Mary Powell & Deborah's Diary Part 11

----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 Grat.i.tude after a more collected Manner, and endeavoured to check the somewhat ill-governed Expression of Joy throughout the House; warning the Servants, but especiallie _d.i.c.k_ 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.

_Sat.u.r.day_.

_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_ Const.i.tution 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 pa.s.s 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 Ingrat.i.tude 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 pa.s.sed without soe much as a scrawled e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n 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 Appet.i.te moderated, yet his Food nourished him, and by _G.o.d'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 hara.s.sed. This Morning, my Father hath received a Letter from Sir _Thomas Glemham_, requiring a larger Quant.i.tie 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 s.n.a.t.c.hes, under the Disadvantage of crabbed Ma.n.u.script. 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.

The Text of my Meditation was this, drawne from the same loved Source:--

This I hold firm: Virtue may be a.s.sayled, but never hurt, Surprised by unjust Force, but not enthralled: Yea, even that which Mischief meant most Harm, Shall, in the happy Trial, prove most Glory.

But who hath such Virtue? have I? hath he? No, we have both gone astray, and done amiss, and wrought sinfullie; but I worst, I first, therefore more neede that I humble myself, and pray for both.

There is one, more unhappie, perhaps, than either. The _King_, most misfortunate Gentleman! who knoweth not which Way to turn, nor whom to trust. Last Time I saw him, methought never was there a Face soe full of Woe.

_May 6, 1646_.

The _King_ hath escaped! He gave Orders overnight at alle the Gates, for three Persons to pa.s.se; and, accompanied onlie by Mr. _Ashburnham_, and Mr. _Hurd_, rode forthe at Nightfalle, towards _London_. Sure, he will not throw himselfe into the Hands of Parliament?

_Mother_ is affrighted beyond Measure at the near Neighbourhood of _Fairfax's_ Army, and entreats _Father_ to leave alle behind, and flee with us into the City. It may yet be done; and we alle share her Feares.

_Sat.u.r.day Even_.

Packing up in greate haste, after a confused Family Council, wherein some fresh Accounts of the Rebels' Advances, broughte in by _Diggory_, made my Father the sooner consent to a stolen Flight into _Oxford_, _Diggory_ being left behind in Charge. Time of Flight, to-morrow after Dark, the _Puritans_ being busie at theire Sermons. The better the Day, the better the Deede.--_Heaven_ make it soe!

_Tuesday_.

_Oxford_; in most most confined and unpleasant Lodgings; but noe Matter, manie better and richer than ourselves fare worse, and our King hath not where to lay his Head. 'Tis sayd he hath turned his Course towards _Scotland_. There are Souldiers in this House, whose Noise distracts us.

Alsoe, a poor Widow Lady, whose Husband hath beene slayn in these Wars.

The Children have taken a feverish Complaynt, and require incessant tending. Theire Beds are far from cleane, in too little s.p.a.ce, and ill aired.

_May 20, 1646_.

The Widow Lady goes about visiting the Sick, and woulde faine have my Companie. The Streets have displeased me, being soe fulle of Men; however, in a close Hoode I have accompanied her sundrie Times. 'Tis a good Soul, and full of pious Works and Alms-deedes.

_May 27, 1646_.