Morning at the Office, reading Blackstone. The weather begins to give signs of relenting. At twelve, I went with George to Quincy to see about my trees, and was engaged during the whole afternoon in transplanting some of the trees which I put down last year. They succeeded uncommonly well during the last year, but the accidents and
neglect to which they were subjected checked them somewhat. My Uncle this day vacated the house, an event I have long looked for but which when it came surprised me. The mansion looks melancholy and old and ill used and gave me many ideas which I would have preferred not to have had, but so it must be. Returned to town early.