16ᵗʰ June.
To Fyre Islande, in Winthrop’s Yacht—yᵉ Twinnes w. us, so Titteringe & Choppinge Laughter, yᵗ ’twas worse yⁿ a Flocke of Sandpipers.—Found a grete Concourse of people there, Her amonge them, in a Suite of blue, yᵗ became Her bravelie.—She swimms lyke to a Fishe, butt everie Stroke of Her white Arms (of a lovelie Roundnesse) cleft, as ’twere my Hearte, rather yⁿ yᵉ Water.—She bow’d to me, on goinge into yᵉ Water, w. muche Dignitie, & agayn on Cominge out, but yⁱˢ Tyme w. lesse Dignitie, by reason of yᵉ Water in Her Cloathes, & Her Haire in Her Eyes.—
17ᵗʰ June.
Was for goinge awaie To-morrow, but Clarence cominge againe to my Chamber, & mightilie purswadinge of me, I feare I am comitted to a verie sillie Undertakinge.—For I am promis’d to Help him secretlie to wedd his Cozen.—He wolde take no Deniall, wolde have it, his Brother car’d Naughte, ’twas but yᵉ Fighte of theyre Fathers, he was bounde it sholde be done, & ’twere best I stoode his Witnesse, who was wel lyked of bothe yᵉ Braunches of yᵉ Family.—So ’twas agree’d, yᵗ I shal staye Home to-morrowe fm. yᵉ Expedition to Fyre Islande, feigning a Head-Ache, (wh. indeede I meante to do, in any Happ, for I cannot see Her againe,) & shall meet him at yᵉ little Churche on yᵉ Southe Roade.—He to drive to Islipp to fetch Angelica, lykewise her Witnesse, who sholde be some One of yᵉ Girles, she hadd not yet made her Choice.—I made yⁱˢ Condition, it sholde not be either of yᵉ Twinnes.—No, nor Bothe, for that matter.—Inquiringe as to yᵉ Clergyman, he sayde yᵉ Dominie was allreadie Squar’d.
Newe York, yᵉ Buckingham Hotell, 19ᵗʰ June.
I am come to yᵉ laste Entrie I shall ever putt downe in yˢ Booke, and needes must yᵗ I putt it downe quicklie, for all hath Happ’d in so short a Space, yᵗ my Heade whirles w. thynkinge of it. Yᵉ after-noone of Yesterdaye, I set about Counterfeittinge of a Head-Ache, & so wel did I compasse it, yᵗ I verilie thinke one of yᵉ Twinnes was mynded to Stay Home & nurse me.—All havinge gone off, & Clarence on his waye to Islipp, I sett forth for yᵉ Churche, where arriv’d I founde it emptie, w. yᵉ Door open.—Went in & writh’d on yᵉ hard Benches a ¼ of an Houre, when, hearinge a Sounde, I look’d up & saw standinge in yᵉ Door-waye, Katherine Ffrench.—She seem’d muche astonished, saying You Here! or yᵉ lyke.—I made Answer & sayde yᵗ though my Familie were greate Sinners, yet had they never been Excommunicate by yᵉ Churche.—She sayde, they colde not Putt Out what never was in.—While I was bethynkinge me wh. I mighte answer to yⁱˢ, she went on, sayinge I must excuse Her, She wolde goe upp in yᵉ Organ-Lofte.—I enquiring what for? She sayde to practice on yᵉ Organ.—She turn’d verie Redd, of a warm Coloure, as She sayde this.—I ask’d Do you come hither often? She replyinge Yes, I enquir’d how yᵉ Organ lyked Her.—She sayde Right well, when I made question more curiously (for She grew more Redd eache moment) how was yᵉ Action? yᵉ Tone? how manie Stopps? Whᵃᵗ She growinge gretelie Confus’d, I led Her into yᵉ Churche, & show’d Her yᵗ there was no Organ, yᵗ Choire beinge indeede a Band, of i Tuninge-Forke, i Kitt, & i Horse-Fiddle.—At this She fell to Smilinge & Blushinge att one Tyme.—She perceiv’d our Errandes were yᵉ Same, & crav’d Pardon for Her Fibb.—I tolde Her, If She came Thither to be Witness at her Frend’s Weddinge, ’twas no greate Fibb, ’twolde indeede be Practice for Her.—This havinge a rude Sound, I added I thankt yᵉ Starrs yᵗ had bro’t us Together. She sayde if yᵉ Starrs appoint’d us to meete no oftener yⁿ this Couple shoude be Wedded, She was wel content. This cominge on me lyke a last Buffett of Fate, that She shoude so despitefully intreate me, I was suddenlie Seized with so Sorrie a Humour, & withal so angrie, yᵗ I colde scarce Containe myselfe, but went & Sat downe neare yᵉ Doore, lookinge out till Clarence shd. come w. his Bride.—Looking over my Sholder, I sawe yᵗ She wente fm. Windowe to Windowe within, Pluckinge yᵉ Blossoms fm. yᵉ Vines, & settinge them in her Girdle.—She seem’d most tall and faire, & swete to look uponn, & itt Anger’d me yᵉ More.—Meanwhiles, She discours’d pleasantlie, asking me manie questions, to the wh. I gave but shorte and churlish answers. She ask’d Did I nott Knowe Angelica Roberts was Her best Frend? How longe had I knowne of yᵉ Betrothal? Did I thinke ’twolde knitt yᵉ House together, & Was it not Sad to see a Familie thus Divided?—I answer’d Her, I wd. not robb a Man of yᵉ precious Righte to Quarrell with his Relations.—And then, with meditatinge on yᵉ goode Lucke of Clarence, & my owne harde Case, I had suche a sudden Rage of peevishness yᵗ I knewe scarcelie what I did.—Soe when she ask’d me merrilie why I turn’d my Backe on Her, I made Reply I had turn’d my Backe on much Follie.—Wh. was no sooner oute of my Mouthe than I was mightilie Sorrie for it, and turninge aboute, I perceiv’d She was in Teares & weepinge bitterlie. Whᵃᵗ my Hearte wolde holde no More, & I rose upp & tooke Her in my arms & Kiss’d & Comforted Her, She makinge no Denyal, but seeminge greatlie to Neede such Solace, wh. I was not Loathe to give Her.—Whiles we were at This, onlie She had gott to Smilinge, & to sayinge of Things which even yⁱˢ paper shal not knowe, came in yᵉ Dominie, sayinge He judg’d We were the Couple he came to Wed.—With him yᵉ Sexton & yᵉ Sexton’s Wife.—My swete Kate, alle as rosey as Venus’s Nape, was for Denyinge of yⁱˢ, butt I wolde not have it, & sayde Yes.—She remonstrating w. me, privilie, I tolde Her She must not make me Out a Liar, yᵗ to Deceave yᵉ Man of God were a greavous Sinn, yᵗ I had gott Her nowe, & wd. not lett her Slipp from me, & did soe Talke Her Downe, & w. such Strengthe of joie, yᵗ allmost before She knewe it, we Stoode upp, & were Wed, w. a Ringe (tho’ She Knewe it nott) wh. belong’d to My G father. (Him yᵗ Cheated Herⁿ.)—
Wh was no sooner done, than in came Clarence & Angelica, & were Wedded in theyre Turn.—The Clergyman greatelie surprised, but more att yᵉ Largeness of his Fee.
This Businesse being Ended, we fled by yᵉ Trayne of 4½ o’cke, to yⁱˢ Place, where we wait till yᵉ Bloode of all yᵉ Ffrenches have Tyme to coole downe, for yᵉ wise Mann who meeteth his Mother in Lawe yᵉ 1ˢᵗ tyme, wil meete her when she is Milde.—
And so I close yⁱˢ Journall, wh., tho’ for yᵉ moste Parte ’tis but a peevish Scrawle, hath one Page of Golde, whᵒⁿ I have writt yᵉ laste strange Happ whᵇʸ I have layd Williamson by yᵉ Heeles & found me yᵉ sweetest Wife yᵗ ever stopp’d a man’s Mouthe w. kisses for writinge of Her Prayses.