"
_April 19, 1665_.
I heartilie wish our Stepmother were back, albeit we are soe comfortable
without her! _Mary_, taking the Maids at unawares last Night, found a
strange Man in the Kitchen. Words ensued; he slunk off like a Culprit,
which lookt not well, while _Betty Fisher_, brazening it out, woulde have
at firste that he was her Brother, then her Cousin, and ended by vowing
to be revenged on _Mary_ when she lookt not for it. I would have had
_Mary_ speak to Father, but she will not; perhaps soe best. _Polly_ is
in the Sulks to Daye, as well as _Betty_, saying, "As well live in a
Nunnerie."
_April 20, 1665_.
When the Horse is stolen, shut the Stable Door. _Mary_ locked the lower
Doors, and brought up the Keys herselfe, yestereven at Duske. Anon
dropped in Doctor _Paget_, Mr. _Skinner_, and Uncle _Dick_, soe that we
had quite a merrie Party. Dr. _Paget_ sayd how that another Case of the
Plague had occurred in _Long Acre_; howbeit, this onlie makes three, soe
that we trust it will not spread, though 'twoulde be unadvised to goe
needlesslie into the infected Quarter. Uncle _Dick_ would fayn take us
Girls down to _Oxon_, but Father sayd he could not spare us while Mother
was at _Stoke_; and that there was noe prevalent Distemper, this bracing
Weather, in our Parish. Then felle a musing; and Uncle _Dick_, who loves
a Jeste, outs with a large brown Apple from's Pocket, and holds it aneath
Father's Nose. Sayth Father, rousing, "How far Phansy goes! thy Voice,
_Dick_, carried me back to olde Dayes, and affected, I think, even my
Nose; for I could protest I smelled a _Sheepscote_ Apple." And, feeling
himselfe touched by its cold Skin, laught merrilie, and ate it with a
Relish; saying, noe Sorte ever seemed unto him soe goode--he had received
manie a Hamper of 'em about Christmasse. After a Time, alle but he and I
went up, and out on the Leads, to see the Comet; and we two sitting quite
still, and Father, doubtlesse, supposed to be alone, I saw a great
round-shouldered mannish Shadowe glide acrosse the Passage, and hearde
the Front-door Latch click. Darted forthe, but too late, and then into
the Kitchen; with some Warmth chid _Betty_ for soe soone agayn disobeying
Orders, and threatened to tell my Mamma. She cryed pertlie, "Law, Miss
_Deb_, I wish to Goodnesse your Mamma was here to heare you, for I'd
sooner have one Mistress than three. A Shadowe, indeed! I'm sure you
saw no Substance--very like, 'twas a Spirit; or, liker still, onlie the
Cat. Here, Puss, Puss!" . . . and soe into the Passage, as though to
look for what she was sure not to find. I had noe Patience with her;
but, returning to Father, askt him if he had not heard the Latch click?
He sayd, No; and, indeede, I think, had been dozing; soe then sate still,
and bethoughte me what 'twere best to doe. Three Brains are too little
agaynst one that is resolved to cheat. 'Tis noe Goode complayning to a
Man; he will not see, even though unafflicted like Father, who cannot.
Men's Minds run on greater Things, and soe they are fretted at domestic
Appeals, and generallie give Judgment the wrong Way. Thus we founde it
before, poor motherlesse Girls, to our Cost; and I reallie believe it was
more in Kindnesse for us than himself, that Father listened to the
Doctor's Overtures in behalfe of Miss _Minshull_; for what Companion can
soe illiterate a Woman be to him? But he believed her gentle, hearde
that she was a good Housewife, and apprehended she would be kind to
us. . . . Alas the Daye! What Tears we three shed in our Chamber that
Night! and wished, too late, we had ne'er referred to him a Grievance,
nor let him know we had a Burthen. Soone we founde King _Log_ had been
succeeded by King _Stork_; soone made common Cause, tryed our Strength
and found it wanting, and soone submitted to our new Yoke, and tried to
make the best of it.
Yes, that is the onlie Course; we alle feele it; onlie, as Ill-luck will
have it, we do not always feel it simultaneouslie. _Anne_, mayhap, has
one of her dogged humours; _Mary_ and I see how much better 'twould be,
did she overcome it, or shut herself up till in better Temper. _Mary_ is
crabbed and exacting; _Anne_ and I cannot put her straight. Well for us
when we succeed just soe far as to keep it from the Notice of Father.
Thus we rub on; I wonder if we ever shall pull all together?
_April 22, 1665_.
Like unto a wise Master-builder, who ordereth the Disposition of eache
Stone till the whole Building is fitly compacted together, so doth Father
build up his noble Poem, which groweth under our Hands. Three Nights
have I, without Complaynt, lost my Rest while writing at his Bedside;
this hath made me yawnish in the Day-time, or, as Mother will have it,
lazy. However, I bethink me of _Damo_, Daughter of _Pythagoras_.
Mother came Home yesterday, and _Betty_, the Picture of Neatnesse, tooke
goode Heede to be the first to welcome her, with officious Smiles, and
Prayses of her Looks. For my Part, I thoughte it fullsome, but knew her
Motives better than Mother, who took it alle in goode Part. Indeede, noe
one would give this Girl credit for soe false a Heart; she is pretty,
modest looking, and for a while before my Father's Marriage was as great
a Favourite with _Mary_ as now with my Mother; flattered her the same,
and tempted her to idle gossiping Confidences. She was slow to believe
herself cheated; and when 'twas as cleare as Day, could not convince
Father of it.
On _Mary's_ mentioning this Morning (unadvisedlie, I think,) the Kitchen
Visitor, Mother made short Answer--
"Tilly-vally! bad Mistresses make bad Maids; there will be noe such
Doings now, I warrant. . . . I am sure, my Dear," appealing to Father,
"you think well in the main of _Betty_?"
"Yes," says he, smiling, "I think well of both my _Betties_."
"At any rate," persists _Mary_, "the Man coulde not be at once her Cousin
and her Brother."
"Why no," replies Father, "therein she worsened her Story, by saying too
much, as _Dorothea_ did, when she pretended to have heard of the Knight
of _La Mancha's_ Fame, when she landed at _Ossuna_; which even a Madman
as he was, knew to be noe Sea-port. It requires more Skill than the
General possess, to lie with a Circumstance."
Had a Valentine this Morning, though onlie from_ Ned Phillips_, whom
Mother is angry with, for filling my Head betimes with such Nonsense.
Howbeit, I am close on sixteen.
_Mary_ was out of Patience with Father yesterday, who, after keeping her
a full Hour at _Thucydides_, sayd,
"Well, now we will refresh ourselves with a Canto of _Ariosto_," which
was as much a sealed Book to her as t'other. Howbeit, this Morning he
sayd,
"Child, I have noted your Wearinesse in reading the dead Languages to me;
would that I needed not to be beholden unto any, whether bound to me by
Blood and Affection or not, for the Food that is as needfulle to me as my
daily Bread. Nevertheless, that I be not further wearisome unto thee, I
have engaged a young Quaker, named _Ellwood_, to relieve thee of this
Portion of thy Task, soe that thou mayst have the more Leisure to enjoy
the glad Sunshine and fair Sights I never more shall see."
_Mary_ turned red, and dropt a quiet Tear; but alas, he knew it not.
"One part of my Children's Burthen, indeed," he continued, "I cannot, for
obvious Reasons, relieve them of--they must still be my Secretaries, for
in them alone can I confide. Soe now to your healthfulle Exercises and
fitting Recreations, dear Maids, and Heaven's Blessing goe with you!"
We kissed his Hand and went, but our Walk was not merry.
_Ellwood_ is a young Man of seven-and-twenty, of good Parts, but
pragmaticalle; Son of an Oxfordshire Justice of the Peace, but not on
good Terms with him, by Reason of his religious Opinions, which the
Father affects not.
_April 23, 1665_.
Spring is coming on apace. Father even sits between the wood Fire and
the open Casement, enjoying the mild Air, but it is not considered
healthfulle.
"My Dear," says Mother to him this Morning, after some Hours' Absence, "I
have bought me a new Mantle of the most absolute Fancy. 'Tis
sad-coloured, which I knew you would approve, but with a Garniture of
Orange-tawny; three Plaits at the Waist behind, and a little stuck-up
Collar."
"You are a comical Woman," says Father, "to spend soe much Money and Mind
on a Thing your Husband will never see."
"Oh! but it cost no Money at alle," says she; "that is the best of it."
"What is the best of it?" rejoyned he. "I suppose you bartered for it,
if you did not buy it--you Women are always for cheap Pennyworths. Come,
what was the Ransom? One of my old Books, or my new Coat?"
"Your last new Coat may be called old too, I'm sure," says Mother; "I
believe you married me in it."
"Nay," says Father, "and what if I did? 'Twas new then, at any rate; and
the Cid _Ruy Diaz_ was married in a black Satin Doublet, which his Father
had worn in three or four Battles."
"A poor Compliment to the Bride," says Mother.
"Well, but, dear _Betty_, what has gone for this copper-coloured
Mantle?--_Sylvester's_ 'Du Bartas?'" . . .
"Nothing of the sort,--nothing you value or will ever miss. An old Gold
Pocket-piece, that hath lain perdue, e'er soe long, in our Dressing-table
Drawer."
He smote the Table with his Hand. "Woman!" cried he, changing Colour,
"'twas a Medal of Honour given to my Father by a Polish Prince! It
should have been an Heir-loom. There, say noe more about it now. 'Tis
in your Jew's Furnace ere this. 'The Fining-pot for Silver and the
Furnace for Gold, but . . . the Lord trieth the Spirits.' Ay me! mine is
tried sometimes."
Uncle _Kit_ most opportunelie entering at this Moment, instantaneouslie
changed his Key-note.
"Ha, _Kit_!" he cries, gladly, "here you find me, as usual, maundering
among my Women. Welcome, welcome! How is it with you, and what's the
News?"
"Why, the News is, that the Plague's coming on amain," says my Uncle;
"they say it's been smouldering among us all the Winter, and now it's
bursting out."
"Lord save us!" says Mother, turning pale.
"You may say that," says Uncle, "but you must alsoe try to save
yourselves. For my Part, I see not what shoulde keep you in Town. Come
down to us at _Ipswich_; my Brother and you shall have the haunted
Chamber; and we can make plenty of Shakedowns for the Girls in the
Atticks. Your Maids can look after Matters here. By the way, you have a
Merlin's Head sett up in your Neighbourhood; I saw your black-eyed Maid
come forthe of it as I passed."
Mother bit her lip; but Father broke forthe with, "What can we expect but
that a judiciall Punishment shoulde befall a Land where the Corruption of
the Court, more potent and subtile in its Infection than anie Pestilence,
hath tainted every open Resorte and bye Corner of the Capital and
Country? Our Sins cry aloud; our Pulpits, Counters, and Closetts alike
witness against us. 'Tis, as with the People soe with the Priest, as
with the Buyer soe with the Seller, as with the Maid soe with the
Mistress. Plays, Interludes, Gaming-houses, Sabbath Debauches,
Dancing-rooms, Merry-Andrews, Jack Puddings, Quacks, false Prophesyings--"
"Ah! we can excuse a little Bitternesse in the losing Party now," says
Uncle; "but do you seriously mean to say you think us more deserving of
judiciall Punishment under the glorious Restoration than during the
unnatural Rebellion? Sure you have had Time to cool upon that."
"Certainly I mean to say so," answers Father. "During the unnatural
Rebellion, as you please to call it, the Commonwealth, whose Duration was
very short--"
"Very short, indeed," observes Uncle, coughing. "Only from _Worcester_
Fight, Fifty-one, to _Noll's_ Dissolution of the Long Parliament,
Fifty-three; yet quite long enough to see what it was."
"I deny that, as well as your Dates," says Father. "We enjoyed a
Commonwealth under the Protector, who, had he not assumed that high
Office which gave him his Name, would have lacked Opportunity of showing
that he was capable of filling the most exalted Station with Vigour and
Ability. He secured a wise Peace, obtained the respectfull Concurrence
of foreign Powers, filled our domestick Courts with upright Judges, and
respected the Rights of Conscience."
"Why, suppose I admitted all this, which I am far from doing," says
Uncle, "what was he but a King, except by just Title? What had become,
meantime, of your Commonwealth?"
"Softly, _Kit_," returns Father. "The Commonwealth was progressing,
meantime, like a little Rivulet that rises among the Hills, amid Weeds
and Moss, and gradually works itself a widening Channel, filtering over
Beds of Gravel, and obstructed here and there by Fragments of Rock, that
sorely chafe and trouble it, at the very Time that, to the distant
Observer, it looks most picturesque and beautiful."
"Well, I suppose I was never distant enough to see it in this picturesque
Point of View," says Uncle. "Legitimate Monarchy was, to my Mind, the
Rock over which the brawling River leaped awhile, and which, in the End,
successfully opposed it; and as to your _Oliver_, he was a cunning
Fellow, that diverted its Course to turn his own Mill."
"They that can see any Virtue or Comeliness in a _Charles Stuart_," says
Father, "can hardly be expected to acknowledge the rugged Merits of a
plain Republican."
"Plain was the very last Thing he was," says Uncle, "either in speaking
or dealing. He was as cunning as a Fox, and as rough as a Bear."
"We can overlook the Roughness of a good Man," says Father; "and if a
Temper subject to hasty Ebullitions is better than one which, by Blows
and hard Usage, has been silenced into Sullenness, a Republic is better
than an absolute Sovereignty."
"Aye; and if a Temper under the Control of Reason and Principle," rejoins
Uncle, "is better than one unaccustomed to restrain its hasty
Ebullitions, a limited Monarchy is better than a Republic."
"But ours is not limited enough," persists Father.
"Wait awhile," returns Uncle, "till, as you say, we have filtered over
the Gravel a little longer, and then see how clear we shall run."
"I don't see much present Chance of it," says Father. "Such a King, and
such a Court!"
"The King and Court will soon shift Quarters, I understand," says Uncle;
"for Fear of this coming Sickness. 'Twould be a rare Thing, indeed, for
the King to take the Plague!"
"Why not the King, as well as any of his Commons?" says Father. "Tush!
I am tired of the Account People make of him. 'Is _Philip_ dead?' 'No;
but he is sick.' Pray, what is it to us, whether _Philip_ is sick or
not?"
"Which of the _Phillipses_, my Dear?" asks Mother. "Did you say _Jack
Phillips_ was sick?"
"No, dear _Betty_; only a King of _Macedon_, who lived a long Time ago."
"Doctor _Brice_ commends you much for your grounding the _Phillipses_ so
excellently in the Classicks," says Uncle.
"He should think whether his Praise is much worth having," says Father,
rather haughtily. "The young Men were indebted to me for a competent
Knowledge of the learned Tongues--no more."
"Nay, somewhat more," rejoined Uncle; "and the Praise of a worthy Man is
surely always worth having."
"If he be our Superior in the Thing wherein he praises us," returned
Father. "His Praise is then a Medal of Reward; but it should never be a
current Coin, bandied from one to another. And the Inferior may never
praise the Superior."
Uncle was silent a Moment, and then softly uttered, "My Soul, praise the
Lord."
"There you have me," says Father, instantly softening. "Laud we the Name
of the Lord, but let's not laud one another."
"Ah! I can't wait to argue the Point," says Uncle. "I must back to the
_Temple_."
"Stay a Moment, _Kit_. Have you seen 'the Mysterie of Jesuitism?'"
"No; have _you_ seen the Proof that _London_, not _Rome_, is the City on
seven Hills? _Ludgate Hill, Fishstreet Hill, Dowgate Hill, Garlick Hill,
Saffron Hill, Holborn Hill_, and _Tower Hill_. Clear as Day!"
"Where's _Snow Hill_? Come, don't go yet. We will fight over some of
our old Feuds. There will be a roast Pig on Table at one o'clock, and, I
fancy, a Tansy-pudding."
"_I_ can't fancy Tansy-pudding," says Uncle, shuddering; "I cannot abide
Tansies, even in Lent. Besides, I'm expecting a Reference."
"Oh! very well; then drop in again in the Evening, if you will; and very
likely you will meet _Cyriack Skinner_. And you shall have cold Pig for
Supper, not forgetting the Current-sauce, _Wiltshire_ Cheese, Carraways,
and some of your own Wine."
"Well, that sounds good. I don't mind if I do," says Uncle; "but don't
expect me after nine."
"I'm in Bed by nine," says Father.
"Oh, oh!" says Uncle; and with a comical Look at us, he went off.
Uncle _Kit_ did not come last Night; I did not much expect he woulde; nor
Mr. _Skinner_. Insteade, we had Dr. _Paget_, and one or two others, who
talked dolefully alle the Evening of Signs of the Times, till they gave
me the Horrors. One had seen a Ghost, or at least, seen a Crowd looking
at a Ghost, or for a Ghost, in _Bishopgate_ Churchyard, that comes out
and points hither and thither at future Graves. Another had seene an
Apparition, or Meteor, somewhat of human or angelic Shape in the Air.
Father laught at the first, but did not so discredit _in toto_ the other;
observing that _Theodore Beza_ believed at one Time in astrologick Signs;
and thought that the Appearance of the notable Star in _Cassiopeiea_
betokened the universal End. And as for Angels, he sayd they were,
questionless, ministering Spiritts, not onlie sent forth to minister unto
the Heirs of Salvation, but sometimes Instruments of God's Wrath, to
execute Judgments upon ungodly Men, and convince them of the ill Deeds
which they have ungodly committed; as during the Pestilence in _David's_
Time, when the King saw the Destroying Angel standing between Heaven and
Earth, having a drawn Sword in his Hand, stretched over Jerusalem. Such
Delegates we might, without Fanaticism, suppose to be the generall,
though unseen. Instruments of public Chastisements; and, for our
particular Comfort, we had equall Reason to repose on the Assurance, that
even amid the Pestilence that walked in Darkness, and the Destruction
that wasted by Noon-day, the Angels had charge over each particular
Believer, to keep them in all their Ways. Adding, that, though he
forbore, with _Calvin_, to pronounce that each Man had his own Guardian
Spiritt,--a Subject whereon Scripture was silent,--we had the Lord's own
Word for it, that little Children were the particular Care of holy Angels.
And this, and othermuch to same Purport, had soe soothing and sedative an
Effect, that we might have gone to Bed in peacefull Trust, onlie that Dr.
_Paget_ must needs bring up, after Supper, the correlative Theme of the
great _Florentine_ Plague, and the poisoned Wells, which sett Father off
upon the Acts of Mercy of Cardinal _Borromeo,--_not him called St.
_Charlest_ but the Cardinal-Archbishop,--and soe, to the Pestilence at
_Geneva_, when even the Bars and Locks of Doors were poisoned by a Gang
of Wretches, who thought to pillage the Dwellings of the Dead; till we
all went to Bed, moped to Death.
Howbeit, I had been warmly asleep some Hours, (more by Token I had read
the ninety-first Psalm before getting into Bed), when _Anne_, clinging to
me, woke me up with a shrill Cry. I whispered fearfullie, "What is't?--a
Thief under the Bed?"
"No, no," she replies. "Listen!"
Soe I did for a While; and was just going to say, "You were dreaming,"
when a hollow Voice in the Street, beneath our Window, distinctlie
proclaimed,
"Yet forty Days, and _London_ shall be destroyed! I will overturn,
overturn, overturn it! Oh! Woe, Woe, Woe!"
I sprang out of Bed, fell over my Shoes, got up again, and ran to the
Window. There was Nothing to be seen but long, black Shadows in the
Streets. The Moon was behind the House. After looking forthe awhile,
with Teeth chattering, I was about to drop the Curtain, when, afar off,
whether in or over some distant Quarter of the Town, I heard the same
Voice, clearlie enow to recognise the Rhythm, though not the Words. I
crept to Bed, chilled and awe-stricken; yet, after cowering awhile, and
saying our Prayers, we both fell asleep.
The first Sounde this Morning was of Weeping and Wayling. Mother had
beene scared by the Night-warning, and wearied Father to have us alle
into the Countrie. He thought the Danger not yet imminent, the Expense
considerable, and the Outcry that of some crazy Fanatick; ne'erthelesse,
consented to employ _Ellwood_ to look us out some country Lodgings;
having noe Mind to live upon my Uncle at _Ipswich_.
_Mary_, strange to say, had heard noe Noise; nor had the Maids; but
Servants always sleep heavily.
Some of the Pig having beene sett aside for my Uncle, and Mother fancying
it for her Breakfast, was much putt out, on going into the Larder, to
find it gone. _Betty_, of course, sayd it was the Cat. Mother made
Answer, she never knew a Cat partiall to cold Pig; and the Door having
been latched, was suspicious of a Puss in Boots.
_Betty_ cries--"Plague take the Cat!"
Mother rejoyns--"If the Plague does take him, I shall certainly have him
hanged."
"Then we shall be overrun with Rats," says _Betty_.
"I shall buy Ratsbane for them," says Mother; and soe into the Parlour,
where Father, having hearde the whole Dialogue, had been greatlie amused.
At Twilight, she went to look at the Pantry Fastenings herselfe, but,
suddenlie hearing a dolorous Voyce either within or immediately without,
cry, "Oh! Woe, Woe!" she naturallie drew back. However, being a Woman
of much Spiritt, she instantlie recovered herselfe, and went forward; but
no one was in the Pantry. The Occurrence, therefore, made the more
Impression; and she came up somewhat scared, and asked if we had heard it.
"My Dear," says Father, "you awoke me in the midst of a very interesting
Colloquy between _Sir Thomas More_ and _Erasmus_. However, I think a Dog
barked, or rather howled, just now. Are you sure the words were not
'Bow, wow, wow?'"
Another Night-larum; but onlie from Father, who wanted me to write for
him,--a Task he has much intromitted of late. Mother was hugelie annoyed
at it, and sayd,--"My Dear, I am persuaded that if you would not persist
in going to Bed soe earlie, you woulde not awake at these untimelie
Hours."
"That is very well for you to say," returned he, "who can sew and spin
the whole Evening through; but I, whose long entire Day is Night, grow
soe tired of it by nine o'clock, that I am fit for Nothing but Bed."
"Well," says she, "I often find that brushing my Hair wakes me up when I
am drowsy. I will brush yours To-morrow Evening, and see if we cannot
keep you up a little later, and provide sounder Rest for you when you do
turn in."
Soe, this Evening, she casts her Apron over his Shoulders, and commences
combing his Hair, chatting of this and that, to keep him in good Humour.
"What beautiful Hair this is of yours, my Dear!" says she; "soe fine,
long, and soft! scarcelie a Silver Thread in it. I warrant there's manie
a young Gallant at Court would be proud of such."
"Girls, put your Scissars out of your Mother's Way," says Father; "she's
a perfect _Dalilah_, and will whip off Half my Curls before I can count
Three, unless you look after her. And I," he adds, with a Sigh, "am, in
one Sort, a _Samson_."
"I'm sure _Dalilah_ never treated _Samson's_ old Coat with such Respect,"
says Mother, finishing her Task, resuming her Apron, and kissing him.
"Soe now, keep your Eyes open--I mean, keep awake, till I bring you a
Gossip's Bowl."
When she was gone, Father continued sitting bolt upright, _his Eyes_, as
she sayd (his beautifull Eyes!), open and wakefull, and his Countenance
composed, yet grave, as if his Thoughts were at least as far off as
_Tangrolipix_ the _Turk_. All at once, he says,
"_Deb_, are my Sleeves white at the Elbow?"
"No, Father."
"Or am I shiny about the Shoulders?"
"No, Father."
"Why, then," cries he, gaily, this Coat can't be very old, however long I
may have worn it. I'll rub on in it still; and your Mother and you will
have the more Money for copper-coloured Clokes. But don't, at any Time,
let your Father get shabby, Children. I would never be threadbare nor
unclean. Let my Habitt be neat and spotless, my Bands well washed and
uncrumpled, as becometh a Gentleman. As for my Sword in the Corner, your
Mother may send that after my Medal as soon as she will. The _Cid_
parted with his _Tizona_ in his Life-time; soe a peaceable Man, whose
Eyes, like the Prophet _Abijah's_, are set, may well doe the same."
_May 12, 1665_.
Yesterday being the _Lord's Day_, Mother was hugely scared during Morning
Service, by seeing an old Lady put her Kerchief to her Nose, look hither
and thither, and, finally, walk out of Church. One whispered another, "A
Plague-Smell, perchance." "No Doubt on't;" and soe, one after another
left, as, at length, did Mother, who declared she beganne to feel herself
ill. On the Cloth being drawn after Dinner, she made a serious Attack on
my Father, upon the Subject of Country Lodgings, which he stoutly
resisted at first, saying,
"If, Wife and Daughters, either the Danger were so immediate, or the
Escape from it so facile as to justify these womanish Clamours, Reason
would that I should listen to you. But, since that the Lord is about our
Bed, and about our Path, in the Capital no less than in the Country, and
knoweth them that are his, and hideth them under the Shadowe of his
Wings--and since that, if the Fiat be indeed issued agaynst us, no
Stronghold, though guarded with triple Walls of Circumvallation, like
_Ecbatana_, nor pastoral Valley, that might inspire _Theocritus_ with a
new Idyl, can hide us, either by its Strength or its Obscurity, from the
Arrow of the Destroying Angel; ye, therefore, seeing these Things cannot
be spoken agaynst, ought to be quiet, and do Nothing rashly. Wherefore,
I pray you, Wife and Daughters, get you to your Knees, before Him who
alone can deliver you from these Terrors; and having cast your Burthen
upon Him, eat your Bread in Peacefulness and Cheerfulness of Heart."
However, we really are preparing for Country Quarters, for young
_Ellwood_ hath this Morning brought us Note of a rustick Abode near his
Friends, the _Penningtons_, at _Chalfont_, in _Bucks_, the Charges of
which suit my Father's limited Means; and we hope to enter on it by the
End of the Week. _Ellwood's_ Head seems full of _Guli Springett_, the
Daughter of Master _Pennington's_ Wife by her first Husband. If Half he
says of her be true, I shall like to see the young Lady. We part with
one Maid, and take the other. _Betty_ was very forward to be left in
Charge; and protest herself willing to abide any Risk for the Sake of the
Family; more by Token she thoughte there was no Risk at alle, having
boughte a sovereign Charm of Mother _Shipton_. Howbeit, on inducing her,
much agaynst her Will, to open it, Nought was founde within but a
wretched little Print of a Ship, with the Words, scrawled beneath it, "By
Virtue of the above Sign." Father called her a silly Baggage, and sayd,
he was glad, at any Rate, there was no Profanity in it; but, in Spite of
_Betty_, and _Polly_, and Mother too, he is resolved to leave the House
under the sole Charge of Nurse _Jellycott_. Indeed, there Will probably
be more rather than less Work to do at _Chalfont_; but Mother means to
get a little Boy, such as will be glad to come for Threepence a-Week, to
fetch the Milk, post the Letters, get Flour from the Mill and Barm from
the Brewhouse, carry Pies to the Oven, clean Boots and Shoes, bring in
Wood, sweep up the Garden, roll the Grass, turn the Spit, draw the Water,
lift Boxes and heavy Weights, chase away Beggars and infectious Persons,
and any little odd Matter of the Kind.
Mother has drowned the Cats, and poisoned the Rats. The latter have
revenged 'emselves by dying behind the Wainscot, which makes the lower
Part of the House soe unbearable, 'speciallie to Father, that we are
impatient to be off. Mother, intending to turn _Chalfont_ into a
besieged Garrison, is laying in Stock of Sope, Candles, Cheese, Butter,
Salt, Sugar, Raisins, Pease, and Bacon; besides Resin, Sulphur, and
Benjamin, agaynst the Infection; and Pill Ruff, and _Venice_ Treacle, in
Case it comes.
As to Father, his Thoughts naturallie run more on Food for the Mind; soe
he hath layd in goodlie Store of Pens, Paper, and Ink, and sett me to
pack his Books. At first, he sayd he should onlie require a few, and
good ones. These were all of the biggest; and three or four Folios broke
out the Bottom of the Box. So then Mother sayd the onlie Way was to cord
'em up in Sacking; which greatlie relaxed the Bounds of his Self-denial,
and ended in his having a Load packed that would break a Horse's Back.
Alsoe, hath had his Organ taken to Pieces; but as it must goe in two
severall Loads, and we cannot get a bigger Wagon,--everie Cart and
Carriage, large or little, being on such hard Duty in these Times,--I'm
to be left behind till the Wagon returns, and till I've finished
cataloguing the Books; after which _Ned Phillips_ hath promised to take
me down on a Pillion.
Nurse _Jellycott_, being sent for from _Wapping_, looked in this
Forenoon, for Father's Commands. Such Years have passed since we lost
Sight of her, that I remembered not her Face in the least, but had an
instant Recollection of her chearfulle, gentle Voyce. Spite of her
Steeple Hat, and short scarlet Cloke, which gave her an antiquated Ayr,
her cleare hazel Eyes and smooth-parted Silver Locks gave her an engaging
Appearance. The World having gone ill with her, she thankfullie takes
Charge of the Premises; and though her Eyes filled with Tears, 'twas with
looking at Father. He, for his Part, spake most kindlie, and gave her
his Hand, which she kissed.
They are all off. Never was House in such a Pickle! The Carpets rolled
up, but the Boards beneath 'em unswept, and black with Dirt; as Nurse
gladlie undertook everie Office of that Kind, and sayd 'twould help to
amuse her when we were away. But she has tidied up the little Chamber
over the House-door she means to occupy, and sett on the Mantell a
Beau-pot of fresh Flowers she brought with her. The whole House smells
of aromatick Herbs, we have burnt soe many of late for Fumigation; and,
though we fear to open the Window, yet, being on the shady Side, we doe
not feel the Heat much.
Yesterday, while in the Thick of packing, and Nobody being with Father
but me, a Messenger arrived, with a few Lines, writ privily by a Friend
of poor _Ellwood_, saying he was in _Aylesbury_ Gaol, not for Debt, but
for his Opinions, and praying Father to send him twenty or thirty
Shillings for immediate Necessaries. Mother having gone to my Lord Mayor
for Passports, and Father having long given up to her his Purse, . . .
(for us Girls, we rarelie have a Crown,) he was in a Strait, and at
length said,
"This poor young Fellow must not be denied. . . . A Friend in Need is a
Friend indeed. . . . Tie on thy Hood, Child, and step out with the
Volume thou hadst in thy Hand but now, to the Stall at the Corner. See
_Isaac_ himself; shew him _Tasso's_ Autograph on the Fly-leaf, and ask
him for thirty or forty Shillings on it till I come back; but bid him on
no Pretence to part with it."
I did so, not much liking the Job--there are often such queer People
there; for old _Isaac_ deals not onlie in old Books, but old Silver
Spoons. Howbeit, I took the Volume to his Shop, and as I went in,
_Betty_ came out! What had been _her_ Businesse, I know not; but she
lookt at me and my Book as though she should like to know _mine_; but,
with her usual demure Curtsey, made Way for me, and walked off. I got
the Money with much Waiting, but not much other Dimcultie, and took it to
Father, who sent twenty Shillings to _Ellwood_, and gave me five for my
Payns. Poor _Ellwood_! he hath good Leisure to muse now on _Guli
Springett_.
Mother was soe worried by the Odour of the Rats, that they alle started
off a Day sooner than was first intended, leaving me merelie a little
extra Packing. Consequence was, that this Morning, before Dawn, being
earlie at my Task, there taps me at the Window an old Harridan that
Mother can't abide, who is always a crying, "Anie Kitchen-stuff have you,
Maids?"