It was mild and clear last evening and I could not help remarking upon the beauty of the night, but when I arose this morning, a violent northwester was blowing which soon reduced the temperature to a very low point in the thermometer. I think the wind made it the most disagreeable day to be out we have had. I went to the Office. The 184uproar in Congress has ceased and my father has carried the day. I hope he will use his victory in moderation. Office where I had my Carpenter, Mr. Ayer, and disputed the points with him famously. He wanted money and I paid him on account. Mr. Walsh came in also and talked. Home, to read Livy.
Carried down my last number to the Advocate. They will not publish the letters I wish. So much for the freedom of that press. Afternoon, engaged revising my numbers which I propose to publish together. Evening by invitation to Governor Everett’s at Charlestown. I rode in a Carriage with Mr. Frothingham and Mr. Lothrop, who with his Wife were the only supernumeraries.1 Rather tolerable but not agreeable. Glad to get home notwithstanding.
That is, the only guests not members of the family.
The cold was severe this morning but subsequently moderated. I went to the Office and was occupied much of my morning in Accounts. The Storm in Congress has blown over. My father has got through with it much better than could have been expected. I hope this will prove the last for the season. Called to see a Printer about collecting my papers and publishing them together. I agreed upon it and will give him the first numbers tomorrow.
Mr. Walsh is a daily visitor and we talk over affairs very thoroughly. Walk and home to read Livy—the catastrophe of Perseus who seems to have been utterly deficient in the sort of energy which carries on great enterprises. Philip or Alexander would have managed matters very differently. This seems to be the mover of all the events of life. Men act and their power changes the current of things.
Afternoon, I was engaged in a great variety of things—revising and writing over some portions of my papers, a little of Burnet but not much, Forster and Chateaubriand. Mr. Brooks and T. K. Davis came in to tea. The latter staid all the evening. Conversation upon the parallell to be drawn between the characters of my father and grandfather. I read to him the letter to Webb of 1755 and those of the 3d of July 1776, and also that very remarkable one from my grand Mother of the 3d of March while they were storming Boston.1 Perhaps as fine a letter as ever flowed from female pen.