Weather cold and disagreeable. Snow and rain all day today. I went out late after the death of Gustavus Adolphus the Lion of the North, and by desire of my Wife called to see Mrs. Frothingham upon certain matters relating to our summer removals. Then to the Office where I was mainly occupied in bringing up my Diary which has fallen behind hand amazingly. The day was so bad I found no pleasure in being out and therefore omitted my walk. Lounged away some time at the bookstores. Home. Edward and P. C. Brooks and Mr. Frothingham dined with us. A pleasant time. Afternon read Grimm and M. Thiers.

Evening, began a new dramatic Poem called “Philip van Artevelde” by a Mr. Taylor.1 This has been exceedingly lauded by several of the English Reviews and described as opening a new poetical era. Mr. Taylor is himself a leading contributor to the Quarterly and all criticism in England is now so entirely one sided in consequence of political feeling that no confidence is to be placed in it. I am pleased however with a brief criticism introduced before the piece, upon some of the defects of the Poetry lately fashionable. Finished Wilhelm Meister.