Fine morning but still cold. I went to the Office and was occupied most of my time in writing up my Diary which has been unusually interrupted, and also in drawing up lists of the Stockholders of the Boylston Market for the Treasurer. There was a transfer this day. It is a long while now since I have been able to open a book in the morning.

Returned home and passed the Afternoon in reading Spanish. I found it easy and quite pleasant. On the whole I believe I shall make it a regular pursuit and perhaps begin Italian thus dividing the Afternoon.

A quiet evening at home. I concluded the life of Barry to my Wife and began that of a man by name Bird of whom I have not heard. Which probably only argues my own ignorance.1 Mr. Brooks came in for half an hour and interrupted us. We talked pleasantly. After he went I continued Scott’s Life of Napoleon and began to obtain a much clearer idea of the horrors of the revolution than I had ever had. The triumvirate of Robespierre, Danton and Marat, and the blood in streams I had indistinct notions about, but fully supported by the reality.