Morning at the Office as usual. Received a letter from my Mother at Philadelphia but in the Account reached no farther than New York. She is well and has passed all the bad portion of the Journey pretty comfortably.1 My time was passed in arranging what I had to say upon the Working Men’s party, after going to Market which I tried this morning. I recollect that long before I was married, I used to laugh at this peculiar duty of Wedded Life in Boston, but on experience I think it is by no means unpleasant. My time is not however very well accounted for. I waste it nearly as badly as ever.

On my return home I designed taking a walk but was stopped by purchasing some Wood, a business I have been contemplating for some time past. This prevented my having a walk of any length. Afternoon, read Cicero de claris Oratoribus which is not over and above interesting. A dry detail of men who never were very distinguished as Orators and now forgotten is but uninteresting reading.

I took an hour to prepare myself for my evening duty, but I felt disinclined to it as I was forced to the wrong side. I went, but did not succeed as well as usual not only from the want of support but from my disbelief of the doctrines. I returned home and read two numbers of the Tatler.