Rochecotte, January 1, 1841.—Yesterday passed by uneventfully. In the morning I had mass said in my chapel for the late M. de Quélen, and shed heartfelt tears during the service. In the evening my son Alexander, my son-in-law and Pauline gave us some music. They sang vaudevilles and mimicked characters with a vivacity which delighted me, as I am always afraid that they may be bored here, though I admit that their frame of mind was in complete contrast to my own. On the stroke of midnight punch was served; some tears fell into my glass when I thought of those with whom I had so often spent this anniversary.
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