The day was still fine although increasing in heat above those preceding. I rode to town this morning and was mainly occupied in Accounts and little Commissions besides a visit to the Athenaeum where I found nothing. My mode of spending time is somewhat useless in the City, and yet my neglect of going exposes me to considerable censure. Having just enough of business to do, to bring many persons to see me who not finding me at my Office, are provoked, while I have so little when there as not to pay me for consuming the most valuable hours of the day.

Returned to Quincy to dine. Afternoon, I read several of my Grandfather’s letters upon James Otis, and made up the rest of my Diary. But the time after dinner particularly in Summer is not the Season for application. It goes without any means of turning it to much account. After tea, I took a bath which was as pleasant as any of the preceding. Then home where I read several Articles in the North American Review, one upon the Blind apparently from Dr. Howe which is somewhat curious.1 The philanthropy of the Age is well directed in this case, although one may well be doubtful whether it can go so far as the most sanguine appear to anticipate.