The direction of the wind was changed this morning, but we nevertheless had a showery day. I concluded not to go to town. Occupied during the morning in reading Thucydides who becomes more interesting as he begins to describe the War between Corcyra and Corinth which gave rise to that of the Peloponesus.

The afternoon was passed reading Seneca with the exception of a little time passed in the garden. The Record of my days becomes more and more monotonous as I advance more into a quiet undisturbed way of life. Settled as we now are, it seems impossible to imagine any thing more secluded, yet to me it is very far from unpleasant.

In the evening my Mother concluded to make us a variety by going in to Boston and hearing the Messrs. Herrman. These are German Singers who have been making a tour of this Country with success.1 We arrived in time and found a full and fashionable audience at the Masonic Temple. They are remarkable as singing in perfect taste and thorough harmony. But they want the relief of higher Notes and a better Room. For this did not appear to give the necessary sound. As Choristers I can hardly imagine any thing more perfect. We reached Quincy at about eleven, having performed our exploit without any difficulty and with some pleasure.