Cold and very windy with rain. I went to the Office and occupied myself in my usual way. Mr. Mills, the Painter from Quincy, called and I paid him more than I think he is entirely deserving of. But he is old and infirm and probably the surplus is beneficial to him so that I made no difficulties. On the contrary I corrected an error in his bill which gave him something more. Read a little of Gibbon and took a walk. Then home. Found there Horatio Brooks who dined with us. He has returned from his Voyage pretty much the same kind of a genius that he went away. About as wild.

After dinner I continued my Catalogue, until it was time to start off for Medford. This was the day that had been fixed upon by us to close up the House for the Summer and live among our friends. I hope we shall find the benefit of it.1 The day was quite raw. Mr. Brooks sent in his Carriage for my Wife and the Baby, and I went out in my Gig. We arrived to tea and had a quiet evening among our friends. I did not read my Ramblers though I do not intend to discontinue them.