Morning cold. I amused myself with reading Coleridge’s Table Talk.1 It does not appear to me to equal his reputation. There is a 273constant seeking after unseekable things that betrays the visionary but not the first rate mind. He wants the healthy tone which is visible in all the conversation I have seen of Mackintosh.

Attended divine service and heard a Sermon from Mr. Frothingham upon the Advent, as an Anniversary. Matthew 21. 5. “Tell ye the daughter of Sion, Behold, thy king cometh unto thee, meek.” He is fond of taking some notice of these days as occasions for Sermons although not attaching to them the same sentiments which made them objectionable with the Roman Catholics. But the extremes of opinion always meet. The Unitarian who has gone far beyond the Puritan’s utmost verge, yet comes back to the Catholic fancy which was one of the causes of the first division.

Owing to an accident, I was late to the afternoon service. Mr. Frothingham’s discourse was however upon the parable of the talents, which I believe I had heard already. Read a discourse of Barrow upon the necessity of Industry. Eccles. 9. 10. “Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with all thy might.” An excellent sermon. He considers the objects to be secured by it, health, wealth and honor, but above all virtue. I must look back to this discourse. Evening, went down to Mr. Brooks with my Wife and passed a couple of hours.

The cold is of quite unusual severity this year. Today moderated but the night could be ranked among our coldest. I went to the Office as usual and was engaged in my Accounts. Nothing however happened of any consequence. I have sold my Manufacturing Stock and realized handsomely from it. I was tempted to risk the proceeds upon a purchase of Insurance Stock, but on reflection prefer to wait and pay my Note. Debt is to me a bad thing and I propose that it shall remain so.

Home to read Juvenal, in which I am now making pretty rapid progress. It is time I should, for these sixteen Satires have been a matter of six months. Afternoon, reading Coleridge’s Table Talk, a fascinating sort of amusement and yet leading to nothing. I am reading his Poetry at the same time, and neither the one nor the other increase my estimate of the individual. Evening occupied at home. Read aloud to my Wife from Dacre. A pretty novel enough. Afterwards I made no great use of my time.