Wrote to my Father before breakfast.1
I then went to the Office where I passed the morning, with the exception of a short call at Mrs. Frothingham’s. The afternoon was spent there. Abby was in a fretful humour, and for the first time I discovered trouble in this quarter. But it is useless to forebode.
“I have set my life upon a cast,
And I will stand the hazard of the die.”2
In the evening we went to Mrs. Gorham’s accompanied by George.
This young man feels disposed to admire this lady’s daughter, but I apprehend he will find small encouragement. He wants a fashionable exterior, to the semblance of which he attempted to shape himself and became in consequence “grotesque.” But I am severe. Abby was not in good temper and I came home a little melancholy. Midnight.