If a Piece of mere Leather, by frequent Contact with Silver, acquires a certain Portion of the pure and bright Metal; sure, the Children of a gifted Parent must, by the Collision of their Minds, insensibly, as 'twere, imbibe somewhat of his finer Parts. _Ned Phillips_, indeed, sayth we are like People living so close under a big Mountain, as not to know how high it is; but I think we . . . at least, I do. And, whatever be our scant Learnings, Father, despite his limited Means, hath never grutched us the Supply of a reall Want; and is, at this Time, paying _Joan Elliott_ at a good Rate for perfecting _Anne_ in her pretty Work. I am sorry _Mary_ should thus have sneaped him; and I am sorry I ever either hurt him--by uncivil Speech, or wronged him by unkind Thought. Poor _Nan_, with all her Infirmities, is, perhaps, his best Child. Not that I am a bad one, neither. My Night-tasks have recommenced of late; because, as he says-- "I suoi Pensieri in lui Dormir non ponno:" which, being interpreted, means, "His Thoughts would let him and his Daughter take no rest." _12th_. I know not that any one but Father hath ever concerned themselves to imagine the Anxieties of the blessed Virgin during her Son's forty Days' mysterious Absence. No wonder that "Within her Breast, tho' calm, her Breast, tho' pure, Motherly Fears got Head." Father hath touched her with a very tender and reverent Hand, dwelling less on her than he did on _Eve_, whom he with perfect Beauty adorned, onlie to make her Sin appear more Sad. Well, we know not ourselves; but methinks I should not have transgrest as she did, neither, for an Apple. _15th_. And now I have transgrest about a Pin! O me! what weak, wicked Wretches we are! "Behold, how great a Matter a little Fire kindleth!" And the Tongue is a Fire, an unruly Member. Sure, when I was writing, at Father's Dictation, such heavy Charges against _Eve_, I privily thought I was better than she; and, sifting the Doings of _Mary_ and _Anne_ through a somewhat censorious Judgment, maybe I thought I was better than they. Alas! we know not our own selves. And so, dropping a Stitch in my Knitting, I must needs cry out--"Here, any of you . . . oh, Mother! do bring me a Pin." My Sisters, as Ill-luck would have it, not being by, cries she, "Forsooth, Manners have come to a fine Pass in these Days! Bring her a Pin, quotha!" Instead of making answer, "Well, 'twas disrespectful; I ask your Pardon;" I must mutter, "I see what I'm valued at--less than a Pin." "_Deb_, don't be unduteous," says Father to me. "Woulde it not have been better to fetch what you wanted, than strangely ask your Mother to bring it?" "And thereby spoil my Work," answered I; "but 'tis no Matter." "Tis a great Matter to be uncivil," says Father. "Oh! dear Husband, do not concern yourself," interrupts Mother; "the Girl's incivility is no new Matter, I protest."