University of Virginia Library

August ye 10th.

I find the Summer here greatlie unlike that of mine
own Countrie. The heate is greate, the Sun shining
verie strong and bright, and for more than a Month
it hath been exceeding dry, without anie considerable
fall of Rain, soe that the Springs fail in manie places,
and the Watercourses are dried up, which doth bring to
mind verie forcibly the language of Job, concerning
the Brooks which the Drouth consumeth: “What time
they wax Warme they vanish; when it is hot they are
consumed oute of their place. The Paths of their Way
are turned aside; they goe to nothing and perish.”
The herbage and grass have lost much of the brightness
which they did wear in the earlie Summer; moreover,
there be fewer Flowers to be seen. The Fields
and Roads are dustie, and all things do seem to faint
and wax old under the intolerable Sun. Great Locusts
sing sharp in the hedges and bushes, and Grasshoppers
flie up in clouds, as it were, when one walks over
the dry grass which they feed upon, and at nightfall
Musketoes are no small torment. Whenever I doe
look forth at noonday, at which time the air is all aglow,
with a certain glimmer and dazzle like that from
an hot Furnace, and see the poor flie-bitten Cattell
whisking their tayles to keep off the venemous insects,
or standing in the Water of the low grounds for coolness,

and the panting Sheep lying together under the
shade of Trees, I must needs call to mind the Summer
season of Old England, the cool sea aire, the soft
dropping Showers, the Fields soe thick with Grasses,
and skirted with hedge-rows like green walls, the
Trees and Shrubs all clean and moist, and the Vines
and Creepers hanging over walls and gateways, verie
plenteous and beautiful to behold. Ah me! often in
these days do I think of Hilton Grange, with its great
Oaks, and cool breezy Hills and Meadows greene the
Summer long. I shut mine eyes, and lo! it is all
before me like a picture; I see mine uncle's grey hairs
beneath the Trees, and my good Aunt standeth in the
doorway, and Cousin Oliver comes up in his field dress,
from the Croft or the Mill; I can hear his merrie
laugh, and the sound of his Horse's hoofs ringing
along the gravel way. Our sweet Chaucer telleth of
a Mirrour in the which he that looked did see all his
past Life; that magical Mirrour is no fable, for in the
memorie of love old things do return and showe themselves
as features doe in the Glass, with a perfect and
most beguiling likeness.

Last night, Dea. Dole's Indian — One Eyed Tom —
a surlie Fellow — broke into his Master's shop, where
he made himself drunk with Rum, and coming to the
House, did greatlie fright the womenfolk by his threatening

words and gestures. Now, the Deacon coming
home late from the Church meeting, and seeing him in
this way, wherreted him smartlie with his cane; whereupon
he ran off, and came up the road howling and
yelling like an Evil Spirit. Uncle Rawson sent his
Irish man-servant to see what caused the ado, but he
straightway came running back, screaming, “Murther!
murther!” at the top of his voice. So Uncle himself
went to the gate, and presentlie called for a Light,
which Rebecca and I came with, inasmuch as the
Irishman and Effie dared not go out. We found Tom
sitting on the horse-block, the Blood running down his
Face, and much bruised and swollen. He was verie
fierce and angrie, saying that if he lived a Month he
would make him a Tobacco-pouch of the Deacon's
scalp. Rebecca ventured to chide him for his threats,
but offered to bind up his head for him, which she did
with her own Kerchief. Uncle Rawson then bade him
goe home and get to bedde, and in future let alone
strong drink, which had been the cause of his beating.
This he would not do, but went off into the Woods,
muttering as far as one could hear him.

This Morning Dea. Dole came in and said his
servant Tom had behaved badlie, for which he did
moderately correct him, and that he did thereupon
run away, and he feared he should lose him. He

bought him, he said, of Captain Davenport, who
brought him from the Narragansett Countrie, paying
ten pounds and six shillings for him, and he could ill
bear so great a Loss. I ventured to tell him that it
was wrong to hold any Man, even an Indian or Guinea
black, as a Slave. My uncle, who saw that my plainness
was not well taken, bade me not meddle with
Matters beyond my depth; and Deacon Dole, looking
verie surlie at me, said I was a forward one; that he
had noted that I did wear a light and idle look in the
Meeting-house; and, pointing with his Cane to my
Haire, he said I did render myself liable to presentment
by the Grand Jury for a breach of the Statute
of the General Court, made the Year before, against
“the immodest laying out of the Hair,” &c. He then
went on to say that he had lived to see strange times,
when such as I did venture to oppose themselves to
sober and grave People, and to despise Authoritie, and
encourage Rebellion and Disorder; and bade me take
heed lest all such be numbered with the cursed children
which the Apostle did rebuke: Who, as natural
brute beasts speak evil of things they understand not,
and shall utterly perish in their corruption.” My dear
Cousin Rebecca here put in a word in my behalf, and
told the Deacon that Tom's misbehaviour did all grow
out of the keeping of strong Liquors for sale, and that
he was wrong to beate him so cruelly, seeing that he
did himself place the Temptation before him. Thereupon,
the Deacon rose up angrilie, bidding Uncle look
well to his forward household. “Nay, girls,” quoth
mine Uncle, after his neighbor had left the House,
“you have angered the good man sorelie.” “Never
heed,” said Rebecca, laughing and clapping her hands,
“he hath got something to think of more profitable, I
trow, than Cousin Margaret's Hair or looks in Meeting.
He has been tything of Mint and Anise and
Cummin long enough, and 'tis high time for him to look
after the weightier matters of the Law.”

The selling of Beer and strong Liquors, Mr. Sewall
says, hath much increased since the troubles of the
Colonie and the great Indian Warre. The General
Court doe take some care to grant Licenses onlie to
discreet persons, but much Liquor is sold without warrant.
For mine own part, I think old Chaucer hath it
right in his Pardoner's Tale:—