The weather was again severely cold this morning. The Thermometer falling to ten degrees below zero of Fahrenheit. As low I think as I have ever known it in this place. The day was clear with a Northwest wind. I attended divine service all day. Heard Mr. Frothingham from Luke 13. 8. “Let it alone this year also.” Upon the revolution of a year and the reflections consequent upon it in the minds of those who would reform their faults. A good discourse. Mr. Pierpont preached in the afternoon from Job. I am not quite certain of the Text so for fear of error will not put down the one I remember. It was a common place upon the topic of death, of the support of the righteous, and concluded by a very pretty poetical quotation. I thought it was very pretty.

I also read in the Afternoon a Sermon of Dr. Barrow, Proverbs 10. 9 “He that walketh uprightly, walketh surely.” He first explains the meaning of upright walking and then defines under several heads the 49security which is attained by it. A good discourse but I see yet no reason to alter my opinion of the writer. His reputation must be founded upon some other Sermons.

I pursued the reading of Oberon and some of d’Israeli. The second volume of the latter is not so amusing as the first, yet there are one or two articles very curious—One upon similarities of Authors very good and instructive. Notwithstanding the severity of the cold I took my usual walk, and found it not unpleasant.

Still very cold though a little easier than yesterday. I read Oberon as usual until ten o’clock and then went to the office. But the principal part of my day was taken up at a Picture Auction where after all I purchased nothing but a little thing which I did not want and yet was cheap enough. When we came to the ones I did want there was interference on the part of the owner who withdrew them. I lost my morning.

Short walk. Home. Ovid. The doctrine of Pythagoras which is admirably given. On the whole I regard this book with much pleasure. My absence from my own library renders it impossible for me to read it with such zest as I do when able to consult parallel descriptions but this I will not again allude to. It is a perpetual want. Afternoon, Letters. James Lovell.

I sit now in my study in the Evening but do not improve the time as much as I might from want of definite object. I am employed now upon papers which are not yet in a condition to put in any shape. And this employment keeps me back from any other.

Cold continues. I went to the office after reading Oberon. Fire missed catching and therefore cold and comfortless. Mr. Beale called in from Quincy with several items of information. His particular business an application for an answer by my father to an offer of a Long Lease of one of the House Lots in my Grandfather’s donation to the town.1 He is living at home this winter with his children. Cold enough. I took my walk though not without considerable discomfort.

The whole town talking of a melancholy suicide. A young woman, daughter of N. P. Russel just married to a Clergyman Mr. Barnard. An unhappy affair. This town is too gloomy. Yet gayer ones have more suicides. The spirit of gaming drives these.

Afternoon, Letters of Samuel Adams and Ralph Izard. The latter a very uneasy, passionate spirit. It is not a little singular however to find him taking up the Cudgels for the Fisheries against my grandfather who probably from a spirit of contradiction some say in conversation with him argued against them. Such are the perversities of the human mind. Evening, read Mrs. Trollope’s Belgium.2 A poor thing with not half the spirit of her American book. Oberon.