Friday. 13th July, 1838

This morning, in a spontaneous and unlooked for outpouring of gratitude and affection, for the which I had long prepared, a large group of Colonists appeared at my door in order to present me with an address signed by close to four hundred within the Province.

I need hardly add that a number of prominent signatures were missing from the document and I shall treasure it all the more for their absence.

Charles Dutton read the thing out and looked very pleased with himself, although I imagine the grin will be wiped from his face pretty smartly come Sunday, when Widow Harvey takes possession of his kitchen.

The address itself praised me as a man of "integrity", which is more than can be said for some, and as a "kind friend, affectionate husband, and indulgent father". Mrs Hindmarsh gave me a dig in the ribs with her elbow at the "affectionate husband" and Mary seemed to develop an unfortunate cough at the "indulgent father" but otherwise all was sunshine and rainbows.

I proceeded to give them the usual flannel about a bright and golden future and respect for the Law and Religion as well as getting in a couple of digs at Fisher which were met with knowing chuckles and sniggers.

I gave them the "thank you all" and "you've all done very well!" and shut the proceedings down before Rev Howard could rise to his feet with "a word in due season".

It was at that point that Strangways chose to tell me that a light luncheon would be offered to the guests and that I would then "mingle".

Mingle? I do many things and many of them I do well, but mingle I do not. This is what comes of it being Friday 13th, I suppose.

Besides Howard and Dutton, there were a number of the better sort there. Lipson, Stevenson, Wyatt, Stevenson, Jickling and Hutchinson were present. Gilles was there, at least in the flesh, although his spirit was soaking in a bottle somewhere.

But many of the party were persons connected in some way with Trade and even a number of Farmers. I am not, I hope, one who looks down on those of a lower station, but the presence of these horny handed sons of toil made "mingling" even more of a trial.

The farmers kept approaching me, smelling faintly of cow manure, to say comforting things such as "Ah, better 'alf a proper wurzel 'an a rotten tattie!" or "ne'er 'oo be afeared, for many a mickel macks a muckel". All I could do was to assume a neutral expression and say "So true!"

Luncheon was served and I noticed Dutton toying with his food and looking puzzled, so that "mingling" also became a game of "Avoid Dutton". I fear it dawned upon him that perhaps his employment of the Vice-Regal cook was not the bargain he hoped.