good Parts, but
pragmaticalle; Son of an Oxfordshire Justice of the Peace, but not on
good Terms with him, by Reason of his religious Opinions, which the
Father affects not.

_April 23, 1665_.

Spring is coming on apace. Father even sits between the wood Fire and
the open Casement, enjoying the mild Air, but it is not considered
healthfulle.

"My Dear," says Mother to him this Morning, after some Hours' Absence, "I
have bought me a new Mantle of the most absolute Fancy. 'Tis
sad-coloured, which I knew you would approve, but with a Garniture of
Orange-tawny; three Plaits at the Waist behind, and a little stuck-up
Collar."

"You are a comical Woman," says Father, "to spend soe much Money and Mind
on a Thing your Husband will never see."

"Oh! but it cost no Money at alle," says she; "that is the best of it."

"What is the best of it?" rejoyned he. "I suppose you bartered for it,
if you did not buy it--you Women are always for cheap Pennyworths. Come,
what was the Ransom? One of my old Books, or my new Coat?"

"Your last new Coat may be called old too, I'm sure," says Mother; "I
believe you married me in it."

"Nay," says Father, "and what if I did? 'Twas new then, at any rate; and
the Cid _Ruy Diaz_ was married in a black Satin Doublet, which his Father
had worn in three or four Battles."

"A poor Compliment to the Bride," says Mother.

"Well, but, dear _Betty_, what has gone for this copper-coloured
Mantle?--_Sylvester's_ 'Du Bartas?'" . . .

"Nothing of the sort,--nothing you value or will ever miss. An old Gold
Pocket-piece, that hath lain perdue, e'er soe long, in our Dressing-table
Drawer."

He smote the Table with his Hand. "Woman!" cried he, changing Colour,
"'twas a Medal of Honour given to my Father by a Polish Prince! It
should have been an Heir-loom. There, say noe more about it now. 'Tis
in your Jew's Furnace ere this. 'The Fining-pot for Silver and the
Furnace for Gold, but . . . the Lord trieth the Spirits.' Ay me! mine is
tried sometimes."

Uncle _Kit_ most opportunelie entering at this Moment, instantaneouslie
changed his Key-note.

"Ha, _Kit_!" he cries, gladly, "here you find me, as usual, maundering
among my Women. Welcome, welcome! How is it with you, and what's the
News?"

"Why, the News is, that the Plague's coming on amain," says my Uncle;
"they say it's been smouldering among us all the Winter, and now it's
bursting out."

"Lord save us!" says Mother, turn