Morning cloudy but it cleared afterwards. I went to the Office and occupied myself with Accounts. Mr. Walsh, Mr. Hurlbert and finally A. H. Everett came in. The first talking generally. The second about the Lease of this building, the last to make some inquiries apparently. He wished to know what my father’s views were about the Convention which was to be held. I could not tell him, but promised to find out. He told me that the Whigs were in division among themselves and an attempt was making to run up Samuel Turrell Armstrong. The arrangement that was contemplated to support Armstrong for the Mayoralty had failed by his refusal to accept it. I then told him of the attack upon my father in the Morning Post of yesterday and the surly criticism of his Article in the North American Review today.1

These political hacks are all alike. The Jackson party here is for keeping its influence and dreads any increase on any side which would be likely to diminish it. The talent and influence now concentrated upon the Advocate is a subject for excessive jealousy which occasionally peeps out as it did at the time of the Worcester Convention. I see very little light any where. The Country is overwhelmed by the multiplicity of selfish and ambitious men.

My path is a quiet one but it must be decided. Shut in as I am on all sides by barriers, of which my father has certainly raised the most formidable against me, I must pick my way upon the rock of general principle and upon that alone. Mr. E. is not so fortunate. He is poor and desperate, and must make compliances nobody shall get from me. I do feel for him and yet can do very little to help him.

Afternoon, busy writing. I am preparing a couple of numbers now which will I think have effect. The necessity of sustaining ourselves at this election edges me on. Evening at home.