Morning milder. I went to the Office. My time passed there hardly needs a record inasmuch as one day will answer for a hundred. I get there late and after looking over the morning papers at the National Insurance Office, then part of my time is taken up in casual interruptions from visitors of business or pleasure, part in Accounts and part in keeping along this Diary, thus the time arrives for walking and then home to Livy. Nothing further. Afternoon, I devote part of my time to Plutarch and part to Burnet with occasionally German and a half hour to the instruction of my little girl Louisa. Evening with my Wife to whom I generally read, and after it, continue Goguet. This evening however I wrote a letter to my Mother,1 and was thus kept up late.