Continued Schiller. My Wife coughs so much that I again sent for Dr. Bigelow who advised the application of Leeches. Office. Received a long Letter from my father making the second of a series which he has addressed to me upon the subject of the political intrigues of last winter.1 He seems still to be involved in them and to take as much interest in them as if he was a young man. Yet the result was and is only bitter ashes. The field of politics is a shining one but it requires a sacrifice, and that is happiness. I do not like to look forward to my father’s future.

Read a little of the North American Review—Enough to be disgusted with it’s littleness. Then to my house to make examination of 111things. The time of transfer is drawing near. Short walk and visit to T. K. Davis where W. C. Gorham and Mr. Walsh came in so that I left. Afternoon continued Marmontel’s Biography with as much charm as ever. He has arrived at his marriage with a niece of the Abbé Morrellet at the age of 54. A pretty adventurous thing in the then state of Morals in France—She being only eighteen.

Evening, Coleridge’s Ode on War Pestilence and Famine, the spirit of which I do not admire. It is a miserable party piece of malignity against Mr. Pitt, which his Apologetic Preface does not succeed in defending. Coleridge should have blotted it out of his works. Continued reading Wilhelm Meister.