Chatting thus of this and that, we idled over Supper, had some Musick,
and went to Bed. And soe much for the only Guest we are like to have for
some Months.

_Anne_ told me, at Bed-time, of the Journey down. The Coach, she sayd,
was most uncomfortable, Mother having so over-stuffed it. For her Share,
she had a Knife-box under her Feet, a Plate-basket at her Back, a
Bird-cage bobbing over her Head, and a Lapfull of Crockery-ware.
Providentially, _Betty_ turned squeamish, and could not ride inside, soe
she was put upon the Box, to the great Comfort of all within. Father, at
the Outset, was chafed and captious, but soon settled down, improved the
Circumstances of the Times, made Jokes on Mother, recalled old Journies
to _Buckinghamshire_, and, finally, set himself to silent Self-communion,
with a pensive Smile on his Face, which, as _Anne_ said, let her know
well enow what he was about. Arrived at _Chalfont_, her first Care was
to make him comfortable; while Mother, _Mary_, and _Betty_ were turning
the House upside down; and in this her Care, she so well succeeded, that,
to her Dismay, he bade her take Pen and Ink, and commenced dictating to
her as composedly as if they were in _Bunhill Fields_. This was somewhat
inopportune, for every Thing was to seek and to set in Order; and,
indeed, Mother soon came in, all of a Heat, and sayd, "I wonder, my Dear,
you can keep _Nan_ here, at such idling, when she has her Bed to make,
and her Box to unpack." Father let her go without a Word, and sate in
peacefull Cogitation all the Rest of the Evening--the only Person at
Leisure in the House. Howbeit, the next Time he heard Mother
chiding--which was after Supper--at _Anne_, for trying to catch a Bat,
which was a Creature she longed to look at narrowly, he sayd, "My Dear,
we should be very cautious how we cut off another Person's Pleasures.
'Tis an easy Thing to say to them, 'You are wrong or foolish,' and soe
check them in their Pursuit; but what have we to give them that will
compensate for it? How many harmless Refreshments and Refuges from sick
or tired Thought may thus be destroyed! We may deprive the Spider of his
Web, and the Robin of his Nest, but can never repair the Damage to them.
Let us live, and let live; leave me to hunt my Butterfly, and _Anne_ to
catch her Bat."

Our Life here is most pleasant. Father and I pass almost the whole of
our Time in the open Air--he dictating, and I writing; while Mother and
_Mar