A pleasant and a warm day for the commencement of this month usually more renowned with poets than any other class of persons. I passed my morning in looking over Loudon’s Encyclopedia of Architecture which I purchased for the sake of finding a plan in case I should determine to build.1 But it seems to me that the book is a complete failure in furnishing the particular class of middling houses which most people want.

Attended divine service and heard Mr. Frothingham from John 3. 14.15. “And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness even so 380must the son of man be lifted up, That whosoever believeth in him should not perish but have eternal life.” A beautiful sermon no doubt but the weather and my reading had so affected my thinking faculties that I could not for the life of me, although trying very hard, fix my attention. Mr. Walsh dined and walked with me. We had a pleasant dinner. Afternoon, Psalms 126. 5. “They that sow in tears shall reap in joy.” A pathetic and affecting text. One calculated to inspire comfort into the breast of every man commencing an undertaking of a discouraging character.

I read a Sermon of Dr. Barrow’s upon the subject begun last Sunday, a continuation of the reasons why the Saviour may be supposed to have sacrificed himself to save all, more particularly the nature of the sacrifice and its extent. My Sundays are nowadays entirely taken up for in the evening we commonly go out either to see my Wife’s father or brother, Edward. Tonight we went to see the latter, for an hour. Quiet conversation and then home. Swift.

A perfect summer day. I went to the Office, time taken up very much in Accounts. A part of the remainder of Mr. Johnson’s funds was paid in to me and I procured an advance upon half of the remainder from the Merchants’ Bank. With this I purchased in conjunction with Mr. Brooks the Mortgage upon a great establishment lately built at the corner of Tremont and Beacon Street which takes up most of the funds in question. Signed an engagement to furnish the balance on the 18th or before. This with my Diary and the entries necessary took up all my time. Home Livy. No walk because it is too warm.

Mrs. T. B. Adams dined with us. She is a mater dolorosa, not so pleasant as many might be. She left us for Quincy to set up again. Afternoon, Sismondi and Ariosto with a little German. Evening, a thunder storm. Mr. and Mrs. Frothingham dropped in for an hour. Afterwards, Swift, finished the four years of Queen Anne.

Morning exceedingly warm but at two the wind came round with a jerk and the consequence was an extraordinary chill in the atmosphere. I went to the Office. Mr. Walsh came in and talked but there 381was nothing new. The political world seems to be in a state of calm. But the Globe has published a manifesto in which it is said is manifested much alarm for the result of the election and an admission that if it goes to the House, Mr. Van Buren will be defeated.1 I do not feel very sorry for this. In the first place it will take down the overbearing and dictatorial tone of the party, and in the second, it will make them more conciliatory to us in this quarter, which is very much to be desired. And even after all, if Van Buren fails, there will be no great loss to the Country. I support him as a choice of evils, and shall not cry my eyes out for the success of the ninny Harrison or the booby White. Under the latter especially the Government would be feebly but yet honestly administered. I am not sorry for this on many other accounts all connected with public considerations as very certainly any other result than the election of Mr. Van Buren effectually blocks up every path for me. I think this shows my disinterestedness pretty clearly.

Accounts and Diary, then on two or three commissions. Went to see Mr. Pickman’s House which is to be sold tomorrow2—A very nice house, but my object in looking at it is only curiosity. Livy. J. H. Adams took his departure from our house after dinner for Quincy where his mother has opened her’s. He has been quiet and cheerful, giving us no disturbance.3 Evening, a thunder shower. Madame Junot. The seventh volume is tiresome, Swift.