Morning clear, but this snow storm has brought the Winter upon us a Month before its time. I found it cold going to the Office and when there did not accomplish any more than common. Made up my Accounts, received a Quarter’s rent from a man about whom I had doubts and deposited on my own account. This done, took a walk. Returned home and felt unusually well with an appetite to correspond. How it is that I have suffered so much of late I cannot tell but for two or three days I have been as I was a year ago.

Afternoon, engaged in reading Cicero de Natura Deorum which contains the strangest Medley of most ridiculous notions entertained by the old Philosophers. It seems to have been made a Sport of the intellect to see how many ridiculous fancies could be started upon the subject of all the most serious. Cicero certainly shines among them very much. Most from comparison. My fire troubled me.

Evening quiet at home. My Wife was quite sick with a cold. Read to her a part of Byron’s Island, which for him is poor though it has 193good strong verses. Afterwards, read Pope’s Iliad and finished the seventh volume of the Spectator.