Another year. To moralize upon time is stale and old fashioned enough. Yet it has its advantages. Montaigne in the Essay I was reading on Sunday remarks that time is that of which men are always lavish upon all matters, while they grudge money and other things not half so valuable.2 Most persons keep no account of it. Day passes after day constantly adding to the sum of human existence without creating any excepting perhaps a momentary emotion. A Diary like this which I keep forces me to more continual reflection. It reminds me of what I am, how little I have done and how much I ought to do. It brings me back to feelings of humility when I have been elated by pride, and it soothes me in moments of depression by recollection of hours sometimes well bestowed. My Diary is my companion. I unburthen my sorrows, and communicate my joys, I express my hopes and display my fears. And when days such as this intervene, I gain an opportunity of looking back to see how all these have been excited since the preceding similar Anniversary. My lot has hitherto been an extremely favoured one. I have enjoyed life without any effort. I have received benefits which no act of mine has deserved. My sense of duty has been efficient only in the passive character of a monitor of what not to do. If in the course of the year that now opens to me, more decided action may be required of me, I have only to hope and trust that I shall not then be found wanting. And that my Diary may assist in sustaining me through the hours of trial.

The day was warm and rainy. I went to the Office and was engaged in business affairs all the morning drawing up my books and accounts. A tedious concern but one which must not be avoided. Dependence is at all times unpleasant. The older a person grows, the less he feels disposed to submit to it, provided his temper is of the kind which mine is. Small as my opportunities are of doing any thing for myself, I yet hope to improve them to the utmost. May Heaven smile upon my 2efforts. No walk owing to the weather. Afternoon at home.3 Continued Anquetil4 but finding myself drowsy, I determined to resume my Anti Masonry. So I wrote over one half of No. 8. and as I think improved it.5 Evening for once quiet at home. Malvina, Burns.6 Afterwards, German.

This was what is commonly called Election day. That is, the day upon which the newly elected Government of the State goes into operation. I went to the Office as usual and was occupied in settling up Affairs, making out new Accounts for the next year and finishing off old ones. It took up nearly all of my time. Took a walk. The day was lovely. If our season of last year was a cold and dreary one, that of this has been as extraordinarily mild. My walk was a very pleasant one. Gorham Brooks and his Wife dined with us. He was pleasant enough.1 And our little dinner went off without difficulty. I should very much like to see company at my house on easy, social terms. Afternoon, passed in reading Anquetils Account of the Ligue. His is very much the same story, I have seen at second hand in Lingard.2 Not much to the credit of the French character. Evening, quiet at home. Finished Malvina, which is a gloomy book enough. Mem. not to read any more of Madame Cottin. Burns’ Life, afterwards, more of Wieland.3