Morning fine. I arose early and enjoyed the pleasure of the air, in going to take a bath on the Charles river. This early rising in summer is pleasant but it requires an effort to become sensible of it.
I returned to breakfast feeling fresh and cool. At the Office, attended Court and heard the commencement of an argument in the case of the heirs of Hubbard against Mr. Brooks. This case involves a very large amount and charges fraudulent concealments on the part of Mr. Brooks which I regretted exceedingly being present to hear. The nature of the case was entirely unexpected to me and I repented being present as my feelings could not bear it. I shall not go again [even]
if the eloquence was ever so tempting. The case strikes me as a very hard and a very unjust suit to obtain money of a rich man upon an obsolete claim.1
In the afternoon, I amused myself with reading Scott’s Lives of Smollet and Cumberland. They are light, airy and superficial like every thing else of his. My father is now in New York. Evening, a walk. A most magnificent night and the panorama of the Common singularly striking.
Poor George has been buried at East Chester with all possible marks of respect.2
I feel now more disposed to look with melancholy upon his fate. Although I cannot come to the conclusion that he would have lived to give us much gratification, yet the peculiarities of his character, the pleasant kindness of his nature, and the light yet ornamental cultivation of his mind have often afforded me moments of great pleasure. He might have been a distinguished man had God granted him firmness of character. He was a lively and pleasant companion, and a kind heart.