Cold and cloudy. I went to town in the Carriage with Mr. Brooks and the two Everett children who were going home. Office where I remained very quietly reading Jefferson’s Letters for the greater part of the morning. My present Life is even more monotonous than that in Boston. It is passed in riding and in study, in Accounts and in idling. I have become a mere vegetable but a very contented vegetable.

Home. Afternoon, Mandeville, and Ovid’s Epistles, Hero to Leander which I read over with attention. There is so much sameness in all these that I have become pretty tired of them. It is all sugar and honey. Evening, Hume’s Essays, the first volume of which I finished and began upon the other which contains the philosophical and more abstruse works. Italian with an hour of Essay writing.