The morning was cool, but as Mr. Brooks went to town alone I thought I would accompany him and not go in my own conveyance. He conversed much with me upon the Mount Wollaston Estate, and spoke of it as a valuable property to the family. I have thought so myself, but it cannot be made very available unless some member of the family itself undertakes to improve it. I have inclined to undertaking it myself, but my idea is rather speculation than practical. A house must be built, and with my limited means the idea is absurd. Yet it would be worth trying. To be sure I am no Farmer, and to be one, should begin quickly with the probability of great losses to get any experience. The undertaking is out of my line and on the whole I think it lucky, for my present way of life is proper enough, and has the advantage of certainty.

Morning passed at the Athenaeum where I wasted my time in superficial and desultory examination of books, getting from them nothing. Read Hutchinson a little and returned with Mr. Brooks. The afternoon was lazily passed. I lounged in the grove and went to sleep there, then took up the remaining Articles of the North American Review for July, but did not get through a sleepy discussion of Stewart.1 Miss Osgood, Mr. N. Hall and his sister Mary passed a short time here.