Morning cloudy as usual. This is the seventeenth day of perpetual North east winds and clouds. I went to the Office and passed my time in Diary and Accounts. Nothing of particular consequence.

My father’s speech is producing a very great effect upon the Community. It is singular how he continues to sustain himself by the force of his mere ability. Conversation with Mr. Everett upon the subject who evidently feels uneasy under the present condition of things. He as usual underrates the character of Mr. Van Buren’s vote. I do not quite like his principles, but we must at any rate go on.

Received a letter from my father returning to me the Note for which I sent.1 This makes my contemplated Journey probable. My bank subscription has heretofore rendered the possibility of raising money somewhat doubtful.

Athenaeum, then home to read Livy. In the afternoon finished the Volume containing the Correspondence with Jennings. This makes fifteen volumes I have done.2 Read a canto of Ariosto, and sat down to write an article upon Slavery. Found the subject grew prodigiously under my hand. It kept me up quite late.