Morning at the Office. I walked down to the Office of the Middlesex Canal1
to effect a transfer of the shares my father gave me but found no body to help me, so was obliged to return with the benefit of a long walk for nothing. Mr. Brooks notified to me that Abby was in town, and I went to see her at Mrs. Frothingham’s but she was not at home. I think too much upon that subject. It still paralyzes my powers of mind, but one thing I thank Heaven for, that it has ceased to be gloomy. Not seeing her this morning was a disappointment but it did not make me dull. I pursued my occupations as usual. Afternoon, reading Mr. Burke and American History by Mr. Pitkin, which is rather prosy. Evening at the Office. Read Sheridan’s Critic for the first time and then read it over. Delightful performance. It made me laugh heartily.