lesse Worke in the End.
As for oure Soules, he sayd, they required theire spiritual Meales as
much as our Bodies required theires; and even poore, rusticall Clownes
who coulde not reade, mighte nourish their better Parts by an holie
Pause, and by looking within them, and around them, and above them. I
felt inclined to tell him that long Sermons alwaies seemed to make me
love _God_ less insteade of more, but woulde not, fearing he mighte
take it that I meant _he_ had been giving me one.

_Monday_.

_Mother_ hath returned! The Moment I hearde her Voice I fell to
trembling. At the same Moment I hearde _Robin_ cry, "Oh, _Mother_, I
have broken the greene Beaker!" which betraied Apprehension in another
Quarter. However, she quite mildlie replied, "Ah, I knew the Handle
was loose," and then kist me with soe great Affection that I felt quite
easie. She had beene withhelde by a troublesome Colde from returning
at the appointed Time, and cared not to write. 'Twas just Supper-time,
and there were the Children to kiss and to give theire Bread and Milk,
and _Bill's_ Letter to reade; soe that nothing particular was sayd till
the younger Ones were gone to Bed, and _Father_ and _Mother_ were
taking some Wine and Toast. Then says _Father_, "Well, Wife, have you
got the five hundred Pounds?" "No," she answers, rather carelesslie.
"I tolde you how 'twoulde be," says _Father_; "you mighte as well have
stayed at Home." "Really, Mr. _Powell,"_ says _Mother_, "soe seldom as
I stir from my owne Chimney-corner, you neede not to grudge me, I
think, a few Dayes among our mutuall Relatives." "I shall goe to
Gaol," says _Father_. "Nonsense," says _Mother_; "to Gaol indeed!"
"Well, then, who is to keepe me from it?" says _Father_, laughing. "I
will answer for it, Mr. _Milton_ will wait a little longer for his
Money," says _Mother_, "he is an honourable Man, I suppose." "I wish
he may thinke me one," says _Father_; "and as to a little longer, what
is the goode of waiting for what is as unlikelie to come eventuallie as
now?" "You must answer that for yourselfe," says _Mother_, looking
wearie: "I have done what I can, and can doe no more." "Well, then,
'tis lucky Matters stand as they do," says _Father_. "Mr. _Milton_ has
been much here in your Absence, my Dear, and has taken a Liking to our
_Moll_; soe, believing him, as you say, to be an honourable Man, I have
promised he shall have her." "Nonsense," cries _Mother_, turning red