The weather which for some days has been windy and boisterous is now settling into
a clear cold, and announcing to us the approach of Winter. Morning occupied in writing.
Little of any consequence has taken place of late and my Journal is more dull than
usual. I feel anxious to be in Boston, and still feel a little disagreeably at the
idea of the life I must lead when I get there. Time is now passing over rapidly however.
I went to ride with my Mother, and found it quite cold, the Carriage being open. Afternoon
passed in reading Mr. Burke and evening much as usual.