The room I occupy in the house is the one which my brother and his Wife formerly had as theirs. It is full of his old things, and puts me so constantly in mind of him that I feel gloomy in spite of myself.

Luckily for me this was a true Washington day. Mild and hazy with the relaxing, enervating feeling which is characteristic of the climate. I was glad, for it gave me an opportunity of looking round the town and seeing the changes which six years have made, and perhaps of seeing the capital for once again. I accordingly took a walk almost to the Capitol hill. The Pennsylvania Avenue looks now far more like a Street and the place begins to concentrate, but every thing wears the appearance of poverty and of want of permanency.1

I called to see our two old Servants, Antony Giusta and Ellen his Wife, who are now established in a Restorator, formerly Letourno’s and according to their Account are making money quite fast. He is as great a talker as ever, and she looks neat and bright as she used to do 16in England. She is evidently of the money getting tribe. I was glad to see them so comfortable.2 While there, Richard Wallack came in—A man from the Eastward, whom I recollected as a brisk and comfortable lawyer in very good practice here. Six years have entirely changed all this. He is now a dramdrinker at Anthonys shop at eleven in the morning. There was a touch of shame in his countenance as he swallowed down the poison before me, but it was momentary. His face was that of careless despair. His course had been downward ever since he lost his Wife and politics took the turn against him.

There is something in the climate and habits of this place very hostile to the happiness of the New Englanders. They are an active, enterprising race when at home, frugal in their habits and accurate in their plans. The relaxing climate, and indolent habits of the Washington Office holders rapidly take possession of these men and in a few years they cease to display any characteristics but mortification, disappointment and despair.

I conversed much with Anthony about my brother and drew from his chattering indelicacy more of the actual state of things as it existed for months previous to his death than I have gained any-where else. My father shuts his eyes to it, preferring to set it down as bad as possible rather than examine the particulars. But the truth is, things were coming to a crisis which must have distressed my brother’s mind infinitely. He had got to living upon expedients. Yet no retrenchment of his extravagant tastes. And the idea of death before him as a relief from consequences. After some conversation which I found so painful that I cut it short by entering into a negotiation for some silver, and striking a bargain I returned home.

A little hesitation had prevented my fixing my day of departure positively, but finding myself still idle, my father exhibiting no change in his manner, I determined upon starting tomorrow and gave orders accordingly.

Mr. Johnson hearing me announce this gave me directly an invitation to dine with him which I accepted. The business of the silver being negotiated with Anthony who came to the Bank to have it weighed, I went to Mr. J’s. Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Frye the only persons at table. He lives in a very quiet but independent manner, in a small house handsomely fitted up, and is only unhappy because the great demon of Ennui has got him bound hand and foot his devoted slave though a very murmuring one. Our conversation mainly turns upon my departure which strikes every body with surprise, and incidentally upon my father’s affairs which are as well known to them as they are to me. 17I perhaps talked imprudently, because I felt too much, but I am desirous of leaving some testimony upon the spot of my intentions when I came here, of my earnest desire to change the system which has been so fatally pursued hitherto, of my decided opposition to the continuance of the present.

Mr. Frye came in after dinner. Returned home to pack up. Spent an hour with my Mother whom my absence does affect far more than I could wish. But it must be soon or late. My father seemed more depressed than ever.

I was up early and after a silent breakfast went up to take my leave of my Mother. This affected me very much, and she opened some sores which I had laboured hard to keep covered from her. I had so very short a time to speak of them that perhaps the bitterness which I could not entirely suppress was the only pain I gave her. God forgive me for doing that.

My father and I parted coldly and silently—He putting into my hands a letter of instructions to be followed upon my return to Boston.1 To the remainder of the family my departure was a relief. I did not feel easy until I was rolling rapidly in the Stage along Pennsylvania Avenue, and a fellow passenger whom we took in by his active conversation roused me to think of other things. He proved to be Col. A. P. Hayne of Carolina—A very gentlemanly man just returned from his five years travels in Europe. He had been under obligation to my father for a letter to the Duke of Sussex which procured him a dinner,2 and being naturally talkative he spent much time in the discussion of 18topics which civility required me to listen to. Nor was the conversation unprofitable.

We arrived at Baltimore just before two, and I risked going directly to Gorham Brooks’. Seldom as I play these capers, it would have been far better if I had done so once less. For here was an embarras. I lost my dinner at Barnum’s. And lo! Gorham and his Wife were to dine out. The consequence was that they were at the trouble of procuring and cooking me a dinner much to my discomfiture. In such cases the best way is to get over it as soon as possible and determine not to be caught so again. As they were not to dine until late I sat there conversing with Gorham until four o’clock when I left them.

The remainder of the afternoon was passed in visiting the Washington Monument—Quite a handsome thing, though as yet very much in the fields. I was foolish enough to take a lantern and ascend the two hundred and thirty odd steps to the top from which there is a pretty view but one which does not pay the trouble of winding the Corkscrew stair. On the top there is a statue of Washington by Causici which does not strike me as dignified or graceful. It is not possible to see the original but a cast of reduced dimensions and consequently more agreeable proportions is placed at the door. Returned to Barnum’s. Took a silent Supper and after looking over the Newspapers retired early to bed.