Day very dark and gloomy with rain and snow. I felt somewhat better, though with many indications of a cold caught last night. At 17the Office. Time taken up in writing and reading Dr. Lingard. I was unable to take my regular walk. Nothing material transpired. The gloomy weather makes me dull. After dinner, busy in reading Anquetil in whose work I made progress. I ought not to omit mentioning that I passed an hour pretty pleasantly with my friend Thomas Davis. We talk freely upon various subjects, and his mind is so fully stored with matter for conversation that I enjoy his company.1 I put the finishing hand to my Article. Now the question is, Shall I send it again? I pause for a reply.

We were invited out for this evening, but as the weather appeared stormy, we were excused. The consequence of which was a quiet evening at home—A thing I enjoy doubly after going out for a night or two. Read Caroline of Litchfield, a very pretty little book, and Lady Craven who grows sensible all of a sudden. I expect there is a mixture here of two minds at least, and some plagiarism besides. Read Wieland.