Morning cloudy and rain. I remained at home and occupied myself with Juvenal a part of whose sixth Satire I read over carefully although without being much pleased with it. The coarseness overcomes with me every thing else.

I passed some time in looking over Bolingbroke’s Idea of a Patriot King and Burke’s Appeal from the new to the Old Whigs for the purpose of getting a motto.1 I found one but was not altogether satisfied with it. Assorted papers which is wearisome but necessary. Afternoon, reading Theodor.

My occupation is now very curious indeed. Yet I have never had a time of more unmingled happiness. My family all well, affairs prosperous, and I entertaining the consciousness that I have done something to earn a reputation. May time not take from these blessings and I will strive to enjoy them. Everything is in higher hands.

Evening at home. I now and then take up a little of Sir Egerton Brydges—A disappointed literary man. He set his tone too high and was too careless. Yet my success is not established.