I begin to feel a little more settled now, and fall gradually into the routine of duty which I had formerly. The day was very fine and uncommonly warm for the Season. I went to the Office after spending an hour in reviewing the first Olynthiac of Demosthenes in the Edition of Reiske. This is the third in that of Mounteney. I find my reading of it has been more superficial even than I expected. Occupied at the Office in Accounts and in reading a part of the Debates in the Convention of the State of New York on the adoption of the Constitution.1 159Went to the Athenaeum and made several little calls which consumed a large part of the Morning. On the whole, I begin to feel again the content which my quiet way of life here gives me.

Afternoon at home. Continued the fifteenth book of the Letters to Atticus, but my progress was slow, and the text grows more obscure as I go on, it seems to me. Read Bacon’s Essay, Of Vainglory and in the evening, tried to sketch off a little political Article for the Press. But I did not succeed in my effort. Finished by the Spectator as usual.

This is really delightful weather. An Indian Summer though why it is called so is unknown to me. I finished the first Olynthiac before going out of the house this morning. Then to the Office. Occupied myself there in scribling a political Article, of which I may never make any use. But it is exercise. I find it every day harder to write so as to please myself, and if I do not get over this, it will hardly be possible for me soon to put pen to Paper. Went into a Shop to buy a Hat, and while there purchased a Fur for my Wife which I intend as her Winter’s present. Returned home after a short walk, and in the Afternoon read a portion of the Letters to Atticus. Mystery and corrupt text combine to impede progress as well as to injure the pleasure of reading. My hours also are not yet so perfectly divided as I wish them to be. It takes time to arrange one’s self, especially as I feel now somewhat differently from what I have done. More languor, a disposition to do my duty with less anxiety as to any definite result. A more implicit reliance upon the support of the Deity. These seem to affect me now with much more force. I have been wrong in paining myself too much about the future, for what can I do to ward off the ills of fate? My own conduct is all I can regulate.

Evening quiet at home, read Bacon. Mr. and Mrs. Frothingham called and passed an hour. Wrote a little and retired early.

Morning fine. I read a large part of the second Olynthiac which I find was more thoroughly read at first, than the other was. Then to the Office where I was occupied in writing in continuation of my political squibs. This took all my time so that I did little of a more useful kind.

My father came in at about one o’clock and according to agreement we proceeded to Medford. My mother with Miss Roberdeau, Abby and the child had already gone. We arrived there rather late, but in time for dinner. Had a pleasant time enough. My father seemed to be in pretty good spirits and Mr. Brooks quite comfortable. It is a long time since I have been out there. And the autumn with its falling leaves and chilly wind reads a moral to the mind that remembers last the richness of Summer vegetation and the extreme of heat. I have no fancy for the Country after the sharp frosts, at least in this climate.

We returned home shortly after dinner calling on the way at Mr. Angier’s where Miss Roberdeau was left to stay for a day or two. I felt upon going home almost as unsettled as at first. This is not pleasant. I wasted the Evening, reading only Bacon and the Spectator.