Morning pleasant, but it turned out a damp and disagreeable day. I went to the Office and wrote my Journal as usual, but my head did not feel in good order. Saw Mr. Brooks’ man Foster who came to town with Chardon, and announced to me that Mrs. B. expired last night at twelve o’clock. Thus is the melancholy scene closed. I have been for some time expecting it but yet I feel a regret at having lost an indulgent Mother and a kind friend.

I presented my Account of my brother’s Estate this day to the Judge of Probate who accepted it and thus closed that affair. This was all the business I did, and as I was going home to see my Wife, I met Chardon who gave me a little thing to do which puzzled me a little. 170It was to get a plate for the Coffin. I never had been called to perform a similar Office but after going around to ascertain some distance, I found the proper person and gave the necessary directions.1 Knowledge of this kind is useful in practical life for it may often help a friend. I know but little of it. I then ordered Mourning and afterwards went home. The constant friends of Abby, Miss Julia Gorham and Miss Carter were with her during the morning. I found her something better than I expected. We dined alone, and I passed the afternoon in trying to finish the Inventory of George’s Affairs to deliver to my father. But I could not quite succeed. This last part is a tedious business.

After tea, I read aloud to my Wife a part of Clarissa Harlowe and finished the 7th of 8 volumes. It is a little long but still quite interesting. My Nerves and stomach were however so much out of order that I did not enjoy it. The excitement has been considerable and painful. After Abby retired, I tried to write a little Notice of her Mother, as my small tribute for the affection which she expressed for me on her dying day, but my head was in such pain that I am fearful I did not do justice to my subject. I retired in much suffering.

Morning again delightful. I went to the Office, and was occupied in continuing the abstract of my brother’s Inventory. This took me nearly the whole morning—A very tedious and not an agreeable job. The result I am also a little in anxiety about. I finished however my little tribute to the memory of Mrs. Brooks and sent it to the Newspaper.1 It is not so good as I wish it was, but I do not now feel capable of doing any thing better. My head is not great at writing. I am unable to produce any thing very extraordinary or striking. But Mr. Brooks should pardon the effort in the good intention.

As Abby was occupied at Mrs. Frothingham’s in working, I went down to dine there. She looks better than she did, though still apparently an invalid. Mr. F. her husband has not yet returned which to her was matter of great regret.2

After dinner I went home and passed the afternoon in my study reading Demosthenes in which I progressed exceedingly. There are some difficulties occasionally but I have so many good Notes and commentaries that I get along easily. I attempted another number 171upon Oratory but without spirit. How much writing in it’s effect dwindles from the inspiration in which it is written. My ideas are not strong enough. The truth is that today I fell into a kind of melancholy train of ideas. My ambition seems to have lost it’s tone, my mind it’s hopes. I look to the future with some dread, for what will be likely to turn out as the result. My father must be my adviser and advocate in cases where I may feel too weak to stand for myself. The evening was passed in my Study reading Walker’s Rhetorical Grammar,3 a book I do not incline to think very favourably of. It makes too much of small matters. My Wife returned at nine, and I tried to sit up and read Lord Kaimes but found myself quite unable from weariness.