"Well, now we will refresh ourselves with a Canto of _Ariosto_," which was as much a sealed Book to her as t'other. Howbeit, this Morning he sayd, "Child, I have noted your Wearinesse in reading the dead Languages to me; would that I needed not to be beholden unto any, whether bound to me by Blood and Affection or not, for the Food that is as needfulle to me as my daily Bread. Nevertheless, that I be not further wearisome unto thee, I have engaged a young Quaker, named _Ellwood_, to relieve thee of this Portion of thy Task, soe that thou mayst have the more Leisure to enjoy the glad Sunshine and fair Sights I never more shall see." _Mary_ turned red, and dropt a quiet Tear; but alas, he knew it not. "One part of my Children's Burthen, indeed," he continued, "I cannot, for obvious Reasons, relieve them of--they must still be my Secretaries, for in them alone can I confide. Soe now to your healthfulle Exercises and fitting Recreations, dear Maids, and Heaven's Blessing goe with you!" We kissed his Hand and went, but our Walk was not merry. _Ellwood_ is a young Man of seven-and-twenty, of good Parts, but pragmaticalle; Son of an Oxfordshire Justice of the Peace, but not on good Terms with him, by Reason of his religious Opinions, which the Father affects not. _April 23, 1665_. Spring is coming on apace. Father even sits between the wood Fire and the open Casement, enjoying the mild Air, but it is not considered healthfulle. "My Dear," says Mother to him this Morning, after some Hours' Absence, "I have bought me a new Mantle of the most absolute Fancy. 'Tis sad-coloured, which I knew you would approve, but with a Garniture of Orange-tawny; three Plaits at the Waist behind, and a little stuck-up Collar." "You are a comical Woman," says Father, "to spend soe much Money and Mind on a Thing your Husband will never see." "Oh! but it cost no Money at alle," says she; "that is the best of it." "What is the best of it?" rejoyned he. "I suppose you bartered for it, if you did not buy it--you Women are always for cheap Pennyworths. Come, what was the Ransom? One of my old Books, or my new Coat?" "Your last new Coat may be called old too, I'm sure," says Mother; "I believe you married me in it." "Nay," says Father, "and what if I did? 'Twas new then, at any rate; and the Cid _Ruy Diaz_ was married in a black Satin Doublet, which his Father had worn in three or four Battles." "A poor Compliment to the Bride," says Mother. "Well, but, dear _Betty_, what has gone for this copper-coloured Mantle?--_Sylvester's_ 'Du Bartas?'" . . . "Nothing of the sort,--nothing you value or will ever miss. An old Gold Pocket-piece, that hath lain perdue, e'er soe long, in our Dressing-table Drawer."