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.

The morning was again clear and lovely. I went to the office however feeling heavily and not yet free from head ach. My time was taken up in writing my usual record and in removing my books and book cases thus commencing my start to a new room. Whether my project succeed or not of letting this one, I am at any rate under a much less heavy charge to my father—As I shall take good care of a room liable to be abused, and render it respectable while I am in it. I only completed the thing partially as I was obliged to return hence early for the purpose of preparing myself to go to Medford, to pay the last tribute to the remains of Mrs. Brooks. My notice appeared this morning and caused some sensation—The members of the family ascribing it to Dr. Stevenson or to Mr. Palfrey.1 Mr. Frothingham paid it a very pretty compliment. He arrived this morning, and upon Abby, Chardon and his wife and my reaching Medford we found him and the rest of the family assembled. Mr. Brooks behaved with tolerable composure, and the children acted naturally and without affectation. There was no superfluous and overstrained grief, it was silent, noise-172less and gave room for the sympathy of others. Mr. Stetson made a tolerably appropriate Prayer, though not so possessed of the kind of feeling which in my mind a Clergyman should have. The idea would force itself into my mind that the being acting for us was worldly, and not possessed of that high sense of the end of his vocation which exalts the spirit to speak in the tones of power to men. But still the prayer was by no means bad.

Those who came from Boston were a considerable number, besides the connexions of the family. We followed the body to it’s final resting place, and I felt my eyes tingle as the last duties were performed. I looked at the face, contrary to my common practice and I was struck with the placid state of the Features expressing the uncommon quiet of the mind when it departed. On returning home, to Mr. Brooks, we did not wait, but came back to Boston where we passed the Evening quietly.