Morning cloudy and threatening rain, but the wind rose and somewhat dispersed the clouds. I passed much of my time at the House, superintending as usual. We have got nearly through with the heavy work and are now about to proceed to the more agreeable duty of finishing. This will however take a long time. My carpenter threatens two months longer, in which case it will probably be three.

Walked up to see Mr. Brigham about the glass and saw the letter from the Agent which struck me with surprise. He either misunderstands very much the nature of the order given or he is disposed to be very rough. I must try and see him.

Home, read Homer, and Miss Martineau’s book upon America which has just come out and is making some noise.1 There is a great mixture of sense and absurdity, truth and pedantry in her writing. Afternoon, Wieland’s Abderites, of which there is too much. Evening at home.