I left Medford this morning, one of our cold but most beautiful days of Autumn. In Boston at the Office engaged in looking over and making a disposition of old papers, regulating accounts &ca. Nothing material. Received a very short letter from my father communicating nothing and answered it in much the same manner.1 Returned to Quincy.

Found my Mother better, and full of making her arrangements for her Journey. She wishes to fix some day this week. I accidentally said Saturday and she fixed it so. This will make my going come on Monday which is full early. But as it is on every account desirable that we should get off I must brush up my neglected business to start. I occupied the afternoon in planting the remainder of my father’s seeds left for that purpose and in the evening continued Ovid and German.