The morning opened with a severe snow storm which by noon however turned to rain and it poured heavily the remainder of the day. The walking can easily be conceived though not described. I did not go out until noon and then only to the Insurance Office to see the Papers. Nothing particularly new in them. The batteries of the Whig party are still directed against my father. Indeed the incessant character of the cannonade only shows how vigorous the attack was.

Home. My time was however not altogether unemployed—I read a part of Montesquieu’s reflections upon the greatness of the Romans, a work full of profound reflection which I have examined over and over,1 but at this time with a direct reference to Livy, which I read with improvement and edification. Afternoon continued writing and before I went to bed finished a sketch of a letter to Mr. Slade, but was not satisfied with it after I had done. Read to my Wife from the Duchess of Abrantés.