Cool. Carriage to Quincy. Funeral. Home. Evening quiet.

After a little business at the Office, I joined my Wife at the house and we went in a Carriage to Quincy with Louisa and John, and Richard G. Greenleaf. Of course little was done there or thought of but the funeral which took place after an early dinner.

There were only the few citizens of our acquaintance. Mr. Wolcott read the Episcopal service in a very hard wooden manner, after which Mr. Lunt made a prayer in a manner peculiarly impressive and of a most affecting character. A short procession followed and we committed the remains of the poor child to the tomb.

Twenty one years ago I followed the same road for the first time after the decease of my grandmother and since then how many changes have taken place. How many of our family have since been gathered in to the same inclosure who were then warm with life and hope in how many cases disappointed. The idea is a melancholy one. This poor little one has no memory to leave behind her but a pleasing one to her friends as she was lovely in her youth and innocence and simplicity beyond most children of her age. May God have mercy upon her and upon the survivors of her race.

We returned home shortly after the ceremony, leaving my Mother ill in her bed from the effects of the exertion she has made.1 Dull and melancholy evening.