Morning cool and clear. I went to the Office as usual. Time occupied by attending a Meeting of Directors of the Middlesex Canal for the purpose of consulting upon a Dividend. The annual report of the agent was read which displays a very favorable state of the concern, but the dread of competition from the rail road just going into operation still hangs over us. Divided as usual, making a considerable reserve. Collected some money and made a deposit. The teller informed me that after the close of this month I must go elsewhere.1 This is unpleasant after dealing so long and quietly with this Institution. Accounts. I succeeded in making a Copy of my Account with T. B. Adams and wrote a letter to accompany it as well as a short one to my father to whom I directed the whole packet.2

Home to read Livy. In the afternoon, after consuming part in copying the letters abovementioned, I spent the rest in reading the remainder of Cicero’s Letters to Lentulus. The closing one is perhaps the most memorable of the whole collection, as a description of policy, as a question of justification. Evening at home. Read to my Wife from Gil Blas. The intrigue under the Duke of Lerma. A capital sketch of court corruption. Afterwards, writing until very late upon the last letter to Mr. Slade a sketch of which I finished before I went to bed—as I thought, a little jewel.

Fine day. I went to the Office and found that the public was all alive upon the subject of a Special Message which General Jackson has sent in to Congress about the French affairs. I did not get it. At the Office where I was engaged in making up Arrears of Diary that fell behind in consequence of my other occupations this week. Mr. Wild, my tenant called in to pay his rent. No other interruption. I did this day insist upon a long walk and felt the better for it. My health begins to call loudly for regular exercise.

Home, Livy. Mr. E. Everett dined with us and I was as civil to him as possible. My heart is now softened towards him. He has miseries which make him a pitiable object. Afternoon reading part of Hooke’s history of Rome,1 but I felt the effect of my last night’s vigil. Also Voltaire, to whose letters I am almost enslaved.

Evening, Goethe who to me is tiresome. Then to Mr. Frothingham’s, where was a meeting of the family. Edward and P. C. Brooks with his Wife, Mr. Brooks, and ourselves. Supper and home.