The day still continues the dull, cloudy weather. We received notice this morning that Mr. Everett’s child died last night.1 It has lingered in so painful a manner as to make this a relief, but, O God, what an agonizing relief, to part with a child, who has contributed to the pleasure of life perhaps in the most unalloyed shape in which it ever comes.

I went to the Office and was occupied as I have been every day almost constantly in matters of business. Mr. Collum from Quincy called for his Lease and gives encouraging Accounts of the Stone contracts. Other bills I settled. The day too bad to walk much. Home where I read Livy.

Afternoon at work upon my Letters to Slade. Mr. Hallett now publishes so fast I can hardly keep up with him—And I am in danger of not considering enough what I do write. My feeling in this occupation is not a satisfactory one and yet I know not how I can make it better. My time is employed though perhaps not so usefully as it might be. I would rather hear Operas, but the labour of life is more necessary to keep a man alive than its luxuries.

Mr. Brooks came in and took Tea. He has been very much interested in the fate of this poor child and feels it’s loss very much. Not much conversation on that account. He went early and there succeeded him Mr. and Mrs. Frothingham with whom I passed a very agreeable two hours. Did nothing afterwards.