23 January 1854 – 29 January 1854

Love tends to purify and sublime itself. It mortifies and triumphs over the flesh, and the bond of its union is holiness. The increased length of the days is very observable of late. What is a winter unless you have risen and gone abroad frequently before sunrise and by starlight ? Varro speaks of what he calls, I believe, before-light (antelucana) occupations in winter, on the farm. Such are especially milking, in this neighborhood.! If one may judge from Josselyn, they began to be weather-wise very early in New England. He says: ‘The obscuring of the smaller stars is a certain sign of tempests approaching. . . . The resounding of the sea from the shore, and murmuring of the winds [sic in Josselyn] in the woods without apparent wind, sheweth wind to follow.’ . . . The redness of the sky in the morning, is a token of winds, or rain, or both,” etc., etc. “ If the white hills look clear and conspicuous, it is a sign of fair weather; if black and cloudy, of rain; if yellow, it is a certain sign of snow shortly to ensue,” etc. Vide his “'Two Voyages.” He speaks of “the Earth-nut bearing a princely flower, the beautiful leaved Pirola,”* etc. Is n’t this the glossy -leaved winter- green ? At noon, go to Worcester.

In Worcester. ; From 9 A.M. to 4 Pp. M., walked about six miles north- west into Holden with Blake, returning by Stonehouse Mall. A very cold day. Less forest near Worcester than in Concord, and that hardwood. No dark pines in the horizon. ‘The evergreen laurel is a common underwood, contrasting agreeably with the snow. Large, broad- backed hills. De Quincey’s ‘“ Historical and Critical Essays” I have not read (2 vols.). Saw a red squirrel out.

At noon return to Concord. A very cold day. Saw a man in Worcester this morning who took a pride in never wearing gloves or mittens. Drives in the morning. Said he succeeded by keeping his arm and wrist well covered. He had a large hand, one of his fingers as big as three of mine. But this morning he had to give up. The 22d, 23d, 24th, and 25th of this month have been the coldest spell of weather this winter. Clear and cold and windy.

All day at court at Cambridge.

I have an old account-book, found in Dea- con R. Brown’s garret since his death. The first leaf or two is gone. Its cover is brown paper, on which, amid many marks and scribblings, I find written: — “ Mr. Ephraim Jones His Wast Book « Anno Domini 1742 ” It extends from November 8th, 1742, to June 20th, 1743 (inclusive). It appears without doubt from the contents of this book that he is the one of whom Shat- tuck writes in his history that he “‘ married Mary Hay- ward, 1728, and died November 29th, 1756, aged 51; having been captain, town-clerk, and otherwise dis- tinguished.” His father’s name was Ephraim, and he had a son Ephraim. The entries are made apparently by himself, or a boy, or his wife, or some other when he was out. The book is filled with familiar Concord names, the grandfathers and great-grandfathers of the present generation. Dr. Hartshorn —he lived to be ninety-two —and Dr. Temple send to the store once or twice. It is more important now what was bought than who bought it. The articles most commonly bought were mohair (commonly with buttons) (a kind of twist to sew on but- tons with), rum (often only a gill to drink at the store), — more of these than anything; salt, molasses, shal- loon, fish, calico, some sugar, a castor hat, almanac, psalter (and sometimes primer and testament), paper, knee-buckles and shoe-buckles, garters and spurs by the pair, deer skins, a fan, a cart whip, various kinds of cloth and trimmings, —as half-thick, osnaburg, a very little silk, ferret, quality, serge for breeches, etc., etc., — gloves, a spring knife, an ink-horn, a gun, cap, spice, a pocket case, timber, iron, etc., earthenware; no tea (?) (I am in doubt about one or perhaps two en- tries), nor coffee, nor meal, nor flour. Of the last two they probably raised all they wanted. Credif is fre- quently given for timber and once for cloth brought to the store. On the whole, it is remarkable how little provision was sold at the store. The inhabitants raised almost everything for themselves. Chocolate is sold once. Rum, salt, molasses, fish, a biscuit with their drink, a little spice, and the like are all that commonly come under this head that I remember. On a loose piece of paper is a bill for “ todey,’ bowl of punch,” etc., and on another piece 1s Jona- than Dwight’s (innholder’s ?) bill against the Estate of 99 ¢<« a 1854) AN OLD ACCOUNT-BOOK 79 Capt. Ephraim Jones for entertainment, etc., etc. (apparently he treated his company) at divers times for half a dozen years, amounting to over £146. One entry is *‘ Dea Brown to flip & rum.” The people apparently made their own cloth and even thread, and hence for the most part bought only buttons and mohair and a few trimmings.

A very cold morning. Thermometer, or mercury, 18° below .zero. Varro says that gluma seems to be a glubendo be- cause the grain is shelled from its follicle (deglubitur). Arista, the beard of grain, is so called because it dries first (quod arescit prima). The grain, granum, is a ge- rendo, for this is the object of planting, that this may be borne. ‘ But the spica (or ear), which the rustics call speca, as they have received it from their forefathers, seems to be named from spes (hope), since they plant because they hope that this will be hereafter (eam enim quod sperant jore).” The village is the place to which the roads tend, a sort of expansion of the highway, as a lake of a river, the thoroughfare and ordinary of travellers, a trivial or quadrivial place. It is the body of which roads are the arms and legs. It is from the Latin villa, which, together with via (a way), or more anciently vea and vella, Varro derives from veho (to carry), because the villa is the place to and from which things are carried. The steward or overseer of the villa was a vilicus, and those who got their living by teaming (? ) (vecturis) were said vellaturam facere. And whence the Latin vilis and our word villain (?}). The inhabitants are way-worn by the travel that goes by and over them without travelling themselves.