My dear child Eliza was taken ill of a fever on Sunday night & is as yet no better. Sent a letter & parcel to Mrs Emmerson with 'The Parish' & my new will for Mr Clutterbuck to draw up. Mrs Bellairs of Woodcroft Castle came to see my garden—Artis told me he fancied that the place in Harrisons close was a Roman pottery. I have since reccolected that there used to be a large hole about 2 stones throw from it called 'Potters Hole' when I was a boy & filled up since the Enclosure this may go far for his opinion.Lines 17-22 from 'The Parish':
Say groves of myrtle here in winter grow
& blasts blow blessings every time they blow
That golden showers in mercey fall to bless
The half thatchd mouldering hovels of distress
That edens self in freedoms infant sphere
Was but a desert to our Eden here
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