Thomas Turner

I paid 2d for 6 plaice bought at the door today. I dined on some boiled plaice with the remains of yesterday’s dinner. Paid Ben Shelley in cash…33.16.11½ and is in full for the same sum he paid in London for me this week; viz.,

To cash paid Mr William Margesson for which Mr Shelley has given me no receipt	32.2.0
To a scale beam	0.1.9
To a shaving box and brush	0.2.6
To the porter and a quart bottle	0.0.5½
To money paid Mrs Mary Chandler in full on account of Mr James Fuller	1.8.6
To 6 papers ink powder	0.2.0

At home all day and but very little to do. Rec’d of John Watford 12/- in full for poor tax by an assessment made the 9th instant.

…At home all day and very busy, but chiefly in marking up goods. In the evening Mr Long, who was come as a visitor to Hoathly from his residence as hop-assistant, supped and lodged with me. Rec’d of James [Fuller] 24/- for poor tax and 28/3, which. I paid Mr Shelley yesterday. Rec’d of Mr Joseph Burgess 9/- for poor tax.

In the morning my old servant Mary Martin came to see me, and she and myself at church in the morning… My late servant dined with me on a bullock’s tongue boiled, cabbage and carrots and a plain rice pudding. Myself, servant and late servant at church in the afternoon… My late servant stayed and drank tea and then went away.

In the evening Thomas Durrant, Mr Tipper and myself took a walk for air. After my return I read one of Tillotson’s sermons.

I dined on the remains of yesterday’s dinner with the addition of an apple pudding and some carrots. In the afternoon my brother came over to take up a waistcoat for Mr Tipper, and they both drank tea with me.

In the evening; wrote my London letters. At home all day but not very busy. I think I never knew so general a complaint for money in the little circle of my knowledge as there is at this present time. It is hardly to be met with in the common rise of trade, and those, that have money be too often want to look down with an eye of disdain and even contempt on those who know the want of it.

This day I had a present of two rabbits sent me from Mr John Smith of Cross-in-Hand. I dined on the same stewed. At home all day and really very little to do. In the evening quite ill, though I believe it to be the effect of trouble. For really my spirits are so low I hardly know what the consequences may be.

I dined on the remains of yesterday’s dinner. At home all day and really very little to do. In the evening my brother came over and stayed and smoked a pipe with me. Not at all well the whole day and something worse in the evening.
 

…I dined on the remains of yesterday’s dinner with the addition of an apple pudding. In the evening smoked a pipe at Joseph Miller’s. A very dull time for trade.

Mr Robert Atkinson, rider to Messrs Kendell and Rushton, called on me and dined with me on a chick pudding and the remains of yesterday’s dinner. In the evening, nay, all the day extreme low. I went to Joseph Durrant’s and smoked a pipe with Thomas Durrant. At home all the day and really very little to do. I think my spirits are so sunk with grief and trouble that I start alarmed at what may be the ill consequence… [26 words omitted].

…At home all day, but not very busy. A melancholy time for trade and money extreme scarce. Mr Tipper and Thomas Durrant sat with me a while in the evening.

After breakfast I set out for a place called Winfield Stocks in order to meet my late servant Sarah Weller, agreeable to an appointment previously made, where we both arrived about 10 o’clock. I stayed and talked with her about two hours and came for home where I arrived about 2:20. My servant dined at home on the remains of yesterday’s dinner, and as for myself, I ate not any dinner…

How should those minutes of my journey ever come to any person’s eye, or should my journey come to be known publicly to the world (that I took upon me such a journey, and for no other reason than purely to see an old servant), why I doubt not but they will very readily conclude she was his sweetheart, or if not so favourably disposed in their censure, perhaps the sagacious eye of scandal may see in it something worse. But however, they will be wrong for once in both conjectures. For I can with most sincerest truth assure them it was neither, but as my servant had not received so good usage from her uncle, whom to oblige and serve, as she thought, she left my service, therefore in a letter I received from her since she left my service, she begged I would so far condescend as to come to Catsfield. Which I, not approving of, appointed this place. For as she was destitute of any friends to consult or advise with, she sent to me and now begged she might come to my service again in the spring if I was not provided with a servant before that time.

Now pray let me ask what harm or courting is there in all this? Why, if I may truly speak, just none at all. But now I am endeavoring to vindicate my character from any aspersions that the malevolent tongue of envy or ill-will may strive to blacken it with (as I have had demonstration they were not wanting in their best endeavors that way). I positively declare I have not, since that fatal day which deprived me of all, all this earth can ever give to make me happy (I mean that melancholy day which took from me my wife), ever once made my addresses to any one of the fair sex. No! I have not, not-withstanding the busy world have made it their business to proclaim the contrary–and that with some vehemence of clamor, for such only it really was. Not that I have taken up any resolution to celibacy, for I can with truth declare marriage to be the only state that I found any happiness in and at the same time assert I hardly think I have had one minute’s peace of mind since I have been a widower, if I have been sober and in the calm possession of my reasoning faculty. But as to what liberty the world takes with my fame, I think it not worth my notice so long as my conscience does not join in declaring their censures are just. Therefore let the vain and giddy world talk on as freely as they please of me, and I hope to have grace not to merit anything odious enough to hurt my mind; and if not, I shall think myself no ways the worse for their censure, neither shall I think all their clamor worthy my notice, but permit them to talk on till they are tired, which perhaps it may be said will never be. Why then even let them talk on ad infinitum.

Myself and servant at church in the afternoon… After I had drunk tea, Mr Tipper, Thomas Durrant and myself took a walk for air.