A mild day with a South Wind. I read a little of Vasari and then to the Office. My time taken up very much by two persons. First, Mr. F. W. Field who came at last with a confession of Poverty which I have been expecting.1 After conversation, I thought best to execute the leases upon his giving me his Note for the last half year—And promising to pay it previous to another Quarter’s becoming due. I think it on the whole expedient not to take the place away from him. It would probably be unoccupied. I think he seems to have some sense of shame, so that while this is the case I shall feel as if I had a hold. Mr. Conant then came in from Weston, and I went over the affairs of the year with him. He settled his Rent up to the first of April. These are honest though not very enterprizing men. They get along by force of the assistance which I give them in one way or another, which is about equivalent to paying their rent. The Weston Farm yields little excepting in the Sales of the wood which have done very well. I had only a moment left to call and see Mr. Watkins who is here from Washington.2 He was not at home. I went home, and after dinner, read Sismondi as usual. Evening quiet. Pursued all my usual occupations, dipping besides, a little into Dr. Franklin’s Essays.3