To me he gave a Copy, how precious! of his Testament. "You are an elegant Latinist, _Margaret_," he was pleased to say, "but, if you woulde drink deeplie of the Well-springs of Wisdom, applie to Greek. The Latins have onlie shallow Rivulets; the Greeks, copious Rivers, running over Sands of Gold. Read _Plato_; he wrote on Marble, with a Diamond; but above alle, read the New Testament. 'Tis the Key to the Kingdom of Heaven." To Mr. _Gunnel_, he said smiling, "Have a Care of thyself, dear _Gonellus_, and take a little Wine for thy Stomach's Sake. The Wages of most Scholars now-a-days, are weak Eyes, Ill-health, an empty Purse, and shorte Commons. I neede only bid thee beware of the two first." To _Bess_, "Farewell, _Bessy_; thank you for mending my bad Latin. When I write to you, I will be sure to signe myselfe, '_Roterodamius_.' Farewell, sweete _Cecil_; let me always continue your 'desired Amiable.' And you, _Jacky_,--love your Book a little more." "_Jack's_ deare Mother, not content with her Girls," sayth _Father_, "was alwaies wishing for a Boy, and at last she had one that means to remain a Boy alle his Life." "The Dutch Schoolmasters thoughte _me_ dulle and heavie," sayth _Erasmus_, "soe there is some Hope of _Jacky_ yet." And soe, stepped into the Barge, which we watched to _Chelsea Reach_. How dulle the House has beene ever since! _Rupert_ and _William_ have had me into the Pavillion to hear the Plot of a Miracle-play they have alreadie begunne to talke over for _Christmasse_, but it seemed to me downrighte Rubbish. _Father_ sleepes in Town to-nighte, soe we shall be stupid enow. _Bessy_ hath undertaken to work _Father_ a Slipper for his tender Foot; and is happie, tracing for the Pattern our three Moorcocks and Colts; but I am idle and tiresome. If I had Paper, I woulde beginne my projected _Opus_; but I dare not ask _Gunnel_ for anie more just yet; nor have anie Money to buy Some. I wish I had a couple of Angels. I think I shall write to _Father_ for them to-morrow; he alwaies likes to heare from us if he is twenty-four Hours absent, providing we conclude not with "I have Nothing more to say." _July 4th._ I have writ my Letter to _Father_. I almoste wish, now, that I had not sent it. _Rupert_ and _Will_ still full of theire Moralitie, which reallie has some Fun in it. To ridicule the Extravagance of those who, as the Saying is, carry theire Farms and Fields on theire Backs, _William_ proposes to come in, all verdant, with a reall Model of a Farm on his Back, and a Windmill on his Head. _July 5th._ How sweete, how gracious an Answer from _Father_! _John Harris_ has broughte me with it the two Angels; less prized than this Epistle. _July 10th._