The Morning looked very cloudy and dark. I went to town nevertheless and the consequence was that I was in the rain. At the Office however very quietly all the time, not having many errands to run. I was engaged in writing and in arranging my own and New’s Affairs which I am rapidly bringing to a close—Having paid off the larger half of what remained in my hands. This has been a very good business to me, for the money has yielded me four per Cent besides my Compensation as Administrator.1 I had some leisure time, during which I was occupied in finishing the Analysis of Mr. de Mably. His close upon the influence of infidelity in a State is curious and sensible. The work generally does not however recommend itself in any manner to me. It is highflying Nonsense. This world was not created for purposes of War and discord. Nor is the natural condition of man military, let Hobbes say what he pleases. I never read him therefore can only judge his doctrine at second hand.

Returned to Quincy to dinner. My father had gone as one of the delegates from the Church at Quincy to the ordination of Mr. George Whitney at Roxbury.2 I read the first half of the second Antonine of Cicero. This is the famous one, which though not delivered, cost its Author, his life. The invective is in the usual style of bitterness, with an occasional coarse personality not to my taste. Yet if it can be excused, perhaps there is as much here to be said in its defence as any where. Evening after the ladies retired, I read Emile and the Spectator.