all over the Worlde." I sayd, "But there are
manie in your owne Country do not understand it." He was silent soe
long upon that, that I supposed he did not mean to answer me; but then
cried, "You are right, sweet _Moll.--_Our best Writers have written
their best Works in _English_, and I will hereafter doe the same,--for
I feel that my best Work is still _to come_. Poetry hath hitherto been
with me rather the Recreation of a Mind conscious of its Health, than
the deliberate Task-work of a Soule that must hereafter give an Account
of its Talents. Yet my Mind, in the free Circuit of her Musing, has
ranged over a thousand Themes that lie, like the Marble in the Quarry,
readie for anie Shape that Fancy and Skill may give. Neither Laziness
nor Caprice makes me difficult in my Choice; for, the longer I am in
selecting my Tree, and laying my Axe to the Root, the sounder it will
be and the riper for Use. Nor is an Undertaking that shall be one of
high Duty, to be entered upon without Prayer and Discipline:--it woulde
be Presumption indeede, to commence an Enterprise which I meant shoulde
delighte and profit every instructed and elevated Mind without so much
Paynes-takinge as it should cost a poor Mountebank to balance a Pole on
his Chin."

_Sunday Even_.

In the Clouds agayn. At Dinner, to-daye, Mr. _Milton_ catechised the
Boys on the Morning's Sermon, the Heads of which, though amounting to a
Dozen_, Ned_ tolde off roundlie. Roguish little _Jack_ looked slylie
at me, says, "_Aunt_ coulde not tell off the Sermon." "Why not?" says
his Uncle. "Because she was sleeping," says _Jack_. Provoked with the
Child, I turned scarlett, and hastilie sayd, "I was not." Nobodie
spoke; but I repented the Falsitie the Moment it had escaped me; and
there was _Ned_, a folding of his Hands, drawing down his Mouth, and
closing his Eyes. . . . My Husband tooke me to taske for it when we
were alone, soe tenderlie that I wept.

_Monday_.

_Jack_ sayd this Morning, "I know Something--I know _Aunt_ keeps a
Journall." "And a good Thing if you kept one too, _Jack,"_ sayd his
Uncle, "it would shew you how little you doe." _Jack_ was silenced;
but _Ned_, pursing up his Mouth, says, "I can't think what _Aunt_ can
have to put in a Journall--should not you like, _Uncle_, to see?" "No,
_Ned,"_ says his Uncle, "I am upon Honour, and your dear Aunt's
Journall is as safe, for me, as the golden Bracelets that King _Alfred_
hung upon th