Weather tolerably fair, yet I concluded to remain quietly at home. I have no engagements of any pressing nature in Boston, and my time is usually wasted rather unprofitably. I read a portion of the first book of Thucydides1 and I wrote a considerable part of my Diary which the distractions of the week had thrown in arrear.

In the afternoon I walked down to Mount Wollaston to see how the Orchard prospered and to do for it any thing I could in the way of pruning. I found the trees all alive, some of them however killed nearly to the ground and some looking quite sickly. And upon examination I dreaded the results of so unfavourable a Season. The succession of bad weather this Spring has been extraordinary and if it should continue much longer, there will be serious fears for the grain crops. The Corn looks ill and does not grow. And it is impossible to get any vegetables up. I spent the whole afternoon upon the Trees, returned home fatigued to Tea. Evening as usual.