Bunhill Fields, Feb. 17, 1665.
. . . Something geniall and soothing beyond ordinarie in the Warmth and fitfulle Lighte of the Fire, made us delaye, I know not how long, to trim the Evening Lamp, and sitt muzing in Idlenesse about the Hearth; Mary revolving her Thumbs and staring at the Embers; Anne quite in the Shadowe, with her Arms behind her Head agaynst the Wall; Father in his tall Arm-chair, quite uprighte, as his Fashion is when very thoughtfulle; I on the Cushion at his Feet, with mine Head on's Knee and mine Eyes on his Shadowe on the Wall, which, as it happened, shewed in colossal Proportions, while ours were like Pigmies. Alle at once he exclaims, "We all seem very comfortable—I think we shoulde reward ourselves with some Egg-flip!"
And then offered us Pence for our Thoughts. Anne would not tell hers; Mary owned she had beene trying to account for the Deficiencie of a Groat in her housekeeping Purse; and I contest to such a Medley, that Father sayd I deserved Anne's Penny in addition to mine own, for my Strength of Mind in submitting such a Farrago of Nonsense to the Ridicule of my Friends.
Soe then I bade for his Thoughts, and he sayd he had beene questioning the Cricket on the Hearth, upon the Extinction of the Fairies; and I askt, Did anie believe in 'em now? and he made Answer, Oh, yes, he had known a Serving-Wench in Oxon depone she had beene nipped and haled by 'em; and, of Crickets, he sayd he had manie Times seene an old Wife in Buckinghamshire, who was soe pestered by one, that she cried, "I can't heare myself talk! I'd as lief heare Nought as heare thee;" soe poured a Kettle of boiling Water into the Cranny wherein the harmlesse Creature lay, and scalded it to Death; and, the next Day, became as deaf as a Stone, and remained soe ever after, a Monument of God's Displeasure, at her destroying one of the most innocent of His Creatures.
After this, he woulde tell us of this and that worn-our [Transcriber's note: worn-out?] Superstition, as o' the Friar's Lantern, and of Lob-lie-by-the-Fire, untill Mary, who affects not the Unreall, went off to make the Flip. Anne presentlie exclaimed, "Father! when you sayd—
'The Shepherds on the Lawn,
Or e'er the Point of Dawn,
Sat simply chatting in a rustic Row,
Full little thought they then
That the mighty Pan
Was kindly come to live with them, below,'
whom meant you by Pan? Sure, you would not call our Lord by the Name of a heathen Deity?"
"Well, Child," returns Father, "you know He calls Himself a Shepherd, and was in truth what Pan was onlie supposed to be, the God of Shepherds; albeit Lavaterus, in his Treatise De Lemuribus, doth indeede tell us, that by Pan some understoode noe other than the great Sathanas, whose Kingdom being overturned at Christ's Coming, his inferior Demons expelled, and his Oracles silenced, he is some sort was himself overthrown. And the Story goes, that, about the Time of our Lord's Passion, certain Persons sailing from Italy to Cyprus, and passing by certayn Islands, did heare a Voice calling aloud, Thamus, Thamus, which was the Name of the Ship's Pilot, who, making Answer to the unseene Appellant, was bidden, when he came to Palodas, to tell that the great God Pan was dead; which he doubting to doe, yet for that when he came to Palodas, there suddainlie was such a Calm of Wind that the Ship stoode still in the Sea, he was constrayned to cry aloud that Pan was dead; whereupon there were hearde such piteous Shrieks and Cries of invisible Beings, echoing from haunted Spring and Dale, as ne'er smote human Ears before nor since: Nymphs and Wood-Gods, or they that had passed for such, breaking up House and retreating to their own Place. I warrant you, there was Trouble among the Sylvan People that Day—Satyrs hirsute and cloven-footed Fauns.
". . . Many a Time and oft have Charles Diodati and I discust fond Legends, such as this, over our Winter Hearth; with our Chestnuts blackening and crackling on the Hob, and our o'er-ripe Pears sputtering in the Fire, while the Wind raved without among the creaking Elms. . . ."
Father still hammering on old Times, and his owne young Days, I beganne to frame unto myself an Image of what he might then have beene; piecing it out by Help of his Picture on the Wall; but coulde get no cleare Apprehension of my Mother, she dying soe untimelie. Askt him, Was she beautifulle? He sayth, Oh yes, and clouded over o' the suddain; then went over her Height, Size, and Colour, etc.; dwelt on the Generalls of personal Beauty, how it shadowed forthe the Mind, was desirable or dangerous, etc.