Morning at the Office. Engaged very busily all day in arranging my new Office, which is now ready for removal. I am pleased with it as it promises to be something permanent. It is probable that it will serve me for an Office during my life and this reflection is agreeable after having been tossed about as I have been from place to place. My brother’s papers are as yet an incumbrance, but I hope presently to make a disposal of these. The weather was very warm and it was Elec-382tion day, which is commonly a season of great bustle and noise, but with me today no inconvenience was perceived. In the afternoon, I continued reading Clarendon, though not now so interesting. The detail of the miserable intrigues of the Court faction is disgusting. Again no letters. I felt disappointed tonight because I begin to think that it is not at all probable, that my father proposes coming at present. Procrastination is the character of our family. In the evening, after paying a visit to Susan Tufts who is now sufficiently recovered to be about to return to Weymouth, I walked an hour on the Common.