Morning cloudy but it cleared before night. My third letter to Slade came out today and was on the whole somewhat more correct than usual. I went to the Office and passed all my extra time in writing a letter to my father. But my mornings are so short that I do not more than work three quarters of an hour. The streets were also in such a state as to make me utterly unable to walk. I therefore stopped in to look at Hilliard’s books, then home. Read Livy which begins to be quite interesting. I find a charm in the style now that I have got a little accustomed to it.

Afternoon, worked on Mr. Slade’s Pamphlet and before I went to bed, finished a draft which will I believe very nearly end the whole matter. It is rather closely packed but I have been so diffuse already as to tire myself as well as my party. I believe I shall not work any longer. I am tired of hammering upon a flat surface. Evening, reading the entertaining Gil Blas to my Wife.