"Within her Breast, tho' calm, her Breast, tho' pure,
Motherly Fears got Head."
Father hath touched her with a very tender and reverent Hand, dwelling less on her than he did on Eve, whom he with perfect Beauty adorned, onlie to make her Sin appear more Sad. Well, we know not ourselves; but methinks I should not have transgrest as she did, neither, for an Apple.
15th.
And now I have transgrest about a Pin! O me! what weak, wicked Wretches we are! "Behold, how great a Matter a little Fire kindleth!" And the Tongue is a Fire, an unruly Member. Sure, when I was writing, at Father's Dictation, such heavy Charges against Eve, I privily thought I was better than she; and, sifting the Doings of Mary and Anne through a somewhat censorious Judgment, maybe I thought I was better than they. Alas! we know not our own selves. And so, dropping a Stitch in my Knitting, I must needs cry out—"Here, any of you . . . oh, Mother! do bring me a Pin." My Sisters, as Ill-luck would have it, not being by, cries she, "Forsooth, Manners have come to a fine Pass in these Days! Bring her a Pin, quotha!" Instead of making answer, "Well, 'twas disrespectful; I ask your Pardon;" I must mutter, "I see what I'm valued at—less than a Pin."
"Deb, don't be unduteous," says Father to me. "Woulde it not have been better to fetch what you wanted, than strangely ask your Mother to bring it?"
"And thereby spoil my Work," answered I; "but 'tis no Matter."
"Tis a great Matter to be uncivil," says Father.
"Oh! dear Husband, do not concern yourself," interrupts Mother; "the
Girl's incivility is no new Matter, I protest."
On this, a Battle of Words on both sides, ending in Tears, Bitterness, and my being sent by Father to my Chamber till Dinner. "And, Deb," he adds, gravely, but not harshly, "take no Book with you, unless it be your Bible."
Soe, hither, with swelling Heart, I have come. I never drew on myself such Condemnation before—at least, since childish Days; and could be enraged with Mother, were I not enraged with myself. I'm in no Hurry for Dinner-time; I cannot sober down. My Temples beat, and my Throat has a great Lump in it. Why was Nan out of the Way? Yet, would she have made Things better? I was in no Fault at first, that's certain; Mother took Offence where none was meant; but I meant Offence afterwards. Lord, have mercy upon me! I can ask Thy Forgiveness, though not hers. And I could find it in me to ask Father's too, and say, "I have sinned against Heaven, and in thy . . . thy Hearing.'" And now I come to write that Word, I have a Mind to cry; and the Lump goes down, and I feel earnest to look into my Bible, and more humbled towards Mother. And . . . what is it Father says?—