A very beautiful day, and one very well adapted to the raising the frame of my house although I do not propose to be there to superintend it. My time somewhat occupied in accounts. My father’s tenants made some progress today in payment and I thought it best without further delay to make a remittance of as much as I could leaving myself somewhat bare notwithstanding the extent of the payments to which I am soon liable.1 I confess I am made by the position a little anxious. The money concerns of the Country do not get much better.

Homer. Then to Mr. P. C. Brooks’ to a dinner of the family, Mr. and Mrs. Frothingham, Governor and Mrs. Everett, and ourselves. Tolerably pleasant but nothing new, excepting the accounts from New York which are worse and worse.

Home, where I read Agathon for some time, and then Moores Life of Byron to my Wife. His latter days are not his best days. At least if we may except his Greek project which after all was rather a feeling than a principle. Afterwards, Victor Hugo, finishing the second vol-237ume which has a succession of pretty powerfully drawn scenes. Disagreeable, unnatural and yet not at all unlike or improbable.

The day was so doubtful looking that I concluded to postpone my intended ride to Quincy until I could decide upon the probability of the workmen being able to go on. At the Office. Accounts which were a little discouraging today. I have weakened myself too much and am now making an effort to get back by drumming up the Tenants. The public mind continues much agitated by the distresses of the commercial community which instead of being relieved appear in New Orleans and New York to grow worse and worse. There must come an end to this soon on the principle that matters cannot be worse. The last shock is apprehended from the London Bankers, of whose solvency the chance is just about equal. It seems that the President of a N. Y. Bank has very suddenly died there under suspicious circumstances as connected with his Institution. My spirits not high.

Home to read Homer which on the whole I enjoy as much as I do anything. Mr. Walsh dined with me and we afterwards rode out to Quincy. We had a thunder shower on the passage of no great severity. A mile and a half from the spot, I observed that my house was at last raised and made quite a figure in the air. They have worked very faithfully in the process and it was nearly all framed and looked well. This is encouraging. Remained until nearly sunset and then home. Mr. Walsh took tea and spent the evening. Afterwards, Agathon, but I was drowsy and retired.

Cloudy with occasional showers of rain throughout the day. I went to the Office and was somewhat more busy than usual in Accounts as it was the day for renewing a certain Note about which I had been anxious, inasmuch as almost all security is at this time very unsaleable. Having finished the transaction with Mr. Degrand, the agent through whom it was done entirely to my satisfaction, and waited in vain for a tenant or two, I returned home and read Homer. My spirits somewhat better than they have been, although still not steady from the weight of this my building undertaking.

Afternoon, Burnet, which I resumed after some little interval and that not vigorously. Agathon which is philosophical but I did not touch Plutarch. Greek is certainly a difficult language to be master of because it has hardly any fixed rule of construction or limit to the signification of words. I go on slowly. Evening Moore’s Life of Byron which continues to amuse us, and Notre Dame which goes on increasing in interest.