Morning cloudy with occasional showers. I went to the Office and was busily occupied most of my morning in Accounts, which I brought 183completely up. Mr. Curtis called in about a Lease to be drawn up for the Trustees, and I drew up a sketch for the same. I also read an Article in the last number of the North American Review upon Mr. Fidler which is very well in it’s way.1 But it is hardly worth the time to notice such a creature.

Afternoon quietly at home. Read a considerable portion of the last publication of the Library of Entertaining Knowledge upon the Elgin Marbles. This with two acts of Iphigenie en Aulide and a little of Voltaire made my whole labour for the day. I must add about one hundred lines of the Georgics.

This is a quiet mode of life and vastly different from the turbulence of the political world. My father has always loved to ride the whirlwind, but he is not happy. His enjoyments are but one mode of intoxication. And however great the ideas may be connected with them, the man sinks under their weight. My objects in life must be different. I have literary tastes and talent enough to turn them to respectable account. I have now children to educate and to maintain. These are occupation enough. Politics have become of a kind which drive men like myself out of active participation in them. Besides which I have at present insuperable obstacles to encounter in the course which my conscience has prompted me to take. For this I feel no regret.