I carried down today my last Sheet to the publisher who has not as yet given me a single proof. This is energy. How this attempt upon the public will turn I am full of doubt. My name is to this and I must look out for the little charity commonly exercised towards the family if there is any notice at all.

Office where I was busy in Accounts which have of late run into arrears. Walk. At home. Herodotus and dinner. Mr. Frothingham and Mr. Brooks upon venison. Conversation principally upon the result of the meeting yesterday and Mr. Austin’s Speech of which I spoke as I felt.

They went early and I read a little of Crantz’s Greenland,1 rather an interesting production. Evening at home. Read Lockhart. After which, I spent some time writing up Arrears in Diary.