Morning at the Office. Provoked to think that I had no letters. I am now so anxious to hear what they propose to do, that it worries me for I want to vacate my present abode, and do not like the idea of changing it for a Hotel. I read some of Chitty on Contracts and bought a Paper for my new Office which is going to be very pretty. I am afraid in this I was more extravagant than I ought to have been. Afternoon, engaged in reading Clarendon, which was very interesting. There is a very manly style about this which we do not find at the present day. Evening, in consequence of what I heard at tea of a letter from Abby Adams1 saying that my Mother was sick, I became alarmed and went to see Harriet Welsh who happened to have the letter with her. It was of a date three days earlier than mine from herself and said nothing about my Mother’s sickness, so that I felt relieved at it’s being a false alarm. Conversation. The letter was in the high flown style of that family and to me disgusting.