#even tho its not jane jane and its april jane

[nardos-primetime]

If this is how I die, lord?

Why be left with no family And no friends?

(Something for a school project)

[my-deer-history]

On partiality

A few thoughts on why 'partiality' - even more than 'love' - is an important expression in Hamilton and Laurens’ correspondence.

Partiality is a word that denotes fondness, preference or bias for one person over others, often used in sentimental writing as a synonym for love (both familial and romantic). Jane Austen uses both forms in Pride and Prejudice (1813):

Miss Bennet’s astonishment was soon lessened by the strong sisterly partiality which made any admiration of Elizabeth appear perfectly natural [...] I had often seen him in love before. […] From that moment I observed my friend’s behaviour attentively; and I could then perceive that his partiality for Miss Bennet was beyond what I had ever witnessed in him.

Hamilton himself uses partiality in the context of love in a letter to Elizabeth Schuyler:

I believe in my soul you are an inchantress; but I have tried in vain, if not to break, at least, to weaken the charm—you maintain your empire in spite of all my efforts—and after every new one, I make to withdraw myself from my allegiance my partial heart still returns and clings to you with increased attachment.

Alexander Hamilton to Elizabeth Schuyler, 5 October 1780

But partiality is not a direct synonym for love - the nuance comes from the fact that it is an antonym of impartiality. 

An enlightened 18th century gentleman walked a fine line to balance rationality - which elevated reason, intellect and justice (especially in the spheres of public life, such as politics and business) - with sentimentality - which expected him to display profound emotion at appropriate (usually private) moments, as a testament to his morality.

Expressing love was certainly a virtuous thing - a man could profess love for his family, spouse, country, comrades, beliefs (religious or otherwise), and so on - but when it was labelled partiality, that love was made less gentlemanly, less virtuous and noble. Partiality masked flaws, reducing the ability to make objective choices, and hinted at a weakness of character in a gentleman who was supposed to be fair, just and disinterested in his dealings. Therefore, a man who called himself partial was admitting that he allowed his feelings to affect his integrity, and was showing preference one person over others in a way that was possibly unfair or unwarranted - an intimate personal favouritism.

We see it used in this form in works spanning the century. In Alexander Pope’s 1717 poem, Eloisa to Abelard, Eloisa begs for her “partial eyes” to be turned away from her lover, Abelard, and back to pure religious love.

Yet then, to those dread altars as I drew, Not on the Cross my eyes were fix'd, but you: Not grace, or zeal, love only was my call, And if I lose thy love, I lose my all. […] Ah no! instruct me other joys to prize, With other beauties charm my partial eyes, Full in my view set all the bright abode, And make my soul quit Abelard for God.

In Charlotte Smith’s Emmeline (1778), partiality is contrasted with virtuous affection:

But for your charming friend my heart long retained its partiality; nor would it ever have felt for her that pure and disinterested friendship which is now in regard to her its only sentiment, had not the object of my present regret and anguish been thrown in my way.

In Evelina (1778), Fanny Burney shows the peril of partiality in masking flaws.

Yet perhaps I have rather reason to rejoice than to grieve, since this affair has shown me his real disposition, and removed that partiality which, covering his every imperfection, left only his virtues and good qualities exposed to view. [...] You flattered yourself that your partiality was the effect of esteem, founded upon a general love of merit, and a principle of justice; and your heart, which fell the sacrifice of your error, was totally gone ere you expected it was in danger.

We see this subtlety of meaning in Hamilton’s April 1779 letter to Laurens:

But as you have done it and as we are generally indulgent to those we love, I shall not scruple to pardon the fraud you have committed, on condition that for my sake, if not for your own, you will always continue to merit the partiality, which you have so artfully instilled into me.

In using feigned legalese (“pardon the fraud you have committed”), Hamilton puts himself in the role of a judge, but admits that he is not an impartial one - he is acting self-awarely according to his personal bias, and the love he expresses is tinged by it. Hamilton uses partiality again in his 8 January 1780 letter, after Laurens tries to promote Hamilton as a better candidate for the diplomatic mission to the court at Versailles:

Believe me my Dr Laurens I am not insensible of the first mark of your affection in recommending me to your friends for a certain commission. However your partiality may have led you to overrate my qualifications that very partiality must endear you to me.

In other words - your affection means that you’re not being objective about me, and that’s adorable. He’s teasing, acknowledging both his own shortcomings and Laurens’ inability or unwillingness to see them. Hamilton puts it in even plainer terms in his 30 June 1780 letter, in which he discusses the possibility of Laurens being paroled early. He contrasts both the “love” the military family feels for Laurens and the fair and objective rules of war with his own subjective affection:

I have talked to the General about your exchange; but the rigid rules of impartiality oppose our wishes. I am the only one in the family who think you can be exchanged with any propriety, on the score of your relation to the Commander in Chief. We all love you sincerely; but I have more of the infirmities of human nature, than the others, and suspect my self of being byassed by my partiality for you.

In sum, Hamilton’s written correspondence expresses love for Laurens in a variety of ways beyond the obvious - the word ‘love’ itself is indeed less telling than the other phrases he uses. In the context of the period, calling both himself and Laurens partial towards each other suggests that their affection was not just the pure and rational comradeship of fellow-soldiers, but a more personal, intimate and subjective sentiment.

[mynameisdotty]

Alison Weir and the claim Anne Boleyn was pregnant when she was executed.

I’m convinced that even tho Alison Weir is a historian that she’s determined to out-crazy Philippa Gregory on Tudor History. She screams to me of someone who cares more about selling books than legit history using the idea “no publicity is bad publicity”.The claim that Anne Boleyn was pregnant when she died comes from Alison Weir’s book Henry VII: King and Court. Quoting from the book:

“Henry had every reason to be pleased with Anne, for the evidence strongly suggests she was pregnant again. Just as she conceived rapidly after the birth of Elizabeth, so her reconciliation with the king after her miscarriage in January had quickly borne fruit. Henry made what was probably an oblique reference to her pregnancy that April, when he rounded on Chapuys for suggesting God had not thought fit to send him male issue because He had ordained that England should have a female succession. ‘Am I not a man like other men? Am I not? Am I not?’ shouted Henry ‘You do not know all my secrets’. On the 25th April, in a letter sent to Richard Pate in Rome and duplicated to Gardiner and Wallop in France, Henry announced ‘the likelihood and appearance that God will send us heirs male’, implying that ‘our dear and most entirely beloved wife the Queen’ was once more expecting a child. Had Anne conceived towards the end of February, it would have been possible for the King to state this with some certainty, and clearly, he was eager to do so.”

Firstly, Weir brings up a letter sent to Sir Richard Pate who was ambassador to the Holy Roman Empire from 1533-37. She seems to have combined two events together as Weir recounts a conversation between Henry and Imperial Envoy, Eustace Chapuys. According to Weir, Chapuys was reported to have ventured for Mary to be reinstated to the succession as “God had ordained a female succession” only to have Henry explode on him. This conversation did happen as it was reported in a letter back to Charles V. Now the big clincher: this letter is from April 15th 1533. Catherine of Aragon is referred to in the letter in the present tense which would be impossible in 1536 as she died in early January that year. Next, its contents are not as Weir represents them. Yes, the conversation between Chapuys and Henry is there but with context its meaning is very different. The relevant portion (because it is a very long letter) is here:

"Made unto Us certain overtures for the advancement of such a renovation. The first was that He would be meane to have a reconciliation between Us and the Bishop of Rome. The second overture and request was that for as much as there is great likelihood and appearance that God will send unto Us heirs male to succeed us in the Crown of this our Realm, We would vouch safe at his contemplation to legitimate our daughter Mary, in such a degree as in default of issue by our most dear and entirely beloved wife the Queen , she may not be reputed unable to some place in our succession."

Third is from the accounts ordering a cradle for a prospective new prince/princess. The receipt is undated (which wouldn’t exactly be the kind of clinching evidence I’d use to back up this claim) but we can deduce some kind of date. Thomas Cromwell is named as Lord Privy Seal on the receipt and therefore would narrow down the date range from 1536-1540. Whilst this at first looks like it could be a point for Weir (since it's at least in the correct date range) I would counter with this: why would anyone be ordering a crib so early in a pregnancy when the mother had a history of miscarrying? It seems very optimistic on Henry's part. I would argue this is more likely a cradle for the expecting Jane Seymour's baby, the future Edward VI who was born 12th October 1537.

Finally, let’s look at logistics. Could Anne be pregnant in May 1536? She was pregnant in the January but miscarried a boy on January 29th. Henry was very explicit about his lack of faith in Anne’s childbearing capabilities by this point, famously stating after the miscarriage that: “[he’d] have no more boys by her”. This would imply Henry was not going to be sleeping with Anne from that point. Still, for the sake of argument, they are still attempting for another child up until Anne’s arrest. In an age before pregnancy tests, the earliest Anne could suspect a pregnancy is one month due to missing her period. The earliest she could be 100% certain she was carrying a child would be 3/4 months when the baby would begin to move in utero (colloquially known as “quickening”). This would mean that for Henry to have known Anne was pregnant she would have had to conceived again by the latest in mid-February, but ideally earlier almost immediately after her miscarriage in January. That doesn’t seem very reasonable for a woman recovering from something that would have been quite traumatic on her both in medical and emotional terms.

Next, there is no evidence from her time in the Tower of any pregnancy. Weir brings this up as suspicious that Anne wasn’t examined for a pregnancy. This could either be explained in two ways: 1) Henry was certain she wasn’t because he hadn’t been sleeping with her (and if she was then it could be fathered by one of her co-accused) or 2) she had her period whilst incarcerated thus proving for certain there was no baby. There are no official records of Anne's trial so there is no evidence we can pull from there to say one way or the other. However, there were letters and reports of Anne in the Tower sent from the Lieutenant William Kingston to Thomas Cromwell. None mention a pregnancy or suspected pregnancy. Also, if she knew she was pregnant, why not speak up? It would have at least delayed her fate until her new child was either born or she had a miscarriage.

Finally finally, why would Henry kill a potential male heir? It goes against his entire motivations at this time. Henry was desperate for a male heir. If there was even the possibility that Anne was carrying another boy, why not wait a few extra months to see the outcome? It’s ludicrous that he would kill his own child when it could be the heir he had caused a schism to obtain. Even if there was some dubiousness around the legitimacy, Henry had already shown he was willing to declare what he wanted no matter what the truth was (Mary was illegitimate despite being born in wedlock to legally wedded parents).

[awhilesince]

Wednesday, 22 August 1827 (travel journals)

6

1/4

Breakfast at 8 (could not sleep well last night 1/2 devoured by bugs – our rooms merely good coachmen’s rooms) –

off from Martigny at 8 50/60 at 8 55/60 wooden bridge over the tuffy river Rhone, tuffy from the moment we saw it –

at 9 22/60 wood bridge over the Trient – at 9 35/60 Pissevache (left) – falls 300 feet – but the perpendicular fall seen from the road only 100 feet – finer cascades off the Rhine in the Rheinthal (in or near the via mala 2 vide) that of the Acqua fraggia near Chiavenna finer – alighted to see it nearer and returned to the carriage thro’ the niceish village of Miville – Plums drying on planks out of doors – some cut open down the middle some not – at 10 25/60 2 small wood bridges over dry rough beds of debacle – the torrents must be wide-spreading in winter –

at 10 40/60 wooden bridge over little stream –

at 10 50/60 very picturesque town of St. Maurice – at 11 pass the bridge, and shew passports – 2 good old Gothic churches goodish town, – very much better than Martigny – the Union a pretty good looking house – shops pretty good – nobody in them, but a bell that rings upstairs to call the people down when wanted – valley very fine about here – hermitage and church of notre dame du Sex, (left) before entering St. Maurice, very striking –

St. Maurice (1782)

at 11 5/60 crossed the wooden bridge over the Rhone, and stopt at the douane to shew our passports – Jane fancied the Mackenzies had passed us – She was mistaken – valley very fine here, more liveable –

Bex, CC BY-SA 4.0

Alighted at the Union at Bex at 11 40/60 – Jane and I off in a char-à-banc to the families Salines at 12 – soon left the high road and turned along a romantic little lane – at Davens at 12 35/60 – Monsieur Favre the directeur, lives there – niceish house – 1st see the 2 great chaudières perpetually letting fresh salt water in – take salt out every day at 5 A.m. and 4 p.m. – the greater the heat, plus mince the salt salt; but the quality rather less good – but all thrown Together into the same magazine or cellar close to the chaudières – 2 large furnaces which heat these 2 large chaudières (placed underneath them) the spare heat conveyed in pipes to underneath 2 other chaudières where (of course) the grain of the salt is rather larger from the heat being (tho’ sufficient) less intense – this is the ‘sage économie qu’on fait de la chaleur’ (Ebel page 63) – observed the whiteness of the salt of the 1st Chaudière – yes! it was only 4 days since the chaudière was cleaned out – cleaned out every 15 days – the salt was a little more rougeâtre towards the end of the time – the 2 furnaces Examined and repaired every June – burn 50 toises (of 7 feet 4 inches de Berne par toise) of wood a month – make from 50 to 60 quintals of salt per day – Government sells the salt at 3 sols a lb. [pound] and it costs them 1 sol a lb. pound (French money) – 6 men Explained here – 3 attend the furnaces from noon to midnight, and the other 3 then take their place from midnight till noon – wages per man 24 sols a day, and 50 lbs of salt a year –

Salines de Bex, CC BY-SA 3.0

thence to the bâtimens de graduation – 2 stories – the water very weak at 1st – could scarcely perceive any salt taste at all – pumped up and suffered to sipe thro’ the thorns several times, – during 3 or 4 months before the remaining brine is strong enough to be passed into the chadières – these thorns last 20 to 25 years, when rotting under incrustation (tuff – not at all saline) they begin to fall away – they are then all removed, and new thorns put in their stead – we saw some that had been there only 4 years – incrustation hardly beginning to appear whereas some just about to be removed looked like corals – then saw the master or great wheel which works the pumps – 8 bras or radii, crossing one another 4 from edge of the wide circumference, and 4 from the other edge –

off from Devens at 1 25/60 and at 2 20/60 stopt at the little Inn – ‘Liberté and patrie’ over the door, very commonly here over the doors of auberges and public offices, douanes etc – in 5 minutes set off with our guide from here who carried lamps and jackets – after walking about 1/2 hour up a narrow, steep lane (chars à banc never go along it, only travelled carts laden with wood – but on a hot day, to prevent being overheated before entering the mine, it might be well to take one of these carts) came to the door of the mine – put on our jackets – each took our greasy iron lamp, and entered the gallery about 2 55/60 – greater part of the way lined with wood to prevent the falling of the rock – passed 2 or 3 halls which they fill to about 2/3 of their height with the salt-stone broken into small pieces, and then turn water over it which remains perhaps 3 weeks before it is sufficiently impregnated with the saline particulars – went beneath the apertum at the top – the light seemed about the size of a pin’s head – then went to where the men (6) were working (only 32 (as I understood our guide) Employed here) – nothing on but their trousers – each of them had his little candle stuck (in clay?) against the rock – all working with chisel and hammer, preparing for blasting – the salt rock very hard – I could not even chip a bit off with their tools – then descended 770 deep steps – 10 inches if not a foot deep – a very fatiguing descent – here we saw the great wheel that draws up the water from the salt spring – then got into the long gallery (Gallery des Invalides?) at the end of which the light (as soon as we could catch the doorway at all, seemed like a very small – very distant star – some part of the gallery cased with wood – almost all more or less supported on wood-work – en passant, saw the 2 great halls or reservoirs in which to keep the superfluous salt water – the first supported on pillars cut out of the rock, and a little wooden gallery seeming all round it – Marie Louise was here, and a band of music – then went to the other salle remarkable for its Echo – I really think the reverberation lasted a minute – a foot or 2 deep of salt water in it – and no gallery round it, so could not go in –

came out today again (very near to the little auberge whence we had started) at 4 10/60 – It is by this passage or gallery that those, who do not wish to see as much as we did, enter, go as far as the above named 2 salles, and then return – over the door is a long inscription purporting that the gallery was begun 1 April 1726 under John James Simners (?) director and by John James Gan .. de Roncvea [Isaac Gamaliel de Rovéréa] –

got into our char à banc, and off home at 4 20/60 – Just went on to look at the baths – very nice ones – nice Establishment – one should be lodged and boarded at 5/. a day –

got back at 5 – Dinner from 5 3/4 to 7 40/60 rain all last night, and very rainy morning, which prevented our going to the baths of Leuk and to the top of the Gemmi – fair at 9 A.m., and sunshine at 1 1/2, and fine afternoon Till a little while after getting back from the salines when rain again –

left margin: Ruins of 1818 still in front of our Inn at Martigny – Salines de Bex

reference number: SH:7/ML/TR/2/0011, SH:7/ML/TR/2/0012

[anne-lister-adventures]

Tuesday, 23 April 1839

8 5/’’

12 55/’’

Rainy morning – Had Mr. Shackleton (A-[Ann] had him first) at 8 3/4 she for 1/4 hour and I for rather longer – Dressed – Breakfast 9 3/4 in 35 minutes then had Mr. Harper – Before settling with him about windows &c. wrote and sent by George note as follows:

“Mr. Gray junior Petergate

Mrs. Lister and Miss Walker would be glad to see Mr. Gray at 12 at noon today, if that hour will not be inconvenient to him –

George Inn. Tuesday morning 23 April 1839”

 Note in answer would come at 11 1/2 having an engagement soon after 12 – Settled with Mr. Harper about windows and a long list of items to be done in our absence so that we might find all comfortable on our return – (Vide rough book entry of all directions) –

Mr. Gray came at 11 1/2 and staid till 12 20/’’ – Old G-‘s[Gray’s] money when paid in to be invested in the funds – So that there will be no difficulty about A-‘s[Ann’s] paying it in a little sooner or later – By the way sooner was not hinted at – My estate safe from the mortgage till some one should come into possession who could cut off the entail, and pay off the mortgage – The money not likely to be wanted during Miss Jane Preston’s life – And if wanted Mr. G-[Gray] will transfer the mortgage without giving me any trouble whether I may be in England or abroad desired him to prepare a little codicil to my will giving A-[Ann] and him as executors and trustees the discretion to sell all or part of my property in H-x[Halifax] to pay off the mortgage – He gave me a sheet form of agreement for letting the colliery from year to year – To see him again on our return from North Cave – He will be at home all the day on Thursday – But not after 10 tomorrow morning –

An agreement to take requires only a 20/- stamp – An agreement to let requires a stamp according to the amount of rent; but if the amount is altogether uncertain, vide Kearsley’s Tax Tables what the stamp will be – Something considerable –

Mr. G-[Gray] went at 12 20/’’ and then seeing that we could not get off till Thursday wrote and sent as followed (on 1/2 sheet of note paper) to Mrs. Oddy, Shibden Hall, near H-x[Halifax] to be delivered immediately:

“York – Tuesday morning 23 April 1839.

Mrs. Oddy.

We shall not be at home at home till Thursday, but expect to be there on that day in the course of the evening – You need not sit up later than eleven o’clock at night – We shall not want dinner –

A Lister”

Kind note this morning from Miss Henrietta Crompton enclosing the card of ‘the Miss Cromptons’ for A-[Ann] regretting that the rainy morning prevented her calling – Had just written so far at 12 50/’’ – Then did up our imperials &c. and got all ready for being off to North Cave, to see Marian –

Had ordered up luncheon (our cold loin of roast mutton of yesterday and bread and butter) at 2 and had nearly done when I[Isabella] N-[Norcliffe] came soon after 2 and staid above an hour – Determined to go abroad this summer but unfixed when and where – will be away the Winter –

Off at 3 48/’’ to return to dinner tomorrow – But took all with us – Changed horses at Bamby[Barmby] Moor at 5 10/’’ – Passed the Inn (Devonshire Arms) at Market Weighton at 6 1/4 – 6 miles from there to Mill Cottage N.[North] Cave but they charged using (at Bamby[Barmby] Moor i.e. 6 miles B.[Barmby] Moor to Market W-[Weighton] and 8 from there to N.[North] C.[Cave]) and it was 7 22/’’ before we alighted at Marian’s door – 

I had not written – She had no notice of our going – She was upstairs – Lucky – Mrs. Button dangerously ill; and she had only left her and returned home yesterday – The girl woman servant did not know me – I gave no name –

Marian soon came down looking thin, and pale, and nervous – I soon set all parties at ease – I had done right to give no notice – Marian owned if I had written she should not have known what to do – Should have feared she could not make us comfortable – Should have sent to Hull for things the bed had been slept in last night – 

No trouble to re-sheet it and light the fire – We had perfumed Russian tea, and good coffee and bread and butter and toast &c. and reindeer’s tongue and all very comfortable in a few minutes and I believe poor Marian was very glad to see us – We never stirred till A-[Ann] went upstairs to bed at 10 20/’’ and I followed at 11 50/’’ –

Talked over everything – It seem she did not expect A-[Ann] to give £600 for Lee Lane – Thought it was only £500 she had bid before – Marian would have taken £550 as Mr. Parker knew – Mitchell had valued the place (coal and all) at £500 – all parties behaved very handsomely Marian in telling this and A-[Ann] in rejoicing that she had the £600 to give as she thought the place worth it –

Marian had had some trouble in determining but had at last made up her mind to sell High Royds – Mitchell’s valuation of it = £2268, odd – Had told Mr. Parker to offer it to me first – And then to Holt at £2300 he having to pay for Copperas House which Marian bought and for which a title is now about to be made – But she would take £2,000 of me – No! No! Sorry I could not give her the valuation – Sorry I could not buy it – She wants £2400 for immediate use – But not necessitated to sell High Royds at the moment as the £600 for Lee Lane will pay the bank debt – Had this money towards the end of last month – Knows that borrowing at a bank (a new and said to be liberal bank at North Cave) costs one way or another 6 p.[per] c.[cent] – Has £200 of Mrs. Button who cannot continue long, and Marian would like to be prepared to pay this off – Expects a legacy but only of one hundred – The debts on Highroyds = £1600 – These 3 sums = £2400. Skelfler is at the same rent as in my father’s time – Not quite £600 a year? Or not more than £600 her present income net from £200 to £300 per annum – And yet she every year lays out money in [marling] &c. to say nothing of accidents –

The great wind (7 January last) blew down the barn at the Grange – Butterworth End cost above £120 - £10 of damage done by the great wind at High Roydes (chimney blown down) – And she gives £20 a year to Mr. Edwards of Market W-[Weighton] for looking over the Skelfler Estate seeing that the drains are kept open &c. for she herself receives the rents which she says are now paid at the day –

I remonstrated on this over payment to Mr. E-[Edwards] for doing nothing – Yes! He would look after the barn building up again – He said it was more than he expected but Marian herself offered it because Mr. Robinson the attorney employed by my father had had this sum (independent of law expense) for receiving rents and doing everything –

Poor Marian – The thought of all this makes my heart ache – But what can I do – She will not hear of giving Mr. Edwards less – I said a professional land agent would go over the estate and note its state of management and repair – (its condition and value) 2 days per annum at 2 guineas a day and expense which could not exceed 3 guineas a day –

I advised the letting the tenants farm in a proper husbandlike manner without her laying out one sixpence more especially as she says the rents are very low – And in the case of Skelfler she is so persuaded of the hundreds that the tenant has in the land that when she made her will on going to Market W-[Weighton] on my fathers death (the summer of 1836) she willed that the tenant had the farm for ten years from that time at the rent he then paid –

She said however that tho’ she had consulted Mr. Robinson about this (and she did not say he had made any objection) that the tenant himself knew nothing about it – I advised her to sell – The Estate nets under £600 (I should think from my remembrance of the outgoing drainage &c. &c. above £30 per annum that the net income is about £560) she says (in spite of this hampering about the tenant right) she would not take less than £20,000 for it!

How can I help her – Advising is quite in vain – I urged her selling – Said she might in the course of a few years (which I believe) make her income a clear £500 a year on which, with her knife and fork at Shibden, she might live without being buried alive –

Her cottage here is damp, and too near the mill-dam – (Originally a paper mill, now a corn-mill) But pretty enough – The house is sufficient 4 rooms on a floor – 2 sitting rooms below with bedrooms over them and at the back good kitchen and pantries and rooms over them – A small cellar – A little sheltered nice bit of garden ground about 25 or more? x 15 yards and a little island (perhaps 60 to 70 square yards) in the midst of the water on which island she grows her potatoes – Good ones –

The man who does her garden, finds her all seeds and sets, and does all, for £5 a year – He might suit me – He is to speak to me tomorrow – Clerk, too, of the parish church – Ivy-covered and very picturesque – Close to here, and to the entrance gate to Hotham (Mr. Burton’s) – Marian pays £20 a year and has all taxes paid for her –

I congratulated her on her escape from her thought of marriage – I thought she had been much mistaken in her judgment in this matter – Mr Abbot not a gentleman mentioned his having called here          she did not explain how the thing was off             I conclude he let it die a natural death         she shewed neither pain nor pleasure on the subject – but said it was all off –

Light gentle rain in the morning fair the greater part of the afternoon – Poor A[Ann] had thought me long but behaved very well about it she got in to bed soon after my getting upstairs –

[symbols in the left margin:] ✓       N       N       ✓       L         N         ✓c

[in the margin:]          Mr. Harper

[in the margin:]          Mr. Gray

[in the margin:]          stamp for uncertain rent

[in the margin:]          Mill Cottage North Cave

[in the margin:]          Highroyds

Page References:  SH:7/ML/E/23/0026 and SH:7/ML/E/23/0027

[allbestnet]

100 Best First Lines of Novels

Call me Ishmael. Moby-Dick by Herman Melville (1851)

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen (1813)

A screaming comes across the sky. Gravity's Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon (1973)

Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendía was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice. One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez (trans. Gregory Rabassa) (1967)

Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov (1955)

Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way. Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy (trans. Constance Garnett) (1877)

riverrun, past Eve and Adam's, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs. Finnegans Wake by James Joyce (1939)

It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. 1984 by George Orwell (1949)

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair. A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens (1859)

I am an invisible man. Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison (1952)

The Miss Lonelyhearts of the New York Post-Dispatch (Are you in trouble?—Do-you-need-advice?—Write-to-Miss-Lonelyhearts-and-she-will-help-you) sat at his desk and stared at a piece of white cardboard. Miss Lonelyhearts by Nathanael West (1933)

You don't know about me without you have read a book by the name of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer; but that ain't no matter. Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain (1885)

Someone must have slandered Josef K., for one morning, without having done anything truly wrong, he was arrested. The Trial by Franz Kafka (trans. Breon Mitchell) (1925)

You are about to begin reading Italo Calvino's new novel, If on a winter's night a traveler. If on a winter's night a traveler by Italo Calvino (trans. William Weaver) (1979)

The sun shone, having no alternative, on the nothing new. Murphy by Samuel Beckett (1938)

If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth. The Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger (1951)

Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was a moocow coming down along the road and this moocow that was coming down along the road met a nicens little boy named baby tuckoo. A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce (1916)

This is the saddest story I have ever heard. The Good Soldier by Ford Madox Ford (1915)

I wish either my father or my mother, or indeed both of them, as they were in duty both equally bound to it, had minded what they were about when they begot me; had they duly considered how much depended upon what they were then doing;—that not only the production of a rational Being was concerned in it, but that possibly the happy formation and temperature of his body, perhaps his genius and the very cast of his mind;—and, for aught they knew to the contrary, even the fortunes of his whole house might take their turn from the humours and dispositions which were then uppermost:—Had they duly weighed and considered all this, and proceeded accordingly,—I am verily persuaded I should have made a quite different figure in the world, from that, in which the reader is likely to see me. Tristram Shandy by Laurence Sterne (1759–1767)

Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show. David Copperfield by Charles Dickens (1850)

Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. Ulysses by James Joyce (1922)

It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents, except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the house-tops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness. Paul Clifford by Edward George Bulwer-Lytton (1830)

One summer afternoon Mrs. Oedipa Maas came home from a Tupperware party whose hostess had put perhaps too much kirsch in the fondue to find that she, Oedipa, had been named executor, or she supposed executrix, of the estate of one Pierce Inverarity, a California real estate mogul who had once lost two million dollars in his spare time but still had assets numerous and tangled enough to make the job of sorting it all out more than honorary. The Crying of Lot 49 by Thomas Pynchon (1966)

It was a wrong number that started it, the telephone ringing three times in the dead of night, and the voice on the other end asking for someone he was not. City of Glass by Paul Auster (1985)

Through the fence, between the curling flower spaces, I could see them hitting. The Sound and the Fury by William Faulkner (1929)

124 was spiteful. Beloved by Toni Morrison (1987)

Somewhere in la Mancha, in a place whose name I do not care to remember, a gentleman lived not long ago, one of those who has a lance and ancient shield on a shelf and keeps a skinny nag and a greyhound for racing. Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes (trans. Edith Grossman) (1605)

Mother died today. The Stranger by Albert Camus (trans. Stuart Gilbert) (1942)

Every summer Lin Kong returned to Goose Village to divorce his wife, Shuyu. Waiting by Ha Jin (1999)

The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel. Neuromancer by William Gibson (1984)

I am a sick man . . . I am a spiteful man. Notes from Underground by Fyodor Dostoyevsky (trans. Michael R. Katz) (1864)

Where now? Who now? When now? The Unnamable by Samuel Beckett (trans. Patrick Bowles) (1953)

Once an angry man dragged his father along the ground through his own orchard. “Stop!” cried the groaning old man at last, “Stop! I did not drag my father beyond this tree.” The Making of Americans by Gertrude Stein (1925)

In a sense, I am Jacob Horner. The End of the Road by John Barth (1958)

It was like so, but wasn't. Galatea 2.2 by Richard Powers (1995)

—Money . . . in a voice that rustled. J R by William Gaddis (1975)

Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself. Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf (1925)

All this happened, more or less. Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut (1969)

They shoot the white girl first. Paradise by Toni Morrison (1998)

For a long time, I went to bed early. Swann's Way by Marcel Proust (trans. Lydia Davis) (1913)

The moment one learns English, complications set in. Chromos by Felipe Alfau (1990)

Dr. Weiss, at forty, knew that her life had been ruined by literature. The Debut by Anita Brookner (1981)

I was the shadow of the waxwing slain / By the false azure in the windowpane; Pale Fire by Vladimir Nabokov (1962)

Ships at a distance have every man's wish on board. Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston (1937)

I had the story, bit by bit, from various people, and, as generally happens in such cases, each time it was a different story. Ethan Frome by Edith Wharton (1911)

Ages ago, Alex, Allen and Alva arrived at Antibes, and Alva allowing all, allowing anyone, against Alex's admonition, against Allen's angry assertion: another African amusement . . . anyhow, as all argued, an awesome African army assembled and arduously advanced against an African anthill, assiduously annihilating ant after ant, and afterward, Alex astonishingly accuses Albert as also accepting Africa's antipodal ant annexation. Alphabetical Africa by Walter Abish (1974)

There was a boy called Eustace Clarence Scrubb, and he almost deserved it. The Voyage of the Dawn Treader by C. S. Lewis (1952)

He was an old man who fished alone in a skiff in the Gulf Stream and he had gone eighty-four days now without taking a fish. The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway (1952)

It was the day my grandmother exploded. The Crow Road by Iain M. Banks (1992)

I was born twice: first, as a baby girl, on a remarkably smogless Detroit day in January of 1960; and then again, as a teenage boy, in an emergency room near Petoskey, Michigan, in August of 1974. Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides (2002)

Elmer Gantry was drunk. Elmer Gantry by Sinclair Lewis (1927)

We started dying before the snow, and like the snow, we continued to fall. Tracks by Louise Erdrich (1988)

It was a pleasure to burn. Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury (1953)

A story has no beginning or end; arbitrarily one chooses that moment of experience from which to look back or from which to look ahead. The End of the Affair by Graham Greene (1951)

Having placed in my mouth sufficient bread for three minutes' chewing, I withdrew my powers of sensual perception and retired into the privacy of my mind, my eyes and face assuming a vacant and preoccupied expression. At Swim-Two-Birds by Flann O'Brien (1939)

I was born in the Year 1632, in the City of York, of a good Family, tho' not of that Country, my Father being a Foreigner of Bremen, who settled first at Hull; He got a good Estate by Merchandise, and leaving off his Trade, lived afterward at York, from whence he had married my Mother, whose Relations were named Robinson, a very good Family in that Country, and from whom I was called Robinson Kreutznaer; but by the usual Corruption of Words in England, we are now called, nay we call our selves, and write our Name Crusoe, and so my Companions always call'd me. Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe (1719)

In the beginning, sometimes I left messages in the street. Wittgenstein's Mistress by David Markson (1988)

Miss Brooke had that kind of beauty which seems to be thrown into relief by poor dress. Middlemarch by George Eliot (1872)

It was love at first sight. Catch-22 by Joseph Heller (1961)

What if this young woman, who writes such bad poems, in competition with her husband, whose poems are equally bad, should stretch her remarkably long and well-made legs out before you, so that her skirt slips up to the tops of her stockings? Imaginative Qualities of Actual Things by Gilbert Sorrentino (1971)

I have never begun a novel with more misgiving. The Razor's Edge by W. Somerset Maugham (1944)

Once upon a time, there was a woman who discovered she had turned into the wrong person. Back When We Were Grownups by Anne Tyler (2001)

The human race, to which so many of my readers belong, has been playing at children's games from the beginning, and will probably do it till the end, which is a nuisance for the few people who grow up. The Napoleon of Notting Hill by G. K. Chesterton (1904)

In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since. The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald (1925)

You better not never tell nobody but God. The Color Purple by Alice Walker (1982)

“To be born again,” sang Gibreel Farishta tumbling from the heavens, “first you have to die.” The Satanic Verses by Salman Rushdie (1988)

It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they electrocuted the Rosenbergs, and I didn't know what I was doing in New York. The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath (1963)

Most really pretty girls have pretty ugly feet, and so does Mindy Metalman, Lenore notices, all of a sudden. The Broom of the System by David Foster Wallace (1987)

If I am out of my mind, it's all right with me, thought Moses Herzog. Herzog by Saul Bellow (1964)

Francis Marion Tarwater's uncle had been dead for only half a day when the boy got too drunk to finish digging his grave and a Negro named Buford Munson, who had come to get a jug filled, had to finish it and drag the body from the breakfast table where it was still sitting and bury it in a decent and Christian way, with the sign of its Saviour at the head of the grave and enough dirt on top to keep the dogs from digging it up. The Violent Bear it Away by Flannery O'Connor (1960)

Granted: I am an inmate of a mental hospital; my keeper is watching me, he never lets me out of his sight; there's a peephole in the door, and my keeper's eye is the shade of brown that can never see through a blue-eyed type like me. The Tin Drum by GŸnter Grass (trans. Ralph Manheim) (1959)

When Dick Gibson was a little boy he was not Dick Gibson. The Dick Gibson Show by Stanley Elkin (1971)

Hiram Clegg, together with his wife Emma and four friends of the faith from Randolph Junction, were summoned by the Spirit and Mrs. Clara Collins, widow of the beloved Nazarene preacher Ely Collins, to West Condon on the weekend of the eighteenth and nineteenth of April, there to await the End of the World. The Origin of the Brunists by Robert Coover (1966)

She waited, Kate Croy, for her father to come in, but he kept her unconscionably, and there were moments at which she showed herself, in the glass over the mantel, a face positively pale with the irritation that had brought her to the point of going away without sight of him. The Wings of the Dove by Henry James (1902)

In the late summer of that year we lived in a house in a village that looked across the river and the plain to the mountains. A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway (1929)

“Take my camel, dear,” said my Aunt Dot, as she climbed down from this animal on her return from High Mass. The Towers of Trebizon by Rose Macaulay (1956)

He was an inch, perhaps two, under six feet, powerfully built, and he advanced straight at you with a slight stoop of the shoulders, head forward, and a fixed from-under stare which made you think of a charging bull. Lord Jim by Joseph Conrad (1900)

The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there. The Go-Between by L. P. Hartley (1953)

On my naming day when I come 12 I gone front spear and kilt a wyld boar he parbly ben the las wyld pig on the Bundel Downs any how there hadnt ben none for a long time befor him nor I aint looking to see none agen. Riddley Walker by Russell Hoban (1980)

Justice?—You get justice in the next world, in this world you have the law. A Frolic of His Own by William Gaddis (1994)

Vaughan died yesterday in his last car-crash. Crash by J. G. Ballard (1973)

I write this sitting in the kitchen sink. I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith (1948)

“When your mama was the geek, my dreamlets,” Papa would say, “she made the nipping off of noggins such a crystal mystery that the hens themselves yearned toward her, waltzing around her, hypnotized with longing.” Geek Love by Katherine Dunn (1983)

In the last years of the Seventeenth Century there was to be found among the fops and fools of the London coffee-houses one rangy, gangling flitch called Ebenezer Cooke, more ambitious than talented, and yet more talented than prudent, who, like his friends-in-folly, all of whom were supposed to be educating at Oxford or Cambridge, had found the sound of Mother English more fun to game with than her sense to labor over, and so rather than applying himself to the pains of scholarship, had learned the knack of versifying, and ground out quires of couplets after the fashion of the day, afroth with Joves and Jupiters, aclang with jarring rhymes, and string-taut with similes stretched to the snapping-point. The Sot-Weed Factor by John Barth (1960)

When I finally caught up with Abraham Trahearne, he was drinking beer with an alcoholic bulldog named Fireball Roberts in a ramshackle joint just outside of Sonoma, California, drinking the heart right out of a fine spring afternoon. The Last Good Kiss by James Crumley (1978)

It was just noon that Sunday morning when the sheriff reached the jail with Lucas Beauchamp though the whole town (the whole county too for that matter) had known since the night before that Lucas had killed a white man. Intruder in the Dust by William Faulkner (1948)

I, Tiberius Claudius Drusus Nero Germanicus This-that-and-the-other (for I shall not trouble you yet with all my titles) who was once, and not so long ago either, known to my friends and relatives and associates as “Claudius the Idiot,” or “That Claudius,” or “Claudius the Stammerer,” or “Clau-Clau-Claudius” or at best as “Poor Uncle Claudius,” am now about to write this strange history of my life; starting from my earliest childhood and continuing year by year until I reach the fateful point of change where, some eight years ago, at the age of fifty-one, I suddenly found myself caught in what I may call the “golden predicament” from which I have never since become disentangled. I, Claudius by Robert Graves (1934)

Of all the things that drive men to sea, the most common disaster, I've come to learn, is women. Middle Passage by Charles Johnson (1990)

I am an American, Chicago born—Chicago, that somber city—and go at things as I have taught myself, free-style, and will make the record in my own way: first to knock, first admitted; sometimes an innocent knock, sometimes a not so innocent. The Adventures of Augie March by Saul Bellow (1953)

The towers of Zenith aspired above the morning mist; austere towers of steel and cement and limestone, sturdy as cliffs and delicate as silver rods. Babbitt by Sinclair Lewis (1922)

I will tell you in a few words who I am: lover of the hummingbird that darts to the flower beyond the rotted sill where my feet are propped; lover of bright needlepoint and the bright stitching fingers of humorless old ladies bent to their sweet and infamous designs; lover of parasols made from the same puffy stuff as a young girl's underdrawers; still lover of that small naval boat which somehow survived the distressing years of my life between her decks or in her pilothouse; and also lover of poor dear black Sonny, my mess boy, fellow victim and confidant, and of my wife and child. But most of all, lover of my harmless and sanguine self. Second Skin by John Hawkes (1964)

He was born with a gift of laughter and a sense that the world was mad. Scaramouche by Raphael Sabatini (1921)

Psychics can see the color of time it's blue. Blown Away by Ronald Sukenick (1986)

In the town, there were two mutes and they were always together. The Heart is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers (1940)

Once upon a time two or three weeks ago, a rather stubborn and determined middle-aged man decided to record for posterity, exactly as it happened, word by word and step by step, the story of another man for indeed what is great in man is that he is a bridge and not a goal, a somewhat paranoiac fellow unmarried, unattached, and quite irresponsible, who had decided to lock himself in a room a furnished room with a private bath, cooking facilities, a bed, a table, and at least one chair, in New York City, for a year 365 days to be precise, to write the story of another person—a shy young man about of 19 years old—who, after the war the Second World War, had come to America the land of opportunities from France under the sponsorship of his uncle—a journalist, fluent in five languages—who himself had come to America from Europe Poland it seems, though this was not clearly established sometime during the war after a series of rather gruesome adventures, and who, at the end of the war, wrote to the father his cousin by marriage of the young man whom he considered as a nephew, curious to know if he the father and his family had survived the German occupation, and indeed was deeply saddened to learn, in a letter from the young man—a long and touching letter written in English, not by the young man, however, who did not know a damn word of English, but by a good friend of his who had studied English in school—that his parents both his father and mother and his two sisters one older and the other younger than he had been deported they were Jewish to a German concentration camp Auschwitz probably and never returned, no doubt having been exterminated deliberately X * X * X * X, and that, therefore, the young man who was now an orphan, a displaced person, who, during the war, had managed to escape deportation by working very hard on a farm in Southern France, would be happy and grateful to be given the opportunity to come to America that great country he had heard so much about and yet knew so little about to start a new life, possibly go to school, learn a trade, and become a good, loyal citizen. Double or Nothing by Raymond Federman (1971)

Time is not a line but a dimension, like the dimensions of space. Cat's Eye by Margaret Atwood (1988)

He—for there could be no doubt of his sex, though the fashion of the time did something to disguise it—was in the act of slicing at the head of a Moor which swung from the rafters. Orlando by Virginia Woolf (1928)

High, high above the North Pole, on the first day of 1969, two professors of English Literature approached each other at a combined velocity of 1200 miles per hour. Changing Places by David Lodge (1975)

They say when trouble comes close ranks, and so the white people did. Wide Sargasso Sea by Jean Rhys (1966)

The cold passed reluctantly from the earth, and the retiring fogs revealed an army stretched out on the hills, resting. The Red Badge of Courage by Stephen Crane (1895)

[veryfineday]

Saturday 23 April 1825

6 5/60

10 3/4

.. [Anne’s period] 

From 7 3/4 to 10 10/60 wrote the few last lines of the 1st end, the whole of the 2nd a great deal under the seal, all very small and close, and crossed the 1st page of my letter (began on wednesday part written on Thursday and finished this morning) to ‘madame madame Barlow, Quai Voltaire no.15, Paris’, all which read over, wafered, and directed, and gave for George to take to the post-office –

I have had no time to make extracts but it is very affectionate  say she will perhaps ssee me again before the all off[er]ed two years are expired write as if having no wish but to make her my wife §§  yet say she knows ‘the hard necessity of circumstance that clings around me now’ bid her do what is best for her own interest and for Janes §  for her sake I can forget to be selfish nay more than this abhor thought bid her ‘not sacrifice a certain good for the upncertain prospect of making happy one whose affections she had gained forever but whose hopes of happiness had waked not from their sleep of years till roused by you to live and tremble once again’ § – all this brought on by my saying I had been taken by surprise altogether tho I ought not to have been by the reappearance of her ‘old beau’ that is Mr William Bell §  said I had not the same feeling of repugnance towards him as Mr Hancock between whom to again use her aunts words il nya pas de choix  in point of gentility Mrs H[ancock] nothing beyond her bright grates in bread street but bade her not atten[d] to me but make other inquiries  said I did not mean to reflect on her taste she had seen Mr H[ancock] ‘in ignorance and at Place Vendome two reasons taken conjointly quite enough to excuse the whole thing’ –

she would not ruin me in postage – if her letters cost no more than now and she write regularly every fortnight of her life, they would only cost 47 shillings and 8 d.pence a year  a sum far greater than which I should save by the habits of economy her regard had taught me – why did she not marK the little volumes?  § Rousseaus Nouvelle Heloise  she herself was the only one to whom I would give  did she think I could now make such presents to others perhaps she would soon become what she was pleased to call ‘more rational’ without much effort  ‘you have taught me much untaught before and surely I must strangely learn that hardest science  to forget [wh]ere I can associate another with those sentiments which you have chastened and refined  there is a little sacred record in my memory that would star t up into life against me’ were I to give these too interesting volume to any other than herself – had before all this bidden her not tell me any more of her being an injury to my future prospects etc. etc. §  they we were good enough to content me I wanted nothing more than I was likely to have ‘save that most difficult to gain of all possesions a heart in unison with my own’ –

§ alluding to madame G-[Galvani] ‘They are who thinK but little or tomorrow or of yesterday – are they the happier? I doubt it much – Then are, too, who have no faith in worlds to come; who have no stay for thought to rest upon, and, with whom, it would ‘destroy their paradise’ – when ‘we go hence, and are no more seen, who ever much remembers us, save that lonely one within whose heart our shrine was raised?’ 

ThanKs for her present of the Environs of Paris – I should con it over and plan some litt[l]e excursions for us  concluded my letter with bidding her tell me everything and ‘remember it is the gentle beam of affection not the meridian blaze of intellect that makes happy the heart of your affectionately attached AL’ –

vide last wednesday page 285. no observation made on mrs. B-’s[Barlow’s] letter because I had not time – 3 pp.pages long ends, and a great deal under the seal, all very small and close – § very very affectionate ‘a diversity of objects and scenery saved you from the intense misery I have suffered’ and she goes on to describe feelings much more intense than I had ever dreampt of her experiencing for me it ended in her being ill and having a great deal of fever for which Mrs Guantlet made her take calomel etc. § ‘I became so ill I had so much fever that I composed letters in my brain to your uncle telling him that your return alone could save my child from being an orphan’ – ‘so thin am I that my rings are laid aside I kept losing them every moment’ – about the going to Edmonto[n] etc. she says ‘I know not how to express all my obligation none but yourself could have acted as you describe the invention and decision was unique and the desc[r]iption capital’ –

§ Mr William Bell her ‘old beau’ had called and sat two hours with her making it evident he would offer if he thought he had the smallest chance of being accepted § ‘when I saw him..... I asked myself is that the man who caused much a sensation in our families how altered how changed in every respect’ – ‘would that I had but one day more of your dear societyelf in this ssalon I have so many things unsaid which perhaps we may never meet with op[p]ortunity to express but to tell you truly I must have many days of your society to induce me to undergo the agonized feelings I endured the days which followed your departure I thought I was near my end not that I fear death but on my childs account not that I love you less  but that I feel satisfied you would be decidedly better provided for without the burden of my acquaintance which can only prove disadvantageous and imprudent in being encouraged I must stop op my pen for I know non [not] what my light head would scribble on to say the best thing I could do with this sheet would be to consign it to the flame my next I trust will be more rational god bless and prese[r]ve you you know all I would say adieu CMB’ thus ends the third page –

Her aunt writes that mr. de Lancey speaKs highly of me – Jane has got the SKetch booK with ‘which is extremely well bound – I never saw Jane so delighted with anything’ § – of madame G-Galvani ‘I do not Know anyone who only thinKs of the present so much as our friend – all her actions, even in respect to economy, portray the same character’.... my letter sent off from London on the monday reached mrs. B-Barlow the Thursday following (the 14th April) – and was charged 24 sols – written on my very thin French paper and wafered –

 §§ in my answer when on the subject  vide line 12 from the bottom of the last page slightly alluded to our connection none could possibly understand it but herself  said I still sighed § after happiness gone by with a sigh more deep and long than she might think ‘in the midst of occupation when the strong voice of duty and necessity call on our attention the mind may be diverted for a while but tis the hour of rest when we retire into ourselves tis then when wh fancy brings to mind what absence takes away and thought of happiness gone by disorders all the heart’ said my own room was perhaps the worst place in which to calculate my loss – in an earlier part of my letter had hoped that at all rates she would not be disappointed in me as a friend §  would have nothing to regret but my misfortune (this hard necessity of circumstance that brings around me now) nothing to reproach but my loving her too well  this would be my only fault towards her which I hoped she would forgive ‘and even its very faultiness may wear away with time for time may come when my regard maybe your own without another voice to claim it maybe your own as well from duty as from inclination §§ – in another part speaking of my regard for her calling for no sacri fice on my part my prospect were good enough  [?] and alluding to her thinking of Janes interest  ‘even pride forbids that all the sacrifice should be on one side’ meaning hers § adding ‘if you were as ssingle as I am  I should expect the same sacrifices from you I would in such a case make myself’ - 

Breakfast at 10 1/4 – came upstairs at 11 1/4 – had just written the part of my journal of today on the last page when (at 12 1/2) Cordingley said Dr. Kenny and mr. Sunderland were come (to my aunt) went down – went into the drawing room, where they were with my aunt, for 10 minutes – then waited their going, and followed them into the front stable – spoke to them for a minute or 2 – Dr. K-[Kenny] thinKs my aunt in a very weaK, suffering state – a very delicate subject to deal with – this catching – convulsive motion of the diaphragm which has come on so much within these last few days, the worst symptom – I see he thinKs her constitution much broKen –

she had a warm bath last night, and is to have one again tonight about 98º Fahrenheit – after coming up to bed last night, went down to see how Cordingley had ordered the bath – found the tub 3/2 to two thirds full of water at 170º - staid 25 minutes till Cordingley had put in cold water that reduced it to about 100, or a few degrees more – my aunt too was sitting by the lower Kitchen fire waiting all this time – very bad management – and the tub placed just under the oat bread racK

staid talKing to my uncle and aunt, and did not come upstairs till 1 3/4 – then wrote the whole of the last page which tooK me till 3 – from 3 1/4 to 5 1/4 wrote 3 pp.[pages] and the ends (tolerably close) to mrs. N-[Norcliffe] to go tomor[row] – easy chit-chat, in answer to mrs. N-’s[Norcliffe’s] letter on wednesday 3 pp.[pages] (quite full) the ends, and a good deal under the seal –

a very Kind letter – I had no time to make any observation on it on wednesday – anxious to Know that M-[Mariana] did not visit colonel BerKeley – ‘why introduce her to him at all – old as Jam, I would not be introduced to him’... § a man whose character is so despicable and well Known, that it did not want the addition of his treacherous conduct to miss Foote, to make him as I believe he is, most generally despised .... it is not the 1st trait of treachery to a female’... together with what I copied from M-’s[Mariana’s] letter in my last to mrs. N-[Norcliffe] and the remainder I have copied in this, conclude the L-s[Lawtons] did not visit him, but left mrs. N-[Norcliffe] to form her own conclusions –

§ on her 1st page mrs. N-[Norcliffe] writes ‘you and I suit very well; and, should I live and have my health next year, at this time, should much enjoy a sejour of a month in our capital (London) with you’ – answer after mentioning my uncle and aunt’s health, and saying Dr. Kenny had been here this morning to see the latter – ‘should they be well enough for me to leave them, next year, and this time, nothing would delight me so much, as a month with you in that 1st of cities, London – at all rates, I hope and trust, no flaw in your own health wil be the preventative’ –

Have asKed mrs. N-[Norcliffe] if she Knows anything of mrs. Middleton, daughter of sir William Grace, wife of Mr. Middleton of IlKley – mother of mr. Peter m-[Middleton] of StocKhill-parK who married Miss [Stourton] – wrote the above of this page read over and folded and directed my letter to mrs. N-[Norcliffe], and had just done at 6 –

Great deal of rain last night – rained from the time of my getting up, more or less, till about 3 p.m. – about 8 a.m. sent John Booth to desire nothing to be done at the foot path – no stones to be led, for fear of cutting Thomas Pearson’s field – Dinner at 6 1/2 – Did nothing in the evening – Fair this evening (vide the 4th line above)  Barometer 3 1/4 degree below changeable Fahrenheit 44º at 9 p.m. at which hour came up to bed – Reading volume 1 Rousseau’s confession and looKing at the map of England and that of France, for about an hour – E [2 dots inside] O [1 dot inside] – my cousin came just before getting into bed

[besitospjm]

Get to know me tag 💕

tagged by the cutie @beeguk

tagging: @savage-yoongi-gives-me-life(double tag because #soulpartners) @blood-sweat-and-sin(because i love you&hobi) @bjork-23(because we’re basically sisters) @jhs1994(because hooray for successful, educated noonas) @saintminyoongi(because you’re the homie) @socuteyoongi(even tho rehearsals got you busy) @cum-for-hoseok(because you and I will fight for hobi’s rights) @w00nkiee(because you’re my first tumblr friend&i miss you) @hobiismycupoftea(because you appreciate Jin and because you were one of my first friends on here!) @minyoongiismyinspiration(because Nat you’re so soft, i love you) @sugamysavagebaby(because you’re a bangtan noona like me and i need to meet more of our kind) @lolalovezyou(because you’re my ACTUAL sister and deserve a shoutout!)

answer the questions and tag some people you’d like to get to know better ♡

01. nickname

Dewey, Delilah, Moe, Cheese, Bubba Joan, Luna, Wayne, Chowder, Naruto, Fingerling, Emolilah, Andy, Emma, Ylva, Nigel, Norah Jane Watson, and Melissa(I have at least one person that calls me by each of these names. I swear)

02. gender

female

03. starsign

Two-Face(aka Gemini)

04. height

Short af. 5′4″

05. time right now

8:42pm

06. last thing i googled

How to spell Petechia because i freaking forgot and had to document that at work. lol

07. favourite bands

BTS!!!!! Pierce the Veil, A Day to Remember, All Time Low, Emarosa, Arctic Monkeys, My Chemical Romance, Sum 41, We The Kings, Bring Me The Horizon, Alesana, Panic! At The Disco(even though its only Brendon now), Circa Survive, The Kooks, Isles and Glaciers, DANCEGAVINDANCE, Escape The Fate, AFI, and the list goes on…

08. favourite solo artists

Bon Iver, Birdy, SHAWN MENDES, Jay Park, The Weeknd, Drake, City and Colour(because Dallas Green is a freaking babe), Hozier, Amy Winehouse(RIP), Keak Da Sneak, Too $hort, Miguel(no, not my brother), Aaron Yan, KID CUDI, The Ready Set, Never Shout Never, Norah Jones, Enya, CAMILA CABELLO, etc…

09. song stuck in your head right now

It G Ma - Keith Ape, Jayallday, Loota, Okasian, Kohh (This song is a banger, I feel hood af when I listen to it.)

10. last movie you watched

I forgot what it’s called but it has Melissa McCarthy. Where she hits rock bottom and literally robs a fried chicken place lol

11. last tv show you watched

Modern Family or How I Met Your Mother. I can’t remember which one I watched last. 

12. when did you create your blog

Humingyayyy was previously Parathormone which was previously Humingyayy(with 2 Ys) lol which was previously KingNorahofSarcasm which was created April of 2011. but don’t quote me on that. 

13. what do you post

Now i stick to BTS and relatable memes/text posts. Previously, i would post anything because my blog is trash like myself. ALSO KLAROLINE. 

14. when did your blog reach its peak

that text post about yoongi stans loving hobi!! 1,036 and still going strong lol jk

15. do you have any other blogs

i have @hyungwonthememe which is dedicated to Monster x which I have neglected thanks to BTS(not that i’m mad or anything, I love you, Yoongi) @kingkyungs00 which is dedicated to my first love.(also, neglected and brenda and Shannon know this lol)

16. do you get asks regularly

technically not asks because it’s the homies reaching out to me lol

17. why you chose your url

So, I was into Japanese things way before becoming a heaux for South Korean culture. so, in consequence, I loved Hana Yori Dango!! In one scene Domyouji’s sister quotes Ernest Hemingway about fighting for love. So Domyouji goes to Makino and like repeats the verse and he’s like “baka, don’t you know Humingyay???” and I deadass laughed so hard as someone who loves literature. but yeah, thats it. lol

18. following

306 - but i was following like 500 before and I swear I felt so bad getting rid of some but like we weren’t even mutuals so??? I shouldn’t feel bad. lol

19. posts

LMAO I NEVER THOUGHT OF THIS BEFORE THIS POST BUT ACCORDING TO THE INTERNET: 20,981. 

20. hogwarts house

slytherin. i even have my house pin!!

21. pokemon team

I honestly never did level up enough to actually get a team. sorry. 

22. favourite colours

blue, yellow, green. BUT FOR MY CLOTHING BLACK. 

23. average hours of sleep

anywhere between 4 and 33. because sometimes i hibernate. 

24. lucky numbers

3 or 13. since i was born because 93 liner!(yaasss yoongi)

25. favourite characters

ugh, how dare you? I love all the villains tbh. Young Tom Marvolo was freaking bae. Niklaus Mikaelson(TVD), Marshall(how i met your mother), Phil Dunfy(Modern Family), Chuck Bass(gossip girl), Domyouji Tsukasa(Hana Yori Dango), King Louie(shopping king louie), okay so I either love the softies or the evil ones. lol 

26. what are you wearing right now

yoongi’s pumas, gray skirt, and blue button up. (real classy) *sarcasm*

27. how many blankets do you sleep with usually

1 because Satan hates me and i get cold at night but like?? kick the covers off at night and then I am cold again. #bless david for always covering me up at like 3 am. 

28. dream job

RN in Neonatal/Pediatrics. 

29. dream trip

BISH YOU KNOW MY ASS WOULD FLY TO KOREA SO QUICK IF I HAD THIS CASH MONEY. but alas, I am poor (save me). 

So, thats all folks. i’m quite boring but also if you want to hear some of my stories just ask @savage-yoongi-gives-me-life I am full of them. lol love y'all!!(:

[lizziebennet]

hi since u love p&p could u maybe recommend any modern day style adaptions?? could be books and movies, just any that u thought were good ones :) love ur blog.

yes!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! thanks love 

ok so for movies there is Pride & Prejudice (2003) which is a modern retelling. this movie is ok nothing super special. i own it because we got it when all the blockbusters were closing for like $1 and its a fun thing to watch sometimes. far  better than that tho is the Lizzie Bennet Diaries which is a youtube web series thats SO GOOD!!!!! i HIGHLY recommend!!! also i guess bridget jones’ diary counts even tho i rly do not think of that as related to p&p. and also Lost in Austen which is notoriously hated by p&p fans but its a rly fun thing to watch 

for books u should check out Eligible by Curtis Sittenfield. i have read this yet but MULTIPLE people on here have recommended it to be and i got the book for christmas and its next on my to-read list! 

the only other thing i can think of is this book prada and prejudice which i read for a book report in like 6th grade and it was sooooo stupid i dont recommend it 

this isnt p&p but there is a modern adaptation of jane eyre that i really love called Jane by April Lindner so u can also check that out

[dreamsunderconfinement]

Bulletin 3: Places that are other places

A collection of ‘Metamorphosing topographies of dreamland’ from the dream document - assembled by JS, 14 April

Dreamt that I arrived in Santiago de Chile by bus, except it was in southern Spain.

Late evening in London. Brother’s been arrested so I go to bail him out. When I get there he’s already out, waiting for me in a bar from the 80s Japanese movie Violent Cop.

Was in a dream last night inside a flat that contained different rooms from all the different places I stayed when I still lived in Edinburgh.

Im at S’s flat in jerusalem, it’s not the flat but it is.

Dream is set in “Brussels Archive” located in Paris.

I am in Berlin at his place tho everything looks very different than in “real life”

i am in Florida. i seem to work at Disneyland, or at least the university is situated there. we are being sent home. there is a catastrophe or something we've done wrong. with jess we want to cross country but we don’t know if we have a car. something is too late. i am in a georgian square near my parents’ house in London - some kind of remunerated sexual act with a businessman who came to pick me up one afternoon on a motorbike.

Am in a big market place, later which later becomes fixed as 19th century les Halles, but I’m in Norway, for now it is faceless

It’s Norway except it’s clearly 19th century Les Halles and Devon stitched together.

I dream in fragments, all intense, all differently city-flavoured. My mind is trying to convince itself there are still places to go?

I’m at a crowded club which is also a theatre and an airport.

We’re in a room, a big white room. No: it’s more of a zone, a situated space that turns into something else as it lands. At one point, it feels like the sandy bed of a dry river – all white sand bushes bright sky and us free exercising. And then it’s a room again. Clear huge walls, so huge we can’t see where they end and the roof starts. But we live here. Actually it’s a club and we live upstairs and we are the new roommates

The setting was based on a photograph I made of the Block Island Ferry, which I realized later. We were there, on that Long Island Sound, but this ferry boat was actually in the Mediterranean and the angle of view (frame) was different than this camera I used in the photograph of the Ferry, because I was experimenting lazily at this moment in with a 6x9 frame, but the dream frame today was more like my normal 6x7, tighter frame,

I had to meet my friend Jane at a pub in Galway and it was snowing and I was on a bike but it looked actually like a tiny Prussian-empire kinda town

all seemed to take place in M’s bedroom.  At least the house ‘compressed’ into that space, which is differently configured in the dream.

We’re heading back to the house of one of L’s relatives, in a village called Les Malades, “The Sick Ones”. I suggest cutting through the fields, rather than walking along the road, and claim that it is more direct. The field becomes a mountain

I was in Ibiza, except it was clearly Bournemouth seafront.

I am in China. It looks like a mixture of LA and an affluent North London neighbourhood. A lot of standalone houses with incredible windows.

I’m in an airport lobby, I’m going to Brazil. I am going to someone’s birthday, but the first thing I do when I get there is to go to a luncheon with one of my friends from college (IRL she is protestant and used to be very into theology, went on to work in the Economy Ministry and now has a baby girl with a French guy). A guy I hate, who used to go out with one of my best friends is also there, with his girlfriend (IRL as well as in the dream all the girlfriends he’s had since my best friend are basically always the same girl, they all look a lot like my friend, the same exact features and always super nice. They all stay the same age while he gets older and older). We talk a bit, but I don’t remember what we talked about; this guy is a class A mansplainer, but I think I was actually enjoying this conversation. We are eating black beans, wonderful feijoada and rice. My friend from college starts laughing and says that they took the lunch from the patriarchs, I realize that we are actually in some kind of farm,

I’m looking for somewhere to live on the internet, in the physical space of my dream, the room I look at adjoins directly on to the room we live in

Dreamt I was in Ms Wheeler’s maths class again. But it was in Scotland and I was doing A Levels. I see someone running along the seafront and into the water. The room I am in is in Bloomsbury anti cuts space and it is high up on a platform. (On reflection I suppose this space resembles the first floor of the CLC - community learning centre - which was built at my school in the 2000s to make it a ‘specialist learning’ school, merely because the quality of education and the grades were so bad and the school was possibly on ‘special measures’). On the east side is a garden, on the west side, an airport which is a similar rectangular room at an angle to the rectangular room we are in, or a walkway or highway leading to an airport.

I’m going to the airport. The road for the airport is on the left, it adjoins on to the room I am in. Off to the right, something else - it is like the Beirut highway city system, where you emerge up onto a highway and can see the sea.

On our way to the airport we stop by a mall, which finds itself near to the maths classroom, on the ground floor, to the North side of it.

I move home. To a big house, in an anonymous location, except the trees are like those by the Forum in Rome, and the air is sunny, slow and grainy-grey. It may be Tunbridge Wells, possibly a private school.

He was traveling back to California from Berlin, going to his parents’ home first then coming to visit me. He was on his way, in traffic, it would take about an hour and a half.

I vaguely remember walking and running around this house which looked more like a ship made of wood than my actual flat, but I felt it was my home. I knew this place very well even if all the furniture and the architecture was different. The next thing I remember is me standing in a room that kind of looked like my bedroom, but without a roof and the op bjen sky.

I was in London (that of course had nothing to do w london, and was more of a mashup between green hills and product design degree show booths

I am moving through a city in an uncertain light flickering between day and night, there is a

I dream that my parents have bought a new house during quarantine. In my dream I call it a tudor building in my head, but really, it’s a kind of suburban red brick Victorian construction, like a mixture between what you find in the North of London, next to the M25, and Victorian Gothic in Salt Lake City.

On the way to Berlin, somewhere level with the south of France there were chaotic scenes of my adolescence, changing schools, and I got caught in a loop going round and round St Pancras way and Camley street in a caravan of vehicles going through the bayou.

Some images of Cubitt street and suburbs (Cubitt st is a kind of street where the council puts all kinds of ‘social cases’, it is a kind of containment strategy of theirs), that I float through or watch from a distance. It is like Nice: lilac-y grey modernity, palm trees. It looks like an architect’s drawing, a twilight zone.

We are in my grandmother’s house. But it is not her house, it is much more English, like a house in a Wilkie Collins novel. It is more ornamented, English and gothic than her house is. She is dead.

Very briefly it’s the 2nd version, with some dispute as to who sleeps where in a series of connected messy rooms on slightly different levels of what feels both like an office building and an 18thC (?) European battle ship a la Billy Bud maybe, separated by short staircases and strewn with floor mattresses. Money is due someone - police are in the distance, invisible but working to close in on us (‘us’ is who knows).. Dissolves into what I recognise as my room.

I walked through an urban street. I felt I was both in London and a Midwestern American city. I passed under what had been a theater awning with hundreds of individual light bulbs; many were missing. I thought how nice it must've been when this city was in its heyday. I saw a black London taxicab, which suggested I was in London.

I dreamed that I visited you. Except it was Australia.

I was in central London, maybe Paris, maybe Norwich, in a place like the Southbank. There was a large concrete wall / bank which was inset with a huge array of telephone exchange connectors.

I am walking through narrowish streets in the city I’ve been living in, maybe it’s Leeds or London or Glasgow or maybe it’s just a mix but it feels more like London, and up a back alleyway, at night,

My next dream ends with looking at a map of the Firth of Clyde OS map (which hangs next to my bed) wondering where I could do a long bike ride and realising that the town of Ayr isn’t actually on the coast any more but inland, just southwest of Glasgow. Then I find myself with my friend Callie out on some marina or dock on the Clyde estuary or the sea itself.

[awhilesince]

Friday, 6 April 1827

6 15/60

11 40/60

my bowels pretty well – did my hair – sent to Mrs B– (Barlow) to say I should be with her soon after 9 – 

at my desk at 8 1/4 – wrote the other end (but did not date it, so that all appears to have been written yesterday) and finished my letter to Miss Maclean hers of 3 pages and the ends and a few lines of crossing shews she was hurt on receiving my last – begs for the pages I mentioned having written but would not send begs me write soon tho it be the last time seeming to doubt whether I mean to continue the correspondence ‘I am not I turust [trust] at this moment more unworthy of the friendship you bestowed so freely on me than at the first moment of its existence unless continued increase of affection do serve a repulse blame me find as much fault with me as you see me to deserve be ever candid and fear not any diminution of my regard however valueless you may consider it by this time’ – 

some chance of Miss Maclean’s spending next summer in France but all uncertain yet – my answer a very kind one – according to her request (say I have but 1 page left dated 25 February) give her almost the whole of this page containing what I had further written about the quaker – and give her the following about 1/2 the concluding sentence of the rough sheet or rather page I wrote 2nd March immediately on receiving hers of that day – 

‘But whither does my pen run on? my own pride has been wounded, and I have wounded yours – yes! here is the secret; and ‘tis out – when I sat down to write, I meant to conjure up ‘soft words’, apologize, and beg forgiveness and excuse – my regard outwits me; and I love you too well to dissemble my mortification, and not to write the thought, flattering or not, that starts into my mind’ 

– then observe 

‘tis plain enough, had I loved you less, I had annoyed you less ……. the drain of the last years seems now to be fading away as the ‘light begins to shine on you – I always told you, you valued me too highly’ No! no! Sibbella, I have seen a spectre in that drain, but am not yet awakened – I still slumber as before over all you tell me about valuing you too highly’ 

…… we shall convince each other ‘our regard is not the less true, becausewe have once in our lives given ourselves unnecessary uneasiness – heartily sorry for it – wish my last ‘had been differently written’ grieve over these pages having hurt her ‘For my life, I could not at that time make ‘them better’ …. 

‘How Albane and Margaret would look, could they have a notion of our last letters; but I think even these would be preferable to receiving a cold heartless letter from you – a cold heartless letter! what have I done to force upon you such a thought? Is my regard so light that the 1st breath of your displeasure can drive it thus like chaff before the wind? Have I, then, worn but the mask of friendship? And is it now the moment to throw it down, now when you are suffering so severely in health and spirits? My pen might be in fault; but to you at least, Sibbella, my heart was guiltless, and cannot change from tenderness to coldness so casually, or so soon – Perhaps you will know me better by and by’ – 

mention the chance of my going with Mrs and Miss B– (Barlow) (my aunt will have me go) for a couple of months to Switzerland about the end of June – name Geneva, and ask if I am to give her letter to her friend at Vevay – ‘I have not been quite well lately, and change of air, and a rummage are almost necessary’ – my aunt says she does not want me – I can leave her quite well – so I can if she continues well as she seems likely to do – on the last End write 

‘Perhaps I ought to tell you in justice to Mac Donald, that we now acquit her of what I hinted at some time ago, and believe it is a natural not one acquired silliness which makes her next to incomprehensible at times – However, in her present situation (we have still but herself and George, – the latter has the care of all the rooms but my aunt’s), we are well enough satisfied; for, perhaps, in this mixed capacity, we should not get anyone who would do better – I have written rather in haste, determined to have my letter off by 1st post – God bless you, Sibbella! Do not doubt my regard, or that I am always, and equally, your very sincere and affectionate friend AL– (Anne Lister) 

folded, wafered, and directed, my letter to ‘Miss Maclean of Coll 5 North Street, David Street, Edinburgh, Ecosse, Post payé’ breakfast at 9 35/60 – left my letter for George to the post – and went out at 10 1/2 – Having sent to Mrs B– (Barlow) to say I should be with her soon after 9, she, wondering what detained me so long, sent Thérèse to inquire who arrived just as I was setting off – 

Mrs B– (Barlow) and Jane and I off in a fiacre from the rue Royale to the barrière d’ Enfer at 10 3/4 – got out at the barrière at 11 1/2 – asked there what duty I should have to pay should I bring at any time bougies from Antony – 3 1/2 sols per lb. (pound) – a continued street on the other side the barrière – soon after passing it, on the left, the Hospice de Larochefoucauld, a neat looking building with a sort of garden in front – by and by turned to the rue to the Grand Montrouge – a pretty good village – an unfinished church built on the site of the old one – dedicated to St. Jacques à pot, promised to be handsome – great entrance a flight of steps to a neat Ionic colonnade of 4 columns – close to the church a door into the grounds belonging to the Jesuits – went down the street to their great Entrance – went into the court – asked the porter to let us take a peep at the grounds – no! nobody admitted but friends of the maitres (priests) or with some Especial letter to some of them – could not prevail – just looked at the outside of the house – 2 stories 8 windows at top 8 at bottom but the 2 middle ones of the latter doors approached by a flight of 5 steps – a small place – several outbuildings round the court, not particularly spruce and tidy – none of the ‘maitres’ at home just then – 

Left the house at 12 – walked leisurely back (slowly on account of Jane) towards the great Orleans road – had not to go along it far before we turned to the left down to Arcueil so completely buried in the valley we could not see a trace of it till just upon it – a long street of a village – according to Galignani’s Paris guide of 1824. page 722. the church of the age of St. Louis

‘is remarkable for the delicate sculpture of its gothic porch, and for the interior galleries the area opposite the porch is planted with trees, and at the extremity is a plain but elegant building occupied as a school upon the Lancaster plan’ – 

the church so ill looking, that, the doors being locked, made no effort to get in – the better of the 2 porches, whose ‘delicate sculpture’ is merely one row of rough gothic foliage by no means worth notice, fronts the narrow street – the other shabby little porch is opposite the place, a small space formerly a burying ground from which the trees were stubbed out some time ago – the school a decent small oblong building – the door shut – 

got to the aqueduct at the end of the village at 1 25/60 – vide Galignani pages 396-7. the ‘fine estate’, the property of a Monsieur Coussin, very rich, is a pretty little campagne, or country house with a prettyish little garden and summer house in front of the Porte Cochère formed by the old Roman arch – the small houses under the arches looking into a little farm yard still remain – we stood talking some time to an old woman – Monsieur Beurier, close to the aqueduct, is the concierge, and a little girl went up the hill with us, and shewed us into the sort of reservoir – very neat – fine run of water – walked a little way on the sloping roof of the aqueduct just at its commencement where near enough the ground – Jane had already begun to be tired – her shoes hurt her – 

in returning thro’ the village from the top of the aqueduct good view of the Marquis de la Placés nice looking house and grounds – the water of the aqueduct passes under them in its way to Paris – the Marquise de la P– (Placés) still there) – Mrs B– (Barlow) bought 5 hard boiled red stained as usual eggs, and 2 rolls for herself and Jane – 

returned to the Orleans – Jane had difficulty in getting there – the sun warm – we had left the aqueduct at 2 and stood down under a tree at the side of the Orleans road at 2 1/2 – here we rested 3/4 hour till at last not used to sitting out in this way I became asleep and tired and cold or coolish after being much heated – poor Jane hardly able to get on at all – 

set off homewards 3 1/4 – walked very slowly – how all this spoilt the pleasure! we crawled thro’ the barrière and 1/2 way down the rue d’ Enfer not very far from the Place St. Michel before we met with a fiacre – all got into and got to Mrs B–‘s (Barlow’s) at 5 7/60 – I meant to have had a warm bath at the bains Vigier – not time – must be at home at 7 – did not like to be hurried – Mrs B– (Barlow) kept me standing and talking – she lay down saw what she wanted at six lay down by her and gave her a good grubbling she had a good kiss or excitement and I as usual pretended to sleep afterwards to get rid of her questions who was the lady with the oil bottle that I used to oil  it was poor Tibb of course will never mention her name foolish enough to mention the circumstance which I now pretend to have quite forgotten – 

got home from Mrs B–‘s (Barlow’s) at 7 20/60 – Left the dining room at 9 50/60 settled with George and my accounts went in to wish my aunt good night at 10 1/2 and came back to my room to bed at 10 40/60 – [O two dots, marking discharge from venereal complaint] –

left margin: Fahrenheit 56 at 8 a.m. 63 at 10 1/2 – 63 at 10 1/2 p.m. very fine sunny morning – very fine day – sunny and very warm, yet a fine air.

reference number: SH:7/ML/E/10/0077