The morning was cool but agreeable. I went to the Office and occupied myself as usual, in doing little or nothing, yet I seemed employed. Called upon Mr. Kinsman to know whether any thing further had dropped from Ayer, found nothing. Sat down and got involved in a conversation with Mr. Davis about literature which kept me there sitting until after twelve o’clock. He is one of the few young men here of uncommon mind who has known how uncommonly to apply it. And it is a pleasure to have to do with him.1 It is not a little singular that in a Community abounding so richly in all the means, there should actually exist so little of the end of education, literary excellence. Our system is perhaps slightly superficial in this respect, giving to all some thing and to none a great deal, but if it is so, the general advantage more than counterbalances the particular disadvantage.

I passed the rest of my morning in settling my money operations with my father’s books, and in paying Hilliard and Gray, my Mother’s subscription to the Juvenile Miscellany which I have stopped.2 I took up a number of the Quarterly review which contained an Article upon the Speech of Mr. Brougham upon Law reform,3 but I did not finish it before dinner time. In the afternoon, I wrote with great steadiness upon this Article which I am resolved to complete out of hand and make an experiment. It is well to get a foot hold first and much good may be done afterwards. I have been better satisfied myself than I ever was before, and have found no great occasion to alter or correct. The Evening was passed as usual in reading aloud from Eustace whose enthusiasm in Italy never ceases nor does his hatred of the French, but his style though too pompous is attractive. The glare4 is tedious and description too much the same, but he pays for it in energy and vividness of colouring. Two hours are thus spent every night when we are at home, and two hours more are devoted to my Work.