It rained last night but was clear in the morning. I read some of Constant, and went to the office. Most of my time was taken up by the Conants who came in to settle the Lease. One of them found me more decided than I have been accustomed to be upon the article of rent. He brought me in his usual account for labour which I did not admit, as the provision of the Lease was that it was not to be asked for unless they should not clear themselves upon the farm. Hay is the great product of the farm, and it is perfectly absurd to imagine that with hay at its present and ruling price within the year they should not have cleared themselves. It is true on the other hand that labour was high and the corn failed. Yet Silas Conant did not affirm he had not cleared himself, and his brother when appealed to was totally silent. I put off the day of settlement by agreement to Monday.

Walk. Benjamin Constant. His book fails occasionally in interest, and I read it at the very worst time in the day for my benefit. Cicero’s Tusculan which as my Wife was out I continued in the evening. It is very charming. I wish I could possess myself of half his elegance of style. Went for my Wife at Mrs. Frothingham’s. Miss Mary and Miss Ann Dehon with their brother. The first sung several songs with little or no expression, but as I thought, correctly, not being an exact judge. Home at ten.