A mild day with the Streets almost impassable by the melting. I read a little German and then to the Office. No interruptions. I wrote my Diary. Read an Article in the last number of the North American Review in answer to Mr. William Sullivan which is pretty thorough in it’s dressing,1 and began another attempt to write for the Papers on the present crisis. This took up my time. Mr. Beale from Quincy called in wishing for an answer from my father but I had none to give him. Took a walk, but found my Coat oppressive and the walking horrible. Did not read more than one hundred lines of the Fasti.

In the afternoon Mr. Dumas’ Letters. He appears to have been a poor Frenchman who for the sake of a living and occupation became a servant of the United States. He appears to have served them usefully too. It is amusing to watch his course with my Grandfather.2 Took tea alone with my little daughter Louisa who is becoming a treasure to me. Evening quietly at home. Read d’Israeli, and at eight went to Mrs. Frothingham’s—the Miss Dehons and some children. Very dull. I was glad to get home.

Another Spring like day. I read a little of Goethe, who from his idiom is I think more difficult than any other German writer. Then to the Office where I completed the first number of my Papers upon the Presidential Election and in order to avoid any change of mind carried it myself directly to the Newspaper.1 This with two or three Interruptions and my Diary took up my time.

Walk. Received a short letter from my father in answer to Mr. Beale’s inquiry,2 which I copied and sent to him at Quincy. Read Ovid. A singular idea the poetical history of Roman Festivals but a pretty useful thing to posterity. I make slower progress in it however than I did, for the etymological questions are both more dry and difficult.

Afternoon, the second file of the Letters of Mr. Dumas. These require to be read with my grandfather’s letters. But the Copy books are not within my reach. Went to P. C. Brooks this evening. Mr. and Mrs. Frothingham, the Miss Dehons and brother, Edward Brooks, and our family. A pretty supper and a pleasant time. Nothing material. Home at ten.

The weather grows slightly cooler but still uncommonly mild. I went to the Office. My time principally occupied in writing No. 2 of my Newspaper talk. I am foolish enough to follow this ridiculous business when I never produced any effect by it. The Newspaper in which I publish is not circulated widely nor is it a popular paper yet as things are here I can easily publish in no other. I am a sort of solitary among parties here embracing none. And the situation of my father in relation to them also affects me.

Walk. Nothing material. Home but omitted Ovid, there being company to dinner. Edward and P. C. Brooks Jr. with Mr. Frothingham. Tolerably pleasant. Nothing however of any consequence. But the afternoon was very much consumed.

Purchased the other day at a shop for a trifle Clarendon’s Essays,1 and I am reading a few of them, but I think they are not equal to the reputation of the Author. His style is heavy and lumbering for this sort of thing. It may do for a history because now and then it rises up to eloquence and flow. Evening quietly at home. Read a little of D’Israeli’s third Volume. This and the second are not equal to the first volume but yet there is something exceedingly interesting in the information he has managed to put into the articles. His knowledge is evidently superficial and yet he must have a great deal of that. I have not attended to my German so closely since I began Götz von Berlichingen, owing to the greater difficulty of the Text. But I will remedy that.