_Sept. 21, 1643_.

Battle at _Newbury--_Lord _Falkland_ slayn. Oh, fatal Loss! _Father_ and _Mother_ going off to my Lady: but I think she will not see them.

Aunt and Uncle _Hewlett_, who brought the News, can talk of nothing else.

_Sept. 22, 1643_.

Alle Sadnesse and Consternation. I am wearie of bad News, public and private, and feel less and less Love for the Puritans, yet am forced to seem more loyal than I really am, soe high runs party Feeling just now at Home.

My Month has pa.s.sed!

_Sept. 28, 1643_.

A most displeased Letter from my Husband, minding me that my Leave of Absence hath expired, and that he likes not the Messages he received through _Ralph_, nor the unreasonable and hurtfulle Pastimes which he finds have beene making my quiet Home distastefulle. Asking, are they suitable, under Circ.u.mstances of nationall Consternation to _my owne_ Party, or seemlie in soe young a Wife, apart from her Husband? To conclude, insisting, with more Authoritie than Kindnesse, on my immediate Return.

With Tears in my Eyes, I have beene to my Father. I have tolde him I must goe. He sayth, Oh no, not yet. I persisted, I must, my Husband was soe very angry. He rejoined, What, angry with my sweet _Moll_? and for spending a few Days with her old Father? Can it be? hath it come to this alreadie? I sayd, my Month had expired. He sayd, Nonsense, he had always askt me to stay over _Michaelma.s.se_, till his Birthday; he knew _d.i.c.k_ had named it to Mr. _Milton_. I sayd, Mr. _Milton_ had taken no Notice thereof, but had onlie granted me a Month. He grew peevish, and said, "Pooh, pooh!" Thereat, after a Silence of a Minute or two, I sayd yet agayn, I must goe. He took me by the two Wrists and sayd, Doe you wish to go? I burst into Teares, but made noe Answer.

He sayd, That is Answer enough,--how doth this Puritan carry it with you, my Child? and s.n.a.t.c.hed his Letter. I sayd, Oh, don't read that, and would have drawn it back; but _Father_, when heated, is impossible to controwl; therefore, quite deaf to Entreaty, he would read the Letter, which was unfit for him in his chafed Mood; then, holding it at Arm's Length, and smiting it with his Fist,--Ha! and is it thus he dares address a Daughter of mine? (with Words added, I dare not write)--but be quiet, _Moll_, be at Peace, my Child, for he shall not have you back for awhile, even though he come to fetch you himself.

The maddest Thing I ever did was to give you to this Roundhead. He and _Roger Agnew_ talked me over with soe many fine Words.--What possessed me, I know not. Your Mother always said evil woulde come of it. But as long as thy Father has a Roof over his Head, Child, thou hast a Home.

As soone as he woulde hear me, I begged him not to take on soe, for that I was not an unhappy Wife; but my Tears, he sayd, belied me; and indeed, with Fear and Agitation, they flowed fast enough. But I sayd, I _must_ goe home, and wished I had gone sooner, and woulde he let _Diggory_ take me! No, he sayd, not a Man Jack on his Land shoulde saddle a Horse for me, nor would he lend me one, to carry me back to Mr. _Milton_; at the leaste not for a While, till he had come to Reason, and protested he was sorry for having writ to me soe harshly.

"Soe be content, _Moll_, and make not two Enemies instead of one. Goe, help thy Mother with her clear-starching. Be happy whilst thou art here."

But ah! more easily said than done. "Alle Joy is darkened; the Mirthe of the Land is gone!"

_Michaelma.s.se Day_.

At Squire _Paice's_ grand Dinner we have been counting on soe many Days; but it gave me not the Pleasure expected.

_Oct. 13, 1643_.

The Weather is soe foul that I am sure Mr. _Milton_ woulde not like me to be on the Road, even would my Father let me goe.

--While writing the above, heard very angrie Voices in the Courtyard, my Father's especiallie, louder than common; and distinguished the Words "Knave," and "Varlet," and "begone." Lookt from my Window and beheld a Man, booted and cloaked, with two Horses, at the Gate, parleying with my Father, who stood in an offensive Att.i.tude, and woulde not let him in. I could catch such Fragments as, "But, Sir?"

"What! in such Weather as this?" "Nay, it had not overcast when I started." "'Tis foul enough now, then." "Let me but have speech of my Mistress." "You crosse not my Threshold." "Nay, Sir, if but to give her this Letter:"--and turning his Head, I was avised of its being _Hubert_, old Mr. _Milton's_ Man; doubtless sent by my Husband to fetch me. Seeing my Father raise his Hand in angrie Action (his Riding-whip being in it), I hasted down as fast as I coulde, to prevent Mischiefe, as well as to get my Letter; but, unhappilie, not soe fleetlie as to see more than _Hubert's_ flying Skirts as he gallopped from the Gate, with the led Horse by the Bridle; while my Father flinging downe the torne Letter, walked pa.s.sionatelie away. I clasped my Hands, and stood mazed for a while,--was then avised to piece the Letter, but could not; onlie making out such Words as "Sweet _Moll_," in my Husband's Writing.

_Oct. 14, 1643_.

_Rose_ came this Morning, through Rain and Mire, at some Risk as well as much Inconvenience, to intreat of me, even with Teares, not to vex Mr. _Milton_ by anie farther Delays, but to return to him as soon as possible. Kind Soule, her Affection toucht me, and I a.s.sured her the more readilie I intended to return Home as soone as I coulde, which was not yet, my Father having taken the Matter into his own Hands, and permitting me noe Escort; but that I questioned not, Mr. _Milton_ was onlie awaiting the Weather to settle, to fetch me himself. That he will doe so, is my firm Persuasion. Meanwhile, I make it my Duty to joyn with some Attempt at Cheerfullenesse in the Amus.e.m.e.nts of others, to make my Father's Confinement to the House less irksome; and have in some Measure succeeded.

_Oct. 23, 1643_.

Noe Sighte nor Tidings of Mr. _Milton_.--I am uneasie, frighted at myself, and wish I had never left him, yet hurte at the Neglect.

_Hubert_, being a crabbed Temper, made Mischief on his Return, I fancy.

_Father_ is vexed, methinks, at his owne Pa.s.sion, and hath never, directlie, spoken, in my Hearinge, of what pa.s.sed; but rayleth continuallie agaynst Rebels and Roundheads. As to _Mother_,--ah me!

_Oct. 24, 1643_.

Thro' dank and miry Lanes and Bye-roads with _Robin_, to _Sheepscote_.

Waiting for _Rose_ in Mr. _Agnew's_ small Studdy, where she mostlie sitteth with him, oft acting as his Amanuensis, was avised to take up a printed Sheet of Paper that lay on the Table; but finding it to be of _Latin_ Versing, was about to laye it downe agayn, when _Rose_ came in.

She changed Colour, and in a faltering Voice sayd, "Ah, _Cousin_, do you know what that is? One of your Husband's Proofe Sheets. I woulde that it coulde interest you in like manner as it hath me." Made her noe Answer, laying it aside unconcernedlie, but secretlie felt, as I have oft done before, how stupid it is not to know _Latin_, and resolved to get _Robin_ to teach me. He is noe greate Scholar himselfe, soe will not shame me.--I am wearie of hearing of War and Politicks; soe will try Studdy for a while, and see if 'twill cure this dull Payn at my Heart.

_Oct. 28, 1643_.

_Robin_ and I have shut ourselves up for three Hours dailie, in the small Book-room, and have made fayre Progresse. He liketh his Office of Tutor mightilie.

_Oct. 31, 1643_.

My Lessons are more crabbed, or I am more dull and inattentive, for I cannot fix my Minde on my Book, and am secretlie wearie, _Robin_ wearies too. But I will not give up as yet; the more soe as in this quiete Studdy I am out of Sighte and Hearinge of sundrie young Officers _d.i.c.k_ is continuallie bringing over from _Oxford_, who spend manie Hours with him in Countrie Sports, and then come into the House, hungry, thirstie, noisie, and idle. I know Mr. _Milton_ woulde not like them.

--Surelie he will come soone?--I sayd to _Father_ last Night, I wanted to hear from Home. He sayd, "Home! Dost call yon Taylor's Shop your Home?" soe ironicalle that I was shamed to say more.

Woulde that I had never married!--then coulde I enjoy my Childhoode's Home. Yet I knew not its Value before I quitted it, and had even a stupid Pleasure in antic.i.p.ating another. Ah me! had I loved Mr.

_Milton_ more, perhaps I might better have endured the Taylor's Shop.

_Sheepscote, Nov. 20, 1643_.

Annoyed by _d.i.c.k's_ Companions, I prayed _Father_ to let me stay awhile with _Rose_; and gaining his Consent, came over here Yester-morn, without thinking it needfulle to send Notice, which was perhaps inconsiderate. But she received me with Kisses and Words of Tendernesse, though less Smiling than usualle, and eagerlie accepted mine offered Visitt. Then she ran off to find _Roger_, and I heard them talking earnestlie in a low Voice before they came in. His Face was grave, even stern, when he entred, but he held out his Hand, and sayd, "Mistress _Milton_, you are welcome! how is it with you? and how was Mr. _Milton_ when he wrote to you last?" I answered brieflie, he was well: then came a Silence, and then _Rose_ took me to my Chamber, which was sweet with Lavender, and its hangings of the whitest. It reminded me too much of my first Week of Marriage, soe I resolved to think not at all lest I shoulde be bad Companie, but cheer up and be gay. Soe I askt _Rose_ a thousand Questions about her Dairie and Bees, laught much at Dinner, and told Mr. _Agnew_ sundrie of the merrie Sayings of _d.i.c.k_ and his _Oxford_ Friends. And, for my Reward, when we were afterwards apart, I heard him tell _Rose_ (by Reason of the Walls being thin) that however she might regard me for old Affection's sake, he thought he had never knowne soe unpromising a character. This made me dulle enoughe all the rest of the Evening, and repent having come to _Sheepscote_: however, he liked me the better for being quiete: and _Rose_, being equallie chekt, we sewed in Silence while he read to us the first Division of _Spencer's Legend of Holinesse_, about _Una_ and the Knight, and how they got sundered. This led to much serious, yet not unpleasing, Discourse, which lasted till Supper. For the first Time at _Sheepscote_, I coulde not eat, which Mr. _Agnew_ observing, prest me to take Wine, and _Rose_ woulde start up to fetch some of her Preserves; but I chekt her with a Motion, not being quite able to speak; for their being soe kind made the Teares ready to starte, I knew not why.

Family Prayers, after Supper, rather too long; yet though I coulde not keep up my Attention, they seemed to spread a Calm and a Peace alle about, that extended even to me; and though, after I had undressed, I sat a long while in a Maze, and bethought me how piteous a Creature I was, yet, once layed down, I never sank into deeper, more composing Sleep.

_Nov. 21,1643_.

This Morning, _Rose_ exclaimed, "Dear _Roger_! onlie think! _Moll_ has begun to learn _Latin_ since she returned to _Forest Hill_, thinking to surprise Mr. _Milton_ when they meet." "She will not onlie surprise but _please_ him," returned dear _Roger_, taking my Hand very kindlie; "I can onlie say, I hope they will meet long before she can read his _Poemata_, unless she learnes much faster than most People." I replyed, I learned very slowly, and wearied _Robin's_ Patience; on which _Rose_, kissing me, cried, "You will never wearie mine; soe, if you please, deare _Moll_, we will goe to our Lessons here everie Morning; and it may be that I shall get you through the Grammar faster than _Robin_ can. If we come to anie Difficultie we shall refer it to _Roger_."