Wednesday, March 12th

The promise has been well fulfilled. The rain began about four o'clock this morning, and has continued uninterruptedly heavy till night. The weather has evidently broken up for the season. The people, Andy and Caughey, all clustered together in our kitchen—we clustered in Wortley's now snug house, where we were very comfortable, and could have been even jolly, only that Turnbull lay very ill in the house. The wet does not invade us nearly so badly as on the last occasion. There is only a little pool near the door and a drop or two that comes through the roof. We dined and tea'd with Wortley and Maunsell in our own room. I sat on the Bench today and adjourned a case of desperate assault in which Lord F. Montagu was concerned, hoping that Mr Godley would be here to-morrow to assist me. Another day's delay in the launching of the yawl, and therefore the commencement of the house. Bread down to sixpence the two pound loaf.