Clear day but the weather is cold and comfortless. I know of no deception greater than our month of April. We have a fine air and clear Sun. The face of nature seems to invite to enjoyment, but suddenly we are cut in two by a keen, sharp Easterly wind that dispels every agreeable expectation. The Child is now ailing too, and on the whole there is a weight upon my spirits. Besides this, I experience a most unaccountable apathy which paralizes all exertion. Is this a natural or a healthy state of mind? I answer No, and would correct it if I could, but the die is cast. I would leave the Country and attempt to revive my energies in Europe but I have not the means apart from my occupations.

Finished the History of the United States which is a poor thing—Unworthy of its high company. Walk as usual. Afternoon, Botta and German. Very hard. I think I shall devote my Summer to the acquisition of this language and Spanish and Italian. I shall have four months in the Country in which time I think I can make considerable progress. Evening at home. Twelfth Night, Les Parvenus, and above all the affecting book of Job, to my Wife. Afterwards, Chateaubriand.