Morning cold. I went to the Office as usual and passed my time in making up my deficiency of Diary and in Accounts. It had been my purpose to do more but without success. I called at the Advocate Office and saw the Editor for a moment but he appeared to be having about him a council of persons. Mr. W. Foster and A. H. Everett. I therefore remained but an instant. Then to the Athenaeum where I called upon Persico the artist who is now here making busts of Dr. Channing and Mr. E. Everett.1 They are both good but especially the latter.

Home where I went over the 12th Satire of Juvenal again, then to Mr. Brooks’ to dine. A family party. Edward and P.C. Jr. and Mr. Frothingham, P. R. Dalton and myself. Tolerable. Home to tea. Evening quiet reading Dacre to my Wife and afterward writing a letter in answer to my father.2