Fine morning. I went to the Office but did not improve my time to the utmost. In the first place I was busy about Commissions for an 256hour, then went to the Athenaeum besides taking a walk at one. So that I only made up my Diary, in itself a tolerable Job, and read Mr. McDuffie’s Paper upon the Bank of the U.S.1 Our political affairs are becoming more and more black. For my part I see little prospect for us.

In the Afternoon I continued the Aeneid, finishing the second and part of the third books. The Child seemed slightly better, although very fretful and apparently suffering. The total want of power to convey an idea of its sensations to others makes the sickness of an infant extremely distressing.

Quiet evening at home. I read part of Goethe’s Memoirs which seem to me to be rather a record of trifles remembered by an old man. Mr. T. Davis came in and spent part of an Evening very agreeably. He has a great deal of conversation and that of a sensible kind. After he went, I continued Montesquieu, and my study of the Bible.