The day was pleasant, although it afterwards became cloudy. I went to the Office as usual, where I was busily occupied in my common avocations of Accounts and writing, after which I began my German, but was interrupted by Mr. Conant from Weston, bringing me the first fruits of the Sale of Wood on the third. The amount was but small, and not as I hope any presage of what it is likely to be.

Presently, John Kirke my fathers Servant came in to let me know he was sent for us and accordingly I was obliged to prepare myself to go. We started at a little after one o’clock and reached Quincy before three. I found my Mother dull and cold in her manner of receiving us, and my father as kind as he commonly is. I am satisfied from what I hear that the proper course should have been to have started long ago, but as it is, this is better than remaining the Winter.1

I sat in conversation with my father all the afternoon, and we looked over the Garden, considering what should be done for the future. After which we discussed all his arrangements. In the evening I discussed the Comic Annual2 and read passages aloud, to the amusement of the family but on the whole, it is a most indifferent production. The humour is of the gross kind and forced beyond the usual bounds, even of such things. We were tolerably comfortable although I felt quite strangely in my new Quarters at first.3