I, faltering, made Answer, "Good Looks affect me but little—'tis in his better Part I feel the Want. He cannot ... discourse, for instance, to one's Mind and Soul, like unto you, dear Father, or Erasmus."
"I should marvel if he could," returned Father gravelie, "thou art mad, my Daughter, to look, in a Youth of Will's Years, for the Mind of a Man of fifty. What were Erasmus and I, dost thou suppose, at Will's age? Alas, Meg, I should not like you to know what I was! Men called me the Boy-sage, and I know not what, but in my Heart and Head was a World of Sin and Folly. Thou mightst as well expect Will to have my Hair, Eyes, and Teeth, alle getting the worse for Wear, as to have the Fruits of my life-long Experience, in some Cases full dearly bought. Take him for what he is, match him by the young Minds of his owne standing: consider how long and closelie we have known him. His Parts are, surelie, not amiss: he hath more Book-lore than Dancey, more mother Wit than Allington."
"But why need I to concern myself about him?" I exclaymed; "Will is very well in his way: why should we cross each other's Paths? I am young, I have much to learn, I love my Studdies,—why interrupt them with other and less wise Thoughts?"
"Because nothing can be wise that is not practical," returned Father, "and I teach my Children Philosophie to fitt them for living in the World, not above it. One may spend a Life in dreaming over Plato, and yet goe out of it without leaving the World a whit the better for our having made Part of it. 'Tis to little Purpose we studdy, if it onlie makes us exact Perfections in others which they may in vayn seek for in ourselves. It is not even necessary or goode for us to live entirelie with congeniall Spiritts. The vigourous tempers the inert, the passionate is evened by the cool-tempered, the prosaic balances the visionarie. Woulde thy Mother suit me better, dost thou suppose, if she coulde discuss Polemicks like Luther or Melancthon? E'en thine owne sweet Mother, Meg, was less affected to Studdy than thou art,—she learnt to love it for my Sake, but I made her what she was."
And, with a suddain Burste of fond Recollection, he hid his Eyes on my Shoulder, and for a Moment or soe, cried bitterlie. As for me, I shed, oh! such salt Teares!...
Aug. 17th.
Entering, o' the suddain, into Mercy's Chamber, I founde her all be-wept and waped, poring over an old Kirtle of Mother's she had bidden her re-line with Buckram. Coulde not make out whether she were sick of her Task, had had Words with Mother, or had some secret Inquietation of her owne; but, as she is a Girl of few Words, I found I had best leave her alone after a Caress and kind Saying or two. We alle have our Troubles.
Wednesday, 19th.