A continuation of the lovely weather we have had. I went to the Office and passed my time partly in writing Diary, partly in making up a semi-annual Account for T. B. Adams whose remittance does not arrive and partly in conversation with Mr. Walsh. I also set about an arrangement of my papers which are again in excessive abundance. Home where I read Livy. Afternoon, MS of James Warren and Swift, Battle of the Books. Evening reading to my Wife, and Paul’s Letters to his Kinsfolk.1

Thus I give an abstract of my day. An unsatisfactory one perhaps. 146T. K. Davis the other night quoted a just remark from Sartor Resartus that the Cobbler learns cheap to mend shoes, and the product is mending shoes, but I receive a dear education and what am I good for in product. This is however not to be avoided. A man cannot entirely create his opportunities for action and I am not sure that he ought incessantly to be seeking them. It is difficult to hit the precise distinction which should exist between confirmed idleness on the one hand and restless uneasiness on the other. I will strive to throw off the depression which inactivity causes, and employ myself as much and as creditably as possible.