Mr. Brooks this day made me a present of the Mortgage and arrears of Interest upon the House in Acorn Street lately purchased by me. This had not been my intention in making the acquisition and it puts me a little into the difficult position of appearing to solicit such a present. Now this is so much against my habit that I need no argument to prove to myself my sincerity nor shall I go very far to attempt to manifest it to others. To Mr. Brooks I am under every obligation 117not only for a very favorable opinion of myself but for an exceeding kindness and attention to all our wishes. He has been particularly kind to me since I have made part of his family. I hope under all circumstances that I shall retain a most lively remembrance of it. My own father has shown less interest in my Prosperity.1

Out at the Office this morning. The Mason came to see me and I was obliged to go up with him to my House to give him Instructions about the repairs to be made. The business of setting in motion workmen on our own Account is something new. I called also to see Mr. Wild, my Tenant and the Cashier of the Boston Bank. I explained to him my view of his situation and left him with the alternative either to take a long Lease or take an addition upon his rent. Thus passed the morning, with a short walk.

In the afternoon, continued Grimm and Mons. Thiers who succeeds in softening down many of the roughest features of the Revolution of 1789, but I take his accounts with mistrust. A man who does not feel when he writes of such incidents must be made of singular stuff. Finished in the evening the first volume of the Poems of Coleridge upon which my opinion is decided. They are too abstract, much too speculative to serve the purposes of Poetry.

Weather cold and disagreeable. Snow and rain all day today. I went out late after the death of Gustavus Adolphus the Lion of the North, and by desire of my Wife called to see Mrs. Frothingham upon certain matters relating to our summer removals. Then to the Office where I was mainly occupied in bringing up my Diary which has fallen behind hand amazingly. The day was so bad I found no pleasure in being out and therefore omitted my walk. Lounged away some time at the bookstores. Home. Edward and P. C. Brooks and Mr. Frothingham dined with us. A pleasant time. Afternon read Grimm and M. Thiers.

Evening, began a new dramatic Poem called “Philip van Artevelde” by a Mr. Taylor.1 This has been exceedingly lauded by several of the English Reviews and described as opening a new poetical era. Mr. Taylor is himself a leading contributor to the Quarterly and all criticism in England is now so entirely one sided in consequence of political feeling that no confidence is to be placed in it. I am pleased however with a brief criticism introduced before the piece, upon some of the defects of the Poetry lately fashionable. Finished Wilhelm Meister.