Fair day. At home. Ride. Evening at the Mansion.

I was better this morning but still far from feeling well. Occupied myself at home pretty steadily in writing upon the Report of the Merchants’ Convention of the Southern States. The subject opens up very well, and I hope to make something of it. Yet the labour that it must cost is hardly compensated by evanescent publication of a single newspaper. The Courier gives me a silent admission and no other press allows even that. Such is the spirit of the age.

Read a little of Lessing and Le Comte after dinner. Some exercise working and a ride accompanied by my father round my favorite road by Milton. The weather was fair and the country is now in it’s full perfection. The crops are all favorable and the frequent rains have preserved the verdure in it’s freshness. The scenery around here in this season is certainly exquisite. I cannot describe the effect it has upon me. Evening at my father’s for a short time.