uch; and, looking stedfastlie downe into the
cleare Water, coulde see to an immeasurable Depth, and beheld, oh,
rare! Girls sitting on glistening Rocks, far downe beneathe, combing
and braiding their brighte Hair, and talking and laughing, onlie I
coulde not heare aboute what. And theire Kirtles were like spun Glass,
and theire Bracelets Coral and Pearl; and I thought it the fairest
Sight that Eyes coulde see. But, alle at once, the Cries in the Wood
affrighted them, for they started, looked upwards and alle aboute, and
began swimming thro' the cleare Water so fast, that it became troubled
and thick, and I coulde see them noe more. Then I was aware that the
Voices in the Wood were of _Dick_ and _Harry_, calling for _me_; and I
soughte to answer, "Here!" but my Tongue was heavie. Then I commenced
running towards them, through ever so manie greene Paths, in the Wood;
but still, we coulde never meet; and I began to see grinning Faces,
neither of Man nor Beaste, peeping at me through the Trees; and one and
another of them called me by Name; and in greate Feare and Paine I
awoke!

. . . Strange Things are Dreames. Dear _Mother_ thinks much of them,
and sayth they oft portend coming Events. My _Father_ holdeth the
Opinion that they are rather made up of what hath alreadie come to
passe; but surelie naught like this Dreame of mine hath in anie Part
befallen me hithertoe?

. . . What strange Fable or Masque were they reading that Day at
_Sheepscote_? I mind not.

_May 20th, 1643_.

Too much busied of late to write, though much hath happened which I
woulde fain remember. Dined at _Shotover_ yesterday. Met _Mother_,
who is coming Home in a Day or two; but helde short Speech with me
aside concerning Housewifery. The _Agnews_ there, of course: alsoe Mr.
_Milton_, whom we have seene continuallie, lately; and I know not how
it shoulde be, but he seemeth to like me. _Father_ affects him much,
but _Mother_ loveth him not. She hath seene little of him: perhaps the
less the better. _Ralph Hewlett_, as usuall, forward in his rough
endeavours to please; but, though no Scholar, I have yet Sense enough
to prefer Mr. _Milton's_ Discourse to his. . . . I wish I were fonder
of Studdy; but, since it cannot be, what need to vex? Some are born of
one Mind, some of another. _Rose_ was alwaies for her Booke; and, had
_Rose_ beene no Scholar, Mr. _Agnew_ woulde, may be, never have given
her a second Thoughte: but alle are no