I went to the Office this morning but remained in it a very short time being attracted to be present at an auction of Christmas things where however I purchased only such things as I wanted of any cost. But in order to get a pair of lamps I had to wait until quite late.

Home where I had a short time to read Herodotus. Afternoon amused myself with a volume of the Correspondance Secrète which however falls off in the fourth volume. The French are a gay and volatile and a vicious people but their literature is amusing.

Evening, went to a Concert of Madame Caradori’s with my Wife, Mrs. Everett and her two daughters. The room was I think more full than on Friday and every distinguished person was there. These are aristocratic assemblages enough. She sung three Italian pieces of great execution, all of which she executed with very great clearness and beauty. Her voice is naturally one of great sweetness and melody and she has received a very good musical education. Perhaps she is more pleasing than Mrs. Wood, because her taste is more unexceptionable, yet I confess the notes of the latter overpowered me more.1 Fabi is respectable without melody, and with little expression, Comer is quite insupportable.2 Home early. Writing.