The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Household of Sir Thomas More, by Anne Manning.

Trulie may I say soe. Here have they ta'en a Fever of some low Sorte in my House of Refuge, and Mother, fearing it may be the Sicknesse, will not have me goe neare it, lest I should bring it home. Mercy, howbeit, hath besought her soe earnestlie to let her goe and nurse the Sick, that Mother hath granted her Prayer, on Condition she returneth not till the Fever bates ... thus setting her Life at lower Value than our owne. Deare Mercy! I would fayn be her Mate.

We are alle mightie glad that Rupert Allington hath at lengthe zealouslie embraced the Studdy of the Law. 'Twas much to be feared at the Firste there was noe Application in him, and though we alle pitied him when Father first broughte him Home, a pillaged, portionlesse Client, with none other to espouse his Rightes, yet 'twas a Pitie soone allied with Contempt when we founde how emptie he was, caring for nought but Archerie and Skittles and the Popinjaye out o' the House, and Dicing and Tables within, which Father would on noe Excuse permitt. Soe he had to conform, ruefullie enow, and hung piteouslie on Hand for awhile. I mind me of Bess's saying, about Christmasse, "Heaven send us open Weather while Allington is here; I don't believe he is one that will bear shutting up." Howbeit, he seemed to incline towards Daisy, who is handsome enow, and cannot be hindered of Two-hundred Pounds, and soe he kept within Bounds, and when Father got him his Cause he was mightilie thankfulle, and woulde have left us out of Hand, but Father persuaded him to let his Estate recover itself, and turn the mean Time to Profitt, and, in short, soe wrought on him, that he hath now become a Student in righte earneste.

Soe we are going to lose not only Mr. Clement, but Mr. Gunnel! How sorrie we alle are! It seemeth he hath long been debating for and agaynst the Church, and at length finds his Mind soe stronglie set towards it, as he can keep out of it noe longer. Well! we shall lose a good Master, and the Church will gayn a good Servant. Drew will supplie his Place, that is, according to his beste, but our worthy Welshman careth soe little for young People, and is soe abstract from the World about him, that we shall oft feel our Loss. Father hath promised Gonellus his Interest with the Cardinall.

I fell into Disgrace for holding Speech with Mercy over the Pales, but she is confident there is noe Danger; the Sick are doing well, and none of the Whole have fallen sick. She sayth Gammer Gurney is as tender of her as if she were her Daughter, and will let her doe noe vile or paynfull Office, soe as she hath little to doe but read and pray for the poor Souls, and feed 'em with savourie Messes, and they are alle so harmonious and full of Cheer, as to be like Birds in a Nest. Mercy deserves theire Blessings more than I. Were I a free Agent, she should not be alone now, and I hope ne'er to be withheld therefrom agayn.

I fell into disgrace for holding Speech with Mercy over the Pales.

Busied with my Flowers the chief o' the Forenoon, I was fayn to rest in the Pavilion, when, entering therein, whom shoulde I stumble upon but William, layd at length on the Floor, with his Arms under his Head, and his Book on the Ground. I was withdrawing brisklie enow, when he called out, "Don't goe away, since you are here," in a Tone soe rough, soe unlike his usuall Key, as that I paused in a Maze, and then saw that his Eyes were red. He sprung to his Feet and sayd, "Meg, come and talk to me;" and, taking my Hand in his, stepped quicklie forthe without another Word sayd, till we reached the Elm-tree Walk. I marvelled to see him soe moven, and expected to hear Somewhat that shoulde displease me, scarce knowing what; however, I might have guest at it from then till now, without ever nearing the Truth. His first Words were, "I wish Erasmus had ne'er crost the Thresholde; he has made me very unhappie;" then, seeing me stare, "Be not his Council just now, deare Meg, but bind up, if thou canst, the Wounds he has made.... There be some Wounds, thou knowest, though but of a cut Finger or the like, that we cannot well bind up for ourselves."

He replyed, "But you have a quick Wit, and Patience, and Kindnesse, and for a Woman, are not scant of Learning."

"Gunnel would be the Last to help me," interrupts Will, "nor can I speak to your Father. He is alwaies too busie now ... besides,—"

"Father Francis?" repeats Will, with a Shake o' the Head and a ruefulle Smile; "dost thou think, Meg, he coulde answer me if I put to him Pilate's Question, 'What is Truth?'"

I paused, then made Answer reverentlie, "That Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and the Life."

"Yes," he exclaymed, clapping his Hands together in a strange Sort of Passion; "that we doe know, blessed be God, and other Foundation can or ought noe Man to lay than that is layd, which is Jesus Christ. But, Meg, is this the Principle of our Church?"

"Then, how has it beene overlayd," he hurriedlie went on, "with Men's Inventions! St. Paul speaks of a Sacrifice once offered: we holde the Host to be a continuall Sacrifice. Holy Writ telleth us, where a Tree falls it must lie; we are taughte that our Prayers may free Souls from Purgatorie. The Word sayth, 'By Faith ye are saved;' the Church sayth, we may be saved by our Works. It is written, 'The Idols he shall utterly abolish;' we worship Figures of Gold and Silver...." "Hold, hold," I sayd, "I dare not listen to this.... You are wrong, you know you are wrong."

"Our Images are but Symbols of our Saints," I made Answer; "'tis onlie the Ignorant and Unlearned that worship the mere Wood and Stone."

"But why worship Saints at alle?" persisted Will; "where's your Warrant for it?"

I sayd, "Heaven has warranted it by sundrie and speciall Miracles at divers Times and Places. I may say to you, Will, as Socrates to Agathon, 'You may easilie argue agaynst me, but you cannot argue agaynst the Truth.'"

"Oh, put me not off with Plato," he impatientlie replyed, "refer me but to Holie Writ."

"How can I," quoth I, "when you have ta'en away my Testament ere I had half gone through it? 'Tis this Book, I fear me, poor Will, hath unsettled thee. Our Church, indeed, sayth the Unlearned wrest it to theire Destruction."

"And yet the Apostle sayth," rejoyned Will, "that it contayns alle Things necessarie to our Salvation."

"And how find, unlesse we seeke?" he pursued, "and how know which Road to take, when we find the Scripture and the Church at Issue?"

"I cannot suppose that," I somewhat impatientlie returned, "God's Word and God's Church must agree; 'tis only we that make them at Issue."

"Ah, Meg, that is just such an Answer as Father Francis mighte give—it solves noe Difficultie. If, to alle human Reason, they pull opposite Ways, by which shall we abide? I know; I am certain. 'Tu, Domine Jesu, es Justicia mea!'"

He looked soe rapt, with claspt Hands and upraysed Eyes, as that I coulde not but look on him and hear him with Solemnitie. At length I sayd, "If you know and are certayn, you have noe longer anie Doubts for me to lay, and with your Will, we will holde this Discourse noe longer, for however moving and however considerable its Subject Matter may be, it approaches forbidden Ground too nearlie for me to feel it safe, and I question whether it savoureth not of Heresie. However, Will, I most heartilie pitie you, and will pray for you."

"Indeede I shall not, for I think 'twoulde bring you if not me into Trouble; but, since thou haste soughte my Council, Will, receive it now and take it...."

"To read less, pray more, fast, and use such Discipline as our Church recommends, and I question not this Temptation will depart. Make a fayr Triall."

And soe, away from him, though he woulde fain have sayd more; and I have kept mine own Worde of praying for him full earnestlie, for it pitieth me to see him in such Case.

Poor Will, I never see him look grave now, nor heare him sighe, without thinking I know the Cause of his secret Discontentation. He hath, I believe, followed my Council to the Letter, for though the Men's Quarter of the House is soe far aparte from ours, it hath come rounde to me through Barbara, who had it from her Brother, that Mr. Roper hath of late lien on the Ground, and used a knotted Cord. As 'tis one of the Acts of Mercy to relieve others, when we can, from Satanic Doubts and Inquietations, I have been at some Payns to make an Abstracte of such Passages from the Fathers, and such Narratives of noted and undeniable Miracles as cannot, I think, but carry Conviction with them, and I hope they may minister to his Soul's Comfort.

Supped with my Lord Sands. Mother played Mumchance with my Lady, but Father, who saith he woulde rather feast a hundred poor Men than eat at one rich Man's Table, came not in till late, on Plea of Businesse. My Lord tolde him the King had visitted him not long agone, and was soe well content with his Manor as to wish it were his owne, for the singular fine Ayr and pleasant growth of Wood. In fine, wound up the Evening with Musick. My Lady hath a Pair of fine-toned Clavichords, and a Mandoline that stands five Feet high; the largest in England, except that of the Lady Mary Dudley. The Sound, indeed, is powerfull, but methinketh the Instrument ungaynlie for a Woman. Lord Sands sang us a new Ballad, "The King's Hunt's up," which Father affected hugelie. I lacked Spiritt to sue my Lord for the Words, he being soe free-spoken as alwaies to dash me; howbeit, I mind they ran somewhat thus....

"The Hunt is up, the Hunt is up,
And it is well nigh Daye,
Harry our King has gone hunting
To bring his Deere to baye.
The East is bright with Morning Lighte,
And Darkness it is fled,
And the merrie Horn wakes up the Morn
To leave his idle Bed.
Beholde the Skies with golden Dyes,
Are...."

—The Rest hath escaped me, albeit I know there was some Burden of Hey-tantara, where my Lord did stamp and snap his Fingers. He is a merry Heart.

Sayth Lord Rutland to my Father, in his acute sneering Way, "Ah, ah, Sir Thomas, Honores mutant Mores."

"Not so, in Faith, my Lord," returns Father, "but have a care lest we translate the Proverb, and say Honours change Manners."

It served him right, and the Jest is worth preserving, because 'twas not premeditate, as my Lord's very likely was, but retorted at once and in Self-defence. I don't believe Honours have changed the Mores. As Father told Mother, there's the same Face under the Hood. 'Tis comique, too, the Fulfilment of Erasmus his Prophecy. Plato's Year has not come rounde, but they have got Father to Court, and the King seems minded never to let him goe. For us, we have the same untamed Spiritts and unconstrayned Course of Life as ever, neither lett nor hindered in our daylie Studdies, though we dress somewhat braver, and see more Companie. Mother's Head was a little turned, at first, by the Change and Enlargement of the Householde ... the Acquisition of Clerk of the Kitchen, Surveyor of the Dresser, Yeoman of the Pastrie, etc., but, as Father laughinglie tolde her, the Increase of her Cares soon steddied her Witts, for she found she had twenty Unthrifts to look after insteade of half-a-dozen. And the same with himself. His Responsibilities are soe increast, that he grutches at everie Hour the Court steals from his Family, and vows, now and then, he will leave off joking, that the King may the sooner wearie of him. But this is onlie in Jest, for he feels it is a Power given him over lighter Minds, which he may exert to usefull and high Purpose. Onlie it keepeth him from needing Damocles his Sword; he trusts not in the Favour of Princes nor in the Voyce of the People, and keeps his Soul as a weaned Child. 'Tis much for us now to get an Hour's Leisure with him, and makes us feel what our olde Privilleges were when we knew 'em not. Still, I'm pleased without being over elated, at his having risen to his proper Level.

The King tooke us by Surprise this Morning: Mother had scarce time to slip on her Scarlett Gown and Coif, ere he was in the House. His Grace was mighty pleasant to all, and, at going, saluted all round, which Bessy took humourously, Daisy immoveablie, Mercy humblie, I distastefullie, and Mother delightedlie. She calls him a fine Man; he is indeede big enough, and like to become too big; with long slits of Eyes that gaze freelie on all, as who shoulde say, "Who dare let or hinder us?" His Brow betokens Sense and Franknesse, his Eyebrows are supercilious, and his Cheeks puffy. A rolling, straddling Gait, and abrupt Speech.

T'other Evening, as Father and I were, unwontedly, strolling together down the Lane, there accosts us a shabby poor Fellow, with something unsettled in his Eye....

"Very likely," says Father, "and my Name is More, but what is that to the Purpose?"

"You who are a Lawyer shoulde know best about that," rejoyned the poor Knave; "'tis too hard for poor Patteson."

"Don't you mind me?" says Patteson; "I played Hold-your-tongue, last Christmasse Revel was five Years, and they called me a smart Chap then, but last Martinmasse I fell from the Church Steeple, and shook my Brain-pan, I think, for its Contents have seemed addled ever since; soe what I want now is to be made a Fool."

"Aye," says t'other, "but I've Reason and Feeling enow, too, to know you are no Fool, though I thoughte you might want one. Great People like 'em at their Tables, I've hearde say, though I am sure I can't guesse why, for it makes me sad to see Fools laughed at; ne'erthelesse, as I get laughed at alreadie, methinketh I may as well get paid for the Job if I can, being unable, now, to doe a Stroke of Work in hot Weather. And I'm the onlie Son of my Mother, and she is a Widow. But perhaps I'm not bad enough."

"I know not that, poor Knave," says Father, touched with quick Pity, "and, for those that laugh at Fools, my Opinion, Patteson, is that they are the greater Fools who laugh. To tell you the Truth, I had had noe Mind to take a Fool into mine Establishment, having alwaies had a Fancy to be prime Fooler in it myselfe; however, you incline me to change my Purpose, for as I said anon, Like cleaves to Like, soe, I'll tell you what we will doe—divide the Businesse and goe Halves—I continuing the Fooling, and thou receiving the Salary; that is, if I find, on Inquiry, thou art given to noe Vice, including that of Scurrillitie."

"May it like your Goodness," says poor Patteson, "I've been the Subject, oft, of Scurrillitie, and affect it too little to offend that Way myself. I ever keep a civil Tongue in my Head, 'specially among young Ladies."

"That minds me," says Father, "of a Butler who sayd he always was sober, especially when he only had Water to drink. Can you read and write?"

"Well, and what if I cannot?" returns Patteson, "there ne'er was but one, I ever heard of, that knew Letters, never having learnt, and well he might, for he made them that made them."

"Meg, there is Sense in this poor Fellow," says Father, "we will have him Home and be kind to him."

A glance at the anteceding Pages of this Libellus me-sheweth poor Will Roper at the Season his Love-fitt for me was at its Height. He troubleth me with it noe longer, nor with his religious Disquietations. Hard Studdy of the Law hath filled his Head with other Matters, and made him infinitely more rationall, and by Consequents, more agreeable. 'Twas one of those Preferences young People sometimes manifest, themselves know neither why nor wherefore, and are shamed, afterwards, to be reminded of. I'm sure I shall ne'er remind him. There was nothing in me to fix a rational or passionate Regard. I have neither Bess's Witt nor white Teeth, nor Daisy's dark Eyes, nor Mercy's Dimple. A plain-favoured Girl, with changefulle Spiritts,—that's alle.

Patteson's latest Jest was taking Precedence of Father yesterday with the Saying, "Give place, Brother; you are but Jester to King Harry, and I'm Jester to Sir Thomas More; I'll leave you to decide which is the greater Man of the two."

"Not a Bit of it," returns Patteson, "he's big enow for two such as you are, I grant ye, but the King can't make two of you. No! Lords and Commons may make a King, but a King can't make a Sir Thomas More."

"Yes, he can," rejoyns Father, "he can make me Lord Chancellor, and then he will make me more than I am already; ergo, he will make Sir Thomas more."

"But what I mean is," persists the Fool, "that the King can't make such another as you are, any more than all the King's Horses and all the King's Men can put Humpty-dumpty together again, which is an ancient Riddle, and full of Marrow. And soe he'll find, if ever he lifts thy Head off from thy Shoulders, which God forbid!"

Father delighteth in sparring with Patteson far more than in jesting with the King, whom he alwaies looks on as a Lion that may, any Minute, fall on him and rend him. Whereas, with t'other, he ungirds his Mind. Their Banter commonly exceeds not Pleasantrie, but Patteson is ne'er without an Answer; and although, maybe, each amuses himselfe now and then with thinking, "I'll put him up with such a Question," yet, once begun, the Skein runs off the Reel without a Knot, and shews the excellent Nature of both, soe free are they alike from Malice and Over-license. Sometimes theire Cuts are neater than common Listeners apprehend. I've seene Rupert and Will, in fencing, make theire Swords flash in the Sun at every Parry and Thrust; agayn, owing to some Change in mine owne Position, or the Decline of the Sun, the Scintillations have escaped me, though I've known their Rays must have been emitted in some Quarter alle the same.

Patteson, with one of Argus's cast Feathers in his Hand, is at this Moment beneath my Lattice, astride on a Stone Balustrade; while Bessy, whom he much affects, is sitting on the Steps, feeding her Peacocks. Sayth Patteson, "Canst tell me, Mistress, why Peacocks have soe manie Eyes in theire Tails, and yet can onlie see with two in theire Heads?"

"Because those two make them soe vain alreadie, Fool," says Bess, "that were they always beholding theire owne Glory, they woulde be intolerable."

"And besides that," says Patteson, "the less we see or heare, either, of what passes behind our Backs, the better for us, since Knaves will make Mouths at us then, for as glorious as we may be. Canst tell me, Mistress, why the Peacock was the last Bird that went into the Ark?"

"Nay, a Fool may ask a Question would puzzle a Wiseard to answer," rejoyns Patteson; "I mighte ask you, for example, where they got theire fresh Kitchen-stuff in the Ark, or whether the Birds ate other than Grains, or the wild Beasts other than Flesh. It needs must have been a Granary."

"We ne'er shew ourselves such Fools," says Bess, "as in seeking to know more than is written. They had enough, if none to spare, and we scarce can tell how little is enough for bare Sustenance in a State of perfect Inaction. If the Creatures were kept low, they were all the less fierce."

"Well answered, Mistress," says Patteson, "but tell me, why do you wear two Crosses?"

"Oh, but I say you wear two," says Patteson, "one at your Girdle, and one that nobody sees. We alle wear the unseen one, you know. Some have theirs of Gold, alle carven and shaped, soe as you hardlie tell it for a Cross ... like my Lord Cardinall, for Instance ... but it is one, for alle that. And others, of Iron, that eateth into their Hearts ... methinketh Master Roper's must be one of 'em. For me, I'm content with one of Wood, like that our deare Lord bore; what was goode enow for him is goode enow for me, and I've noe Temptation to shew it, as it isn't fine, nor yet to chafe at it for being rougher than my Neighbour's, nor yet to make myself a second because it is not hard enow. Doe you take me, Mistress?"

"I mean," says Bess, "you have more Wisdom than Witt, and a real Fool has neither, therefore you are only a make-believe Fool."

"Well, there are many make-believe Sages," says Patteson; "for mine owne Part, I never aim to be thoughte a Hiccius Doccius."

"Perhaps I do," rejoins Patteson, "since other Folks soe oft know better what we mean than we know ourselves. Alle I woulde say is, I ne'er set up for a Conjuror. One can see as far into a Millstone as other People, without being that. For Example, when a Man is overta'en with Qualms of Conscience for having married his Brother's Widow, when she is noe longer soe young and fair as she was a Score of Years ago, we know what that's a Sign of. And when an Ipswich Butcher's Son takes on him the State of my Lord Pope, we know what that's a Sign of. Nay, if a young Gentlewoman become dainty at her Sizes, and sluttish in her Apparel, we ... as I live, here comes Giles Heron, with a Fish in's Mouth."

Poor Bess involuntarilie turned her Head quicklie towards the Watergate; on which, Patteson, laughing as he lay on his Back, points upward with his Peacock's Feather, and cries, "Overhead, Mistress! see, there he goes. Sure, you lookt not to see Master Heron making towards us between the Posts and Flower-pots, eating a dried Ling?" laughing as wildly as though he were verily a Natural.

Bess, without a Word, shook the Crumbs from her Lap, and was turning into the House, when he withholds her a Minute in a perfectly altered Fashion, saying, "There be some Works, Mistress, our Confessors tell us be Works of Supererogation ... is not that the Word? I learn a long one now and then ... such as be setting Food before a full Man, or singing to a deaf one, or buying for one's Pigs a Silver Trough, or, for the Matter of that, casting Pearls before a Dunghill Cock, or fishing for a Heron, which is well able to fish for itself, and is an ill-natured Bird after all, that pecks the Hand of his Mistress, and, for all her Kindness to him, will not think of Bessy More."

Soe my Fate is settled. Who knoweth at Sunrise what will chance before Sunsett? No; the Greeks and Romans mighte speake of Chance and of Fate, but we must not. Ruth's Hap was to light on the Field of Boaz: but what she thought casual, the Lord had contrived.

Firste, he gives me the Marmot. Then, the Marmot dies. Then, I, having kept the Creature soe long, and being naturallie tender, must cry a little over it. Then Will must come in and find me drying mine Eyes. Then he must, most unreasonablie, suppose that I could not have loved the poor Animal for its owne Sake soe much as for his; and, thereupon, falle a love-making in such downrighte Earneste, that I, being alreadie somewhat upset, and knowing 'twoulde please Father ... and hating to be perverse, ... and thinking much better of Will since he hath studdied soe hard, and given soe largelie to the Poor, and left off broaching his heteroclite Opinions ... I say, I supposed it must be soe, some Time or another, soe 'twas noe Use hanging back for ever and ever, soe now there's an End, and I pray God give us a quiet Life.

Noe one woulde suppose me reckoning on a quiet Life if they knew how I've cried alle this Forenoon, ever since I got quit of Will, by Father's carrying him off to Westminster. He'll tell Father, I know, as they goe along in the Barge, or else coming back, which will be soone now, though I've ta'en no Heed of the Hour. I wish 'twere cold Weather, and that I had a sore Throat, or stiff Neck, or somewhat that might reasonablie send me a-bed, and keep me there till to-morrow Morning. But I'm quite well, and 'tis the Dog-days, and Cook is thumping the Rolling-pin on the Dresser, and Dinner is being served, and here comes Father.

Father hath had some Words with the Cardinall. 'Twas touching the Draught of some forayn Treaty which the Cardinall offered for his Criticism, or rather, for his Commendation, which Father could not give. This nettled his Grace, who exclaimed,—"By the Mass, thou art the veriest Fool of all the Council." Father, smiling, rejoined, "God be thanked, that the King our Master hath but one Fool therein."

The Cardinall may rage, but he can't rob him of the royal Favour. The King was here yesterday, and walked for an Hour or soe about the Garden, with his Arm round Father's Neck. Will coulde not help felicitating Father upon it afterwards; to which Father made Answer, "I thank God I find his Grace my very good Lord indeed, and I believe he doth as singularly favour me as any Subject within this Realm. Howbeit, son Roper, I may tell thee between ourselves, I feel no Cause to be proud thereof, for if my Head would win him a Castle in France, it shoulde not fail to fly off."

—Father is graver than he used to be. No Wonder. He hath much on his Mind; the Calls on his Time and Thoughts are beyond Belief; but God is very good to him. His Favour at home and abroad is immense: he hath good Health, soe have we alle; and his Family are established to his Mind, and settled alle about him, still under the same fostering Roof. Considering that I am the most ordinarie of his Daughters, 'tis singular I should have secured the best Husband. Daisy lives peaceablie with Rupert Allington, and is as indifferent, me seemeth, to him as to alle the World beside. He, on his Part, loves her and theire Children with Devotion, and woulde pass half his Time in the Nurserie. Dancey always had a hot Temper, and now and then plagues Bess; but she lets noe one know it but me. Sometimes she comes into my Chamber and cries a little, but the next kind Word brightens her up, and I verilie believe her Pleasures far exceed her Payns. Giles Heron lost her through his own Fault, and might have regained her good Opinion after all, had he taken half the Pains for her Sake he now takes for her younger Sister: I cannot think how Cecy can favour him; yet I suspect he will win her, sooner or later. As to mine own deare Will, 'tis the kindest, purest Nature, the finest Soul, the ... and yet how I was senselesse enow once to undervalue him!

Yes, I am a happy Wife; a happy Daughter; a happy Mother. When my little Bill stroaked dear Father's Face just now, and murmured "Pretty!" he burst out a-laughing, and cried,—

"You are like the young Cyrus, who exclaimed,—'Oh! Mother, how pretty is my Grandfather!' And yet, according to Xenophon, the old Gentleman was soe rouged and made up, as that none but a Child woulde have admired him!"

"He's a More all over," says Father, fondly. "Make a Pun, Meg, if thou canst, about Amor, Amore, or Amores. 'Twill onlie be the thousand and first on our Name. Here, little Knave, see these Cherries: tell me who thou art, and thou shalt have one. 'More! More!' I knew it, sweet Villain. Take them all."

I oft sitt for an Hour or more, watching Hans Holbein at his Brush. He hath a rare Gift of limning; and has, besides, the Advantage of deare Erasmus his Recommendation, for whom he hath alreddie painted our Likenesses, but I think he has made us very ugly. His Portraiture of my Grandfather is marvellous; ne'erthelesse, I look in vayn for the Spirituallitie which our Lucchese Friend, Antonio Bonvisi, tells us is to be found in the Productions of the Italian Schools.

Holbein loves to paint with the Lighte coming in upon his Work from above. He says a Lighte from above puts Objects in theire proper Lighte, and shews theire just Proportions; a Lighte from beneath reverses alle the naturall Shadows. Surelie, this hath some Truth if we spirituallize it.

Rupert's Cousin, Rosamond Allington, is our Guest. She is as beautiful as ... not as an Angel, for she lacks the Look of Goodness, but very beautiful indeed. She cometh hither from Hever Castle, her Account of the Affairs whereof I like not. Mistress Anne is not there at present; indeed, she is now always hanging about Court, and followeth somewhat too literallie the scriptural Injunction to Solomon's Spouse—to forget her Father's House. The King likes well enow to be compared with Solomon, but Mistress Anne is not his Spouse yet, nor ever will be, I hope. Flattery and Frenchified Habitts have spoilt her, I trow.

She cometh hither from Hever Castle

"She cometh hither from Hever Castle."

Rosamond says there is not a good Chamber in the Castle; even the Ball-room, which is on the upper Floor of alle, being narrow and low. On a rainy Day, long ago, she and Mistress Anne were playing at Shuttlecock therein, when Rosamond's Foot tripped at some Unevennesse in the Floor, and Mistress Anne, with a Laugh, cried out, "Mind you goe not down into the Dungeon"—then pulled up a Trap-door in the Ball-room Floor, by an iron Ring, and made Rosamond look down into an unknown Depth; all in the blacknesse of Darkness. 'Tis an awfulle Thing to have onlie a Step from a Ball-room to a Dungeon! I'm glad we live in a modern House; we have noe such fearsome Sights here.

To think of his Escape from the Cardinall's Fangs, and yet that he will probablie repeat the Offence! This Morning Father and he had a long, and, I fear me, fruitless Debate in the Garden; on returning from which, Father took me aside and sayd,—

"Meg, I have borne a long Time with thine Husband; I have reasoned and argued with him, and still given him my poor, fatherly Counsel; but I perceive none of alle this can call him Home agayn. And therefore, Meg, I will no longer dispute with him." ... "Oh, Father!" ... "Nor yet will I give him over; but I will set another Way to work, and get me to God and pray for him."

I feare me they parted unfriendlie; I hearde Father say, "Thus much I have a Right to bind thee to, that thou indoctrinate not her in thine owne Heresies. Thou shalt not imperill the Salvation of my Child."

Since this there has been an irresistible Gloom on our Spiritts, a Cloud between my Husband's Soul and mine, without a Word spoken. I pray, but my Prayers seem dead.

Last Night, after seeking unto this Saint and that, methought, "Why not applie unto the Fountain Head? Maybe these holie Spiritts may have Limitations sett to the Power of theire Intercessions—at anie Rate, the Ears of Mary-mother are open to alle."

Then methoughte, "But I am onlie asking her to intercede—I'll mount a Step higher still." ...

Then I turned to the greate Intercessor of alle. But methought, "Still he intercedes with another, although the same. And his owne Saying was, 'In that Day ye shall ask me nothing. Whatsoever ye shall ask in my Name, he will give it you.'" Soe I did.

I fancy I fell asleep with the Tears on my Cheek. Will had not come up Stairs. Then came a heavie, heavie Sleep, not such as giveth Rest; and a dark, wild Dream. Methought I was tired of waiting for Will, and became alarmed. The Night seemed a Month long, and at last I grew soe weary of it, that I arose, put on some Clothing, and went in search of him whom my Soul loveth. Soon I founde him, sitting in a Muse; and said, "Will, deare Will?" but he hearde me not; and, going up to touch him, I was amazed to be broughte short up or ever I reached him, by Something invisible betwixt us, hard, and cleare, and colde, ... in short, a Wall of Ice! Soe it seemed, in my strange Dreame. I pushed at it, but could not move it; called to him, but coulde not make him hear: and all the While my Breath, I suppose, raised a Vapour on the glassy Substance, that grew thicker and thicker, soe as slowlie to hide him from me. I coulde discerne his Head and Shoulders, but not see down to his Heart. Then I shut mine Eyes in Despair, and when I opened 'em, he was hidden altogether.

Then I prayed. I put my hot Brow agaynst the Ice, and I kept a weeping hot Tears, and the warm Breath of Prayer kept issuing from my Lips; and still I was persisting, when, or ever I knew how, the Ice beganne to melt! I felt it giving Way! and, looking up, coulde in joyfulle Surprize just discerne the Lineaments of a Figure close at t'other Side; the Face turned away, but yet in the Guise of listening. And, Images being apt to seem magnified and distorted through Vapours, methought 'twas altogether bigger than Will, yet himself, nothingthelesse; and, the Barrier between us having sunk away to Breast-height, I layd mine Hand on's Shoulder, and he turned his Head, smiling, though in Silence; and ... oh, Heaven! 'twas not Will, but——.

What coulde I doe, even in my Dreame, but fall at his Feet? What coulde I doe, waking, but the same? 'Twas Grey of Morn; I was feverish and unrefreshed, but I wanted noe more lying a-bed. Will had arisen and gone forthe; and I, as quicklie as I coulde make myself readie, sped after him.

I know not what I expected, nor what I meant to say. The Moment I opened the Door of his Closett, I stopt short. There he stoode, in the Centre of the Chamber; his Hand resting flat on an open Book, his Head raised somewhat up, his Eyes fixed on Something or some One, as though in speaking Communion with 'em; his whole Visage lightened up and glorifide with an unspeakable Calm and Grandeur that seemed to transfigure him before me; and, when he hearde my Step, he turned about, and 'steade of histing me away, helde out his Arms.... We parted without neede to utter a Word.