Returned to town this morning from Medford. Nothing extraordinary moving. I find my letter to the Bridgewater Newspaper, “We the People,” is published and they sent me the number. I find also that it contains as is said by the request of several subscribers, the first number of my Appeal. This looks like a Victory in Plymouth County.1

Occupied in writing and accounts until one when I went home and read part of the third Satire of Juvenal. Strong and coarse. Afternoon quietly at home. I divided my time between my coins, my MS labours and Mons. Thiers—So that I found my lonely state not at all burdensome. Yet there is something cheering in the noise of children. Their glee and their simplicity, the curious manner in which ideas form and develope themselves. On the whole with all the care they impose, they draw out of man feelings of a grade far beyond his usual level.

Evening, a solitary walk and listening to music at the foot of the Common. A crowd of idlers. Home and work upon my Paper No. 8 without making much progress.