Very cold for the season. I went to the Office. Carried to the publisher my last revised sheet of my pamphlet. If this has not been a good exercise of patience, then am I unacquainted with that virtue. Finished my letter to my Mother and sent it.1 Mr. Walsh came in for a moment. He is on his road to New York to join his vessel and I bid him Goodbye although he announced his intention to come back. Nothing particular.

Home to read Herodotus but interrupted by a visit from Edward Brooks and his Wife who wished to see my cabinet.2 Afternoon short. Looked over my Letters and selected the rest of those coming within my plan.

Evening, went to a concert at Boylston Hall. Madame Caradori, a German prima donna who has come out to America to make money.3 Quite a full house. She sung one specimen of the National music of every Country. One Italian of Rossini, Una voce poco fa, very well, one English, Angels ever bright and fair of Handel, a french, a german and a scotch one. She executes with very great neatness and simplicity all her difficult passages, but her voice wants volume. On the whole an agreeable without being a very great singer. Walked home. Very cold.