Fine day. I went to Boston and passed my morning in a variety of occupations. Went to the house where I found the Carpenter at work in preparing for the arrival of the Painter. Tomorrow the latter begins. I also spent a little while upon ‘change and a little upon Bradford’s History which I am sure I find more dry than any thing I have yet examined.1 Thus passed my time until the hour of return. One thing lightened my heart considerably and that was the news from New 152York of Henry Brooks which was quite encouraging. Poor fellow. I hope he will be able to weather it this time. After dinner, I had time only to write my Diary, read an Eclogue of Virgil and copy a very little of my task. In all this, Hutchinson does not progress. I am not without reflecting a good deal upon it, however. Evening quiet at home—Reading a little.