Morning cloudy. I went to the Office after reading a Scene or two in the first part of Schiller’s Wallenstein. Time taken up in Diary and writing Article No. 4 of my Political Speculation which I now continue that the Senatorial election is substantially decided. After I had finished it I called upon Mr. Hallett and had some conversation with him upon the general aspect of affairs. He consulted me upon the expediency of further measures. Who should be nominated for election as Governor. I explained to him the arrangement as it had been laid down to me and the motives which I ascribed to each individual actor. He was not informed of them, and could hardly believe the statements respecting Messrs. Webster and E. Everett although he adduced himself reports confirmatory of them, which he had received from other quarters. This added to the difficulty of the question. Mr. E. Everett must be the candidate of the Antimasons. I admitted this. But the next point was whether he was to be allowed to succeed in his miserable manoeuvre of getting the Whig nomination first by Mr. Webster’s influence and the Antimasonic afterwards by my fathers and his own. I recommended Mr. Hallett’s suggestion of a prior nomination. This would put him upon the horns of a dilemma which in my belief, his conduct deserves. He is a double hearted man if there is one on the face of the earth. His brother Alexander is not so bad. He has tried the game at his brothers suggestion but has made so wretched a hand of it, that he seems of late to have gone back and risked the consequences. Neither of these gentlemen are at all beyond the reach of legitimate reprisals.

Home losing my walk and Ovid. Afternoon papers, and Finished the volume of Grimm which I had. This is more lazy and less profitable reading than d’Israeli and yet I like it. The criticism of Rousseau is very good. Evening Abby had some friends, Miss Julia Gorham and her betrothed Mr. Richard Robbins, Miss Dehons and brother, Miss Carter, Mr. and Mrs. Frothingham and son, and P.C.B.Jr. Supper, but on the whole the thing was dull.

Another cloudy disagreeable day. It is a week now that we have not seen the sun. I went to the Office. Read a little and wrote Diary. My time at the Office passes very fast. And yet I perhaps do not spend it in the most useful manner.

Today I spent half an hour in writing to my Mother.1 To her I can incidentally say things which if addressed to my father would seem hard. Yet they may so place the truth before his eyes as to enable him to act more effectively. He is a singular instance of a man to whom prudence never was natural—Who as he grew older lost the inducements which formerly existed to exercise it, and therefore constantly exposed himself on all sides to the attacks of enemies. To day there arrived his own explanation of his warlike speech which reduces it down to little or nothing. But the explanation was unnecessary because the conviction was growing in the Community. And it subjected him to a colourable charge of interest in making it. I think I shall write to my Mother upon this point.2

Walk. Ovid, finishing the fifth book of the Fasti. Afternoon. Papers and de Grimm. Evening, continued Article—Bacon in the Biographia. Wallenstein.