I had intended to go to town today but it was a cold day with an Easterly wind and heavy rain. The consequence was that I remained very quietly at home pursuing my regular and usual occupation.

Read over a large file of my Grandmother’s letters which I discovered today. She has more of grief than of Joy in her correspondence, and yet she was a cheerful woman. But one remarkable feature in her grief is to be found in the occasions of it. I do not know whether vices are hereditary in families, but it would almost seem so from the number of examples which one meets with. The Smith blood seems to have had the scourge of intemperance dreadfully applied to it. Yet the first example of the race whom I know of, was an exemplary clergyman. A Son, Grandchildren in two branches, and great grandchildren have defied all the efforts of the most careful education.1 Here have been the causes of the bitterest sorrows of our family. Public misfortune and pecuniary losses have been nothing to the wearing sorrow occasioned by deep mortification from personal misconduct. My father was telling me of the family of the Warrens of Plymouth, and we have before us the case of the Everetts. It is not without cause that every member of such families should feel in constant alarm lest an unwary moment plunge him into the vortex which he sees so ready to engulph all about him. This is not out of my mind.

The family here is now quite large. John was not well all day and appeared to be suffering from the weather. I felt cold but otherwise in unusual health. Evening, reading Humphry Clinker to the ladies. It is not without occasional embarrassment, for the style of writing in that day was a little of the coarsest.

The day was fine, and I went to town accompanied by Sarah, the child’s nurse for the Summer, whom I also brought out again. My time was very much taken up in performing Commissions entrusted to me by various members of the family.

My father who seems badly in body and mind, being disabled in his hand, requested me to call and deliver messages verbally in answer to two Letters he received this morning. One was from B. F. Hallet upon the subject of Dearborn’s election. Degrand has been exercising a little of his French impudence by getting inserted indirectly what he could not procure directly, my father’s opinion in favour of Dearborn. The Antimasons, seeing a statement in the Centinel to this effect, are desirous of counteracting it. The business is one of great delicacy.1 I had other political conversation also.

From thence I went to see A. H. Everett—My purpose to tell him, my father would try to see him on Wednesday.2 He then spoke of my last Article and it’s success. He referred to notices of it in the New York American and Montreal Paper. I have seen neither, but I have met with one in the Morning Post which was unexpected and therefore the more agreeable.3 This is a virulent Jackson Newspaper. It is a little encouraging to me and God knows, I need it. But the greatest sign of my success is to be found in a request to write again upon Hutchinson’s third volume for the January number. I said I would endeavor to be ready although at present in the midst of my Grandfather’s Papers. This gives me occupation at the same time that it sustains me as a descendant of a brilliant family in the public estimation. Here is the rub upon my spirits. Although I can have no hopes of any public success like that of my fathers, yet at least I can desire to stand as a worthy descendant so far as my own conduct can affect me.

I made two or three other calls and then to the House where I could not get in. On the whole, I was walking all the morning. Returned to dinner. Afternoon quiet, reading over Letters, and Evening, finished Humphry Clinker.