"Disordered in his Senses": Murder and Madness in Colonial Chester

On December 27, 1768, sixty-eight year old Lieutenant Thomas Wells, one of the founders of Chester, New Hampshire, drafted his last will and testament, and the witnesses included his son Thomas, age 29, and John Haseltine. While this date seemed insignificant to them at the time, the date December 27 would prove most sinister for the Wells family in the future. Nevertheless, at the beginning of the document, Wells noted that he was in a "Weake and Low State of Health in Body but yet of Sound Disposing mind and memory." This was certainly true, as probate records reveal that Wells died and the will was proved less than six months later in May 1769.  His son Thomas received a large chunk of land from his father but also he assumed a much greater responsibility; the guardianship of his eleven-year-old sister Pheobe.  Pheobe was granted her mother Elizabeth's remaining clothes, who we must assume had died prior to the will being drawn up since there is no mention of her. Upon her eighteenth birthday in 1775 or marriage if it came first, Pheobe would also inherit two thirds of her father's household goods and furniture, one cow, six sheep, and five pounds cash.(1)

Five years passed in Chester. But across New England, there was tremendous turmoil during this period. In March 1770, colonists had taunted British Regulars on the streets of Boston, resulting in the bloody Massacre. In March 1772, rebellious citizens of Rhode Island burnt HMS Gaspee, sent by the Royal authoritites to stop smuggling along the shore. A month later in New Hampshire, angry farmers and merchants in Weare had beaten the sheriff with sticks when he attempted to arrest them for illegally cutting down trees marked for the Royal Navy in what became known as the Pine Tree Riot. Then only a week earlier, crates of expensive tea were infamously thrown into Boston Harbor, inspiring boycotts of imported tea in towns across the region.

But it appears that even in bucolic Chester far from most of this turbulence, some relationships had begun to sour or even become violent. Exactly 240 years ago today on December 27, 1773, Thomas Wells paid a visit to the home of Deacon William Tolford, who had emigrated with his brother John from Londonderry, Ireland decades before and became quite prominent members of the community. In fact, Thomas Wells Sr. had served as lieutenant and John Tolford captain of the Chester militia company back in 1744, so the two families had known each thirty years by the 1760s. John achieved the rank of Major in the New Hampshire militia and conducted a scouting party with John Stark in 1754.(2) The reason why Wells went to the Tolford's home is unclear, but it certainly involved the conduct of Willliam's thirty-one year old son John, named in honour of his brother. But tragically John apparently suffered from acute mental illness but somehow got his hands on the family firearms. That's when the trouble started.

Here is an original early to mid 18th century fowling gun, which might be close to the weapon owned by William Tolford.

In the Rockingham County Superior Court records, the depositions of the witnesses provide a chaotic but account of what occurred. William Tolford was perhaps the most important since it was his house and his son who committed murder: "John...took a gun and pistel and went to the End of the House and then came into the House again after Mr Thomas Wells and I had took the pistol from him and I tok Hold of the gun with an Intent to Take it from him but he broke my Hold and the gun and shot     Thomas Wells through the Body Who Died immediately."

Major John Tolford evidently lived nearby, because he recalled: "My Brother William Tolfords Wife came runnning to my house and said their was a sad accident Happned at their house and I went Immediately to my Brothers house and as I was going I met John Tolford Juner my Bothers son With a gun and pistol I asked him Where he Was going and he gave me no direct answer I Laid hold of the gun and pistol in order to take them from him but did not then.  We Came Into my Brother house together and When We came in Thomas Wells was Laying Dead on the flowar and upon my Repremanding him for the Deed he Had done he said he Had not Done it but it was Just he should die and I judged him not to have the Exercise of his Reason at that time."

Peter Haseltine also went to the Tolford home when he heard rumors of the tragedy there, and confirmed the observation that John Toldford was either drunk or insane: "I had Word that Thomas Wells was Dead upon Which I Went to Deacon Tolfords wioth my Brother We knocked at the Door and Were bid come in When We came to the Inter Door my Brother being formost John Tolford presented a gun at us the gun was Took from him then he made an attemt to point a pistol at us and that was taken from him When We came in Thomas Wells Who Laying dead on the flowar John Tolford was asked Why he Kild him he said it was just that he should die and said Tolford appeared to me to be in Liquor or Delireus or Both."

So whatever motivated Tolford to shoot, there is no doubt that Thomas Wells was dead. The news reached Portsmouth by at least December 31, when the New-Hampshire Gazette noted that "we hear from Chester...one Thomas Wells of that Town was shot through the Body, and died Instantly. The person who committed the fact, is taken into Custody in order for Trial." There is no known gravestone for Thomas Wells, but it's likely he is buried here:

John Tolford's trial began in Portsmouth on March 3, 1774, "in the presence of a great concourse of people" hungry for every juicy detail as they are still today. The newspaper further divulged that "it was clearly proved he shot Wells dead on the spot with a loaded Musket, but it also appearing by a number of Witnesses, he was at the time Disordered of his Senses, he was acquitted." This verdict did show some compassion among the populace. A century earlier he most certainly would have been hanged. However, Daniel Fowle, printer of the New Hampshire Gazette on March 13, 1774, added an editorial of his own: It is hoped and expected, that this will be a sufficient Warning, and that the Friends of the above Mr. Tolford, and the Friends of all other Disordered Persons, will take proper care of them in Time, particularly keep Guns, ect out of their Way."

Isn't it ironic and sad that 240 years later,  we are still struggling with this same issue? 

What happened to Phoebe Wells after her guardian's death and whether she finally received her full inheritance from her father is currently unknown. There was a Phoebe Sargent living in Chester in 1790 when the first Federal Census was taken, but it is unclear if she ever married. Also tragic is the fate suffered by John Tolford, who escaped the gallows but suffered a fate perhaps much worse. The town historian of Chester in the 19th century, Benjamin Chase, reported with a sense of horror that Tolford "was so insane afterwards that he was kept in a cage about forty years."(3) That just sends chills down my spine.

Notes
1. Probate Records of the Province of New Hampshire,  State Papers Series, Volume 39, pages 203-206. 
2. Benjamin Chase, History of Old Chester From 1719 to 1869 (Auburn, 1869) pgs. 365, 599.

3. Chase, History of Old Chester From 1719 to 1869, p. 128.

Musket Mishaps: Black Powder Safety (or Not) of the Past

 When people and firearms mix, accidents often happen, and during the days of yore when blackpowder was commonplace in many homes of New Hampshire, the chance of something going wrong was high. What follows are some of the most tragic and gruesome of these firearms, and black powder mishaps, and the fact that gun safety was a serious issue centuries ago.

Only two years after Daniel Fowle began printing the New Hampshire Gazette in Portsmouth in 1756, he reported a terrible incident which occurred only a few miles away on the quaint island of New Castle, still the state's smallest and perhaps wealthiest town. "We hear...of a melancholy accident," Fowle wrote on April 4, 1758,"which happened...at the house of Deacon Jonathan Pierce's; one person being left at home to take care of the children, who was obliged to step out to a neighbor's house for a few minutes; and while she was gone, the children got a canister of powder about six pounds weight, carried it to the fire, not knowing the consequence of powder, put a coal to the same, which blowing up, damaged the house very much...and burnt one child of four years old in such a manner, that it died within a few hours; and another child of seven years old it burnt in such a manner, that its life is not expected."  Fowle warned his readers, using italics to catch their attention, "It is hoped this (and many of the like instances which has happened by the carelessness of leaving guns loaded and powder in children's way) will be sufficient warning to persons to take care in the future."

But children continued to be victims of accidents. In May 1798, the NH Gazette reported the death of a boy who had his brains blown out when his friend fired a musket he did not realize was loaded. On October 11, 1824, the NH Statesman reported the death of a boy curiously named John Kennedy:

Adults also had plenty of mishaps as well, which often cost limbs or lives. Militia musters were often the scene of these accidents. The April 4, 1758 issue of the NH Gazette mentioned, "We hear from Dover, that at a late Regimental muster there, an insisting officer had one of his feet shot away by the carelessness of a soldier." In October 1825 a rather gruesome incident occurred in Amherst:

Hunting accidents were also common place, though sometimes wounds were self-inflicted. Here is rather graphic example from the Dover Gazette on November 18, 1848:

On the Fourth of July, cannons were often fired to celebrate the holiday, and often with horrific consequences. In my own town, Rollinsford aka Salmon Falls, in July 1855 two men were badly injured when the gun prematurely fired, one of them losing his left hand. However, the worst accident transpired in Dover a year later in Novemeber 1856:

The Confession of Andrew Howard

On September 19, a young man named Andrew Howard, armed with a handgun and desperate for cash to satisfy his lust for liquor, brutally invaded the home of Ms. Phoebe Hanson, an elderly woman who was alone and utterly vulnerable. After she gave Hanson all the cash she had on hand, he shot her dead in cold blood.

While this story could appear in the contemporary headlines anywhere in America,  it transpired in Rochester, New Hampshire 170 years ago in 1843. What makes this story also noteworthy is that three years later, on July 8, 1846, Andrew Howard become the last person to be hanged in Dover, the seat of Strafford County. While state law then dictated that executions be confined to the jail yard and no longer be fodder for public entertainment as they had been for more than a century, newspapers reported that "a mob of several thousands gathered about the prison and threatened to tear down the walls, unless they were allowed to gaze on the spectacle, and that the sherrif felt obliged to yield to their violence so far as to remove the canvas from the top of the wall, thus exposing the platform to view. The body was allowed to hang 35 minutes, and then was conffined and given to his friends."   Below, on the left hand column, is Howard's "Confession" from the July 17, 1846 issue of the New Hampshire Statesman, which tells his sad story:

In the Line of Fire: The Trefethen Tragedy of August 1863

On this day 150 years ago, William Trefethen and his wife Izette, and their children John, William, and George of New Castle, New Hampshire near Portsmouth were enjoying a relaxing summer excursion on a small island in the Piscataqua River, which during the previous century had been used to quarantine small pox patients (click here for more info http://www.seacoastnh.com/Places-%26-Events/Brewster%27s-Rambles/Smallpox-Parties-on-Pest-Island/. 

But on that warm, idyllic August day, death must have been furthest thing from their minds. The bloodiest summer of the Civil War that had recently transpired on the gruesome fields of Chancellorsville, Gettysburg, and Vicksburg must have seemed a world away. But the war was about to make a violent intrusion far from the battlefield, and shatter the Trefethen's world. 

After President Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation had taken effect on January 1, 1863, many states and the Federal government began organizing units of black troops. During the summer of 1863 at the Portsmouth Naval Shipyard, which was only across the river from Pest Island and New Castle, black troops were brought in to garrison Fort Sullivan and learn how to fire the cannons which lined the river in case of an enemy attack from Confederate raiders such as thee Alabama. Click here to see post-war images of Fort Sullivan: http://www.northamericanforts.com/East/Maine/Fort_Sullivan/history.html

But on August 28, 1863 the Trefethen family suddently found themselves in the line of fire and this newspaper clipping from the New Hampshire Statesman on September 4 described the horrific scene:

A gravestone at the Riverside Cemetery in New Castle identifies John Trefethen as the boy who was killed. Additional records reveal that Mrs. Trefethen was also pregnant at the time of incident,  making her heroic actions even more remarkable (see here
http://kristinhall.org/fambly/Neal/IzetteNeal.html). 

 I am still searching for documents at the National Archives that might reveal the internal investigation by the Shipyard into the incident. Given how controversial blacks serving in the military was in 1863, my guess is that the Trefethen tragedy only served as confirmation to those who doubted former slaves could be competent soldiers. One can only imagine the remorse and embarrassment the unidentified soldiers themselves felt about the innocent loss of life they had caused.

The impact of that errant cannonball on August 28, 1863 lasted for decades. A document written more than twenty years later tragically hints at the severe psychological scars, probably post-traumatic stress, which Mrs. Trefethen suffered. On April 27, 1886, William Trefethen submitted a petition to Committee of Claims of the U.S. House of Representatives of the 49th Congress, which responded to his claim below:

The facts in this case are that on the 28th day of August, 1863, the wife and sons of the petitioner...were gathering berries on Pest Island , about three-fourths of a mile from Fort Sullivan, and that while so engaged a detachment of United States colored troops, stationed at said Fort, commenced firing shells upon the island, the result of which was that the petitioner's son was killed, and his wife was rendered insane from the fright received by the firing and the shock produced by the killing of her son. These facts are abundantly proven by affidavits...

Your committee are of the opinion that petitioner has not strictly legal claim for compensation, yet, in view of the facts that the gun firing was, according to the testimony of Rear-Admiral Murray, the result of carelessness and ignorance on the part of the United States troops, we report a bill allowing petitioner the sum  of $5,000, and respectfully recomment that it do pass. 

(Click here for the original document from the Congressional Record): http://books.google.com/books?id=ylFHAQAAIAAJ&pg=PR433&dq=son+of+William+Trefethen+killed+1863&hl=en#v=onepage&q=%20William%20Trefethen%20killed%201863&f=false

Unfortunately for historians today, I was informed by the Center for Legislative Archives that all of the affidavits mentioned in the petition above have been lost. But the monetary compensation would never heal the invisible wounds suffered by the Trefethen family. Back in New Hampshire, Izette Trefethen died in March 1887, according to her headstone in the same cemetery as her poor son, where they lie for eternity within sight of the island which witnessed the tragedy that shattered their world.

Babes in the Woods: Lost Children from New Hampshire's Past

© 2012 by Chris Benedetto, all rights reserved. The material on this website cannot be reproduced or quoted without written consent from the author. Endnotes indicating sources may be found at the bottom corresponding to numbers in the text.

As a parent, there is perhaps nothing worse than the feeling of sheer panic that creeps in when your child has suddenly disappeared from sight, into the wild or the arms of someone who may harm them. But this primal fear of every parent is by no means a modern one. Centuries ago, the rugged landscape of early New Hampshire was a treacherous place for children to wander, where some of them vanished, never be seen again. And even for those who were found, the tramautic experience of being alone in the wildnerness was one these New Hampshire children would never forget. Their stories remain haunting today.

In October 1756, Daniel Fowle and his slave Artimus began publishing the first newspaper in the colony, the New-Hampshire Gazette, a fascinating hodge-podge of international politics, maritime affairs, and local news and gossip. Just over a year later on December 9, 1757, perhaps the first printed notice of a missing child in New Hampshire's history appeared in their paper :

"We hear from Dover, that a Child about three weeks old having been Missing from its Parents for about five Weeks, was found dead last Sunday about a Mile and a half from Home: 'Tis almost incredible how it got thro' the bad Traveling, the Bushes, and over the rocks to the Place where it lay."

The identity of the parents and child of this tragedy remain unknown, but another New Hampshire family in Temple would suffer perhaps an even worse trauma a few years before the American Revolution.Thomas Maynard was born on December 18, 1764, to his parents Artemas and Miriam Maynard of Temple.(1) On the morning of August 7, 1769, young Thomas and his father went out to harvest some crops. After a while, the boy wanted to return home to see his mother and little sister, Lucy, who was eight months old. But when Artemas returned that evening from his labors, he learned from his wife that Thomas had never arrived! A neighbor said that she had seen the boy pass their home at about 11 AM, but by the next morning no trace of the child had been found. One can only imagine the stress and shock that Maynard family endured as each day passed with no news concerning the fate of their beloved son. On August 25, 1769, the following newspaper article appeard in the New Hampshire Gazette, discussing the mystery:

For several weeks, the residents of Temple scoured the surrounding forests and fields but all hope was lost for the child's survival. Then in October 1769, according to the town historian Amos Blood, men surveying some woods north of the town found remnants of clothing who were alleged to belong to young Thomas Maynard.(2) But no human remains were ever found. The boy's disappearance was so traumatic to the entire community that the local minister composed an elegy, a style of mourning poetry popular during the eighteenth century, which was recorded for posterity by the nineteenth-century historian of Temple. Below are a few of the most poignant stanzas:

"And now behold his parents dear,

and friends in many a bitter tear;

 They sigh and grieve continually,

And for him weep most bitterly.

Now when he died, we cannot tell,

No mortal else, we know full well; 

We s'pose that he did sigh and cry,

Till with great hunger he did die."

To read the whole work, click here: http://books.google.com/booksid=KCUwAAAAYAAJ&pg=PA179&dq=casualties++nh&hl=en&sa=X&ei=TrufUbukMfOn4AOVz4GQBg&ved=0CC0Q6AEwAA#v=snippet&q=maynard&f=false

The following year,  there were a few missing children cases in New Hampshire that fortunately had happier endings. In May 1770, seven year old Thomas Wentworth of Middleton went missing, and after searching for seven days, the searchers gave up and assumed he had "been carried off and devoured by some wild beast!"(3)  However on the fifteenth day of his disappearance, Thomas Wentworth was found eating wild berries in the woods and news of miraculous deliverance reached as far as Boston.

During the fall of 1770, the three year old daughter of John Mellen, Lucretia, also got lost in the woods near her home in Fitzwilliam. Her family and dozens of other townspeople searched the forest for hours with pine boughs as torches until they found her resting under an uprooted tree with her dog. While this story had a happier ending then the one in Temple, the historian of Fitzwilliam claimed that "this lost child carried the effects of this fright all through her life." She lived nearly a century, dying in 1861 at the age of ninety-five.(4)

In a future post, I will discuss the cases of children of the past who were not lost but forcibly abducted from the homes. It is not as modern a trend as you might think...

Endnotes

1. Henry Amos Blood, The History of Temple, N.H. (1860), 260.
2. The History of Temple, 16-17.
3. Boston Newsletter, June 7, 1770.
4. John Foote Norton, The History of Fitzwilliam, N.H. from 1752 to 1887, 125-126.

Before Newtown: Mental Illness & Murder in a New Hampshire Family

© 2012 by Chris Benedetto, all rights reserved. The material on this website cannot be reproduced or quoted without written consent from the author. Endnotes indicating sources may be found at the bottom corresponding to numbers in the text.

In this post-Newtown massacre world, the ineffective treatment of people suffering from mental illness and tragedies like the one which transpired in Connecticut have become the proverbial elephant in the room; everyone knows it is there but no meaningful action has yet been taken. While the hereditary nature of mental illness and the murder of a mother by her disturbed son may seem like profoundly modern phenomena, the shocking history of the Kendrick family reveals that this same debate over mental illness, violence, and what to do about it was raging more than two centuries ago.

 In the Congregational Cemetery in the quiet town of Hollis lie for eternity several members of the Kendrick family, but their impressive slate headstones reveal nothing of the tortured existence and demise. For example, the marker of Daniel Kendrick Jr.http://www.findagrave.com/cgi-bin/fg.cgi?page=gr&GRid=76005626 has customary sentiments of mortality from the late 18th century inscribed on it, but tells nothing of the circumstances of his death, and perhaps for good reason. One must delve into the print media of their time to learn the real story.

The May 25, 1790 issue of the Concord Herald reported that thirty-year old Kendrick had "in a fit of delirium, finished his existence by hanging himself in his barn. His wife found him suspended by a bridle, which she immediately cut and set him down...but Death had closed him in his iron jaws!"

Even more disturbing at the end of this obituary was the following disclosure: "It is a little remarkable, that the father, and a brother, of Mr. K. had died of delirium, in the course of a year." Could this actually be true?

The sad headstones in Hollis silently speak to us. On March 17, 1789 twenty-two year old Caleb Kendrick, Daniel's younger brother, had indeed passed away, though we will never the true cause of his death http://www.findagrave.com/cgi-bin/fg.cgi?page=gr&GRid=76006995. Their father Daniel Kendrick Sr., a Revolutionary War veteran and town selectman, died soon after in May 1789, and his gravestone can be viewed here: http://www.findagrave.com/cgi-bin/fg.cgi?page=gr&GRid=76005685.

For the remaining members of the Kendrick clan, which included included thirteen year old John Kendrick, his older sister Hannah, and his mother Hannah, these must have been dark days indeed. They had buried three men of their family within a year but tried to preserve some sort of social decorum and normalcy by hiring New Hampshire stone carver John Ball to erect markers in memory of their loved ones. For more than a decade, the Kendricks persevered until another devastating tragedy would claim the surviving members of the family.

"Melancholy Relation": April 1805

Fifteen years after the dark days of 1789-90, the youngest of the Kendrick children John had begun to exhibit signs of the same mental illness (possibly depression) which had claimed the lives of his father and older brothers. The newspaper reports of the time are eerily reminiscent of those which followed the Newtown massacre; they tell of warning signs ignored and failed attempts to avert an impending tragedy. According to Amherst's own newspaper, John Kendrick "for several years past discovered symptoms of insanity; but had generally been able to conduct his business...and when well, was sober and regular in his deportment." (1)

But in April 1805, his behavior had become so alarming that the Kendrick's neighbors went to their house and "made his situation the subject of conversation with his mother and sister, who, though sensible to his derangement, were unwilling anything should be mentioned to him, or that it should be generally known." Like Nancy Lanza more than two hundred years later, Mrs. Kendrick was unfortunately paralyzed and lulled into a false sense of security by  innate love for her son, and the refusal to believe that John was capable of doing harm to himself and others;  "This reluctance in them undoubtedly arose from the severe sufferings which the family had before experienced , in consequence of insanity...The mother and sister doated on this only remaining son and brother...and therefore were unwilling his failings should be made public." But this inability to face their family's issues would cost them their lives.

At nine on the morning of April 22, John Kendrick appeared like a demon at the door of his neighbor, "his hands red with blood...for his mother, he said, was dead, and his sister nearly so." When the alarmed neighbors arrived at the Kendrick homestead, they were greeted with a revolting scene of carnage. Mrs. Kendrick had been  "mangled in a manner to shocking to relate" and his sister inflicted with twenty fatal wounds with various tools and objects in their house, "such as the leg of a chair, a cane, a hammer, a pair of tongs...To describe the scene of horror would be too much for the finer feelings of nature." John Kendrick was immediately placed in the town jail, where he awaited a trial that never came. Below is a haunting description of him in the wake of the murders of his sister and mother:

One cannot blame John for not wanting to wear the clothes splattered with his mother's and sister blood, which suggests he was certainly capable of feeling remorse for his deadly deeds. But it is ironic that in the weeks that followed, the household goods and even clothes of the Kendrick family were sold off. I wonder who would have purchased the vestiges of this horrific tragedy?

 

By the time of this public auction, John Kendrick himself was dead, perhaps from sickness or suicide. (2) The fact that he was buried near his victims, and his father and brothers who had all committed suicide is in itself interesting, as there was a tradition in Anglo-America to not allow the bodies of those who had committed suicide to be buried inside the sacred ground of a cemetery. In fact, not too far away in 1806, when a man in Hallowell, Maine murdered his family and killed himself, diarist and midwife Martha Ballard recorded that he was buried in the middle of the road outside the cemetery. (3)  But in a span of a few months, new headstones appeared in the Hollis cemetery, which spoke nothing of the tragedy that had obliterated an entire family:
John Kendrick: http://www.findagrave.com/cgi-bin/fg.cgi?page=gr&GRid=76006027

His mother: http://www.findagrave.com/cgi-bin/fg.cgi?page=gr&GRid=76006189

His sister: http://www.findagrave.com/cgi-bin/fg.cgi?page=gr&GRid=76005534

In June 1805, the remainder of the Kendrick's possessions were put up for sale, but one wonders who would have wanted to attend an auction at the scene of a double murder?

Apparently, the house was inhabited after the Kendrick atrocity, but according to a local history website, the house was haunted. It also affords us a view of what the haunted Kendrick home site looks like today long after it vanished: http://www.hollisnh.org/windowsonhollispast/historicSites/sitesAcrossHollis/sites/035-063.htm 

Like the media today in the wake of Newtown, newspaper editors in 1805 did not shy away from expressing what they thought should be done to prevent future incidents. In April 1805, the editor of the Farmer's Cabinet preceded contemporary calls for government intervention: "We would leave the fact on record, as a solemn warning, against allowing insane and distracted persons the privilege of doing mischief, by permitting them to go at liberty. We think it worthy of legislative attention." But in the wake of Kendrick tragedy of 1805, New Hampshire would take nearly another thirty-five years to erect a facility specifically for the treatment of the mentally ill. That is a story for another time. But the desperate pleas to improve the treatment of the mentally ill and protect those around them have remained unanswered because mental illness is still a taboo subject that has not received proper attention in our society. But if there is to be change, it must start in the homes of America, not the hollow halls of government.Unlike the Kendrick family, we need to stand united against our inner demons and not be ashamed to get our loved ones help if they need it. But let us hope we take more effective and immediate action in the wake of the enormous tragedy of our own time before it happens again.

Endnotes

1. Farmer's Cabinet, April 30, 1805. All subsequent quotes in this paragraph are from this paper, which was printed in Amherst for most of the nineteenth century.

2. Farmer's Cabinet, May 21, 1805.

3. Laurel Thatcher Ulrich, A Midwife's Tale: The Life of Martha Ballard, based on Her Diary 1785-1812 (Vintage Books: New York, 1990), 291-296.