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butcher�s store.         Letters from my mother
and Rosa, on my return to Bleecker St.     The former
has been to Guildford, for a fortnight�s visit to my
uncle, whom she describes as �getting� quite grey, looking
old and careworn.�     His wife, Mapleson�s sister (I
always think of her in that relationship � not a pleasant
one) is �quite an invalid, always lying on the sofa.�
�Eight children at home, three away.�      My father
who was �greatly shocked� to think of my mother�s �leaving
him� for this much needed holiday �scarcely gets up
all day,� so they have a most melancholy time of it.�
I should think so.         William Bolton and George Gardi-
ner have visited them, and Sarah Ann stayed eight
weeks.                 Writing during the afternoon and
evening.   Saw a letter written by a slave-waiter at
Savannah to Mrs Gouverneur.   The confounded wo-
man had evidently been flattering the poor fellow in
her loose, lying way with a prospect of purchasing his
freedom.  He wrote in a fairish schoolboy hand with
capitals at the commencement of the lines, but correct
spelling, reminding her of �what she promised,� ad-
ding, �O, I will remember you!�  �Twas half amo-
rous withal.   D__n the woman.    The barbarity of
the thing.     Of course she won�t answer it � indeed she
can�t either spell or write decently, and generally gets
other women to do such tasks.    Rawson showed me the
letter: he half designed answering it, telling the poor fellow
he was better off down south.   Assuredly if Rawson�s