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from the hearth; you sat down in an easy chair, ances. The worm had commenced ravages on Mr. and were made prisoner by its arms; you sought Rudyerd's wooden structure, which, though capathe shade of an arbor, and were set afloat upon the ble of timely repair, would have led to considerable canal. That the more serious device of such a toil and expense had a longer duration been perbrain should have been fantastic and unsound is less mitted to the edifice. It had presented, however, surprising than that it should have endured the no symptoms of serious instability or irremediable weather of the channel for some three seasons. Mr. decay, when, in 1755, it met with a fate from which Winstanley commenced his operations on the Ed- its situation might have appeared to be its security dystone in 1696, a period when the doctrine was destruction, rapid and complete, by fire. The scarcely obsolete that storms might be raised by the catastrophe left Mr. Rudyerd's skill unimpeached malignity of elderly females. If storms could be as an architect, for in respect of solidity his work provoked by the excesses of human complacency had stood the test of nearly fifty winters; but the and presumption, Mr. Winstanley was quite the many instances of marine conflagration should have man to raise them. Having completed a structure warned him that an edifice cased to the summit deficient in every element of stability, he was with tarred timbers was quite as combustible as a known to express a wish that the fiercest storm ship, and precaution against such accident seems that ever blew might arise to test the fabric. He to have been neglected in the arrangements of the was truly the engineer of Mr. Sheridan Knowles' lantern. pleasant lines-

The flashes of amateur ingenuity have paled their Who lays the top-stone of his sea-girt tower,

fires before the steady lustre of brighter lights and And, smiling at it, bids the winds and waves surer guides. The voice of a commercial people To roar and whistle now—but in a night demanded aid for daring enterprises and great de

Beholds the ocean sporting in its place. signs. Men like Smeaton and Brindley answered Short time indeed had poor Mr. Winstanley to the call; and not among the least of their follow“stand aghast;"—for, alas! the undaunted gen- ers are those to whom the humble tribute of these tleman was engaged in a visit of inspection when pages has been paid. At this moment we shall be the storm he had challenged occurred, and its fury pardoned for observing that the selection and emleft no trace of the lighthouse, its attendants, or its ployment of such agents does credit to the Northarchitect.

ern Light Commissioners. Did any doubt exist as Mr. Rudyerd, who next undertook the task, was to the merit of the services of that body, given, as certainly a man of genius. It is possible that they are, without fee or reward, we should be England at this time contained no man more com- tempted to reply to the sceptic in something like petent for the undertaking than the silk-mercer of the language of Wren's epitaph—“Si quæras monLudgate-hill, the son of a Cornish vagrant, who umentum, circumnaviga.” It is known that sughad raised himself from rays and mendicancy, by gestions have been made for the amalgamation of his talents and industry, to a station of honorable this and the Irish Board with the Trinity House. competence. He designed, and with the assist-We do not claim an acquaintance with all the bearance of two shipwrights constructed, an edifice ings of the question which would justify us in enmainly of timber, courses of stone being introduced deavoring to rouse the perfervid genius of Scottish solely to obtain the advantage of that principle of nationality against such a proposition. We trust, vertical pressure of which we have already spoken. however, that no hasty concession will be made to In this respect it did present some of that analogy the mere principle of centralization—a principle to the oak-tree which the artist of Skerryvore im- misapplied when it disturbs the working of machinpugns in the case to which Smeaton applied the ery which experience has shown to be adequate to illustration. It might be said to resemble a tree its functions and successful in its operation. with iron roots, for the balks of timber which formed the base were bolted to the rock, so as to

A CHRISTIAN'S LIFE. resist lift or lateral displacement, by iron branches,

He envied not the pomp and power so called, spreading outward at the nether extrem

Of kings in their triumphant hour, ity, on the principle of that ancient and well-known

The deeds that win a lofty name, instrument, the Lewis. Mr. Rudyerd did not in

The songs that give to bards their fame. deed invent that simple and very ingenious contrivance with which heavy stones have for ages past

He sighed not for the gold that shines

In Guinea's brooks, in Ophir's mines ; been raised by the crane, but he, as we believe, in

He stood not at the festivals the case of the Eddystone, first applied it to the Of nobles in their gorgeous halls. fixture of bolts and stanchions—an application which

He walked on earth as wood-streams pass, is extolled by Smeaton as a felicitous and material

Unseen beneath the freshened grass ;accession to the practical part of engineering. It was

His were pure thoughts and humble faith, largely adopted by Mr. R. Stevenson in his opera- A blameless life and tranquil death. tions on the Bell Rock, especially in that difficult and anxious one, the construction of the temporary

He kept, in days of strife and wrath,

The Christian's straight and narrow path ; barrack. In the case of Skerryvore, the hardness

But weep thou not ;—we must not weep, of the rock made the process slow and unsuitable, When they, who rest in Jesus, sleep. and led Mr. A. Stevenson to adopt other contriv

Christian Songs.

POWELL.

AFTERWARDS MISTRESS MILTON.

From Sharpe's Magazine. then she discoursed with me of things more THE MAIDEN AND MARRIED LIFE OF MARY

seemlie for women than philosophie or divinitie either. Onlie, when Mr. Agnew and Mr. Milton joyned us, she woulde aske them to repeat one

piece of poetry after another, beginning with May 24th.Deare Rose came this morning. I Carew's flew forthe to welcome her, and as I drew near,

He who loves a rosie cheeke, she lookt upon me with such a kind of awe as that

Or a coral lip admires,I could not forbeare laughing. Mr. Milton hav- And crying at ye end of eache, " Is not that loveing slept at Sheepscote, had made her privy to ly? Is not that divine?" I franklie sayd I liked our engagement ; for indeede, he and Mr. Agnew none of them soe much as some Mr. Agnew had are such friends, he will keep nothing from him. recited, concluding with Thus Rose heares it before my owne mother, which shoulde not be. When we had entered

Mortals that would, follow me,

Love virtue; she alone is free. my chamber, she embraced me once and agayn, and seemed to think soe much of my uncommon Whereon Mr. Milton surprised me with a suddain fortune that I beganne to think more of it my- kiss, to ye immoderate mirthe of Rose, who sayd selfe. To heare her talke of Mr. Milton one w" I coulde not have looked more discomposed had have supposed her more in love with him than I. he pretended he was y author of those verses. I Like a bookworm as she is, she fell to praysing afterwards found he was ; but I think she laught his composures. “Oh, the leaste I care for in him more than there was neede. is his versing," quoth I; and from that moment We have ever been considered a sufficientlie a spiritt of mischief tooke possession of me, to do religious familie ; that is, we goe regularly to a thousand heedlesse, ridiculous things through- church on Sabbaths and prayer-dayes, and keepe out ye day, to show Rose how little I set by the alle ye fasts and festivalles. But Mr. Milton's opinion of soe wise a man. Once or twice Mr. devotion hath attayned a pitch I can neither imiMilton lookt earnestlie and questioninglie at me, tate nor even comprehende. The spirituall world but I heeded him not.

Discourse seemeth to him not onlie reall, but I may almoste at table graver and less pleasant, methoughte, than say visible. For instance, he tolde Rose, it apheretofore. Mr. Busire having dropt in, was avised pears, that on Tuesday nighte, (that is ye same to ask Mr. Milton why, having had an university evening I had promised to be his,) as he went education, he had not entered ye Church. He re- homewards to his farm lodging, he fancied ye plied, drylie enough, because he woulde not sub- angels whisperinge in his eares, and singing over scribe himselfe slave to anie formularies of men's his head, and that instead of going to his bed like making I saw father bite his lip; and Roger a reasonable being, he lay down on yo grass, and Agnew mildly observed, he thought him wrong ; gazed on ye sweete pale moon till she sett, and for that it was not for an individual to make rules then on y bright starres till he seemed to see for another individual, but yet that yo generall them moving in a slowe, solemn dance, to yo voice of the wise and good, removed from y pet-words, “ How glorious is our God !" And alle tie prejudices of private feeling, mighte pronounce about him, he said, he knew, tho' he coulde not authoritativelie wherein an individual was righte see them, were spirituall beings repairing the or wrong, and frame laws to keepe him in the ravages of ye day on the flowers, amonge y trees, righte path. Mr Milton replyed, that manie fal- | and grasse, and hedges ; and he believed 't was libles c" no more make up an infallible than manie, onlie the filme that originall sin had spread over finites could make an infinite.. Mr. Agnew re- his eyes, that prevented his seeing them. I joyned, that ne'erthelesse, an individual who op- am thankful for this same filme- I cannot abide posed himselfe agaynst yo generall current of ye fairies, and witches, and ghosts—ugh! I shudder wise and good, was, leaste of alle, likelie to be even 10 write of them ; and were it onlie of the in the right; and that yo limitations of human in- more harmlesse sort, one woulde never have ye tellect which made the judgment of manie wise comforte of thinkinge to be alone. I feare churchmen liable to question, certainlie made ye judg. yardes and dark corners of alle kinds ; more esment of anie wise man, self-dependent, more quespeciallie spiritts; and there is onlie one I wo even tionable still. Mr. Milton shortlie replied that wish to see at my bravest, when deepe love castthere were particulars in y® required oaths which eth out feare ; and that is of sister Anne, whome made him unable to take them without perjurie. I never associate with ye worm and windingAnd soe, an end ; but 't was worth a world to see sheete. Oh no! I think she, at leaste, dwells Rose looking soe anxiouslie from yo one speaker amonge yo starres, having sprung straite up into to the other, desirous that eache s'be victorious ; lighte and blisse the moment she put off mortaliand I was sorry that it lasted not a little longer. tie; and if she, why not others? Are Adam and

As Rose and I tooke our way to y summer- Abraham alle these yeares in y unconscious tomb? house, she put her arm round me, saying, “ How Theire bodies, but surelie not their spiritts? else, charming is divine philosophie !” I coulde not why dothe Christ speak of Lazarus lying in Abrahelpe asking if she did not meane how charming ham's bosom while yo brothers of Dives are yet was y philosophie of one particular divine. Soe riotouslie living? Yet what becomes of the daye

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of generall judgment, if some be thus pre-judged ?

Coming out of church he woulde I must aske Mr. Milton-yes, I thinke I can finde shun yo common field, where yo villagery led up it in my heart to aske him about this in some sol- theire sports, saying, he deemed quoit-playing and emn, stille hour, and perhaps he will sett at rest ye like to be unsuitable recreations on a daye manie doubts and misgivings that at sundrie times whereupon the Lord had restricted us from speaktrouble me ; being soe wise a man.

inge our own words, and thinking our own (that

is, secular) thoughts ; and that he believed y law Bedtime.

God in particular woulde soone be the law Glad to steale away from yo noisie of ye land, for parliament woulde shortlie put companie in ye supper-roome, (comprising some down Sunday sports. I askt, “ What, the king's of father's fellow-inagistrates,) I went down with parliament at Oxford ?” He answered, “ No; the Robert and Kate to y fish ponds ; it was scarce country's parliament at Westminster.” I sayd, I sunset ; and there, while we threw crumbs to ye was sorrie, for manie poore hard-working men had fish and watched them come to the surface, were no other holiday. He sayd, another holiday woulde followed, or ever we were aware, by Mr. Milton, be given them ; and that whether or no, we must who sat down on the stone seat, drew Robin be- not connive at evil, which we doe in permitting an tween his knees, stroked his haire, and askt holy daye to sink into a holiday. I sayd, but was what we were talking about. Robin sayd I had it not ye Jewish law, which had made such rebeene telling them a fairie storie; and Mr. Milton strictions? He sayd, yes, but that Christ came observed that was an infinite improvement on yo not to destroy yo moral law, of which sabbathjangling, puzzle-headed prating of country justices, keeping was a part, and that even its naturall fitand wished I woulde tell it agayne. But I was nesse for the bodily welfare of man and beast was afrayd. But Robin had no feares; soe tolde ye such as no wise legislator would abolish or abuse tale roundlie ; onlie he forgot yo end. Soe he it, even had he no consideration for our spiritual found his way backe to y middle, and seemed and immortal part ; and that it was a well-known likelie to make it last alle night; onlie Mr. Mil- fact that beasts of burthen, which had not one dayo ton sayd he seemed to have got into ye labyrinth of rest in seven, did lesse worke in yo end. of Crete, and he must for pitie's sake give him y for oure soules, he sayd, they required theire spirclew. Soe he finished Robin's story, and then itual meales as much as our bodies required theires : tolde another, a most lovelie one, of ladies, and and even poore, rusticall clownes, who coulde not princes, and enchanters, and a brazen horse, and reade, mighte nourish their better parts by an holie he sayd the end of that tale had been cut off too, pause, and by looking within them, and around by reason yo writer had died before he finished it. them, and above them. I felt inclined to tell him But Robin cryed, “Oh! finish this too," and that long sermons alwaies seemed to make me love hugged and kist him ; soe he did ; and me- God less insteade of more, but woulde not, fearthoughte y end was better than yo beginninge. ing he mighte take it that I meant he had been Then he sayd, “ Now, sweet Moll, you have giving me one. onlie spoken this hour past, by your eyes ; and we must heare your pleasant voice.” “ An hour?" Monday.—Mother hath returned !

The mocries Robin. “ Where are alle y red clouds gone, ment I hearde her voice I fell to trembling. At then ?" quoth Mr. Milton, " and what business y same moment I hearde Robin cry, “ Oh, mother, hathe y moon yonder ?” “ Then we must go I have broken the greene beaker !" which betraied indoors," quoth I. But they cried “No,” and apprehension in another quarter. However, she Robin helde me fast, and Mr. Milton sayd I might quite mildlie replied, “ Ah, I knew the handle know even by yo distant sounds of ill-governed was loose," and then kist me with soe greate afmerriment that we were winding up the week's fection that I felt quite easie. She had beene accounts of joy and care more consistentlie where withhelde by a troublesome colde from returning we were than we coulde doe in y house. And at ye appointed time, and cared not to write. indeede just then I hearde my father's voice swell- | ’T was just supper-time, and there were the chiling a noisie chorus ; and hoping Mr. Milton did dren to kiss and to give theire bread and milk, not distinguish it, I askt him if he loved musick. and Bill's letter to reade ; so that nothing particHe answered, soe much that it was miserie for ular was sayd till the younger ones were gone to him to hear anie that was not of y® beste. I bed, and father and mother were taking some wine secretlie resolved he should never heare mine. He and toast. Then says father, “ Well, wife, have added, he was come of a musicalle familie, and you got the five hundred pounds ?” No," she that his father not onlie sang well, but played answers, rather carelesslie. "I tolde you how finely on y viol and organ. Then he spake of 't woulde be,” says father : “you mighte as well y sweet musick in Italy, untill I longed to be have staid at home.” “Really, Mr. Powell,” there ; but I tolde him nothing in its way ever says mother, “ soe seldom as I stir from my owne pleased me more than to heare ye choiristers of chimney-corner, you neede not to grudge me, I Magdalen college usher in May day by chaunting think, a few dayes among our mutuall relatives.” a hymn at ye top of ye church towre. Discours- “ I shall goe to gaol,” says father. “Nonsense,” ing of this and that, we thus sate a good while says mother ; “ to gaol indeed!” “ Well, then, ere we returned to the house.

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ing. “I will answer for it, Mr. Milton will wait the leaste precipitate it not with this indecent a little longer for his money,” says mother," he haste. Postpone it till- “ Till when?” is an honorable man, I suppose.” “I wish he says father. “ Till the child is olde enough to may thinke me one,” says

father ; and as to a know her owne mind." “ That is, to put off an little longer, what is yo goode of waiting for what honorable man on false pretences," says father ; is as unlikelie to come eventuallie as now?'' " she is olde enough to know it alreadie. Speake, • You must answer that for yourselfe,” says Moll, are you of your mother's mind to give up Mr. mother, looking wearie ; “I have done what I Milton altogether?" I trembled, but sayd, “ No.” can, and can doe no more. Well, then, 't is “ Then, as his time is precious, and he knows not lucky matters stand as they do,” says father. when he may leave his home agayn,

I save you the “Mr. Milton has been much here in your ab- trouble, child, of naming a day, for it shall be the sence, my dear, and has taken a liking to our Monday before Whitsuntide." Thereat mother Moll ; soe, believing him, as you say, to be an gave a kind of groan ; but as for me, I had like to honorable man, I have promised he shall have have fallen on y ground, for I had had noe thought her." “ Nonsense,” cries mother, turning red of suche haste. “ See what you are doing, Mr. and then pale.

“ Never farther from nonsense, Powell,” says mother, compassionating me, and says father,

for 't is to be, and by yo ende of ye raising me up, though somewhat roughlie ; “I month too." You are bantering me, Mr. Pow- prophecie evil of this match." Prophets of evil

“ How can you suppose soe, are sure to find listeners,” says father, “but I am my deare ?" says father, “ you doe me injustice.” not one of them ;” and soe left y room. Thereon

Why, Moll!” cries mother, turning sharplie my mother, who alwaies feares him when he has towards me, as I sate mute and fearfulle, “ what a fit of determination, loosed the bounds of her is alle this, child ? You cannot, you dare not passion, and chid me so unkindlie, that, humbled think of wedding this round-headed puritan." and mortified, I was glad to seeke my chamber. “ Not round-headed,” sayd I, trembling ; his

Entering ye dining-room, however, haire is as long and curled as mine.” “Don't I uttered a shriek on seeing father fallen back in bandy words with me, girl," says mother passion- his chair, as though in a fit, like unto that which

see how unfit you are to have a house of terrified us a year ago ; and mother hearing me your owne, who cannot be left in charge of your call out, ran in, loosed his collar, and soone father's for a fortnighte, without falling into mis- broughte him to himselfe, tho' not without much chiefe !” “I won't have Moll chidden in that alarm to alle. He made light of it himselfe, and way,” says father ; " she has fallen into noe mis- sayd ’t was merelie a suddain rush of blood to chiefe, and has beene a discreete and dutifull ye head, and woulde not be dissuaded from going child." “ Then it has beene all your doing,” out; but mother was playnly smote at the heart, says mother, " and you have forced the child into and having lookt after him with some anxietie, this match." “Noe forcing whatever,” says exclaimed, “I shall neither meddle nor make more father, they like one another, and I am very in this businesse ; your father's suddain seizures glad of it, for it happens to be very convenient." shall never be layd at my doore ;' and soe left “ Convenient, indeed,” repeats mother, and falls me, till we met at dinner. After the cloth was a weeping. Thereon I must needs weepe too, but drawne, en Mr. Milton, who goes up to mother, she says, “ Begone to bed ; there is no neede that and with gracefulnesse kisses her hand; but she you shoulde sit by to heare your owne father con- withdrewe it pettishly, and tooke up her sewing, fesse what a fool he has beene."

on the which he lookt at her wonderingly and To my bedroom I have come, but cannot yet then at me; then at her agayne, as though he seek my bed ; the more as I still heare their woulde reade her whole character in her face ; voices in contention below.

which having seemed to doe, and to write ye same

in some private page of his heart, he never troubled Tuesday.This morninge's breakfaste was her or himself with further comment, but tooke up moste uncomfortable, I feeling like a checkt child, matters just where he had left them last. Ere we scarce minding to looke up or to eat. Mother, parted we had some private conference touching with eyes red and swollen, scarce speaking save our marriage, for hastening which he had soe to the children ; father directing his discourse much to say that I coulde not long contend with chieflie to Dick, concerning farm matters and y him, especiallie as I founde he had plainlie made rangership of Shotover, tho' 't was easie to see out that mother loved him not. his mind was not with them. Soe soone as alle had dispersed to theire customed taskes, and I was Wednesday.—House full of companie, leaving loitering at y® window, father calls aloud to me noe time to write nor think. Mother sayth, tho' from his studdy. Thither I go, and find him and she cannot forebode an happy marriage, she will mother, she sitting with her back to both. “Moll,” provide for a merrie wedding, and hathe growne says father,

determination, you have more than commonlie tender to me, and given me accepted Mr. Milton to please yourself, you will some trinkets, a piece of fine Holland cloth, and marry him out of hand to please me.” Spare enoughe of green sattin for a gown, that will stand me, spare me, Mr. Powell,” interrupts mother, on end with its owne richnesse. She hath me “if the engagement may not be broken off, at constantlie with her in ye kitchen, pastrie, and store-room, telling me 't is needfulle I shoulde im-marriage with ye Church, and of white robes, and prove in housewiferie, seeing I shall soe soone the bridegroom coming in clouds of glory, and of have a home of my owne.

with great

y® voices of singing men and singing women, and But I think mother knows not, and I am afeard eternall spring, and eternall blisse, and much that to tell her, that Mr. Milton hath no house of his I cannot call to mind, and other-much that I coulde owne to carry me to, but onlie lodgings, which not comprehende, but which was in mine ears as have well suited his bachelor state, but may not, yo song of birds, or falling of waters. 't is likelie, beseeme a lady to live in. He deems so himself, and sayeth we will look out for an 23d.- Rose hath come, and hath kindlie offered hired house together, at our leisure. Alle this to help pack y trunks, (which are to be sent off he hath sayd to me in an undertone, in mother's by the waggon to London,) that I may have yo presence, she sewing at y table and we sitting in more time to devote to Mr. Milton. Nay, but he ye window; and 't is difficult to tell how much will soon have all my time devoted to himself, and she hears, for she will aske no questions, and I would as lief spend what little remains in mine make noe comments, onlie compresses her lips, accustomed haunts, after mine accustomed fashion. which makes me think she knows.

I had purposed a ride on Clover this morning, The children are in turbulent spiritts ; but with Robin ; but y poor boy must I trow be disRobin hath done nought but mope and make moan appointed. since he learnt he must soe soone lose me. A

-And for what? Oh me! I have hearde thought hath struck me-Mr. Milton educates his such a long sermon on marriage-duty and service, sister's sons; two lads of about Robin's age. that I am faine to sit down and weepe. But no, What if he woulde consent to take my brother 1 must not, for they are waiting for me in y® hall, under his charge? perhaps father would be willing. and y' guests are come and yo musick is tuning,

and my lookes must not betray me.

- And now Saturday.Last visitt to Sheepscote—at leaste, farewell, Journal]; for Rose, who first bade me as Mary Powell; but kind Rose and Roger Agnew keepe you, (little deeming after what fashion,) will will give us the use of it for a week on our mar- now pack you up, and I will not close you with a riage, and spend the time with dear father and heavie strayn. Robin is calling me beneath yo mother, who will neede their kindnesse. Rose window-Father is sitting in y® shade, under the and I walked long aboute yo garden, her arm old pear-tree, seemingly in gay discourse with Mr. round my neck; and she was avised to say, Milton. To-morrow yo village-bells will ring for

the marriage of Cloth of frieze, be not too bold,

MARY PoweLL. Tho' thou be matcht with cloth of goldAnd then craved my pardon for soe unmannerly a

London. rhyme, which indeede, methoughte, needed an ex- Mr. Russell's, Taylor, St. Bride's Churchyard. cuse, but exprest a feare that I knew not (what Oh heaven! is this my new home? my heart she called) my high destiny, and prayed me not sinkes alreadie. After y swete fresh ayre of to trifle with Mr. Milton's feelings nor in his Sheepscote, and ye cleanliness, and yo quiet and sighte, as I had done yo daye she dined at Forest yo pleasant smells, sightes, and soundes, alle Ilill. I laught, and sayd, he must take me as he whereof Mr. Milton enjoyed to ye full as keenlie found me; he was going to marry Mary Powell, as I, saying they minded him of Paradise—how not ye Wise Widow of Tekoah. Rose lookt wist woulde Rose pitie me, could she view me in this fullie, but I bade her take heart, for I doubted not close chamber, the floor whereof of dark, uneven we shoulde content eache y other; and for the boards, must have beene layd, methinks, three rest her advice shoulde not be forgotten. Thereat, hundred years ago : the oaken pannells, utterlie she was pacyfied.

destitute of polish and with sundrie chinks; the

hed with dull brown hangings, lined with as dull May 22d.-Alle bustle and confusion-slaying a greene, occupying half y space; and half ye reof poultrie, makinge of pastrie, etc. People com- mainder being filled with dustie books, whereof ing and going, prest to dine and to sup, and refuse, there are store, alsoe in every other place. This and then stay, ye colde meats and wines ever on mirror, I s' thinke, belonged to faire Rosamond. yo table; and in y® evening, the rebecks and re- And this arm-chair to King Lear. Over yechimcorders sent for that we may dance in ye hall. nie hangs a ruefull portrait—maybe of Grotius, My spiritts have been most unequall; and this but I shoulde sooner deeme it of some worthie heevening I was overtaken with a suddain faintnesse, fore y Flood. Onlie one quarter of ye casement such as I never but once before experienced. will open, and that upon a prospect, oh dolefulle! They would let me dance no more ; and I was of yo churchyarde! Mr. Milton had need be as quite tired enoughe to be glad to sit aparte with blythe as he was all yo time we were at SheepsMr. Milton neare the doore, with y® moon shining cote, or I shall be buried in that same churchyarde on us; untill at length he drew me out into y gar- within ye twelvemonth. 'Tis well he has stepped den. He spake of happinesse and home, and hearts out to see a friend, that I may in his absence get knit in love, and of heavenlie espousals, and of ridd of this fit of ye dismalls. I wish it may be man being y® head of the woman, and of our Lord's ye last. What would mother say to his bringing

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