B--[Boston] still persists, and where old people live who think our Independence of Britain a mistake,--or I go up to look at the new Athenaeum, the library room in which is finished and is the handsomest I ever saw. Through all the varied scenes I continue to represent the country interest,--my pockets have, no doubt, been explored by the inquisitive fingers of professional gentlemen from New York over and over again. Probably they know me by this time, and look upon me as no better than a Sodom apple. Perhaps they continue their investigations from habit, as Jonathan Wild used to sound the pockets of Count La Ruse, though he knew that there was nothing in them. Then I meet M., and loading myself with her various bundles we find our way to the station again, and “so home,” as Pepys says. So much for Wednesday. Thursday morning I went after some pear trees I had bought, and set them out. During the rest of the morning I employed myself in scraping trees. After dinner scraped more. After tea sit down to write my article for the S--[Anti-slavery standard]. Got half through a prose one,
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