Wet and cloudy but still mild. I went to the Office where I sat down to work upon my Accounts. Drew up a portion of the Quarterly Account with my father, and packed up to deliver to the Post several copies of my Pamphlet. The Newspapers are still very mum about it but it touches. S. T. Armstrong stopped me today and said he proposed to write me a letter about it, to which I replied my strong desire that he would.

There are a few melancholy details respecting poor Thomas Adams that give me a turn of pain whenever I think of them. Such is life!

I continued my Accounts and took a walk. Herodotus. Afternoon, Correspondence secrète, but it is positively the last Afternoon I will waste in this manner. Evening at home. Lockhart. Scotts Journal of his trip to the Orkneys.1 Afterwards, finished my Lecture or at least the first draft of it.