Very cool with an Easterly wind. I was engaged in writing almost all day, excepting when going to Meeting. Mr. Ripley of Boston 319preached in the morning upon the immutability of religion. In the afternoon I was less attentive. Mr. Ripley is a good writer and a sensible man, but I am not much of an admirer of his Sermons. His manner makes them tedious. When he wishes to be solemn he becomes only slow, without adding a particle to the animation of his language. I often think, I could do better, but who can tell until he is tried.

Miss Smith dined with us, and Mr. Degrand called in the afternoon and took tea. He had little news of any kind to propose. Some farther notice of the Cholera which seems to be spreading along the St. Lawrence gradually. It is singular that it keeps water tracks, and would seem to sustain the doctrine of contagion. But whether contagion or not is of minor consequence so long as the mortality is great.

I walked up and passed an hour at Mrs. Adams’ in the evening. She is dull and unhappy, and I could not console her. Called at Mr. Miller’s but they were not at home.