Cloudy. The American mail arrived this morning, and kept us all occupied. I had no Despatcahes of interest. And the news is not important. Even the military intelligence is insignificant. The city was quiet as this was the day for the funeral of the Prince Consort. As it was comparatively private, the Corps Diplomatique was not called upon to attend. Mr Weed called to see me. He talked farther of his breakfast with Mr Ellice and the prevailing tone here. HE then turned to Washington affairs of which he gave a sorry picture. I wrote several letters and dispatched ordinary business— Mrs Adams went to Twickenham to bring back Brooks for his vacation. Henry and Mary went to Mr Sturgis’s to pass Christmas. Quiet evening. I played a game of chess with Brooks.