Morning mild. I went to the Office and sat there quite uninterrupted during the morning. Nothing new. Congress appears to make no progress and I am at work only upon my papers. Accounts a little but not much.

Walk with Mr. Walsh. Then home where instead of reading Livy I turned my attention to Herodotus.1 Mr. Quincy has notified me to go to Cambridge next Monday on the Committee to examine in this book. I think it therefore as well if I was to refresh my recollection of the language a little. It is now four or five years since I devoted so much time to the perusal of Demosthenes and Thucydides. Since then I have hardly touched Greek. I read a little of the first book of Herodotus with tolerable facility.

Afternoon, a considerable quantity of time taken up in superintending some wine in my cellar at no little risk of a cold. The read Burnet. Evening Lamartine to my Wife. He looks upon every thing with a Poet’s eyes. To him all women are beautiful and the East is the land of fairy. His account of Damascus is however extremely interesting. After this I revised more of the numbers. A severe snow storm commenced tonight.