A very bad day with rain which froze as it reached the ground and made the walking intolerable. I went to the Office and after regulating my Accounts as usual, and writing Diary, I sat down and read Mackintosh. I am really delighted with this Volume. It appears to me the most philosophical history I ever read, and at the same time loses none of the high moral and religious character without which it is not worth studying. How poor all my own thoughts and efforts seem to me in comparison. They appear to be the vapouring of an empty head in comparison with the rich store of a highly cultivated natural intellect. I am in despair as to myself. This is one of the very few books which produces upon me the effect which the works of the old masters have been said to upon painters.

After dinner Anquetil who writes well and is yet tedious. The truth is, his subject has no relief in it. A monotony of struggles, for selfish interests and the passions of a moment. No aspirations breathed 29out from the impulse of the higher principles of our nature. Evening quiet. Caroline of Litchfield and Wieland. I make very slow progress in German.

More snow with a high wind and most unpleasant. I went to the Office where I now enjoy uninterrupted quite and read Sir James Mackintosh whose book from the spirit in which it is written is charming. I sit down to it as to an intellectual treat of the first class and have only to regret that he did not accomplish his purpose of writing out in extenso the whole of the British History. I most of all admire the heroic moral tone by which the historian judges of human action. Calm, decided, yet benevolent in general. I could not walk again today.

Afternoon—Reading Anquetil which is a totally different history and yet drawn up with no little of talent. I am also engaged in assorting Pamphlets for the Bookbinder. They do accummulate immensely fast upon me.

Evening, finished Caroline of Litchfield, a pretty little trifle with a good deal of human nature and some pardonable romance. I begin to look at these things more mildly than I used to. Afterwards Wieland, the extracts from whom I finished. My time is perhaps not passed to the best advantage, and yet it goes quietly, happily, and not altogether unprofitably, I hope.

A clear day at last. But the streets presented the appearance of winter with the quantity of ice in the streets and the immense icicles pendant from almost every house. Went to the Office and pursued quietly the study of Sir James Mackintosh whose book, I am sorry, is nearly finished. My quiet is perfectly preserved. I have not a soul to see me. This though it argues me unknown and unheeded is yet an exceedingly pleasant thing, for it avoids all the roughnesses of life which I see so thickly spread around more distinguished characters.

Walk, partly with Edmund Quincy. Afternoon, Anquetil, and Voltaire’s History of the Parliament of Paris,1 which I take up to understand the nature of that body and to explain some parts of Anquetil’s work. The History of the Fronde is highly interesting.

My Wife went out to tea, and I took up a MS volume of my Grand-30father’s upon the negotiation of 1783, containing the copies of all the Papers.2 That is a great subject in itself. I believe I must take it up in a scientific methodical way. Went to P.C.B. Jrs. Family and nobody else. Pleasant time. Home at ten.