"Sure, my deary," answers she, in a cajoling voyce, "there's the Dripping
and Candles you promised me this Morning, along with the Pot-liquor."
"Dear Heart, Mrs. _Deb_!" says Nurse, laughing, "there is, indeed, a Lot
of Kitchen-stuff hid up near the Sink, which I dare say your Maid told
her she was to have; and as it will only make the House smell worse, I
don't see why she should not have it, and pay for it too."
Soe I laught, and gave it her forthe, and she put into my Hand two
Shillings; but then says, "Why, where's the Cheese?"
"We've no Cheese for you," sayd I.
"Well," says she, "it's a dear Bargayn; but . . ." peering towards me,
"is t'other Mayd gone, then?"
"Oh, yes! both of 'em," says I; "and I'm the Mistress," soe burst out a
laughing, and shut the Window, while she stumped off, with Something
between a Grunt and a Grone. Of course, I gave the Money to Nurse.
We had much Talk overnight of my poor dear Mother. Nurse came to her
when _Anne_ was born, and remained in the Family till after the Death of
Father's second Wife. _She_ was a fayr and delicate Gentlewoman, by
Nurse's Account, soft in Speech, fond of Father, and kind to us and the
Servants; but all Nurse's Suffrages were in Favour of mine own loved
Mother.
I askt Nurse how there came to have beene a Separation betweene Father
and Mother, soone after their Marriage. She made Answer, she never could
understand the Rights of it, having beene before her Time; but they were
both so good, and tenderly affectioned, she never could believe there had
beene anie reall Wrong on either Side. She always thought my Grandmother
must have promoted the Misunderstanding. Men were seldom fond of their
Mothers-in-law. He was very kind to the whole Family the Winter before
_Anne_ was born, when, but for him, they would not have had a Roof over
their Heads. Old Mr. _Powell_ died in this House, the very Day before
_Christmas_, which cast a Gloom over alle, insomuch that my Mother would
never after keep _Christmas Eve_; and, as none of the Puritans did, they
were alle of a Mind. My other Grandfather dropt off a few Months after;
he was very fond of Mother. At this time Grandmother was going to Law
for her Widow's Thirds, which was little worth the striving for, except
to One soe extreme poor. Yet, spite of Gratitude and Interest, she must
quarrel with Father, and remove herself from his House; which even her
own Daughter thought very wrong. Howbeit, Mother would have her first
Child baptized after her; and sent her alle the little Helps she could
from her owne Purse, from Time to Time, with Father's Privity and
Concurrence. He woulde have his next Girl called _Mary_, after Mother;
though the Name _she_ went by with him was "Sweet _Moll_;"--'tis now
always "Poor _Moll_," or "Your Mother." Her health fayled about that
Time, and they summered at _Forest Hill_--a Place she was always
hankering after; but when she came back she told Nurse she never wished
to see it agayn, 'twas soe altered. Father's Sight was, meantime,
getting worse and worse. She read to him, and wrote for him often. He
had become _Cromwell's_ Secretary, and had received the public Thanks of
the Commonwealth. . . . Great as his Reputation was at Home, 'twas
greater Abroad; and Foreigners came to see him, as they still
occasionally doe, from all Parts. My Mother not onlie loved him, but was
proud of him. All her Pleasures were in Home. From my Birth to that of
the little Boy who died, her Health and Spiritts were good; after that
they failed; but she always tried to be chearfull with Father. She read
her _Bible_ much, and was good to the Poor. Nurse says 'twas almost
miraculous how much Good she did at how little Cost, except of
Forethought and Trouble; and all soe secretlie. She began to have an
Impression she was for an early Grave, but did not seem to lament it.
One Night, Nurse being beside her, awoke her from what she supposed an
uneasie Dream, as she was crying in her Sleep; but as soone as she oped
her Eyes, she looked surprised, and said it was a Vision of Peace. She
thought the Redeemer of alle Men had been talking with her. Face to
Face, as a Man talketh with his Friend, and that she had fallen at his
Feet in grateful Joy, and was saying, "Oh! I can't express . . . I can't
express--"
About a Week after, she dyed, without any particular Warning, except a
short Prick or two at the Heart. My Father was by. 'Twas much talked of
at the Time, she being soe young.
Discoursing of this and that, 'twas Midnight ere we went to Bed.
_Chalfont_.
ARRIVED at last; after what a Journey! _Ned_ had sent me Word Overnight
to expect, this Forenoon, a smart young Cavalier, on a fine prancing
Steed, with rich Accoutrements. Howbeit, Cousin is neither smart nor
handsome; and, at the Time specifyde, there was brought up to the Door an
old white Horse, blind of one Eye, with an aquiline Nose, and, I should
think, eight Feet high. The Bridle was diverse from the Pillion, which
was finely embroidered, but tarnish, with the Stuffing oozing out in
severall Places. Howbeit, 'twas the onlie Equipage to be hired in the
Ward, for Love or Money . . . so _Ned_ sayd. . . . And he had a huge
Pair of gauntlett Gloves, a Whip, that was the smartest Thing about him,
and a kind of Vizard over his Nose and Mouth, which, he sayd, was to
prevent his being too alluring; but I know 'twas to ward off Infection.
I had meant to be brave; and Nurse and I had brushed up the green camblet
Skirt, but the rent Mother had made in it would show; however, Nurse
thought that, when I was up she could conceal it with a Corking-pin.
Thus appointed, _Ned_ led the Way, saying, the onlie Occasion on which a
Gentleman needed not to excuse himself to a Lady for going first, was
when they were to ride a Pillion. Noe more jesting when once
a-Horseback; for, after pacing through a few deserted Streets, we found
ourselves amidst such a Medly of Carts, Coaches, and Wagons, full of
People and Goods, all pouring out of Town, that _Ned_ had enough to do to
keep cleare of 'em, and of the Horsemen and empty Vehicles coming back
for fresh Loads. Dear Heart! what jostling, cursing, and swearing! And
how awfull the Cause! Houses padlocked and shuttered wherever we passed,
and some with red Crosses on the Doors. At the first Turnpike 'twas
worst of all--a complete Stoppage; Men squabbling, Women crying, and much
good Daylight wasted. Howbeit, _Ned_ desired me to keep my Mouth shut,
my Eyes open, and to trust to his good Care; and, by Dint of some shrewd
Pilotage, weathered the Strait; after which, our old Horse, whose Paces,
to do him Justice, proved very easie, took longer Steps than anie other
on the Road, by which Means we soon got quit of the Throng; onlie, we
continuallie gained on fresh Parties,--some dreadfully overloaded, some
knocked up alreadie, some baiting at the Roadside, and many of the poorer
Sort erecting 'emselves rude Tents and Cabins under the Hedges. Soon I
began to rejoyce in the green Fields, and sayd how sweet was the Air; and
_Ned_ sayd, "Ah!--a Brick-kiln," and signed at one with his Whip. But I
knew the Wind came t'other Way; and e'en Bricks are better than dead Rats.
Half-way to _Amersham_ found _Hob Carter's_ Wagon, with Father's Organ
in't, sticking in the Hedge, without Man or Horse; and, by-and-by, came
upon _Hob_ himself, with a Party, carousing. _Ned_ gave it him well, and
sent him back at double-quick Time. 'Twas too bad. He had left Town
overnight, and promised to be at _Chalfont_ by Noon. I should have beene
fain to keep him in Advance of us; howbeit, we were forct to leave him in
the Rear; and, about two Miles beyond _Amersham_, we turned off the high
Road into a country Lane, which soon brought us to a small retired
Hamlet, shaded with Trees, and surrounded with pleasant Meadows and
Orchards, which was no other than _Chalfont_. There was Mother near the
Gate, putting some fine Things to bleach on a Sweetbriar-hedge. _Ned_
stopt to chat with her, and learn where he might put his Horse, while I
went to seek Father; and soon found him, sitting up in a strait Chair,
outside the Garden-door. Sayd, kissing him, "Dear Father, how is't with
you? Are you comfortable here?"
"Anything but that," replies he, very shortlie. "I am not in any Way at
my Ease in this Place. I can get no definite Notion of what 'tis like,
and what Notion I have is unfavourable. To finish all, they have stuck
me up here, like a Bottle in the Smoke."
"But here is a Cushion for you," quoth I, running in and back agayn; "and
I will set your Seat in the Sun, and out of the Wind, and put your Staff
within Reach."
"Thanks, dear _Deb_. And now, look about, Child, and tell me, with
Precision, what the Place is like."
Soe I told him 'twas an irregular two-storied Tenement, parcel Wood,
parcel Brick, with a deep Roof of old Tiles that had lost their Colour,
and were curiouslie variegated with green and yellow Moss; and that the
Eaves were dentilled, with Birds' Nests built in 'em, and a big
Honeysuckle growing to the upper Floor; and there was a great and a
little Gable, and a heavy Chimney-stack; a Casement of four Compartments
next the Door, and another of two over it; four Lattice-windows at
t'other End. In Front, a steep Meadow, enamelled with King-cups and
Blue-bells; alongside the Gable-end, a Village Road, with deep Cart-ruts,
and Hawthorn Hedges. Onlie one small Dwelling at hand, little better
than a crazy Haystack; Sheep in the Field, Bees in the Honeysuckle; and a
little rippling Rivulet flowing on continually.
"Why, now you have sett me quite at Ease!" cries he, turning his bright
Eyes thankfully towards the Sky. "I begin to like the Place, and to
bless the warm Sun and pure Air. Ha! so there is a rippling Rivulet,
that floweth on continually! . . . Lord, forgive me for my peevish
Petulance . . . for forgetting that I could still hear the Lark sing her
Morning Hymn, scent the Meadow-sweet and new-mown Hay, detect the Bee at
his Industry, and the Woodpecker at his Mischief, discern the Breath of
Cows, and hear the Lambs bleat, and the Rivulet ripple continually!
Come! let us go and seek _Ned_."
And, throwing his Arm about me, draws me to him, saying, "This is my best
Walking-stick," and steps forward briskly and fearlessly.
Truly, I think _Ned_ loves him as though he were his own Father; and,
indeed, he hath scarce known any other. Kissing his Hand reverently, he
says,--"Honoured _Nunks_, how fares it with you? Do you like _Chalfont_?"
"Indeed I do, _Ned_," responds Father heartily. "'Tis a little _Zoar_,
whither I and my fugitive Family have escaped from the wicked City; and,
I thank God, my Wife has no Mind to look back."
"We may as well go in now," says Mother.
"No, no," says Father; "I feel there is an Hour of Summer's Sunset still
left. We will abide where we are, and keep as long as we can out of the
Smell of your Soapsuds. . . . Let's sit upon the Ground."
"And tell strange Stories of the Deaths of Kings," says _Ned_, laughing,
"That was the Saying, _Ned_, of one who writ much well, and much amiss."
"Let's forgive what he writ amiss, for the Sake of what he writ well,"
says _Ned_.
"That will I never," says Father. "If paltry Wits cannot be holy and
witty at the same Time, that does not hold good with nobler
Spiritts. . . . If it did, they had best never be witty at all. Thy
Brother _Jack_ hath yet to learn that Strength is not Coarseness."
_Ned_ softly hummed--
"Sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's Child!"
"Ah! you may quote me against myself," says Father; "you may quote _Beza_
against _Beza_, and _Erasmus_ against _Erasmus_; but that will not shake
the eternal Laws of Purity and Truth. But, mind you, _Ned_, never did
anie reach a more lofty or tragic Height than this Child of Fancy; never
did any represent Nature more purely to the Life; and e'en where the
Polishments of Art are most wanting in him, he pleaseth with a certain
wild and native Elegance."
"And what have you now in Hand, Uncle?" _Ned_ asks.
"_Firmianus Chlorus_," says Father. "But I don't find Much in him."
"I mean, what of your own?"
"Oh!" laughing; "Things in Heaven, _Ned_, and Things on Earth, and Things
under the Earth. The old Story, whereof you have alreadie seen many
Parcels; but, you know, my Vein ne'er flows so happily as from the
autumnal to the vernal Equinox. Howbeit, there is Something in the
Quality of this Air would arouse the old Man of _Chios_ himself."
"Sure," cries _Ned_, "you have less Need than any blind Man to complayn,
since you have but closed your Eyes on Earth to look on Heaven!"