Cloudy with occasional drops of rain. I went to town. Engaged for some time in Commissions. Called at Mrs. Frothingham’s and talked a little with her. Then to the Office where I read a little of Hudibras with more pleasure than I have commonly derived from the book.1 The thing should be taken as a condiment, a little at a time and the flavour of it dwelt upon.

Stopped in at a sale of wine and could not resist the temptation of a sale of some Hermitage which I bought. My Stock insensibly increases. It must be diminished. I shall purchase no more in heavy quantities. And on my return I hope to begin actively upon consumption.

Called to see Mr. Brooks and then returned home. Afternoon. My usual occupation—Discovered the file of 1780 which makes up as I imagine nearly the whole series. I must now collect the other side which is my Grandmother’s. An Ode or two of Horace and Humphry Clinker in the evening.

My father has been drooping for some time past. His health is bad and his spirits are worse. The great misfortune of his life, I still continue to believe was his return to public life after having once gracefully though involuntarily retired. It subjects him to alternations which his Constitution as well as the past habits of his life render exceedingly trying. What the end of it will be, God only knows, and he will direct, but to our blind vision it will go hard to shorten his days. If this is the close of a life passed in so much of worldly success, a less brilliant is certainly a more happy one. Read the Mirror.