Another shocking day. Snow, rain and wind. At the Office, but passed my time most unprofitably. I neither pursued the subject of Mr. Gallatin’s Memorial nor read Gibbon nor did any thing but consume an hour with Mr. Peabody talking, and then look over Accounts. I do not know how I can justify it to myself to make a confession of this kind so often.

Afternoon, wrote the number I design for the first one over again and as I thought did something to improve it, but of this it is impossible to judge. I am grappling with the results of one of the clearest minds in the Country, and the very effort is one requiring no small share of confidence in myself. But the exercise is good, and I never refuse work. My progress is greatly impeded from the want of a Pamphlet.

Evening, at home with my Wife. Read some of the Minutes of evidence alluded to before and was surprised at the unanimity among the woollen Manufacturers. Yet they were not minded.