In the forenoon Mr John Robinson, rider to Mr Will Margesson, called on me and I gave him one bill… value 53.16.0, which leaves £30 on my account. My father Slater also came to see me, and they both dined with me… My father Slater and I balanced accounts… They both went away soon after dinner.
In the evening went down to Mr French’s, where I received of him in cash £2 in full for a coffin for his son on account of Mrs Browne [whose workmen made it], and also 4.3.4 in full for the funeral of his son on my own account. I came home about 9:30.
Today my servant came home… The reason of my father Slater’s visit today proceeded from the rumor that now prevails at Hartfield of Mr Snelling’s castrating my wife by force at my request. What would the credulous mob (for so I can justly call them) have with me? If I do injury to any one I would not I am sure, did I know it, and as to this affair I am sure I not only know my own innocence, but at the same time, it is a thing unprecedented in the practice of surgery, a thing I believe never done, so that it must betray the height of ignorance, which undoubtedly is the mother of credulity, and shame, which generally are twin sisters and oftentimes are linked together. But however, it is the rumor it seems finds people simple enough to give credit to it, and even so let them — I no ways envy their happiness and [??] am if I know my own heart I sincerely forgive them (and at[???] all mankind) and were it in my power to confer a favor upon any of them I would do it, and that without upbraiding them, and I think no man ever loved a woman better than I did my wife, for which I want not the mob for witnesses. No! I do not. I have a better, even that of my own heart… [105 words omitted].