Morning mild and cloudy with Easterly Winds. I went to the Office and was engaged in writing my Diary most of my time. Took a walk at noon with Mr. Peabody and went home quite fatigued. I waste a good deal of valuable time and perhaps this may be one cause for my low spirits. Afternoon, wrote to my father.1 My letter was a poor and a lame one but I have tried anew so often that I am in fact discouraged. I finished this at a venture. Received one sheet of proof which I corrected immediately.

Evening, Rain. We went out notwithstanding to a small party at Mrs. J. Quincy’s. About fifty and generally selected from the upper crust, as it is called. A very handsome Supper, but the thing was on the whole quite dull. I do not know why I should go into Company for I take little pleasure in it. The mere idea of duty is perhaps as strong as any thing. We returned shortly after ten. I read the Connoisseur.