THE VOYAGE


WEDNESDAY, June 26, 1754.--On this day the most melancholy sun I
had ever beheld arose, and found me awake at my house at
Fordhook. By the light of this sun I was, in my own opinion,
last to behold and take leave of some of those creatures on whom
I doted with a mother-like fondness, guided by nature and
passion, and uncured and unhardened by all the doctrine of that
philosophical school where I had learned to bear pains and to
despise death. In this situation, as I could not conquer Nature,
I submitted entirely to her, and she made as great a fool of me
as she had ever done of any woman whatsoever; under pretense of
giving me leave to enjoy, she drew me in to suffer, the company
of my little ones during eight hours; and I doubt not whether, in
that time, I did not undergo more than in all my distemper.

At twelve precisely my coach was at the door, which was no sooner
told me than I kissed my children round, and went into it with
some little resolution. My wife, who behaved more like a heroine
and philosopher, though at the same time the tenderest mother in
the world, and my eldest daughter, followed me; some friends went
with us, and others here took their leave; and I heard my
behavior applauded, with many murmurs and praises to which I well
knew I had no title; as all other such philosophers may, if they
have any modesty, confess on the like occasions.

In two hours we arrived in Rotherhithe, and immediately went on
board, and were to have sailed the next morning; but, as this was