Spent the day quietly at home, occupied in writing up these heavy arrears of Diary. I have not made so much progress in this work as I ought. The numerous little duties which have intervened prevented me and the unsettled feeling which I have not hitherto been able to get over. Here it seems as if I could not fix myself at all. The time runs away without any useful purpose accomplished or even an idea that it passes.

In the afternoon Mr. W. Spear called here, and my father, he and I went up together to see the ground in front of the house and examine the places where a survey might be made. It is agreed between us that the Surveyor shall be here on Wednesday morning for the purpose of marking out the ground. This appears like making slight progress. The report that I am about to build a house has gone about very much among the people in Quincy and a degree of importance has been attached to it far beyond what it really merits. The great increase of their business has gone far to turn their heads and no limits now appear to the extent of their visions of future prosperity. I hope it is tolerably well founded, but as yet I cannot at all realize it. Evening, call with my father at Mr. Daniel Greenleaf’s, Mr. T. Greenleaf and his wife there.1 Nothing of consequence.