Little John’s case of measles is pronounced, and he is under considerable suffering with them although as yet the case is not, thank heaven a bad one. I went to the Office—My time very much thrown away in an arrangement of my books, which very much needed it, certainly. Mr. Everett as yet makes but little progress in his transmigration. I have a body of law in books and not in my head where it ought to be. Walk, but short owing to the bad weather. Called at Mr. Brooks’ and agreed to an investment with Mr. Stanwood, the same person with whom we on the former occasion transacted the other money.

Home, Livy. Afternoon, Sismondi and Fouqué. Nothing of any consequence. I read a Canto or two of Ariosto—A pleasant writer in that particular field which has so attracted all men. Chivalry seems to 379have been an institution for the pure benefit of poetical imaginations. Our days of utility drive away every thing like fancy.

Evening, I read to my Wife from the seventh volume of Madame Junot. We are rapidly drawing to the close of this long work. It has nevertheless afforded us a vast fund of amusement and has rarely proved in the least tiresome. Madame Junot no doubt colors her pictures but that is in her of no great consequence. Afterwards, Swift, Four last years of Queen Anne, one of his strongest and most biting satires.