The rain and wind continued through the day. I went to the Office. Engaged in my usual occupations—Writing and Parliamentary Debates. Nothing of consequence. Could not walk.

Home. Afternoon, Bacon de Augmentis and Walpole1 and Virgil and Mackintosh. Thus I give in brief my various pursuits. But they 231all fill me with despair. Walpole alone is a small literary fop. The rest are masters of their Art. What a dog am I, to think of publishing to the world my thoughts after such as these.