_Milton_ enjoyed to the Full as keenlie as I, saying they minded him of _Paradise,--_how woulde _Rose_ pitie me, could she view me in this close Chamber, the Floor whereof of dark, uneven Boards, must have beene layd, methinks, three hundred Years ago; the oaken Pannells, utterlie dest.i.tute of Polish and with sundrie c.h.i.n.ks; the Bed with dull brown Hangings, lined with as dull a greene, occupying Half the s.p.a.ce; and Half the Remainder being filled with dustie Books, whereof there are Store alsoe in every other Place. This Mirror, I should thinke, belonged to faire _Rosamond_. And this Arm-chair to King _Lew_. Over the Chimnie hangs a ruefull Portrait,--maybe of _Grotius_, but I shoulde sooner deeme it of some Worthie before the Flood. Onlie one Quarter of the Cas.e.m.e.nt will open, and that upon a Prospect, oh dolefulle! of the Churchyarde! Mr. _Milton_ had need be as blythe as he was all the Time we were at _Sheepscote_, or I shall be buried in that same Churchyarde within the Twelvemonth. 'Tis well he has stepped out to see a Friend, that I may in his Absence get ridd of this Fit of the Dismalls. I wish it may be the last. What would _Mother_ say to his bringing me to such a Home as this? I will not think. Soe this is _London_! How diverse from the "towred Citie" of my Husband's versing!

and of his Prose too; for as he spake, by the way, of the Disorders of our Time, which extend even into eache domestick Circle, he sayd that alle must, for a While, appear confused to our imperfect View, just as a mightie Citie unto a Stranger who shoulde beholde around him huge, unfinished Fabrics, the Plan whereof he could but imperfectlie make out, amid the Builders' disorderlie Apparatus; but that, _from afar_, we mighte perceive glorious Results from party Contentions,--Freedom springing up from Oppression, Intelligence succeeding Ignorance, Order following Disorder, just as that same Traveller looking at the Citie from a distant Height, should beholde Towres, and Spires glistering with Gold and Marble, Streets stretching in lessening Perspectives, and Bridges flinging their white Arches over n.o.ble Rivers. But what of this saw we all along the _Oxford_ Road? Firstlie, there was noe commanding Height; second, there was the Citie obscured by a drizzling Rain; the Ways were foul, the Faces of those we mett spake less of Pleasure than Business, and Bells were tolling, but none ringing. Mr.

_Milton's_ Father, a grey-haired, kind old Man, was here to give us welcome: and his firste Words were, "Why, _John_, thou hast stolen a March on us. Soe quickly, too, and soe snug! but she is faire enoughe, Man, to excuse thee, Royalist or noe."

And soe, taking me in his Arms, kist me franklie.--But I heare my Husband's Voice, and another with it.

_Thursday_.

'Twas a Mr. _Lawrence_ whom my Husband brought Home last Nighte to sup; and the Evening pa.s.sed righte pleasantlie, with News, Jestes, and a little Musicke. Todaye hath been kindlie devoted by Mr. _Milton_ to shewing me Sights:--and oh! the strange, diverting Cries in the Streets, even from earlie Dawn! "New Milk and Curds from the Dairie!"--"Olde Shoes for some Brooms!"--"Anie Kitchen-stuffe, have you, Maids?"--"Come buy my greene Herbes!"--and then in the Streets, here a Man preaching, there another juggling: here a Boy with an Ape, there a Show of _Nineveh_: next the News from the North; and as for the China Shops and Drapers in the _Strand_, and the Cook's Shops in _Westminster_, with the smoking Ribs of Beef and fresh Salads set out on Tables in the Street, and Men in white Ap.r.o.ns crying out, "Calf's Liver, Tripe, and hot Sheep's Feet"--'twas enoughe to make One untimelie hungrie,--or take One's Appet.i.te away, as the Case might be.

Mr. _Milton_ shewed me the n.o.ble Minster, with King _Harry_ Seventh's Chapel adjoining; and pointed out the old House where _Ben Jonson_ died. Neare the _Broade Sanctuarie_, we fell in with a slighte, dark-complexioned young Gentleman of two or three and twenty, whome my Husband espying cryed, "What, _Marvell_!" the other comically answering, "What Marvel?" and then, handsomlie saluting me and complimenting Mr. _Milton_, much lighte and pleasant Discourse ensued; and finding we were aboute to take Boat, he volunteered to goe with us on the River. After manie Hours' Exercise, I have come Home fatigued, yet well pleased. Mr. _Marvell_ sups with us.

_Friday_.

I wish I could note down a t.i.the of the pleasant Things that were sayd last Nighte. First, olde Mr. _Milton_ having slept out with his Son,--I called in _Rachael_, the younger of Mr. _Russel's_ Serving-maids, (for we have none of our owne as yet, which tends to much Discomfiture,) and, with her Aide, I dusted the Bookes and sett them up in half the s.p.a.ce they had occupied; then cleared away three large Basketfuls, of the absolutest Rubbish, torn Letters and the like, and sent out for Flowers, (which it seemeth strange enoughe to me to _buy_,) which gave the Chamber a gayer Aire, and soe my Husband sayd when he came in, calling me the fayrest of them alle; and then, sitting down with Gayety to the Organ, drew forthe from it heavenlie Sounds.

Afterwards Mr. _Marvell_ came in, and they discoursed about _Italy_, and Mr. _Milton_ promised his Friend some Letters of Introduction to _Jacopo Gaddi, Clementillo_, and others.--

After Supper, they wrote Sentences, Definitions, and the like, after a Fashion of _Catherine de Medici_, some of which I have layd aside for _Rose_.

--_To-day_ we have seene St. _Paul's_ faire Cathedral, and the School where Mr. _Milton_ was a Scholar when a Boy; thence, to the Fields of _Finsbury_; where are Trees and Windmills enow: a Place much frequented for practising Archery and other manlie Exercises.

_Sat.u.r.day_.

Tho' we rise betimes, olde Mr. _Milton_ is earlier stille; and I always find him sitting at his Table beside the Window (by Reason of the Chamber being soe dark,) sorting I know not how manie Bundles of Papers tied with red Tape; eache so like the other that I marvel how he knows them aparte. This Morning, I found the poore old Gentleman in sad Distress at missing a Ma.n.u.script Song of Mr. _Henry Lawes'_, the onlie Copy extant, which he persuaded himselfe that I must have sent down to the Kitchen Fire Yesterday. I am convinced I dismist not a single Paper that was not torne eache Way, as being utterlie uselesse; but as the unluckie Song cannot be founde, he sighs and is certayn of my Delinquence, as is _Hubert_, his owne Man; or, as he more frequentlie calls him, his "odd Man;"--and an odd Man indeede is Mr. _Hubert_, readie to address his Master or Master's Sonne on the merest Occasion, without waiting to be spoken to; tho' he expecteth Others to treat them with far more Deference than he himself payeth.

--Dead tired, this Daye, with so much Exercise; but woulde not say soe, because my Husband was thinking to please me by shewing me soe much.

Spiritts flagging however. These _London_ Streets wearie my Feet. We have been over the House in _Aldersgate Street_, the Garden whereof disappointed me, having hearde soe much of it; but 'tis far better than none, and the House is large enough for Mr. _Milton's_ Familie and my _Father's_ to boote. Thought how pleasant 'twould be to have them alle aboute me next _Christma.s.se_; but that holie Time is noe longer kept with Joyfullnesse in _London_. Ventured, therefore, to expresse a Hope, we mighte spend it at _Forest Hill_; but Mr. _Milton_ sayd 'twas unlikelie he should be able to leave Home; and askt, would I go alone?--Constrained, for Shame, to say no; but felt, in my Heart, I woulde jump to see _Forest Hill_ on anie Terms, I soe love alle that dwell there.

_Sunday Even_.

Private and publick Prayer, Sermons, and Psalm-singing from Morn until Nighte. The onlie Break hath been a Visit to a quaint but pleasing Lady, by Name _Catherine Thompson_, whome my Husband holds in great Reverence. She said manie Things worthy to be remembered; onlie _as_ I remember them, I need not to write them down. Sorrie to be caughte napping by my Husband, in the Midst of the third long Sermon. This comes of over-walking, and of being unable to sleep o' Nights; for whether it be the _London_ Ayre, or the _London_ Methods of making the Beds, or the strange Noises in the Streets, I know not, but I have scarce beene able to close my Eyes before Daybreak since I came to Town.

_Monday_.

And now beginneth a new Life; for my Husband's Pupils, who were dismist for a Time for my Sake, returne to theire Tasks this Daye, and olde Mr.

_Milton_ giveth place to his two Grandsons, his widowed Daughter's Children, _Edward_ and _John Phillips_, whom my Husband led in to me just now. Two plainer Boys I never sett Eyes on; the one weak-eyed and puny, the other prim and puritanicall--no more to be compared to our sweet _Robin_! . . . After a few Words, they retired to theire Books; and my Husband, taking my Hand, sayd in his kindliest Manner,--"And now I leave my sweete _Moll_ to the pleasant Companie of her own goode and innocent Thoughtes; and, if she needs more, here are both stringed and keyed Instruments, and Books both of the older and modern Time, soe that she will not find the Hours hang heavie." Methoughte how much more I should like a Ride upon _Clover_ than all the Books that ever were penned; for the Door no sooner closed upon Mr. _Milton_ than it seemed as tho' he had taken alle the Sunshine with him; and I fell to cleaning the Cas.e.m.e.nt that I mighte look out the better into the Churchyarde, and then altered Tables and Chairs, and then sate downe with my Elbows resting on the Window-seat, and my Chin on the Palms of my Hands, gazing on I knew not what, and feeling like a b.u.t.terflie under a Wine-gla.s.s.

I marvelled why it seemed soe long since I was married, and wondered what they were doing at Home,--coulde fancy I hearde _Mother_ chiding, and see _Charlie_ stealing into the Dairie and dipping his Finger in the Cream, and _Kate_ feeding the Chickens, and _d.i.c.k_ taking a Stone out of _Whitestar's_ Shoe.

--Methought how dull it was to be pa.s.sing the best Part of the Summer out of the Reache of fresh Ayre and greene Fields, and wondered, woulde alle my future Summers be soe spent?

Thoughte how dull it was to live in Lodgings, where one could not even go into the Kitchen to make a Pudding; and how dull to live in a Town, without some young female Friend with whom one might have ventured into the Streets, and where one could not soe much as feed Colts in a Paddock; how dull to be without a Garden, unable soe much as to gather a Handfulle of ripe Cherries; and how dull to looke into a Churchyarde, where there was a Man digging a Grave!

--When I wearied of staring at the Grave-digger, I gazed at an olde Gentleman and a young Lady slowlie walking along, yet scarce as if I noted them; and was thinking mostlie of _Forest Hill_, when I saw them stop at our Doore, and presently they were shewn in, by the Name of Doctor and Mistress _Davies_. I sent for my Husband, and entertayned 'em bothe as well as I could, till he appeared, and they were polite and pleasant to me; the young Lady tall and slender, of a cleare brown Skin, and with Eyes that were fine enough; onlie there was a supprest Smile on her Lips alle the Time, as tho' she had seen me looking out of the Window. She tried me on all Subjects, I think; for she started them more adroitlie than I; and taking up a Book on the Window-seat, which was the _Amadigi_ of _Bernardo Ta.s.so_, printed alle in _Italiques_, she sayd, if I loved Poetry, which she was sure I must, she knew she shoulde love me. I did not tell her whether or noe. Then we were both silent. Then Doctor _Davies_ talked vehementlie to Mr.

_Milton_ agaynst the King; and Mr. _Milton_ was not so contrarie to him as I could have wished. Then Mistress _Davies_ tooke the Word from her Father and beganne to talke to Mr. _Milton_ of _Ta.s.so_, and _Dante_, and _Boiardo_, and _Ariosto_; and then Doctor _Davies_ and I were silent. Methoughte, they both talked well, tho' I knew so little of their Subject-matter; onlie they complimented eache other too much. I mean not they were insincere, for eache seemed to think highlie of the other; onlie we neede not say alle we feele.

To conclude, we are to sup with them to-morrow.

_Wednesday_.

_Journall_, I have n.o.bodie now but you, to whome to tell my little Griefs; indeede, before I married, I know not that I had anie; and even now, they are very small, onlie they are soe new, that sometimes my Heart is like to burst.

--I know not whether 'tis safe to put them alle on Paper, onlie it relieves for the Time, and it kills Time, and perhaps, a little While hence I may looke back and see how small they were, and how they mighte have beene shunned, or better borne. 'Tis worth the Triall.

--Yesterday Morn, for very Wearinesse, I looked alle over my Linen and Mr. _Milton's_, to see could I finde anie Thing to mend; but there was not a St.i.tch amiss. I woulde have played on the Spinnette, but was afrayd he should hear my indifferent Musick. Then, as a last Resource, I tooke a Book--_Paul Perrin's Historie of the Waldenses_;--and was, I believe, dozing a little, when I was aware of a continuall Whispering and Crying. I thought 'twas some Child in the Street; and, having some Comfits in my Pocket, I stept softlie out to the House-door and lookt forth, but no Child could I see. Coming back, the Door of my Husband's Studdy being ajar, I was avised to look in; and saw him, with awfulle Brow, raising his Hand in the very Act to strike the youngest _Phillips_. I could never endure to see a Child struck, soe hastilie cryed out "Oh, don't!"--whereon he rose, and, as if not seeing me, gently closed the Door, and, before I reached my Chamber, I hearde soe loud a Crying that I began to cry too. Soon, alle was quiet; and my Husband, coming in, stept gently up to me, and putting his Arm about my Neck, sayd, "My dearest Life, never agayn, I beseech you, interfere between me and the Boys: 'tis as unseemlie as tho' I shoulde interfere between you and your Maids, when you have any,--and will weaken my Hands, dear _Moll_, more than you have anie Suspicion of."

I replied, kissing that same offending Member as I spoke, "Poor _Jack_ would have beene glad, just now, if I _had_ weakened them."--"But that is not the Question," he returned, "for we shoulde alle be glad to escape necessary Punishment; whereas, it is the Power, not the Penalty of our bad Habits, that we shoulde seek to be delivered from."--"There may," I sayd, "be necessary, but need not be corporal Punishment."

"That is as may be," returned he, "and hath alreadie been settled by an Authoritie to which I submit, and partlie think you will dispute, and that is, the Word of _G.o.d_. Pain of Body is in Realitie, or ought to be, sooner over and more safelie borne than Pain of an ingenuous Mind; and, as to the _Shame_,--why, as _Lorenzo de' Medici_ sayd to _Soccini_, 'The Shame is in the Offence rather than in the Punishment.'"

I replied, "Our _Robin_ had never beene beaten for his Studdies;" to which he sayd with a Smile, that even I must admit _Robin_ to be noe greate Scholar. And so in good Humour left me; but I was in no good Humour, and hoped Heaven might never make me the Mother of a Son, for if I should see Mr. _Milton_ strike him, I should learn to hate the Father.--

Learning there was like to be Companie at Doctor _Davies'_, I was avised to put on my brave greene Satin Gown; and my Husband sayd it became me well, and that I onlie needed some Primroses and Cowslips in my Lap, to look like _May_;--and somewhat he added about mine Eyes'

"clear shining after Rain," which avised me he had perceived I had beene crying in the Morning, which I had hoped he had not.

Arriving at the Doctor's House, we were shewn into an emptie Chamber; at least, emptie of Companie, but full of every Thing else; for there were Books, and Globes, and stringed and wind Instruments, and stuffed Birds and Beasts, and Things I know not soe much as the Names of, besides an Easel with a Painting by Mrs. _Mildred_ on it, which she meant to be seene, or she woulde have put it away. Subject, "_Brutus's Judgment:"_ which I thought a strange, unfeeling one for a Woman; and did not wish to be _her_ Son. Soone she came in, drest with studdied and puritanicall Plainnesse; in brown Taffeta, guarded with black Velvet, which became her well enough, but was scarce suited for the Season. She had much to say about limning, in which my Husband could follow her better than I; and then they went to the Globes, and _Copernicus_, and _Galileo Galilei_, whom she called a Martyr, but I do not. For, is a Martyr one who is unwillinglie imprisoned, or who formally recants? even tho' he affected afterwards to say 'twas _but_ a Form, and cries, "_Eppure, si muove_?" The earlier Christians might have sayd 'twas but a Form to burn a Handfull of Incense before _Jove's_ Statua; _Pliny_ woulde have let them goe.

Afterwards, when the Doctor came in and engaged my Husband in Discourse, Mistress _Mildred_ devoted herselfe to me, and askt what Progresse I had made with _Bernardo Ta.s.so_. I tolde her, none at alle, for I was equallie faultie at _Italiques_ and _Italian_, and onlie knew his best Work thro' Mr. _Fairfax's_ Translation; whereat she fell laughing, and sayd she begged my Forgivenesse, but I was confounding the Father with the Sonne; then laught agayn, but pretended 'twas not at me but at a Lady I minded her of, who never coulde remember to distinguish betwixt _Lionardo da Vinci_ and _Lorenzo dei Medici_. That last Name brought up the Recollection of my Morning's Debate with my Husband, which made me feel sad; and then, Mrs. _Mildred_, seeminge anxious to make me forget her Unmannerliness, commenced, "Can you paint?"--"Can you sing?"--"Can you play the Lute?"--and, at the last, "What _can_ you do?" I mighte have sayd I coulde comb out my Curls smoother than she coulde hers, but did not. Other Guests came in, and talked so much agaynst Prelacy and the Right divine of Kings that I woulde fain we had remained at Astronomie and Poetry. For Supper there was little Meat, and noe strong Drinks, onlie a thinnish foreign Wine, with Cakes, Candies, Sweetmeats, Fruits, and Confections. Such, I suppose, is Town Fashion. At the laste, came Musick; Mistress _Mildred_ sang and played; then prest me to do the like, but I was soe fearfulle, I coulde not; so my Husband sayd he woulde play for me, and that woulde be alle one, and soe covered my Bashfullenesse handsomlie.

Onlie this Morning, just before going to his Studdy, he stept back and sayd, "Sweet _Moll_, I know you can both play and sing--why will you not practise?" I replyed, I loved it not much. He rejoyned, "But you know I love it, and is not that a Motive?" I sayd, I feared to let him hear me, I played so ill. He replyed, "Why, that is the very Reason you shoulde seek to play better, and I am sure you have Plenty of Time.

Perhaps, in your whole future Life, you will not have such a Season of Leisure as you have now,--a golden Opportunity, which you will surelie seize."--Then added, "Sir _Thomas More's_ Wife learnt to play the Lute, solely that she mighte please her Husband." I answered, "Nay, what to tell me of Sir _Thomas More's_ Wife, or of _Hugh Grotius's_ Wife, when I was the Wife of _John Milton_?" He looked at me twice, and quicklie, too, at this Saying; then laughing, cried, "You cleaving Mischief! I hardlie know whether to take that Speech amisse or well--however, you shall have the Benefit of the Doubt."

And so away laughing; and I, for very Shame, sat down to the Spinnette for two wearie Hours, till soe tired, I coulde cry; and when I desisted, coulde hear _Jack_ wailing over his Task. 'Tis raining fast, I cannot get out, nor should I dare to go alone, nor where to go to if 'twere fine. I fancy ill Smells from the Churchyard--'tis long to Dinner-time, with noe Change, noe Exercise; and oh, I sigh for _Forest Hill_.

--A dull Dinner with Mrs. _Phillips_, whom I like not much.

_Christopher Milton_ there, who stared hard at me, and put me out of Countenance with his strange Questions. My Husband checked him. He is a Lawyer, and has Wit enoughe.

Mrs. _Phillips_ speaking of second Marriages, I unawares hurt her by giving my Voice agaynst them. It seems she is thinking of contracting a second Marriage.

--At Supper, wishing to ingratiate myself with the Boys, talked to them of Countrie Sports, etc.: to which the youngest listened greedilie; and at length I was advised to ask them woulde they not like to see _Forest Hill_? to which the elder replyed in his most methodicall Manner, "If Mr. _Powell_ has a good Library." For this Piece of Hypocrisie, at which I heartilie laught, he was commended by his Uncle. Hypocrisie it was, for Master _Ned_ cryeth over his Taskes pretty nearlie as oft as the youngest.

_Friday_.

To rewarde my zealous Practice to-day on the Spinnette, Mr. _Milton_ produced a Collection of "_Ayres, and Dialogues, for one, two, and three Voices_," by his Friend, Mr. _Harry Lawes_, which he sayd I shoulde find very pleasant Studdy; and then he tolde me alle about theire getting up the Masque of _Comus_ in _Ludlow_ Castle, and how well the Lady's Song was sung by Mr. _Lawes'_ Pupil, the Lady _Alice_, then a sweet, modest Girl, onlie thirteen Yeares of Age,--and he told me of the Singing of a faire _Italian_ young Signora, named _Leonora Barroni_, with her Mother and Sister, whome he had hearde at _Rome_, at the Concerts of Cardinal _Barberini_; and how she was "as gentle and modest as sweet _Moll_," yet not afrayed to open her Mouth, and p.r.o.nounce everie Syllable distinctlie, and with the proper Emphasis and Pa.s.sion when she sang. And after this, to my greate Contentment, he tooke me to the _Gray's Inn Walks_, where, the Afternoon being fine, was much Companie.

After Supper, I proposed to the Boys that we shoulde tell Stories; and Mr. _Milton_ tolde one charminglie, but then went away to write a _Latin_ Letter. Soe _Ned's_ Turn came next; and I must, if I can, for very Mirthe's Sake, write it down in his exact Words, they were soe pragmaticall.