Morning still gloomy being the eighth day that the sun has been covered. I went to the Office and occupied myself in matters of account and Diary. Wrote an answer to Mr. Treadway’s last letter which has been a good while on hand.1 The tone of Mr. Greenleaf is such that I fancy nothing but L.A.W. will satisfy him. I should rather it would be he than I to meddle with it. Nothing of further consequence.

The streets were in so bad a state that I found it impossible to walk, and so I called at the Advocate Office to ascertain respecting my next publication, then home to read Livy—The story of Lucretia. I do not know why all this Account of the early ages of Rome should be deemed fabulous. Livy professes to draw it from ancient writers and the stories themselves appear to bear substantial marks of proba-308bility. The mythology is evidently engrafted upon it and can be easily separated. I must look into Niebuhr and see what he says about it. He is the great preacher of doubt, but the Chevalier de Beaufort led the way in France.2

Afternoon, I was obliged to go and attend a meeting of the Directors of the Boylston Market Association, prior to the regular annual one. I am tired of this work and mean to throw it off. Discussion upon the Accounts of the Carpenter and Masons for building the Fish Market. As usual the expense was above the estimate, about a thousand dollars only in this case. Such is the usual way with buildings. Afternoon consumed, and at last referred to a Committee—Accounts of Treasurer and Clerk of the Market likewise. Home. Evening Gil Blas and writing No. 4 of Slade.