My spirits were unusually low this morning and it was very difficult for me thoroughly to account for it. Perhaps it might have arisen from an idea that my want of occupation and listless way of life at Medford created an appearance of dependance upon others which was revolting to my pride. Much as I love Abby I could not depend upon her father. It would break me down. Perhaps it would be impossible for me strictly to analyse my feelings. But I have such, and the causes of them are not yet quite fully open to me. The day was passed in close attendance at the Office and I read much and profitably. In the evening I amused myself in reading over Abby’s Letters to me and arranging them in a place of more safety, and I passed an hour in writing Executive Record thus recommencing the practice at Washington—although I much doubt whether it will be possible for me to be quite so regular now as I was when there.