Drizzling and a slippery coat of ice upon the ground. I went to the Office and my time principally consumed in drawing off the Quarter’s Account with my father. This is rather a labour for one morning in the Quarter but my adherence to keeping regular books saves me from much of the distress which a similar process frequently produces.

Mr. Walsh called in for a few minutes and then I went out to inquire how poor little Grace Everett did who is ill. The accounts very much weakened my exertions to go to the Play. I felt it as almost cruel to rejoice during the severe trials of others. Walk and home. Read Livy, but my spirits were much depressed by this melancholy Account.

After dinner, I spent much time in copying the long and unsatisfactory Letter I have written to my father upon political subjects, then took a walk over to Charlestown to inquire the condition of the poor Child and offer any services I could render. The physicians happened to be there in consultation and I did not therefore go in, but the account given by the man was exceedingly discouraging. There are no feelings which go so home to a parent as those which arise from a parent’s losses. The anxiety for children exceeds all other anxieties.

Evening quietly at home. Read to my Wife some amusing scenes from that book of pictures of life, Gil Blas. It is fresh at every return to it. Afterwards, continued and finished my Letter which is ready to send besides a very long Diary record.