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 the High-way. I am glad she has such a Resource, and, as we know she cannot have much News to put in it, we may the more safely rely that it is a Treasury of sweet, and high, and holy, and profitable Thoughtes." Oh, how deeplie I blusht at this ill-deserved Prayse! How sorrie I was that I had ever registered aught that he woulde grieve to read! I secretly resolved that this Daye's Journalling should be the last, untill I had attained a better Frame of Mind. _Saturday Even_. I have kept Silence, yea, even from good Words, but it has beene a Payn and Griefe unto me. Good Mistress _Catherine Thompson_ called on me a few Dayes back, and spoke so wisely and so wholesomelie concerning my Lot, and the Way to make it happy, (she is the first that hath spoken as it 'twere possible it mighte not be soe alreadie,) that I felt for a Season quite heartened; but it has alle faded away. Because the Source of Cheerfulnesse is not _in_ me, anie more than in a dull Landskip, which the Sun lighteneth for awhile, and when he has set, its Beauty is gone.