For once we had a very fine day. The whole force of the Season coming upon a very uncommon state of cold. I went to town and occupied myself in Accounts. The less I visit the City however, the more I find my time wasted when I do go. I do not know that I shall ever secure the quiet necessary for me to make great progress in learning, but at any rate I have more chance for it in the Country than I have in town. I went to the Athenaeum and selected some books to hammer upon. It was so warm however that I was glad not to move about much. Returned to Quincy with pleasure.

The Afternoon was intended to be devoted to reading, but interruptions of one kind or another make me confess a very imperfect application. I commenced Vaughan’s Memorials of the Stuart dynasty,1 a work which if it suits my purpose I intend to review. I am not yet certain however that it will answer. The heat of the day drew together clouds in the evening with such rapidity as to produce a thunder gust with some rain.

My evening was passed at home reading the Newspapers which are full of matters from Washington. There seems little probability of any adjournment of Congress. My father’s letters to me seem to express disgust but I doubt it.2 Read the usual papers of the Rambler.