Cold and cloudy. A disagreeable variety of our miserable season. I read a little of Vasari and then went to the Office. My time not employed to any great profit. I read a little of Gibbon and was busy in Accounts &ca. as usual. As Mr. Field threatened to visit me I felt bound to remain until nearly two o’clock although I had no very serious idea that he would come. Upon my arrival at home I found that I. Hull had returned. He has lost a week of precious time and for the sake of indulging his mother in an unreasonable way. Read some of Sismondi and passed my Afternoon as well as I could without a fire. I do not however much approve of this plan of living so chilled. Evening quiet at home. Nothing to record.