I felt better this morning and at least out of pain but still entirely unable to go on as usual. I must be suffering under some severe obstruction. Went to the Office and was occupied there in my usual duties. Copied out the second part of the Indenture to Colburn, which was nearly all the extra work I was able to do. Called to see Mr. Hallett with whom I was anxious to have some conversation, but could not find him. He has to take refuge at home from the interruptions he meets with at the Office. Then to the Athenaeum where I find nothing.

The aspect of political affairs is slightly changing. The Pennsylvania Antimasons are in great danger of being completely gulled by the Whigs and losing all the ground they have gained at the late election. Well, so be it. There is not much wisdom in all this. Walk and home where I read Juvenal. The eleventh Satire. I never made such slow progress in any book, but it is hard and must be mastered.

Afternoon again occupied in pasting. Upon looking over what I have, I find a great deal that is wanting. Particularly two or three of what I consider as my best productions, those on the State of the Nation. Evening at home. Work on the Catalogue of Medals and Coins. Then writing more Politics.

I did not feel perfectly well even yet. My digestive powers not appearing to be in their usual order, I went to the Office and was occupied as usual in Accounts and in Diary.1 Nothing of any consequence occurred.

I went down and tried to find Mr. Hallett but could not succeed. He has left town in some direction or other. And in the mean time his Paper is heavy and flat. The newspaper indications are that Mr. Webster will be the final candidate of the party. I am getting into such a snarl that my safest course will be at once again to withdraw from politics. I mean first to write an exposition of the absurdity of the Webster nomination and then rest upon my oars.

Walk, and Juvenal. Afternoon finished my work of pasting and read some of Rousseau’s Contrat Social. It rained heavily. Evening. Coins and Medals. Writing without satisfaction.

Fine morning. I went to the Office and was engaged there as usual. Mr. Spear came in from Quincy and conversed with me upon the subject of the various matters left by my father. He has acted more strangely this time than ever. He has left all his Affairs at sixes and sevens and intrusted none to me. I am not sorry for this as I have enough of my own to take care of. But I am afraid his property will not be much improved by the change.

Diary, and out to take a walk. Called at Cunningham’s to see some 269Coins advertised for sale. I should like to have them but cannot at present afford them. Walk. Home. Juvenal. Finished the eleventh and began the twelfth Satire.

Afternoon, reading Rousseau’s Contrat Social. He is a strong writer and a very ingenious thinker. Let Voltaire say what he will of him. I then wrote part of an Essay for the Newspaper the commencement of which satisfied me better than any thing I have done.

Evening quietly at home. Worked upon my Coins but little. Instead of which I read some Biographies in the Portrait Gallery.1 The baby was sick and the Dr. came to see it.