Morning clear and pleasant. I read a large extract of Demosthenes and am surprised at its facility. This expression is pedantic. Went to the Office and was busy in my usual avocations after which I copied out my Article signed Cimon for the press. It took up nearly all the time I had remaining. On looking back this week, I find very little reason to be contented. Much of my time has been wasted, the remainder not properly improved. Writing for the Newspapers is not a very satisfactory Account to give of one’s self. I wonder that I am tempted to do it. What good can it produce to me in any event? If reputation is to be sought, my way should lead to paths far higher than ephemeral politics.

Returned home and spent the afternoon in reading the Oration for 43Sextius. I have lost the track being so long since I broke off, and therefore after a most superficial examination of it, I commenced a thorough review. This is the only way of resuming when one has a backward lurching.

Evening, I read Grimm. There is acuteness of criticism in this book though excessive partiality. Diderot and philosophy are his two great hobbies, and as he lived just at the era of the French revolution, much of the slang1 which was then used is in his mouth. Even now the Age is infected with it. As if we possessed all that is excellent and our fathers nothing. Perhaps the old adage may turn out true, Ignorance is bliss. It certainly was so, as to the rights of Man in France at that period. Spectator as usual.

The day was Cloudy with an East Wind and heavy rain. I attended divine Service at Mr. Frothingham’s in the morning, and heard Mr. Stetson of Medford preach a Sermon which struck me like an old acquaintance. It was upon the indulgence of particular sins as affecting an otherwise good character. A habit not infrequent among men, and attempted to be reconciled.1 His manner is yet so bad that I cannot keep up my attention. I did not attend in the Afternoon.

Finished the first volume of Grimm, which has not on the whole come up to my expectation, though rather amusing than otherwise, particularly, the story of the Curè and of his two Tragedies, Baltasar and another.2 I passed the afternoon in again reading my father’s MS Reply to the Confederates, for the purpose of making the suggestions he wished from me. It is one of his ablest papers, and more conclusive than I could have supposed possible, for the case is in its nature thorny. I wrote a Letter to my father upon it, containing little more than what I suggested to him on the first perusal.3 The copying of which Letter was my Evening’s work. Two numbers of the Spectator.

Morning clear with a cool air. After reading a due portion of Demosthenes as usual, I went to the Office and was busy in my usual occupations. In addition to these it was the day for passing the Ac-44count upon the Estate of Robert New, and as I hoped, for making a final settlement and distribution. But the Commissioners not yet having made their return I was disappointed in the latter object. I should think that some very material amendments might be made in the system of Probate Law—In diminishing the amount of charges that eat up the Estate and in accelerating the final settlement. Two or three interruptions on various accounts. Met T. B. Adams Jr. who has just arrived from the South. He has altered a little both in appearance and manners, and not for the better in either.1 I was glad to see him however. He left me to go and see my Wife.

In the afternoon, I continued my Review of the Oration for Sextius. All these which relate to the expulsion from Rome of himself have much the same tang. One by itself is eloquence. When they are read together there is too little variety. And the Vanity is not agreeable. Men never like to be reminded of a benefit by the person conferring it. In private life it is called ungenerous, why should it be a merit any where? Read Grimm. Horatio Brooks spent the night. The Spectator.