The last day of what has been a pleasant year to me. I shall remember it as the era of my happiness. I shall remember it as the season of encouragement to virtuous exertion. Time can do little to add to the sum of my enjoyment, and it may do much to take away from it. But whenever I think in this manner, I begin to grow gloomy. It is a singular faculty of the human mind to be disturbed at what will happen. Mr. Jefferson has said that by far the greatest proportion of distress is caused by apprehension of evils that never happen. This may be true and ought to teach us reliance upon a power far greater than our own. I will trust to it.

I went to the Office this morning, but remained there only just long enough to finish off Accounts. I then called at Mr. Brooks’ to hear how the child was, the Accounts were slightly encouraging.

Stopped at the Advocate Office and found Mr. Hallett with whom I had much conversation. He had more letters to show me and his answers to them. The whole giving a better clue to the plot which was a nomination of Webster by this National Convention. At the same time, an article signed Massachusetts appears in the National Intelligencer evidently by authority which announces Mr. Webster as not to withdraw, and another editorial in the Atlas of this morning to the same purport. This sets us more at ease. There is now no prospect of that union which more than any thing was to be dreaded by us.1 And hereafter we may in all possibility find plain sailing.

To the Athenaeum and thence home. Livy but somewhat interruptedly. Afternoon, having omitted some commissions in the way of New Year’s presents for the children, I went out and thus consumed most of my disposable time. Evening, having failed in obtaining tickets to hear Mrs. Wood by a mistake, I read Gil Blas to my Wife, and afterwards, wrote Diary.