Morning looked cloudy and threatening but it passed off and was fine. I was at my house most of the morning superintending the variety of work that was going on there. The stones are now in the course to their destined spots, which materially aids the encumbered ground. As I approach to a termination of the work, it seems to me that I become rather more impatient.

At one I went in my Gig accompanied by my father to Squantum to attend the usual annual dinner of the Proprietors of Neponset Bridge. The succession of bad days in the month of September which they have experienced of late years has induced them to change the day to this month. The wind was nevertheless east today and it was just comfortable. The company consisted of the usual persons, subtracting Mr. Daniel Greenleaf and Mr. Whitney who have heretofore attended and adding Mr. Frothingham, who was a real acquisition. The conversation was not general, but at one end of the table was of a higher character than usual. I can say that I enjoyed it far better than any thing of the kind for many years. Home to tea and quiet evening.