The weather today was clear but much more in accordance with the usual character of the Season. The Child seemed on the whole to be relieved though yet very much of a Sufferer. I went to the Office. Engaged all the morning in my usual occupations. But I obtained a short 7time of leisure to read more of Dr. Lingard. I seized half an hour to go and pick up a book at the Athenaeum and then took my walk, first of all, calling at my Wood dealers for some fuel, and then at the Boylston Market to examine the Pantheon Hall for an advertisement.

Afternoon quietly at home. Began rewriting my Article which I read yesterday. This will perhaps be no better than the last, and I am foolish to make further attempts, yet I do not like to lose entirely all my previous labour. My mind produces nothing that satisfies me or any body else. I am in these matters pretty much discouraged.

Evening quiet at home. Read to my Wife, part of Ourika a French novel of Madame de Duras, and Pope’s Eloisa to Abelard as well as the Rape of the Lock.1 Received rather a dispirited letter from my Mother.2