I went down to the Office early with the view of going to Quincy in the Plymouth Stage at 10 o’clock. But after waiting I found it full. I was so anxious about the bill for lumber of which I had heard nothing, and so doubtful whether the weather hereafter would permit me so easily to go that I concluded to take a chaise and horse and go alone. This I did.

Made a settlement with the man who was very reasonable and made all the deductions after which I got into the gig and came home before dinner, thus finishing this matter at once. I am glad to get that so well settled. But I was much chilled by my ride and felt severely my cold.

Afternoon, reading some French Newspapers published here they want me to subscribe to. I rather waste my time and must begin to go back to the MS. Evening at home. My Wife read to me from Lamartine whose book I rather like.

The weather is clear and delightful for the season. I went to the Office and occupied myself in Accounts. Prepared one for Mr. T. B. Johnson to whom I am about to transmit another quarter’s income. A. H. Everett came in and we had some talk but I had to leave suddenly at twelve o’clock for the purpose of attending the Wedding of my Wife’s friend Miss Anne Carter to Mr. James W. Seaver. In consequence of several deaths, it was private, no persons out of the family excepting ourselves and two young men who were to have been groomsmen attending. Mr. Young performed the ceremony and we returned a few minutes before one. A marriage is not a pleasant ceremony and yet it is always celebrated as if it was. I wish these parties joy although from my knowledge of them I should scarcely expect it would be unclouded. He is however old enough to protect her, and he is rich, at least the world says so. Home. Livy. Afternoon, Swift’s Tale of a Tub.1 Evening, finished Lamartine. I felt dull.

A succession of fine weather such as I have rarely known in this climate. I went to the Office. Read the President’s Message, a Valedictory full of all Sorts of things, but on the whole more moderate than usual. He is very cautious about Texas as well as the Tariff compromise, is very obscure about the Currency, discusses the distribution bill and takes his leave. Such is the end of Andrew Jackson’s Presidency. One of continued storms, from which he emerges a shattered hulk with hardly power to keep from sinking. Well, he is not to be envied, although I hardly think he should be as much hated as he has been. Talk with A. H. Everett. At any rate, we are much relieved here in Massachusetts.

Athenaeum where I could find no books. Afternoon short for Mr. Walsh dined with me. Swift. My child Louisa is again sick, and I am unaccountably depressed. Why this should be I know not, and how wicked it is, I know full well.