It stormed violently during the night and snowed the greater part of the day. My Wife and Louisa got up quite unwell, and I myself had a dull head ach. Went out late and at the Athenaeum, the disturbance about the special Message appears to be going over and we have for the present smooth water. I wrote my Diary and went to the Athenaeum. Called to deliver at the several printing offices the notices for the annual meeting of the Boylston Market. I hope this will be the end of my works in this direction. Home, read Livy, a most instructive history. How much of our history does one see in these pages, how much of the great drama of man in every age. I much doubt whether republics are the happiest governments.

Afternoon. Voltaire’s Letters until the death of Madame du Chastelet. A striking moral in those respecting that event—A confinement of which she made light and directed Voltaire to write to all her friends in the gayest mood as of an ordinary event, but she died nevertheless.

Again at work upon the papers, taking up those of Dr. Franklin. Evening at home. Gil Blas and German. My head ached a good deal.