A clear day although with a cold wind. I went to the Office and from thence to Quincy. How desolate every thing looked about the old 128house. How different from the life and animation of it but the other day. I found only Torbey the gardener who seemed to be crawling about the premises doing little although clinging with some anxiety to the spot. I gave him his directions and terminated his residence, much to his discomfiture.
But nothing at all had been done about the lumber. But a single load more sent, notwithstanding all the promises. This is provoking. I did not however entirely lose my labour for I saw Mr. Whiting the Mason and made an arrangement with him about the bricks which completes all that I have to do in the way of large materials.
Home to dinner. Afternoon, reading Grahame’s United States, and occasionally arranging papers which I do feebly and without steadiness. My spirits were not steady at all. They would not rally even under occupation as they commonly have done.