here. The climate is not good in any season, and though better here than east of the mountains, is yet unfriendly to industry every where. Summer, amidst breezy shades, champaigne and brandy; and winter, with two down beds, one over and one under you, and a hickory fire continually, are just tolerable! The autumn is pleasant enough, but too generally pestilential.
Having to commence in the morning, a journey of one thousand miles, on horseback, on my way to England, through the Cities of Washington and Charleston, and the worst roads and weather in the universe, the mercury being now three degrees below zero; riding, and not writing, presses on the attention of, Sir,
Your obedient servant,
W. Faux.
30th.—I bade a long, final farewell, to this kind family, and the best woman in Indiana, whom I left in tears. In company with Mr. Ingle, I mounted a young colt, three years old, bought for me at 100 dollars. My saddle was covered with a bear-skin; {332} myself dressed in three shirts, two waist-coats, three coats, three pair of breeches, three pair of hose, and a seal-cap. I called to warm at Squire Russell's, who makes his own shoes, in a one-room log-hole, where hung a wild turkey on the chimney-piece, for dinner. He could not find a man to serve the warrant, at the suit of Mr. Canson, on Hooker, and means to impanel a Rowdey jury, and try the matter before himself. The cold this day is two below zero.
We reached Princeton at four o'clock; and here I met Mr. R. Birkbeck, a partner with Mr. Peel in the store at Wanborough.
31st.—Intense cold, three below zero, the wind blowing
