Teusday 12.
Indeed I enjoy this fine cool weather, says Ben as he lay on his Back in the Bed rubbing his Eyes, & ears about half after six o-Clock; Lancelot Lee had never I am sure, more sensible Pleasure in swallowing a well prepar'd Dinner—To be sure I have slept last Night with the sweetest composure in Spight of the Chinches, & in spight of my Disorder!—Get up, Lump of Indolence, said I to him; Get up & clap to Virgil instead of lying there & boasting—Breakfasted with us Captain Guthrie, of a Small Schooner of Norfolk; & Mr Stadley the Musician—I love this good German, He used to teach in New York & Philadelphia—He has much simplicity & goodness of heart—He performs extremely well—He is kind & sociable with me—Dined with us one—one—Mr—Mr—I forget his name—I know his trade tho': An Inspector—He is rather Dull, & seems unacquainted with company for when he would, at Table, drink our Health, he held the Glass of Porter fast with both his Hands, and then gave an insignificant nod to each one at the Table, in Hast, & with fear, & then drank like an Ox—The Good Inspector, at the second toast, after having seen a little our Manner "Gentlemen & Ladies (but there was none in Womans Cloathing at Table except Mrs Carter) The King"—I thought that during the Course of the Toasts, he was better pleased with the Liquor than with the manner in which he was at this Time obliged to use it—I made a b[e]gining of my Latin Thesis—"Cuinam Usui inservi: at Lex moralis sub Evangeliis." I made out to write thus much—Duabus hisce Propositionibus sequentibus simulatim Respondeo.—But if I wrote so much every Day for a twelve Month my Thesis will be short. The Day is pleasant, cool enough: & my disorder which has been for several days a growing painful Dysentery, seems to have subsided—
[Letter of Philip V. Fithian To Elizabeth Beatty]
Nominy-Hall July 12. 1774.
To Laura.
The Summer is advancing briskly on, & bringing me with it every Day still nearer to you—And to my last Change—With you I am looking for the purest Happiness in Friendship & Love that I can derive from any thing below; And it will add to measure of Felicity if I can make the Woman I choose to protect & esteem think me worthy her Regard.
I said that the swift Advances of Summer are bringing me swiftly on to Death—In Virginia there are numberless Admonitions to this Reflection, but I suppress any farther Declaration. I wrote you by Mr —— early last Month; & at the same Time I wrote to several of my Acquaintances: but if they lived in the Moon I could hear from them as often as I do now when only a Couple of Hundred Miles, or a little more, separates us: Would it not be more agreeable to me if they did—? For then I should every Night almost, see, at least, the Place of their Habitation, tho' we could have no Correspondence.
You are such a Pilgrim, Laura; I mean such a Rover, that I am at some Loss to know how to direct a Letter to you; & I want my Letters, while they are on their Passage to go through as few Hands as possible, not because I write any Secrecy, or Scandal, for you will not allow either the one or the other; but only that you may speedily receive & read the Little I do write, fresh from my Heart.
I suppose that Miss —— has before now seen Cohansie—And cloyed of it too, no Doubt. She is a lively, sportful Soul. But that dear Place, which ingrosses so many of my Thoughts, has not Variety enough to entertain her long—You yourself, who are not always soaring on Follie's Wing, through the Regions of Vanity & Nonsense, sometimes find the Country dull—But Miss —— does not find Satisfaction in the City; it is plain then since that young Lady cannot find Contentment either in City or Country, that She cannot be happy at all.
Merciful, merciful Heaven! O grant me what I am trying hard to obtain; grant that my Inclinations be all duely bended to a perfect Satisfaction with my Lot here—! With such a Temper I shall be at Rest, be happy, if I continue here in Virginia; Or I shall be happy if I remove into new Jersey; But, must I declare it, Laura, that if I am destitute of this, I should be wretched, tho' your Friend & Companion—I am,