I rode through Boston to Medford this morning. Found Abby quite happy to see me again
and provoked a little at my staying quite so long away. The morning passed in conversation
and after dinner I drove her in my gig to Winter Hill1
where Mrs. Everett lives. Found her looking badly, and apparently in depressed spirits.
The reason is beyond me, but I have my suspicions.2
We returned to Medford in time to meet Mrs. Bainbridge at tea, and a Mr. Breed of
who was remarkable for a most atrocious deformity in his jaw which projected to such
a degree that the upper front teeth were always out of the mouth. Mr. Cambreleng was
there also, a quondam rival of mine. I remained at Medford.