Morning clear and warm again. I arose refreshed and delighted that the whole of yesterday’s affair was over. This bustle is a terrible thing. I know that I am not fitted for the noise of public life. The moment it surrounds me, I feel a most unconquerable disgust. I began my first draught of an Article upon the Oration on the Crown and accomplished a little. Then to the Office where I wasted the morning doing little or nothing. Talked with Mr. Peabody. Had two or three visitors: Mr. Degrand upon my Atlas Shares, Mr. Curtis about Mr. Boylston’s matters, and one or two others of less consequence. Called to see Mr. Brooks, and tried to read the Defence but could not make it out. My mind is losing its tenacity at least in the morning.

Dined at the Tremont House and after a walk went home where I spent my time in writing on my Work. This I continued in the Evening. My Wife though not quite so well in consequence of yesterday, was nevertheless getting along very tolerably. I read Bacon’s Essay on Envy and my usual numbers of the Spectator.