Another beautiful morning. Returned to town with Mr. Brooks. I felt exceedingly depressed.
Sometimes, this sensation comes over me and I can scarcely feel equal to any exertion
whatever. The sense of the responsibility of my present situation comes heavily over
me, and the idea of the condition of the family, should any thing happen to me, is
too distressing. Formerly I had only the apprehension on my own account, now how much
it is increased. I derive consolation and support only from my religious feelings,
and the sense of performing my duty so far as in me lies. Read Law this morning and
transacted a little business. My father’s Affairs need attention. In the afternoon,
read Clarendon and much interested in his Account of the Civil War, and the character
of Falkland. It is beautifully drawn. Took a walk and felt soothed by the softness
of the air and the beauty of the verdure with which the Common is covered. This is
a sweet spot. In the evening, a few numbers of the Spectator. One on Prayer.