In bed by half after ten as usual.
Wednesday 6.
Ben seems pretty well recovered—We dined to day on the Fish call'd the Sheeps-Head, with Crabs—Twice every Week we have fine Fish, & every Day good Fruit for Dinner, caudled Apples, Hurtle-Berries with milk &c—Yes, says Mrs Carter at Supper, this hot weather takes away all my life; the small Lightning that we now have makes me uneasy & melancholy—I love to see her in such Distress—Beauty & Virtue when combined together & Strugling against Misfortune; O how such objects move, & awaken the most delicate sensations of our Souls—Call in Nancy to her Guitar, says the Colonel. In She minces slow & silent from her supper—She scratches her Instrument, after a long preparation, into the Air of "Water parted from the Sea." What, pray Miss Nancy, what bewitched you with a desire of clipping your Eye-Brows—The Genius of Woman shines forth in this little Girlish trick—Pray Mr Fithian, was you ever taught Singing? Yes Sir, I attended two years—Had you any instructions in particular for using the Shake[184]—I am giving Nancy some Lessons, but She is vastly indolent—Nancy, play over and sing the Funeral Hymn—Excuse me, Papa, I have lost the Verses—Happy Soul, thy Days are ended,—Go on—How steady & how sharp it lightens in the North too—Good Night.
Thursday 7.
Yes Fanny may sit down to Breakfast—Where's Ben—The Weather is hot & Ben for enjoyment had stript himself naked—Of every thing but his shirt & Trowsers—Where's Ben—He is not very well, Madam,—This Day says the Colonel after having Prefac'd our Breakfast with a—"God bless us in what we are to recieve"—is our Rye yonder to be mown down; mown down thinks I, do they mow their Grain in Virginia—Yes two Negroes take naked Sythes & mow down the Grain; others are imploy'd in raking it into heaps, but much of it is left—Shall I help you, Mr Fithian, to a Dish of Coffee?—I choose a deep Plate, if you please, Ma'am, & Milk—Our Corn, Madam, in Jersey is inferior to yours in this Province—Or your Cooks, Sir, are less Skilful in managing it—Well, Nancy, I have tuned your Guitar; you are to practice to Day with Priscilla, who is to play the Harpsichord, till twelve o Clock; You can repeat the Verses of the Funeral Hymn?—I can Sir—What, Harry, do you hesitate at that plain Sum in Arithmetical Progression?—Bob, attend to your Business—When I am bedizen'd with these clamorous children, sometimes I silently exclaim—Once I was told, now I know I feel how irksome the Pedagoging Scheme is—Fanny—I say, Fanny, dont you hear me, Fanny, and Betsy, sit down—pray, Sir, must I multiply here by 32—Yes, thick-Scull—But Mr Fithian, I dont know how to divide by 5½—Look, Sir, do you see what Mouth's Harry Willis is making?—I can say my Lesson—Buz, Buz—To divide by 5½ you must double both your Dividend & divi[sor]—Half after two we were rung to Dinner; poor Tasker, his Fever has continued high since yesterday afternoon, he lies quiet, and asks for nothing—If his Disorder does not abate to night, I shall give him in the morning a dose of "James's Powder"—Will you lend me Jack, he meant my Horse, says Mr Randolph, to ride tomorrow to Captain Cheltons; Yes Mr Randolph, I will oblige Jenny so far.
Fryday 8.
I swear, says Bob, Harry belies me. I never told the Nurse that Harriot should stay in School all Day—It was Mama's order that so long as Mrs Oakly the Nurse stays, Harriot is to go into School after Breakfast, & after Dinner, & say a lesson each time—I was passing through the Hall from Breakfast—The Nurse, a short Stump of a [wom]an, who blundered by mere accident, when she was young, out of the road in which Virgins commonly travel, & felt the difficulties of being a Mother, several years before She enjoyed the Pleasures of being a Wife—She call'd to me, & begg'd me to close the Quarrel; You shall have, said I, dear Madam, with the greatest Freedom my consent—Harriot shall be with you—At Breakfast—Where is Ben?—He breakfasts with the House-keeper Madam—At School—What a likeness there is in the manners of Boys; Bob, & Harry had skulk'd behind the writing-Table with their Slates on their Knees, & their Faces close together, just as I have done a thousand Times, in our little School-House in Greenwich—But once I was threshed confoundedly for a piece of such hidden play—Tom Parks [blotted] asleep, poor Fellow he is now sleeping in the Dust;—Then he was fast asleep on a Bench, with his mouth open—I fill'd his mouth with Snuff!—He sprung up—Nature was in distress, & found all her Avenues too scanty at that time to clear out at once the tickling penetrating Powder—He snuffed—He coughed—He—He told the Master, & then I was tickled—Indeed he made my Feet beat time to his Lash—-Says Bob to Harry, behind the Table, I wonder Mr Fithian has not fallen in Love yet with some of our Nominy-Girls—Here he sits from Month to Month—(Not many Months longer said I to myself)—Mr Marshal[185] was always out; I suppose Mr Fithian never thinks of Girls—Indeed says Harry, drawing his chair clos[e &] lowering his voice, I never in my Life saw a Man who thought so little of these things—Here Tom the Coachman came in with a wood Tarripin which he brought to be a resident in our Room to catch the Bugs & Cockroaches—
Yes, Harry, & Bob, Fithian is vulnerable by Cupids Arrows—I assure you, Boys, he is, Not by the Girls of Westmorland—O my dear Laura, I would not injure your friendly Spirit; So long as I breathe Heavens vital air I am unconditionally & wholly Yours—At Dinner, Mrs Carter call'd for the Chariot, Mrs Turburville will think me rude, unless I welcome her Home. I will take Priscilla this Afternoon & make her a visit—I saw in a moment that Miss was better pleased with the notion of trotting off in the Carriage, than to be [blotted] up with Multiplication & Division—O yes, says Mrs Oakly, I know Dadda Gumby at Williamsburg. I think you look as brisk, as hearty & as young now as you did ten years ago—Gumby—I & my old Woman, here Master, are the two oldest Negres in Mr Carters Estate. Here we live, Master, on our worthy Landlords Bounty—The Nurse, Betsy, & Harriot were at Gumby's House which stands about twenty Rod from the Garden—I was walking, with a Book in my Fist, musing & stumbling along—I saw them, I went up, & with a lower Bow than I should give to a Nurse, if Women were plenty, says I, pray Mrs Oakly do you know Dadda Gumby? We stood chattering with the old African, or rather he stood chattering with us, relating one story after another, leaving some of his Narrations half untold, beginning others in the middle having entered into the true Spirit of Loquacity—Dennis, in the Height of a Story about his Grandfathers Uncle's harpooning a Porpoise summoned me to Coffee—Mrs Oakly, will you walk?—Come Betsy—Where's Ben?—Says the Colonel has Ben r[e]tired from the World?—He rode out this Evening, Sir, about five o Clock for Exercise—Mrs Carter, Mr Carter, good Night—
Saturday 9.
I was waked by Sam the Barber thumping at my Door—I was dressed—In Powder too; for I propose to see & dine with Miss Jenny Washington to Day. D—n the Bugs & Chinches, says Ben rolling over on the Bed, & rubbing his Eyes, I have slept none for them—Mr Fithian, do you rest any o-Nights? Dont these cursed Bugs keep you awake?—No Sir; for you see I commonly sit & read til half after ten, or eleven—So that by the Time I lay my poor Skin & Bones on the Bed, I am so much fatigued with the tumultuous Business of the Day, & the Study of the Evening that my sleep the rest of the night is sound & unbroken—Priscilla hangs her head a little this morning, She looks feverish, dispirited, sits on a low bench, with her Elbow in her Lap, & Leaning her head upon her hand, swings backwards and forwards, just as I have seen beautiful Quaker Girls when they are weeping at the frightful distortions & Grimaces of some deep-inspired Father. But Priscilla & Tasker are unwell—Fanny teizes me for a Picture, I must draw her a slip, she says, on Paper like the one I drew for Her the other Day with my finger in the Sand—I love the little careless Girl, & will oblige her—On the writing-Table in the School-Room I found this morning an old Book of Esops Fables done into English Verse; In the Margins of this Book up & Down Bob had in his scribbling Way recorded the Names of several young Ladies of Westmorland & Richmond Counties. I shall set them down, as I turned over the Leaves & found them—I do not insinuate, by writing this Story, the smallest reproach to either of the Ladies; I mention it solely to shew Bob's Taste, & the Meditations of his heart when wholly alone. In the Life of Esop, page 23, at the Bottom of the Leaf his own Name is written at full length & in as elegant a hand as he is master of with a Dash below.