The second of my letters appeared today and reads so well that I think it will not fail of an effect. I have got beyond the time for being smothered, I suspect. There appears however at the head of it a distinct announcement of the editor’s disposition not to be responsible for them which looks as if he had been assaulted about them.1

I went to Quincy where I found things advancing. The interior of the house begins to look like a human habitation. I gave a multitude of directions which may be of service during my absence and found many things done as directed. Home. The soft Southerly wind made it feel a very different thing today from Monday, and my return particularly was pleasant. Home.

Afternoon resumed my coins which have suffered a few days interruption by my other work. Evening Mr. and Mrs. Frothingham came and passed an hour very pleasantly. They come without form and take a little something sociably and go early. I sent today my last letter to Mr. Biddle. These four letters have cost me no great labour to write and yet on the whole I like them as well as any thing I ever did.