Heavy rain. I was up late and went to the Office. Occupied in reading the rest of the number of the North American Review. It deals in a variety of matter, but the whole is rather superficial. And there is a namby pamby sort of style about it which may be admired by the writers but which will never circulate the publication. Amiability is a beautiful thing in private life, but the world requires something of sterner stuff.

Our public here is deeply interested in the present reception of Mr. Henry Clay who has come on here to make up a little popularity for the ensuing Session of Congress. A procession was to have taken place but the rain prevented, at least a large part of it.

I could not walk. The baby was so unwell that Dr. Stevenson was consulted. He appeared better in the Afternoon. My time was taken up in reading Bacon’s Mythology of the Ancients explained. It is rather ingenious than solid. I came across an opinion of Cato which agreed remarkably with my idea as expressed in the last Article upon Vaughan.1 Read over the Proceedings of the Anti–masonic Convention, and endeavoured to put into form my ideas upon the Memorial to the Legislature. These political matters have put me in the midst of business—Yet I find great pleasure in recurring to my classical studies and the flexible verses of Virgil. Bacon’s Historical characters and the Lounger.