The Snow of yesterday changed to rain today and the Streets were in consequence in a shocking state. I went to the Office as usual and after the regular duties went on with Gibbon as far as the close of the reign of Valentinian. On the whole this history begins to enter the dreary barren waste in which man was probably at his extremest state of ignorance and depression. There is little to relieve the eye or the mind. Even Christianity sinks to a mere cover for sensual indulgence and sloth. The Monks degrade it by misunderstanding the spirit of it’s doctrines.

Returned home and read Quinctilian, finishing the first and I hope the driest book. Some of the reasoning however upon early education is to me conclusive. The mind must not be left without exertion. Had mine been trained by care and experience, what might I not now have been. Memory is my deficiency. In the evening, read to my Wife from Northcote’s Conversations. A great many substantial ideas. Afterwards, Fuseli’s Account of Michael Angelo. The fourth book of the Odyssey and the Guardians.