that many were starving. The said Rector Willington answered, that he & his fellows must leave at once, but here is 3 Sovereigns, and he would be seeing to their requests. I staid by the fireplace until the Mob left. As I served the Rector Willington with some kidneys, he said to me that I must not go out this day, and that he hoped the Church wd not be ent
the dregs remain: I stir them to a kind of cloud of comprehensibility, but their minds are slow and stupid, and they slouch, as it were, without a burden on them but one of sloth. My clerk tells me they are weak from hunger — but this cannot be in such provident country, of rich tilth, when the very Hedgerows have been evidently dripping with fruit. But O this wretched winter! — I am feeling pinched and vexed today, from an incident earlier: some children, seated before what I perceived to be a tumbled-down cot — but was on closer inspection teeming with life as a corpse teems with maggots — on the outer edge of the village, whence I was bent on exercising my legs after a crabbed term of duty at my desk — these ragamuffins (all of the most swarthy hue, like sweeps — it appears to me this whole village is inked in dirt) followed me at a distance until I reached the first ridge of the hill, whereupon they stirred themselves to a clamour of the most injudicious calumny against my person, as being knock-kneed — scrawny-necked — the smallest pig in the litter — a ‘carroty-pawled cadger’ and other descriptions I will not blush you with, all in a dialect so ripe as to be barely comprehended but by those, like myself, forced to become adepts thro’ no fault of their own — and upon my waving my walking-cane at them, knob-first, and calling them to be Off, a large fellow joined them, of as Outdoor an appearance as all the labourers here, but somewhat more bent in the back, with filthy black hands — & who stood and watched me for a moment, with a hand upon the shoulders of the Riff-raff about him, as (I thought) a prelude to cajoling and punishment — but who then emitted a chortle that kindled the like in his brood (for I guessed he was the Father) and I was forced to beat an ignominious retreat over the Ridge and out of sight, where I was taken with a small Fit — for I have never been able to withstand Mockery of any sort, but crumble like a Biscuit in hot tea. Such topsy-turviness makes me fear for the Country, as if every weedy word of these inflammatory pamphlets have seeded themselves deep in the fallow hearts of the peasant classes, and by dint of one’s mere presence one Ploughs them up willy-nilly to the surface — and thus may be imagined the Harvest to come. Does it rain the like in Matlock? You might paint indoors, if so. Here we tear up turf — these sodden slopes be our canvas — the foamy Horse is shaped so:
I put the straw beneath the Plough. It was not I who put it to the flame. I don’t know who did. Then the pieces of the Machines were placed in a heap in the Court & we
down the widest ride yet I fell from the damned beast into
candles on the table. They were took when the Mob departed. About ten men staid the main of the day, demanding of me beer & bread & cheese all the while, until there was none
hurt, bar a laceration upon my arm. My only black-silk coat, with the pearl buttons, is Chalk from collar to tail. I have been baptised, says the good Norcoat, in the veritable sod. But that is little matter when thou, my sweetest love, art in my mind: your letter, that I have kept in my breast pocket, close to my heart, gave me some service this Morning — or rather, the envelope did — as I was taken with a fit of coughing during an Examination — this an effect of the fall, no doubt — and finding my mouth full of Blood, had nowhere to deposit, but bending down behind the desk as if to pick up my pen, that I had knocked to the floor for this purpose — took the letter from my pocket — released it from the envelope — and used that last sweet-scented vessel as my spittoon. The pauper before me was none the wiser through this salvatory Action, tho’
almost night then. There was no moon: I could not see who it was knocking on the Door. A horn was blown and a man made a noise like an owl
all night of thick words like cheese to be cut up, then wake in a sweat, cough
banged on the roof with our hay-forks: there is no upstairs. The said Roger Pennell came to the Window and said not to do him any harm & we answered that we would not crush a flower,
O — O my Emily! But to set it down sends my pulse sudden up, & I fear these palpitations — no, I must cease worrying you on the instant — this fearful sight was made hideous by the night’s exertions: I had no sleep — I was too tight in the Chest to lay down & coughed the hours away fearfully but not too much Blood — & our sharp north-east of the last days having turned I thought to exercise myself — at dawn — no faintness — nay, I should have stayed within –
were civil. They broke the drum of the machine with a sledge-hammer, and said it was to make better times. I did not know which men they were