I went to Boston this morning in my own way, and passed by the blackened walls which are all that remain of the Convent. The feeling that came over me was one of the most affecting I ever experienced. The illiberality of our people has always been known to me but I had always supposed their love of order such that it would prevent any public exhibition of it. It seems I was mistaken and that there stands now a monument far more striking than that of Bunker hill to call up emotions of horror and disgust.
My father came into town with the Carriage which is to return with 361my Wife and family to Quincy. Mr. Odiorne and Mr. Henry D. Ward called to see him but he had gone. At one, I went to Quincy. Found my mother in good health. Afternoon quietly at home. Read much of Mr. Jefferson’s Letters which grew more malignant as he grew older. The passions of the man did not soften nor did he arrive at any of those good feelings in human nature which attach us to character. Read Ovid and a little of German. Evening. Conversation. There was a very severe thunder shower which lasted some hours during the night and made us quite uncomfortable.