Morning fine. Ride to town. Afternoon, ride also. Evening passed at the Mansion.

I went to the City accompanied by my father, but not with my own horse, he having been fretted too much before he started. As a consequence I was however obliged to take him out in the Afternoon, and to exercise him. I went round through Braintree to the edge of Randolph and thence through Weymouth home. My Wife was with me. I thus have little or no progress to mark in study. My City hours are wasted in small profitless commissions so as to make me very unwilling to multiply them. Lucretius 915–1005. A very poetical portion of the work.

I find T. K. Davis out in continuation in this morning’s paper.1 There is only one remark which keeps perpetually returning to me in reading which is that he wants bottom. For the rest, the quarrel about Mr. Webster keeps on thickening, and may ruin the Whig party.