Very mild and pleasant morning. The changes of our weather are most exceedingly strange. Received letters from home, mentioning the illness both of my father and brother, and their partial recovery.1 So that, I thank Heaven, my anxiety has not been of long duration. Time somewhat wasted today. The President has sent a Message to Congress which begins to dispel the thick Mist that hung over his course.2 Mr. Gourgas spent half an hour at my Office. Questions about the Medford Farm. Difficulty with the Proprietors of the Railroad.3 Mr. E. Blake also called in for a moment, to inquire about the Middlesex Canal for the second time. I told him, I was entirely ignorant.4

Took a walk. Met Misses Dehon and accompanied them. The eldest is sensible and conversible and I was quite pleased.5 Afternoon, attended a Meeting of the Directors of the Boylston Market. Nothing done as usual. Might as well not have met. It is a tedious business, and I shall be very glad to get out of it. But I see no immediate prospect of doing so. Evening quietly at home. Caroline of Litchfield and Lady Craven. I afterwards attacked Wieland, but my German does somewhat lag behind hand.

Cloudy but mild. I went to the Office as usual and besides my regular duties, accomplished the concluding Chapter of Lingard’s eleventh volume. He dilates too much upon the reign of Charles. It is in the spirit of modern history to grow dull as it has to do with Parliamentary details. Debates are generally dry because the mass of speakers rarely do more than confuse a subject or at best leave it just where it was.

Took a walk as usual. Mrs. Angier dined and spent the day with my Wife.1 I passed the Afternoon in correcting my Article and re-writing a portion of it. I never should finish amending it. It is the last I try. Hallett does not publish any of my numbers and on the whole I do not see but my labours are pretty much at a stand still. Well, patiensia. It may come to good and if it does not, I do not feel worse situated than I was before. I worked most of the evening. One more Afternoon, and I give the very last touch I put upon that labour. Then it must go upon the waters. Mr. Beale came in and saw Mrs. Angier and spent the evening. I did nothing, but read the World.

A very wet, dirty day. I went to the Office but did not succeed in effecting much. As I had no other volume of Lingard at my room, I was obliged to go to the Athenaeum for one, and this excursion led me to examine the Newspapers there until I had no farther time for any thing. Took my usual walk. Afternoon somewhat wasted. Mrs. Angier dined with us and went away directly afterwards. I tried to 16write a little of my Article but the vein was not in me. It is a little singular how unequally I feel in this respect. Sometimes my pen flows easily, at others it drags as if it was loaded with lead.

Evening, went to the Theatre, in company with Mr. and Mrs. Miller, Mrs. Angier and others. The Tempest adapted to Purcell’s music, and a Pageant in honour of Walter Scott. Mrs. Austin as Ariel with Mr. Horn for Ferdinand. The music is simple, light and airy. The duett at the close of the second Act was pretty and the Chorus tolerable. But the play is dreadfully mangled to suit to the Stage, and it went off heavily. As to the other thing, it was a miserable affair.1 We went home very much disappointed.