Another very beautiful day. What a contrast between this and last year. We then were suffering under the severest of the Winter. I look back upon that time with a lively remembrance of the anxiety and discomfort that attended it. Yet it was on the whole a prosperous Winter to me. This year, I have been much more free from care and trouble yet it may not turn out so successfully to me. Let me not worry my mind. I trust in a higher Power.

At the office—Engaged in Diary and Accounts. Went into State Street, and drew a Dividend upon my Columbian Ins. Shares. None upon my father’s in the New England. My Affairs have done exceedingly well this year, while I regret to say those of my father have gone backward. One or two calls. A Mr. Flagg about some Boylston Market Shares he wanted transferred, and William C. Greenleaf respecting his return to Washington. I took the opportunity to make of him some inquiries about the state of things there, John’s health, and the success of the Mill—The answers to which were not in any one point encouraging. The horizon looks black in that quarter. Took my usual walk —Mr. Peabody with me. He and I though now good friends, have not exactly the same agreement of opinions that we formerly had.

Afternoon quiet at home. At work upon No. 8. But I was not at all satisfied with the result. My No. 3 was published this morning. It does not meet my expectation, in print.1 Quiet evening. Read Malvina and continued the life of Flaxman. Afterwards, I began an extract from Wieland but did not get through the first sentence which reached down the page.2