Cold, I went to the Office. Had a long visit from Mr. Everett who nearly cut up my day. Mr. Josiah Adams also came in on an application for some money to pay a draught for lumber purchased by him on my fathers account. I had no means and told him so frankly, but agreed to write today and ask what he intended by leaving with me such orders. He is rather beyond the age for such things.

Conversation with Walsh, then home. Juvenal whose fourteenth Satire I finished. After dinner, wrote my letter to my father,1 and amused myself with Coleridge’s Tragedy (if so it should be called) of Remorse. He meant it for an imitation of Shakespear but it is all refining thought and not the vigour of fresh nature. In the evening, at home. Continued to read Dacre and finished the first volume. Afterwards, Coleridge’s play of Zapolya.