ie & black Hatt. But the old cloak & bonnett together
will make me a decent Bonnet for common ocation
(I like that) aunt says, its a pitty some of the ribbin
you sent wont do for the Bonnet--I must now
close up this Journal. With Duty, Love & Compli
ments as due, perticularly to my Dear little brother,
(I long to see him) & M.^rs Law, I will write to her soon
I am, Hon.^d Papa & mama,
Y.^r ever Dutiful Daughter
Anna Green Winslow.
N.B. my aunt Deming
dont approve of my English.
& has not the fear that you will think her concernd in the
Diction

DIARY OF ANNA GREEN WINSLOW.

1771-1773.

. . . . .

Lady, by which means I had a bit of the wedding cake. I guess I shall
have but little time for journalising till after thanksgiving. My aunt
Deming[1] says I shall make one pye myself at least. I hope somebody
beside myself will like to eat a bit of my Boston pye thou' my papa and
you did not (I remember) chuse to partake of my Cumberland[2]
performance. I think I have been writing my own Praises this morning.
Poor Job was forced to praise himself when no _man_ would do him that
justice. I am not as he was. I have made two shirts for unkle since I
finish'd mamma's shifts.

Nov^r 18th, 1771.--Mr. Beacons[3] text yesterday was Psalm cxlix. 4.
For the Lord taketh pleasure in his people; he will beautify the meek
with salvation. His Doctrine was something like this, viz: That the
Salvation of Gods people mainly consists in Holiness. The name _Jesus_
signifies _a Savior_. Jesus saves his people _from their Sins_. He
renews them in the spirit of their minds--writes his Law in their
hearts. Mr. Beacon ask'd a question. What is beauty--or, wherein does
true beauty consist? He answer'd, in holiness--and said a great deal
about it that I can't remember, & as aunt says she hant leisure now to
help me any further--so I may just tell you a little that I remember
without her assistance, and that I repeated to her yesterday at Tea--He
said he would lastly address himself to the young people: My dear young
friends, you are pleased with beauty, & like to be tho't beautifull--but
let me tell ye, you'l never be truly beautifull till you are like the
King's daughter, all glorious within, all the orniments you can put on
while your souls are unholy make you the more like white sepulchres
garnish'd without, but full of deformyty within. You think me very
unpolite no doubt to