Friday, 8 December, 1865

This is Father’s birthday, born 8th Dec. 1772. Would be 93 years old if he were living, died ten years ago. – – Ma has been dead twenty-five years, yet how vividly do I picture them to my mind and recall my childhood days.1In fact Ma died 7 October, 1838, Richmond Enquirer, 6 November, 1838, page 3. That would make it 27 years since. And it is likely her father died in 1854 rather than 55 as neither CJ1 nor CJ2, which begin in mid-February of ’55, mentions her father’s death. – – Time how fleeting are thy wings, we take no note of it, but from its loss. – – This has been quite a pretty day. Zac’s burning the broom straw and dried grass in the yard. Bill had the few turnips the sheep left brought to the house and put in the garden. Jim and Randall then hauled fodder.2This is the first appearance of Randall. Is he a new “hand?” If so, why hasn’t Caroline mentioned him? – – Hardie killed five ducks at a shoot today. Sent Ju a loaf of bread, some broiled duck and corn beef by Martha this evening. Thought to find him in bed sick. I scarcely see a well day, my health has been very delicate this fall and winter, and Nannie, my little “Doctress,” annoys me to death about dieting myself and taking pills. Wakes up in the night to enquire whether I took my pills at bedtime. Hardie and I are suffering from the same cause and taking the same medicine.