Blustering, cold weather more like the month of March than May. There was a frost this morning which hazards very seriously the fruit for the year. I accompanied Mr. Brooks to town. Time taken up in various commissions, and making up my Diary and Accounts which my late absences have allowed to run backwards. Nothing new.

Surprised by the arrival of Thomas Doyle from Washington. I was at first fearful that I had sent on an unworthy character and he was therefore dismissed in disgrace. Yet I thought if that was the fact, he would hardly adventure to show himself before me. He showed me a very strong character given him by my brother John, and proceeded to explain his mortification at being dismissed to make room for a man and his Wife who were to come into the family. I was not a little mortified myself and resolved to be wiser in future. My notions are perhaps a little rigid upon these subjects, they certainly are very different from those held at Washington.1

Home to dinner. My wife suffers very severely from sore throat so as to make me quite anxious. The children however, thank Heaven, remain well. Madame de Stael, and Ovid, Medea to Jason. Evening. Read aloud to Mr. Brooks.