Joyce Morrell's Harvest. Emily Sarah Holt
wise can love the unwise, my maid,” saith he. “How could the only wise God love any one of us else?”
Selwick Hall, October ye ii.
Milly saith, and Edith likewise, that I must needs set down somewhat touching all us—who we be, and how many, and our names, and such like. Truly, it seemeth me somewhat lost labour, if none but ourselves are to read the same. But as Milly will have it the Queen’s Majesty and all her Council shall be highly diverted thereby (though little, as methinks, they should care to know of us), I reckon, to please these my sisters, I must needs do their bidding.
We therefore, that dwell in Selwick Hall, be Sir Aubrey Louvaine, the owner thereof (that is Father), and Dame Lettice his wife, and us their daughters, Helen, Milisent, and Editha. Moreover, there is Aunt Joyce Morrell, that dwelleth in Oxfordshire, at Minster Lovel, but doth once every five year tarry six months with us, and we with her the like: so that we see each the other once in every two or three years. ’Tis but a week Aunt Joyce hath been hither, so all the six months be to run. And here I should note she is not truly our aunt, but Father’s cousin, her mother being sister unto his mother: but Father had never no brother nor sister, and was bred up along, with these his cousins, Aunt Joyce and Aunt Anstace, after whom mine eldest sister hath her name: but Aunt Anstace hath been dead these many years, afore any of us were born. I would I had known her; for to hear them talk of her—Father, and Mother, and Aunt Joyce—I could well-nigh think her an angel in human flesh. Now, wherefore is it, for I have oft-times marvelled, that we speak more tenderly and reverently of folk that be dead, than of the living? Were I to die a young maid, should Milly (that loves to mock me now) tell her children henceforward of their Aunt Helen, as though she had been somewhat better than other women? May-be. If we could only use folks we love, while they do live, with the like loving reverence as we shall do after they be dead, if we overlive them! Wherefore do we not so? We do seem for to forget then all that we loved not in them. Could we not essay to do the same a little sooner?
And when Milly cometh hither in her reading, as sure as her name is Milisent, shall she say—“Now, Mistress Nell, there you go, a-riding your high horse of philosophy! Prithee, keep to common earth.”
Beside those I have named, in the house dwelleth Mynheer Floris Stuyvesant, a Dutch gentleman that did flee from his country when the persecution was in Holland, eleven years gone: and Father, which had a little known him aforetime when he made the grand tour, did most gladly welcome him hither, and made him (of his own desire) governor to Ned and Wat, our brothers. These our brothers dwell not now at home, for Wat is squire unto my very good Lord of Oxenford, that is Father’s kinsman: and Ned is at sea with Sir Humphrey Gilbert. We therefore see them but rarely. Then, beyond, there is likewise in the house Mistress Elizabeth Wolvercot, that is a cousin of Mother, whom all we do alway call Cousin Bess; she dwelleth with us at all times. Also be Kate and Caitlin, of whom I have aforetime spoken: and old Matthias, our serving-man; and the boy, Adam o’ Bill’s o’ old Mall’s.
And here I should note that once were two of us more, Aubrey and Julian: of whom Aubrey died a babe, three years afore I was born, and Julian a little maid of eleven years, between Milly’s birth and Edith’s. I mind her well, for she was two years elder than I, so that I was nine years old when she departed; but Milly, that was only three, cannot remember her.
Our eldest of all, Anstace, is wife unto Master Henry Banaster, and dwelleth (as Milly saith) next door, he having the estate joining Father’s own. She hath two children, Aubrey, that is of seven years, and Cicely, that is four; beside her eldest, Lettice, which did decease in the cradle.
I reckon I have told all now, without I name the cows, which be Daisy, and Molly, and Buttercup, and Rose, and Ladybird, and June; and the great house-dog, which is Clover; and the cat, which is a Spanish cat (a tortoise-shell cat, then a rarity), her name Hermosa (the which Ned gave her, saying a Spanish cat should have a Spanish name, and Hermosa signifieth beautiful in that tongue), but Caitlin will make it Moses, and methinks she is called Moses more than aught else. She hath two kits, that be parti-coloured like herself, their names (given of Milly) Dan and Nan.
And now I feel well-nigh sure I have said all.
Nay, and forgat the horses! Milly will laugh at me, for she dearly loveth an horse. We have six riding-horses, with two baggage-horses, but only four of them have names—to wit, Father’s, that is Favelle, because he is favel-colour (chestnut); and Mother’s, Garnet; and mine, Cowslip; and the last, that Milly or Edith doth commonly ride when we journey, is called Starlight.
And now I have verily told every thing.
(At this point the handwriting of the chronicle changes.)
’Tis not yet my turn to write, but needs must, or it shall cause me to split in twain with laughter. Here is our Nell, reckoning three times o’er that she hath told all, and finding somewhat fresh every time, and with all her telling, hath set down never a note of what we be like, nor so much as the colour of one of our eyes. So, having gat hold of her chronicle, I shall do it for her. I dare reckon she was feared it should cost her two pence each one. But nothing venture, nothing have; and Mother laid down that we should write our true thoughts. So what I think shall I write; and how to make Father’s two pence rhyme with Mother’s avisement, I leave to Mistress Nell and her philosophy.
Father is a gentleman of metely good height, and well-presenced, but something heavy built: of a dark brown hair, a broad white brow, and dark grey eyes that be rare sweet and lovesome. Of old time was he squire of the body unto my right noble Lord of Surrey, that was execute in old King Henry’s days. Moreover, he is of far kin (yet not so far, neither) unto my most worthy Lord of Oxenford. Now, sithence I am to write my thoughts, I must say that I would Father had a better nose. I cannot speak very truth and set down that I did ever admire Father’s nose. But he hath good white teeth, and a right pleasant smile, the which go far to make amends for his nose.
Mother was right fair when she was a young maid, and is none so ill now. She is graceful of carriage, very fair of complexion, and hath the sweetest, shining golden hair was ever seen. Her eyes be pale grey (blue), right like the sky.
Of us three maids, Edith is best-favoured, and all that see her do say she is right the very picture of Mother, when she was young. Next her am I; for though I say it, I am a deal fairer than either Anstace or Nell, both which favour (resemble) Father, though Nell is the liker, by reason she hath his mind as well as his face. Now, Nell is all ways slower than Edith and me, and nothing like so well-favoured.
But for beauty, the least I did ever see in any man is in Mynheer Stuyvesant, which hath a flat nose and a stoop in the shoulders, and is high and thin as a scarecrow. Cousin Bess is metely well—she is rosy and throddy (plump). For Aunt Joyce, I do stand in some fear of her sharp speeches, and will say nought of her, saving that (which she can not deny) she hath rosy cheeks and dark brown hair (yet not so dark as Father’s), and was, I guess, a comely young maid when she were none elder than we. As for Ned and Wat, Ned is the better-favoured, he having Mother’s nose and the rest of him Father; but Wat (which favoureth Mother of his colouring, yet is not so comely) a deal the courtlier.
Now when they shall all come to read this same, trow, shall they know their own portraits? or shall they every one cry out, “This is not me!”
So now I leave the rest to Mistress Helen, till it shall come to me next month, when I will say what I think yet again.
Selwick Hall, October ye v.
(In