Another very agreeable morning. I went to the Office as usual but owing to the want of a book again wasted my time. My last number appeared in the Daily Advertiser this morning and adds one more to the list of my labours of love. I wrote my Journal and went over Accounts which with more than an hour consumed in other occupations out, as going to the Athenaeum and Commissions for my Wife, on the whole made away with the time.

Mr. Brooks and Mr. Frothingham dined with me upon venison and we had a very pleasant time. The former incidentally asked me who was the Author of the numbers upon the Treasury Report in such a 223manner as to be highly flattering to me. On the whole this little trifle pays me for the labour I have taken. After dinner, I read the first book of the Rhetoric to Herennius and found it a meagre summary of the various Works of Cicero, having little or nothing original to recommend it.

Evening. Read to my Wife a part of a Canterbury Tale. After which I read over the 21st Book of the Iliad and began a short biography of Fuseli the Painter.1 Nothing further excepting the usual numbers of the Guardian.