The weather is improving. I had the usual number of person to see me. Nothing however of much interest. This sis my son Brooks’s birth-day. I went out to find him some sort of a present, which led me into a variety of shops where books are to be found in large quantities. Among other places I went to H. G Bohn’s which I had supposed from the catalogue to be one of the greatest collections in the world. What I am much led to notice is the difficulty of making such a collection available to the insider from the very fact of its great size. It can only be sold by catalogue, for it is mostly covered with dust and looks far from attractive to the eye in monotonous ranges of shelves far beyond reach. I finally selected an edition of Shakespeare, and incidentally fell upon a curious manuscript account of the churches in London and the neighborhood which I brought too, having found the want of some such guide heretofore. This ramble lasted until nearly dinner time. Remained at home in the evening, instead of going to a ball at the Lord Mayor’s in the city, a ponderous business for which I have little fancy and less aptitude. The constant recurrence of this formal society in which it seems to me that I never make any progress is excessively tiresome.136