Morning clear but rather colder than it has been. I went to the Office as usual and was occupied in my common avocations. I read a considerable portion of Williston with interest, though the Speeches did not strike me forcibly. They are of too temporary a character to please me. A part of my time was taken up in early preparation for sending in my Account Current, to my Father. I design it to be very thorough and satisfactory. The account was prepared as far as possible 112on one side, but nothing done in respect to the Letter to accompany it. My time was a little interrupted by the visit from Mr. Jones of Weston to bring me a little more of the proceeds of the sale of Wood at that place. This money comes in tolerably well. I do not know that now I shall want to receive any more, as the sum in my hands of my father’s is now quite large enough, and nearly all demands are satisfied. He gave me some unpleasant News about the Horses, saying that one of them was unwell. I am glad I did not take him and have the trouble of him. But I feel sorry that they should be getting sick. This is the worst of Horses.

I returned home at dinner time and in the afternoon studied Aeschines again after a lapse of some time. It grieves me exceedingly that I am unable to go on as I wish, but obstacles seem to be throwing themselves in the way constantly which only fret me to death. Patience is an essential requisite to a man, and although I had supposed that my experience in life had given me no trifling share of it, I do yet find myself frequently mortified by my want of it. I could not quite accomplish my regular purposes, as I went down to see the family, the regular meeting of whom happens once a week, and for this week with my Wife. These meetings are not pleasant from the circumstance that there is no community of feeling in the family. Edward and his Wife are entirely different from Chardon and his, and they all have no points of resemblance with mine. This consideration is deeply painful to me, for I see little in future so far as they are concerned to encourage my natural and good feelings which burn to disclose themselves.1 My own family are now removed from me and they have in some measure lost that interest in me the want of which I feel though my age deprives me of it. But enough of this. It answers only for a Journal, perhaps not for that. The time was passed tolerably.