Morning extremely rainy, wet and uncomfortable. I remained at
home until ten o’clock waiting for George, who promised to come and take me to Quincy. He arrived at last and we started in the midst of a disagreeable storm. Our ride was about as unpleasant as it possibly could be. The object I had in view was to attend the dedication of the New Church in Quincy, to plant the acorns my father gave to my charge, and to obtain the things which I had left in my Summer’s residence here. The day cleared off bitterly cold before the services were finished. They were not at all of an impressive character to my mind, but I differ so much from others in these feelings that my tastes are to me troubles.1
My Uncle Adams had a dinner provided for many and it was as uncomfortable as they usually are. Unfortunately for me my ideas of this place are never associated with comfort or pleasure. And inasmuch as the News of today2
confirms us in the belief that it must shortly become the residence of my father, these reflections are hardly of an agreeable character. On the whole, however, I feel grateful that this information should have been delayed until the defeat gives me no great trial. The very evening that finds me safely housed with a private family brings news which among crowds would be productive of much pain. My Journey has been accomplished and the whole is over. George and I rode into town in a bleak north west wind and I was glad to find a comfortable fire.