Cold and rainy. I notwithstanding made up my mind to go to Quincy, which I accordingly did. The ride was a long one through the Country, but I came home by the way of the town. The moisture has given very great beauty to all the vegetation but it looks cheerless. At Quincy, found Mr. Spear, but did not find the man who was to execute the Leases. Thus my trip was wasted. Nevertheless I looked over the garden which generally looks well. The Peach trees however appear to be suffering exceedingly with some unknown disorder. Dined at Quincy, and returned. It is more than thirty miles to come and return the way I did. I had little or no time and no great inclination for occupation afterwards, but I skimmed along the pages of Horace Walpole’s first volume. I read the third some time ago.1 This being the one relating to his father’s fall from power interests me much more.