Morning to town. Engaged as usual in a diversity of pursuits connected with my father’s business and my own. Called upon Mr. Tarbell about sundry Writs he has intrusted to me and had some conversation with him which induced him to ask me to dinner. After having spent an hour looking at some of poor George’s old Journals, I went and dined with them. Found Mr. Fletcher there, and they were quite comfortable. In the afternoon, went up to the house and completed putting up my books as far as I was able but the bookcases are manifestly insufficient. I must have others made and after all, I must return many to Quincy. It became late before I had finished this business, and after going to the Office to shut up, though I had a boy who was a wretched country gawk. And gave me more trouble than good. I rode to Medford, stopped at the Tavern and walked to Mrs. Ward’s, where there was a Medford party. Stupid enough. She is old and infirm beyond belief. Her daughter was the person giving the entertainment. I felt a little low spirited and not very good company. After an hour and a half of ennui, we were dismissed and I returned to the Tavern, took my horse and rode to Mr. Brooks’.