The new Year opens drearilie, on Affairs both publick and private. The Loaf parted at Breakfast this Morning, which, as the Saying goes, is a Sign of Separation; but _Mother_ onlie sayd 'twas because it was badly kneaded, and chid _Margery_. She hath beene telling me, but now, how I mighte have 'scaped all my Troubles, and seene as much as I woulde of her and _Father_, and yet have contented Mr. _Milton_ and beene counted a good Wife. Noe Advice soe ill to bear as that which comes too late. _Jan. 7, 1644_. I am sick of this journalling, soe shall onlie put downe the Date of _Robin's_ leaving Home. _Lord_ have Mercy on him, and keepe him in Safetie. This is a shorte Prayer; therefore, easier to be often repeated. When he kissed me, he whispered, "_Moll_, pray for me." _Jan. 27, 1644_. _Father_ does not seeme to miss _Robin_ much, tho' he dailie drinks his Health after that of the King. Perhaps he did not miss me anie more when I was in _London_, though it was true and naturall enough he should like to see me agayn. We should have beene used to our Separation by this Time; there would have beene nothing corroding in it. . . . I pray for _Robin_ everie Night. Since he went, the House has lost its Sunshine. When I was soe anxious to return to _Forest Hill_, I never counted on his leaving it. _Feb. 1, 1644_. Oh Heaven, what would I give to see the Skirts of Mr. _Milton's_ Garments agayn! My Heart is sick unto Death. I have been reading some of my _Journall_, and tearing out much childish Nonsense at the Beginning; but coulde not destroy the painfulle Records of the last Year. How unhappy a Creature am I!--wearie, wearie of my Life, yet no Ways inclined for Death. _Lord_, have Mercy upon me. _March 27, 1644_. I spend much of my Time, now, in the Book-room, and, though I essay not to pursue the _Latin_, I read much _English_, at the least, more than ever I did in my Life before; but often I fancy I am reading when I am onlie dreaming. _Oxford_ is far too gay a Place for me now ever to goe neare it, but my Brothers are much there, and _Father_ in his Farm, and _Mother_ in her Kitchen; and the Neighbours, when they call, look on me strangelie, so that I have noe Love for them. How different is _Rose's_ holy, secluded, yet cheerefulle Life at _Sheepscote_! She hath a Nurserie now, soe cannot come to me, and _Father_ likes not I should goe to her. _April 5, 1644_.