The Storm howled through the night, but the morning was fair and bright and Autumnlike. After a good deal of conversation with my Mother in which she appeared calm and reasonable, I thought it safe to leave her for the sake of going to town, and from thence to Medford to communicate this intelligence to my Wife.

In Boston, I passed the greater part of my time at my Office in reflection and in writing to my father.1 Upon this trying occasion, it seems as if an opportunity was presented for consideration. The family of my father must assume a new position and upon that position will depend very much it’s future happiness. Knowing as well as I do the particular characters of it’s members, I cannot say that I have any great hope in futurity. It seems to me as clear as fate makes any thing future that my father has not the energy necessary to do what is absolutely requisite. And yet he will not suffer any body else to have that complete control which will answer the purpose.

I went to Medford with Mr. Brooks. Enjoyed for the remainder of the day, the prodigious luxury of the company of my Wife and children—A comparative absence from care in my own family for which I feel particularly thankful at this time.

I left Medford this morning in the Carriage with my Wife and Mr. Brooks. My morning was too much taken up in running about and trifles. Mr. Walsh came in and worried me a good deal, for I received two letters from my father both of which needed special attention which I was unable to bestow.1 The Carriage came in with Louisa C. Smith and to be left for repairs. I called to take her to Quincy to dinner.

Found my Mother much as I left her yesterday. She does not appear to me to suffer under this much. My brother had turned the rise of the hill and his progress was downward at a pace so accellerating and she was so aware of it, that I do not believe she feels as if it was a blow for which she had any complaint to make against Providence.2

For myself, I may be called cold in heart, and I have often thought with possible justice, but I cannot regard the loss of either of my brothers as a calamity either to their families or to themselves. They were saved much misery which would have been otherwise inevitable, and their friends the harrowing anxieties of witnessing a remediless evil. A calm judgment could come to no other conclusion. Conversation with my Mother about her plans. Ovid and German.