Cloudy. Office, division as usual. Evening at home.

Morning taken up at the Office. Accounts becoming somewhat complicated and therefore require to be placed in full. Nothing further of interest. Alcestis. Coins and Crevier.

My life is now extremely regular and hardly seems to justify much recording. I find my amount of work is not nearly so much as when I am at Quincy. The morning and evening are both against my present arrangement. Yet time passes very fast and as it seems to me almost without impressing a moral with it. I grow older and as this impresses itself upon me I feel now and then on a dull day at this season of the year a moment of depression. Such was the case today.

Read to my Wife a farce called High life below Stairs. Finished my letter.