A most extraordinary day for the season even finer than that yesterday. I went to the Office and was so much engaged there in occupation that I had not a very good opportunity for enjoying it. Mr. Walsh came in and sat a minute, and I afterwards began making out the account of Mr. Johnson which I finished and sent with a small remittance. This eases my mind very much. Home where I read Herodotus. Afternoon, writing for the most part. Evening at home, finished one volume of Mrs. Jamieson’s characteristics of women and began Lockharts Life of Walter Scott.1