in the unconscious Tomb? Theire Bodies, but surelie not their Spiritts? else, why dothe _Christ_ speak of _Lazarus_ lying in _Abraham's_ Bosom, while the Brothers of _Dives_ are yet riotouslie living? Yet what becomes of the Daye of generall Judgment, if some be thus pre-judged? I must aske Mr. _Milton,--_yes, I thinke I can finde it in my Heart to aske him about this in some solemn, stille Hour, and perhaps he will sett at Rest manie Doubts and Misgivings that at sundrie Times trouble me; being soe wise a Man. _Bedtime_. . . . Glad to steale away from the noisie Companie in the Supper-roome, (comprising some of _Father's_ Fellow-magistrates,) I went down with _Robin_ and _Kate_ to the Fish-ponds; it was scarce Sunset: and there, while we threw Crumbs to the Fish and watched them come to the Surface, were followed, or ever we were aware, by Mr. _Milton_, who sate down on the stone Seat, drew _Robin_ between his Knees, stroked his Haire, and askt what we were talking about. _Robin_ sayd I had beene telling them a fairie Story; and Mr. _Milton_ observed that was an infinite Improvement on the jangling, puzzle-headed Prating of Country Justices, and wished I woulde tell it agayn. But I was afrayd. But _Robin_ had no Feares; soe tolde the Tale roundlie; onlie he forgot the End. Soe he found his Way backe to the Middle, and seemed likelie to make it last alle Night; onlie Mr. _Milton_ sayd he seemed to have got into the Labyrinth of _Crete_, and he must for Pitie's Sake give him the Clew. Soe he finished _Robin's_ Story, and then tolde another, a most lovelie one, of Ladies, and Princes, and Enchanters, and a brazen Horse, and he sayd the End of _that_ Tale had been cut off too, by Reason the Writer had died before he finished it. But _Robin_ cryed, "Oh! finish this too," and hugged and kist him; soe he did; and methoughte the End was better than the Beginninge. Then he sayd, "Now, sweet _Moll_, you have onlie spoken this Hour past, by your Eyes; and we must heare your pleasant Voice." "An Hour?" cries _Robin_. "Where are alle the red Clouds gone, then?" quoth Mr. _Milton_, "and what Business hathe the Moon yonder?" "Then we must go Indoors," quoth I. But they cried "No," and _Robin_ helde me fast, and Mr. Milton sayd I might know even by the distant Sounds of ill-governed Merriment that we were winding up the Week's Accounts of Joy and Care more consistentlie where we were than we coulde doe in the House. And indeede just then I hearde my _Father's_ Voice swelling a noisie Chorus; and hoping Mr. _Milton_ did not distinguish it, I askt him if he loved Musick. He answered, soe much that it was Miserie for him to hear anie that was not of the beste. I secretlie resolved he should never heare mine. He added, he was come of a musicalle Familie, and that his Father not onlie sang well, but played finely on the Viol and Organ. Then he spake of the sweet Musick in _Italy_, until I longed to be there; but I tolde him