The day was stormy, the wind being from the South and torrents of rain. I felt unpleasantly from a cold in my head which reminds one of winter. Occupied in writing another short article for the Quincy Patriot,1 and in reading as usual, Homer, and some portion of Humboldt.

Owing to the bad weather, our company did not come. But from some cause or other, very possibly imprudence at dinner, I suffered exceedingly during the Afternoon and was unable to apply myself diligently to any thing. Read some of Wieland which was almost the only thing I did. It is very seldom I now experience any inconvenience from diet, and when I do, perhaps it makes it more intolerable to me.

Evening, conversation, until I went to bed to pass a feverish and restless night for a head ach set in which lasted until morning. I believe this is the first day that I have been out here, during which I have not some part of the day been at my House. But I felt unequal to attempting it today.