Morning clear and cool. I went to the Office as usual and was occupied while there in reading and my usual duties. I continued the Life of Sheridan with unabated interest, and was fascinated by the account of his successes as a Speaker. Indeed little could be supposed more delightful to a man than the union of such brilliant wit as to put him at the head of one department of the Drama and the highest powers of eloquence. It is an example of the versatility of human powers which I was thinking of yesterday.

Col. Russel Freeman interrupted my meditations. He came to pay me a short visit and to complain of the course of the Courier. I told him pretty freely my sentiments upon the present state of parties. He is in quest of place and like all men of that kind feels twenty cords pulling in various directions.1 He stated his case pretty plainly, but all I could do was to be sorry for him. Took a short walk.

Afternoon reading the second of the Tusculans upon the Question “Whether pain is an evil.” A point which however ingeniously discussed requires only a little common sense to be resolved.

Evening reading the Italian, until Mr. Brooks came in. He has just moved from Medford and is now under all the discomfort of a change to a man at his time of life. I pity his case.2 He gave us a direct invitation to go out there, next Summer. I did not know what to say. After 185this I went to a party at Mrs. J. Welles’ which was pleasant enough.3 But returned early being without my Wife. Read the Spectator.

Morning clear and cool. I went to the Office as usual. Rather surprised not to find any letters from home.1 This requires some explanation, and I can give none of an agreeable Character.2 Spent my time pretty much as I did yesterday. Wrote my Diary, read my usual quantity in the Life of Sheridan. A work that has interested me exceedingly. His wife was a fascinating being. She seems to have entered into his feelings and partaken his labours whatever they were. Yet who can feel a regret for her death. I thought it on the whole a mercy, for her husband was already going down, though not yet with any sensible motion. Had she lived, she would probably have had nothing but bitterness in store for her. The bitterness of misfortune brought on by the follies and vices of the man she had married. As it was, she saved all that and saw only the situation which he had reached by his abilities. But the reading made me dull and it was aided by an indigestion. I was imprudent in eating at Mrs. Welles’ last night which gave me a sick headache. The consequence was that I did not read Cicero in the Afternoon to much effect, nor do any thing in the evening, but take some Medicine and read the Spectator.