On Sabbaths, besides the publick Ordinances of Devotion, which I cannot, with alle my striving, bring myself to love like the Services to which I have beene accustomed, we have much Reading, Singing, and Discoursing among ourselves. The Maids sing, the Boys sing, _Hubert_ sings, olde Mr. _Milton_ sings; and trulie with soe much of it, I woulde sometimes as lief have them quiete. The _Sheepscote_ Sundays suited me better. The Sabbath Exercise of the Boys is to read a Chapter in the _Greek_ Testament, heare my Husband expounde the same; and write out a System of Divinitie as he dictates to them, walking to and fro. In listening thereto, I find my Pleasure and Profitt. I have alsoe my owne little Catechising, after a humbler Sorte, in the Kitchen, and some poore Folk to relieve and console, with my Husband's Concurrence and Encouragement. Thus, the Sabbath is devoutlie and happilie passed. My Husband alsoe takes, once in a Fortnighte or soe, what he blythelie calls "a gaudy Day," equallie to his owne Content, the Boys', and mine. On these Occasions, it is my Province to provide colde Fowls or Pigeon Pie, which _Hubert_ carries, with what else we neede, to the Spot selected for our Camp Dinner. Sometimes we take Boat to _Richmond_ or _Greenwich_. Two young Gallants, Mr. _Alphrey_ and Mr. _Miller_, love to joyn our Partie, and toil at the Oar, or scramble up the Hills, as merrilie as the Boys. I must say they deal savagelie with the Pigeon Pie afterwards. They have as wild Spiritts as our _Dick_ and _Harry_, but withal a most wonderfull Reverence for my Husband, whom they courte to read and recite, and provoke to pleasant Argument, never prolonged to Wearinesse, and seasoned with Frolic Jest and Witt. Olde Mr. _Milton_ joyns not these Parties. I leave him alwaies to _Dolly's_ Care, firste providing for him a Sweetbread or some smalle Relish, such as he loves. He is in Bed ere we return, which is oft by Moonlighte. How soone must Smiles give Way to Tears! Here is a Letter from deare _Mother_, taking noe Note of what I write to her, and for good Reason, she is soe distraught at her owne and deare _Father's_ ill Condition. The Rebels (I must call them such,) have soe stript and opprest them, they cannot make theire House tenantable; nor have Aught to feede on, had they e'en a whole Roof over theire Heads. The Neighbourhoode is too hot to holde them; olde Friends cowardlie and suspicious, olde and new Foes in League together. Leave _Oxon_ they must; but where to goe? _Father_, despite his broken Health and Hatred of the Foreigner, must needes depart beyond Seas; at leaste within the six Months; but how, with an emptie Purse, make his Way in a strange Land, with a Wife and seven Children at his Heels? Soe ends _Mother_ with a "_Lord_ have Mercy upon us!" as though her House were as surelie doomed to destruction as if it helde the Plague.