The wind was blowing hard from the South west and it looked a little as if it might rain when I started with Mr. Ayer in my Gig to go to Quincy. Having reached there I earnestly set about work, first in laying out the ground not yet marked out with the Carpenter, and then in setting out some trees that I had procured a day or two since. My time was actively taken up, and I was glad to see some indications of the same in others. The frame is now nearly all done and it remains to raise it which I am promised will take place tomorrow, although I have very little confidence in the fulfilment. The delay hitherto has been great.

I returned at noon. Homer. Afternoon at home. Letter from my father still further delaying his return until I begin to doubt his coming at all.1 This a little discouraging to me as I should have liked their coming early this year. But in small things I have my share of disappointments and remain content with the reflection that they are small. Plutarch and Agathon.

Evening, called with my wife upon Governor Everett and his lady. Mr. and Mrs. Frothingham came in. Home where I read a powerful scene or two from Notre Dame.