I spent my day at home very quietly, devoting a good deal of the morning to a new draught of my projected review of Grahame. I continue to write although I must know beforehand that my views do not suit the popular taste. To bend to the passions of the day appears to be the road to reputation in our country and generation, and I have studied to form myself upon a different model, the investigation of truth. Yet it is my duty to make the best use I can of my talents, if I have any, and to try to be of service in some manner.

Two hours devoted to the reading of the MS which I corrected almost to the end of the paper books.1 These make a valuable collection of which there is now a complete copy. Dined at my father’s with the family.

Afternoon, a ride accompanied by my father round Mount Wollaston to the end of the road, thence to Germantown, from there by Quincy Point round to the Weymouth Road. Evening conversation at the house, T. K. Davis and Edmund Quincy, and opinions respecting them.