It continued to rain heavily until nearly noon today, and I think the quantity of water which fell was as great as at any time this season. I remained quietly at home writing and reading. Homer, and Humboldt, until it became sufficiently dry to enable me to walk up to Mr. Brigham’s and inquire about the glass, but he had received no answer. At this rate I am not likely to get my House glazed soon.

Afternoon it cleared away but the whole of the ground at my House appeared perfectly saturated with water. This is I believe, somewhat unusual to go so far into the season. At any rate, it is rather an inconvenience to me. I was engaged nevertheless in superintending the labour of Kirk who goes on slow and steady in accomplishing all that I wish. He has behaved himself thus far with remarkable character and sobriety, and if he could continue so, would earn a handsome living at all times. But alcohol is his bane. Evening at home. Conversation in my Mother’s room upon things in general.