Market and so forth which makes a late morning. I felt today anxious about my little girl who had scratched her hand with a nail and appeared otherwise unwell. That affair of Fry last summer has made me excessively nervous in these matters.

Occupied at Office, drawing up the Account as it now stands between my father and myself, then a walk down to see the House in Tremont Street according to agreement. It needs much repairing indeed, and the Tenants do not seem of that class for whom repairing is of much use. They are careless and not over neat.

Home. Late for Sophocles but began Antigone and read a hundred lines. Afternoon, coins. I am now in the lower Empire when the designs become almost barbarous. In the evening, a ball at Mrs. S. Appleton’s where I went. A splendid affair. The house is very showy, and gives one a better notion of entertainment than any I have seen.1 I remained late although not in spirits and not amused.