Day cloudy with rain. I passed some time in reading part of Hugo’s Notre Dame, a very singular production of the modern or romantic French School. Attended divine service and heard Mr. Frothingham preach from Isaiah 22. 24. “They shall hang upon him all vessels of small quantity, from the vessels of cups, even to all the vessels of flagons.” A singular text and no less singular application. He commenced with the dependence which exists upon a large body of many smaller ones, or rather in proportion not so much to their size as to their position. The nail for instance of the text supported many vessels of various sizes and so the Christian faith carried with it many abuses. He alluded to some arising from old habits and prejudices, recurring with some severity to the observance of the Fast.

Mr. Walsh was not with me today. After a walk, home. Afternoon, 2 Corinthians 4. 8. “perplexed but not in despair,” a discourse somewhat 225adapted to the present state of the commercial world. He drew reasons against despair under great embarrassments, from three sources, the changeable character of human affairs always inspiring hope, the character of the mind, and above all the special injunction of God. A very good discourse.

I afterwards read one of Sterne’s Sermons from Luke 18. 14. “I tell you this man went down to his house, justified rather than the other.” Very short and directed to the inutility of forms, as exemplified in the parable. I read more of Notre Dame and at home all the evening.

A clear day. I went to the Office, busied myself in the making up of the Accounts which have been behind hand for the last Quarter. I find myself better situated than I had expected, and more able to meet the strain upon my means for the next two months. The work took up much of my time.

Mr. o’Sullivan a young man from Washington, one of the undertakers of the Democratic Magazine as it is to be called, was with A. H. Everett, who called me in to introduce him and to make application for contributions.1 I assented with civility to his proposition, although without any intention of performing any thing. I am a little tired of politics. The intrusion of Mr. R. Freeman for a time kept us in an awkward state as we had nothing to say.

Home to read Homer. Afternoon, Plutarch, and Agathon. I have rather slighted old Burnet for a time. Evening, T. K. Davis came in and we had some talk but then adjourned to Mr. Frothingham’s to spend an hour from whence I went by invitation to J. Quincy Jr’s. A party of politicians. The honourable Senate or such of them out of the Whig ranks as chose to come, with Mr. Webster, Mr. Lawrence &ca &ca. I was not a little amused at the manner in which the first named gentleman was thrown directly in my way.2 As I was directly opposite the door, it opened and he looked me in the face. But he never moved a muscle nor did I. The party was so generally Whig that I found myself much out of my element, and was pleased to return to Mr. F’s. The only people of my side (as I call it) were Mr. Rantoul and A. Walker. The former seemed to me much depressed, and talked humbly. Supper at Mr. F’s, and a kind of talk that lasted quite late. T. K. Davis seemed depressed also but his dullness wore off with talking.