Cloudy and mild. So much of my regular private correspondence had been prepared in advance that I found myself with not much to finish today. A letter to my son Charles, and a private one to Mr Seward were all. The copies of Despatches were prepared and signed, and all was complete before three o’clock. So at half past three I was once more in the carriage and on my way to the Station of the South Eastern Railroad. Again the fog was thick on the River, as I crossed the Waterloo bridge. A little more than an hour carried me to Tunbridge Wells without a single stop. Here I found the family comfortable and Brooks improving. It was perfectly clear in the evening, with a bright moon, and he accompanied me in a walk around the place. After which I read the third volume of Mrs Juckbald’s simple story.