Author: Thomas Turner

This day balanced accounts with Mr Sam Gibbs and received of him 4.6.3 in full. In the morning my uncle Hill called on me and breakfasted with me. We dined on a piece of pork boiled, a plain pudding, greens, turnips and potatoes… At home all day and not very busy.

My wife, poor creature, very ill, constantly in pain, which thanks be to God she bears with great patience and resignation to the divine will.

…Paid Mr Will Blackwell 8/6 for 2 reams of paper received by him today…

My wife, poor creature, very bad. Oh, dreadful melancholy daily repetition; who can find words to describe my grief, a grief I hope thoroughly sincere, not built on passion or lust, but friendship’s more exalted tie, a tie of nature and of love.

Dr Stone sent me a present of a hare, for which I gave his servant 12d. Paid Edward Hope 21d for a sparerib weighing 7 lbs. We dined on the remains of yesterday’s dinner. At home all day. My wife, poor creature, very ill.

In the forenoon Mr John Robinson, rider to Mr Will Margesson, called on me and I balanced accounts with him… Mr Robinson stayed and dined with me on some pork bones broiled. Paid Thomas Burfield 8/9 for 15 beehives received by him today. At home all day. My wife very ill, but rather better than some few days past.

No service at our church in the morning, Mr Porter preaching at Laughton. We dined on a sparerib roasted, applesauce and a raisin batter pudding. My self and servant at church in the afternoon… Mr Long at our house in the evening, to whom and in the day I read 3 of Tillotson’s sermons. My wife, poor creature, very bad.

…In the evening wrote my London letters. At home all day. My wife, poor creature, very ill. Oh, the tumult in my troubled breast; I must ere long lose the partner of my soul, one with whom I can converse with sincerity and freedom, one not influenced and guided by the unruly dictates of passion and sense, but whose intellectuals are directed by more nobler motive, even that of religion, for to describe her virtues is beyond the power of my pen!

…Sent Mr John Crouch, enclosed in a letter by Benjamin Shelley (delivered to himself) one bill on Mr Will Margesson, dated today… value £10. We dined on a piece of bacon boiled, an apple pudding and turnips… My wife, poor creature, extremely ill.

…In the day wrote out several bills. At home all day. My wife, poor creature, extremely ill. Oh, how cutting is this daily repetition!

In the forenoon my brother came over and dined with us… My wife, poor creature, very ill. Oh, how does the daily repetition wound my distracted soul!

Paid Mr Joseph Fuller 6d in full for a sheep’s head and pluck bought of him today… At home all day. My wife, poor creature, very ill. How do I want words to express what she has endured? This 18 weeks past has she almost been in continual pain.