I had intended going over with my Wife and children to Quincy this morning, but after studying out the weather I thought the probabilities were against us and having been so caught the time before, concluded to leave them behind me and go with Mr. Brooks.

At Boston, I was occupied at the Office and begin to enjoy the comfort of my new situation very much. It is more quiet and warmer than my former position. One or two called upon business and I was so engaged in commissions that the time flew.

Went to Quincy. Found my Mother sitting up but not very amiable. Just in the irritable state which a particular stage of strength or weakness creates. I nevertheless feel encouraged in the hope of her more rapid recovery. The whole force of this last blow being now suffered, I am now entertaining a better feeling than I have had about it for weeks.

My father writes me but as yet without any method.1 I spent the afternoon in my Mother’s room and the evening with the exception of only about an hour of Ovid in conversation with Mrs. Smith upon many very painful scenes of the past, reviewing the late misfortunes of the family and it’s bitter disappointments. Lessons of wisdom to those who remain—Purchased dearly and perhaps not duly profited by.