Excessively hot, almost equal to
the hot Sunday in July
This is a true August day, not a breath to be had of pure air. We all feel its debilitating effects. Mr H. does not mind heat, but shivers in the cold, comes up to his dinner daily. The children are all well, and romp around, untill they become wet with perspiration; Remmy, is always in the
situation of “Miss Caroline Wilhelmina Skeggs.”*
This morning I took a seidbits powder, not feeling very well, head, and stomach out of order. It relieved me from nausea. Ate plentifully of peaches and rice. Mr H. brought home materials for moscheto [sic] nets, to prepare for the little vampires [sic].
We bid adieu, a warm adieu to the summer of 1843. I cannot say it has passed as agreably [sic] as the summer
*A pretender to gentility who boasts of her aristocratic connections, but is atrociously vulgar, and complains of being “all of a muck of sweat.” (Goldsmith: Vicar of Wakefield.)