Morning at the Office as usual. My wife was not well and confined to her room. Mr. Grosvenor the purchaser of New’s Estate in Cambridge Street called to say that he found the Title defective and accordingly I examined it and agreed with him. This resulted in a most troublesome and unexpected manner—For I must either get a release from the heirs or sell it over again for whatever it will bring. And this last measure will produce nothing but loss. On the whole I think it is a matter of regret that I assumed this trust, for it will pay me little or nothing in comparison with the trouble attending it. I also read Mr. Quincy’s Address on the occasion of the Centennial Affair, and was quite pleased with it. The spirit of it is vastly different from that of almost every thing of the kind I have seen. It has more of the serious manliness of purpose becoming an Orator upon such an Occasion than the miserable seeking after effect commonly prompted by the personal interests of the Speaker.1

Upon returning home I found my Mother there who had come from Quincy to spend a few days, during Abby’s indisposition. In the afternoon I read Cicero and passed an hour longer of the evening, in reading the Life of Milton. After which, two papers of the Tatler.