I have unwittingly written what happened on Tuesday when I should in the order of time have been recording what happened on the previous day. This obliges me to insert it out of turn.1 I went to town 425in my own Gig. Morning at the Office. Called at Mr. Brooks’ and found that I and my two letters written on Thursday and Friday were here simultaneously. I then after talking with him, wrote her a third letter which carried the thing through it’s various phases.2 Feeling obliged to wait here for letters from my Mother until evening, I did not think it worthwhile to go to Medford myself as I should be able to reach there only very late in the evening. Passed some time in recording the eventful and voluminous occurrences of the past week.

But finding nothing to do in the afternoon, I passed it in reading Mrs. Opie’s Illustrations of Lying.3 Her philosophy is too high wrought for life as it is, and though our good sense agrees directly with much which she brings forward, yet by driving the line too far she weakens what is really likely to affect. It is too true, that people who always tell truth are not the most attractive and fascinating, they are never the most popular, and to many this is and ever will be the strongest inducement. You must alter human nature. After going to the Post Office and finding nothing from New York I rode to Quincy, though not until it was late. Found Mr. Wallenstein there, a short visit only. Fatigued and retired.