Morning clear and cool. After my usual quantity of Virgil I went to the Office and was occupied there in writing and Accounts. Called to see Mr. Hallett at the Advocate Office and had some conversation with him respecting political Affairs. I communicated to him my father’s plan, and he said the party had hesitated about Shaw’s nomination already. He intimated that they wished John Welles to take it. He it seems is trying to resist the current of Boston Masonic Gentry.1 I suggested the circulation of scattering votes for the former person as Governor where the Antimasonic party do not take much. Mr. John Bailey whom I met there informed me of my being appointed Chairman of a Committee at the late Convention, of which fact I knew nothing until this moment. It is not an unimportant duty either, the draughting a Memorial for the next Legislature.2

Took my walk as usual. Afternoon, read over Bacon’s colors of good and evil. I wish I could make myself master of this little piece. Of what wonderful use it might be in argument. Copied a letter to Governor Lincoln, from my father. It seems likely that he is dealing in a little of the littleness that is going about.3 After all, what does the whole thing amount to? A place of Governor in a State containing 600,000 persons with a Council controlling every act. Evening, at home, working upon my Article in which I made considerable progress. This must be got out of the way.

Morning warm with clouds, but the wind became easterly and very uncomfortable. I went to the Office and was occupied in Accounts. The time becomes so short that these with my Diary and an occasional interruption make up all I can do.

I intended to have gone to Quincy but the Carriage came in with my Mother. She appears exceedingly depressed. Her lonely way of life is not calculated for her at all. She dissuaded me from going to Quincy so I took a walk. My Wife and child are doing nicely. I thank Heaven for all mercies.

Afternoon, I read Lord Bacon’s New Atlantis, a singular fragment, and afterwards some other of his little detached works. Not one of them is without value. There is thought and that very profound in most of them. His observation of nature was clear and if he had meddled less with the profligacy of the times he lived in, how much more his mind could have done for the benefit of the World. The older I grow, the more I admire the powers of intellect and the less I see of them round and about me. Mediocrity is the stamp of almost every thing with us. My father is the only one of the great men of our day who appears to me to have any thing durable, and he has wasted his powers. Evening my article.