Very cold morning for the season. I went to the Office. My time taken up in a great variety of little ways. Mr. Walsh came in. I called upon Mr. Brooks respecting Mr. Johnson’s Investments, and I was occupied in Accounts and Diary. Wrote to Mr. Woodbury acknowledging his pamphlet,1 and walked a little way, then home where I read Livy. Afternoon, occupied in writing an answer to my mother’s letter2— She wishes me to interfere with my father which is impossible. What can I do or what ought I to do in a case entirely within the judgment of another. I gave her my reasons. Afterwards, Fouqué, third volume.

After tea, I went with my Wife and a large party of people of all size and age to the Lion Theatre, a new establishment which has a large Company and collection of Horses.3 The equestrian performances were very good and many of them to me somewhat new. I was also very much pleased with the propriety of the performers, especially the clown who is usually an extremely coarse character. But the performance which was William Tell threatened to be so long that we left and got home by ten o’clock.