Morning cloudy with the wind cold from the Eastward. My father went into town with me. I found myself as usual in a whirl of occupation without the ability to accomplish half what I meditated.

My Diary has got into arrear in so alarming a manner that if I add to it this absence I shall probably make a break. No great loss perhaps for a Diary has already formed it’s purpose with me of facility of style, but still a matter of regret for a Diary like mine has got to be a sort of safe old friend to whom I confide many things safer than any living one would prove. Accounts too which require a perpetual care to untangle it’s threads.

Called and on a second attempt procured a proof, but it does not quite cover the whole of the essay so that I shall have to leave about two pages of the close to other hands. This is provoking but cannot be helped. The pamphlet will come out during my absence. Its successful sale in the present state of the public mind is not to be hoped for. I have done a vain thing with my eyes open. But there is good even in all evil. I shall not be led to more costly and hazardous fancies. Publishing schemes which a popular writer occasionally drives to his own injury.

Returned to dinner. The Afternoon mainly taken up in bringing up the Arrears of my Diary which must be done before tomorrow night. My last number on the State of the Nation came out today.