Morning dark with snow. I went to the Office and was occupied as usual. Accounts and Diary omitted yesterday. Mr. Walsh came in and we had talk. Nothing of consequence. My time slipped away without my very clearly knowing how. Home however at the usual time, where I finished the last of the books of Livy. This has been something of an undertaking, and I think has fully compensated me for my patience. In the afternoon, read Burnet and Chateaubriand. Also Forster whose account of the Revolution of the Netherlands in 1790 supplies a vacuum in my information.

Evening to the Theatre. Shakespeare’s “As you like it.” A piece which always has a poetical charm with it to me. The wildness of the scene, the poetry and the philosophy of the text delight me. Home 189early. Read a little book, called Three Experiments of Living,1 a work of the domestic economy sort very well calculated for our Community.