Wrote a letter to my Mother this morning.1 At the Office. Black-225stone. George received letters from both my Parents expecting him at Washington.2 He will probably go this week ensuing. My mother is also anxious to have me go, but I have a great indifference to it, and independently of that I don’t think I can leave Abby. Took a warm bath this morning for the first time this winter. After dinner, read as usual, took a walk with E. H. Derby3 and passed the evening in my usual avocations having thus finished decidedly the most industrious week of my residence in Boston.

Reading Plato this morning. Started at 9 o’clock for Medford. All the individuals of the Brooks family were there and attended Church to hear prayers on account of the death of Ward. The minister who officiated was not lucky in his performances, they being prosy and spiritless. I went again in the afternoon. They returned early to Boston. Conversation with Abby and moments of happiness.

As Chardon Brooks drove my Gig home last Evening, I returned to town with Mr. Brooks. The weather was rainy and dull. Found a letter from my Mother evidently calculating upon my going there and felt regret that I should be obliged to disappoint her. But upon the most mature reflection I think it decidedly my duty not to go, and my inclination does not vary much from it. The fact is that I am a little tired with the tumult of a Washington life. But I do not remember that I ever had a stronger paroxysm of melancholy than today. It went much further than usual, and I did not recover it until I went to bed. My duties were performed much as usual. Moot Court in the evening and Executive Record without Cicero.