The Season just begins to show signs of moderating. It is somewhat late in the month of March to do so, but in this as in many other things it may truly be said, “better late than never.” The preceding is a very silly remark.

I went to the Office. No news from home. Occupied as usual. Mr. Sparks gives me more of a trial of patience than he deserves. He is dry and hard in his manner. Took a walk. Afternoon somewhat shortened by having Mr. Brooks dine with me. He appears to enjoy life more than ever. He has been a prosperous as well as an industrious man. He has gone through life upon principles which ensure success to a certain extent, though he has gone by the assistance of fortune far beyond it. Read Cardinal de Retz. Passages are dry. They contain details of intrigues in the Parliament of Paris. Finished Voltaire’s Account which is the least interesting work of his that I have ever read.

Evening, Mrs. Adams and I paid a visit to a bride, Mrs. J. T. Stevenson. He is the Dr. S’s brother and looks very much like him. A good deal of company. We remained half an hour and upon our return stopped in at our neighbour Fullerton’s. A musical party. I went in because we had been several times invited and declined.1 Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair and several other singers. I knew but few of the people. Mr. and Mrs. W. Lee, Miss Mary Otis and the Dixwells.2 The singing was good, and we did not return until nearly midnight.