Huntingdon -- Sleep comes furtively, it creeps noiselessly, like temptation though without the wretched relief surrender to such brings, even if it be for a moment; and brings not rest. I sink to peculiar dreams. In Winthrop’s study, where there was a chair, with red cushions, and he said I may sleep on it if I wish. That a godly man, a brushmaker, threw a stone at a cross, and a drunken cavalier made him kneel before it and say a prayer for the pope. That I stood on the banks of the Ouse, and there is a great roaring, of wind and water, as in the forests of America,  and this a comfort. I can only think this is because this dream Sarah is alive and though I am alone in darkness she waits for me. I am vile vile vile vile vile, there are many songs she would sing.