The weather is remarkably mild for the season. I went to the Office this morning after trying to drum up my people to their work in my new little study. But I did not succeed today. My time much taken up in Diary and Accounts.

I intended to have commenced a regular series of walks today but just as I was about to start Mr. Hallet called. He appeared to come for the purpose of sounding what my father’s opinions might be upon the present crisis. Of course I gave him not my father’s but my own and left him to discern the difference. By a very foolish course of conduct on his part, his party has been thoroughly broken down in this State. And he now is looking round to try to find out some way by which he may build it up again. He seemed to rely on imputing to the Atlas a scheme of bringing forward Mr. Calhoun, and then ringing the changes of Nullification. A very visionary affair both in the Atlas on one side and himself on the other. I told him he could not make that go. We then went into a discussion of the prospects of the Presidential candidates, and the probability that a great deal would turn upon the subject of internal improvements. The West would insist upon some concession. Would Mr. Van Buren make it? or would the South take up Judge White or some moderate man and let him balance himself as Jackson had done? From this he went to the approaching election of Senator in this State. He wishes my father to be elected and intimated a desire to canvass for it in his Newspaper. I discouraged the idea, told him I thought more was due to my father’s present feelings, and that he would value the election if it took place only as the voluntary contribution of the Majority. He seemed much discouraged, and took my Lecture (for I could not help alluding to what I thought had been wrong) very goodnaturedly. I think him the best Editor of a News-28paper in Boston, but he is deficient in judgment and has allowed his belief in his own powers to run away with him. I had only time to return to dinner.

Afternoon finished Sir James Mackintosh’s fragment which is continued by his Editor on different views and I like these so little that I shall not pursue them. I am however a little surprised at the very high character given of William of Orange. I had always supposed him a man of ability but cold and stern with more of personal ambition than of high souled principle in his composition though not devoid of the latter. This puts a very different face upon the matter. His editor I see pecks at him about it. Evening, solaced myself with one of Miss Austens pretty Novels.1

A wet, rainy day and dark. I succeeded however in getting my grate to the house and having it put up so that I now begin my regular mode of life. Went to the Office where I passed my time as usual.

My division of the day this year is to be in some respects a new one. I go to the Office to spend my time until twelve, from that time to walk an hour and then home to read Ovid until half past two, which is our dinner hour. Afternoon to be devoted to the MS papers of the old gentleman,1 and a division of them. Evening partly out when necessary, otherwise to be devoted to German. My spirits which are not light this winter owing to many causes may get through by rigid attention to this Diet. My health, thank God, never was better.

I went up to my House and procured the fourth volume of my set of Ovid. Thence home where I sat down and made myself quite comfortable in my little study. The Afternoon I began upon the Papers, and hit first upon those relating to the Presidency. The Official correspondence of the heads of Department. Quiet evening at home. Miss Austen robs one of two or three hours very pleasantly.

Goethe is considered by Germans as the head of all their literature. He has for a long time past carried away with him the suffrages of all, and this must be admitted to show a great degree of power. But when I look for it in Werther I do not see it. To be sure it is a very natural 29picture of a particularly morbid condition of the human frame and might answer particularly well for the study of a physician. But there is not a single healthy view of human life, hardly a single sound general principle in the book. And I cannot enjoy much a book which has neither of these.

Office. Writing and Accounts. I devote myself almost exclusively to my Diary. But I took my walk and called upon Mr. Sharpe by request of Mr. Brooks as also upon Clark to pay him for a marble mosaic table I have induced him to get, which Sharpe is setting.1

Home where I read part of the eighth book of the Metamorphoses. Afternoon, pursuing my examination of the Official papers. They contain little or nothing of a very interesting character for they give results without showing the mode in which these were reached. Pickering shows his character more than any of the Officers. The same stubborn, opinionated man that he always was.2 Evening, my Wife being alone, I read aloud part of Miss Austen’s Novel of Mansfield Park, after which German in my study.