The cold is of quite unusual severity this year. Today moderated but the night could be ranked among our coldest. I went to the Office as usual and was engaged in my Accounts. Nothing however happened of any consequence. I have sold my Manufacturing Stock and realized handsomely from it. I was tempted to risk the proceeds upon a purchase of Insurance Stock, but on reflection prefer to wait and pay my Note. Debt is to me a bad thing and I propose that it shall remain so.

Home to read Juvenal, in which I am now making pretty rapid progress. It is time I should, for these sixteen Satires have been a matter of six months. Afternoon, reading Coleridge’s Table Talk, a fascinating sort of amusement and yet leading to nothing. I am reading his Poetry at the same time, and neither the one nor the other increase my estimate of the individual. Evening occupied at home. Read aloud to my Wife from Dacre. A pretty novel enough. Afterwards I made no great use of my time.