Cold again. I went to the Office but executed little excepting a Lease of the Tenant at Weston, and studied a little the returns of the Massachusetts Banks. I judge from them that our currency is in a pretty dangerous condition. There is considerable difference among the Institutions, but the oldest Institutions do not in all cases appear strongest or best managed. In the mean time the public distress is not dimin-261ishing nor likely to be diminished. The effect will probably be felt by us all only after the lapse of months. The Manufactures of the Country must depress wages, and this will operate far and wide.

Short walk only, in consequence of some Commissions. Afternoon, read Stewart on Taste. His power of illustration is greater I think than his original matter. Terence, the Eunuch. In the evening Miss Edgeworth’s Absentee. Finding myself without purpose, I intend now to go back to my German.1 Began again today.

Fine day. I went to the Office and executed the remainder of the Lease to the Farmer at Weston. Attended the sale of things belonging to Mr. A. Welles, which did not go off quite so briskly as before. The smaller things however sold well. The heavier ones showed (and it is the first private indication I have found) the present state of pressure in the Community.

Short Walk. Afternoon, read Ricardo upon the question of Currency which was at one time much agitated in this Country. Public affairs present daily a more gloomy aspect. The People are at last realizing the election of Andrew Jackson. He is making them feel that they like the frogs in the fable have got for their ruler a devouring and inflexible being. The worst of it is that in the punishment, the innocent are involved with the guilty. We must wait for events.

Read more of the Eunuch which has more wit and character in it than the Andrian. Evening quiet. Had a pleasant visit from T. K. Davis who sat till ten o’clock.

Morning passed at the office occupied in the same series of nothingness which distinguishes so much of my time. My spirits are a little affected by this state of things. I feel as if I was not doing any thing worthy of myself and as if I should not ever be more than one of the idle drones of Society. I know that this is wrong, that I ought to think how greatly favoured I am in life to be put above the necessity of 262labour. Perhaps this is one cause of my uneasiness. To be a mere liver of a life of luxury is not fully to my taste. To be a hanger on upon the popular favor is still less so. I cannot court any body. And my talents however much I may prize them, are not of that transcendent description which secure admiration in a moment.

Walk. Afternoon. Read Ricardo’s Pamphlet on the Bank of England which gave me some new ideas upon that subject. Terence, the Eunuch—A description of a rape which would be rather harsh for our ears. Evening quiet at home. The Absentee. I afterwards began Du Bos Reflections upon Poetry and Painting.1