This morning was colder than yesterday and on the whole affords a bitter specimen of the severity of the Winter. I have rarely felt the action of the cold more even when the Thermometer was lower. At the Office as usual, where I read with attention the beginning of the papers of Novanglus, but I have given up the idea of writing upon the subject at present. It is too laborious in this cold weather. I wrote my Journal, and had one or two interruptions with demands to be paid. So my morning passed.

I had engaged with my Wife to dine with Mr. and Mrs. Frothingham so that I went down at the usual time. Nobody there but P. Chardon Brooks. I did not enjoy myself much, and returned only to get two hours of Cicero, but with it, I finished Brutus and began a review, which as usual strikes me much more pleasantly. The style seems then to fall into its place so much more easily. I hope to be able at the close to give a connected opinion about the book.

In the evening, Abby having returned, we sat down to read Corinne as usual, but Edward Brooks came in and passed nearly all of it with us in conversation. I did not sit up so long as usual this evening, as my fire went out but I still wrote in my Catalogue, and some of the Tatler.