This was at last a clear day, and it was mild and beautiful indeed. Hitherto we have experienced hardly any frost to touch the ground which is very uncommon. I went to the Office and was occupied all the morning in arranging my room and clearing it from a mass of very superfluous papers which have accumulated. I find this the principal plague at my Office. The habit acquired by my brother George of amassing all his pieces of waste paper has deluged me with them ever since I have had any thing to do with them. My own inclinations also tend that way a little so that my task is made harder.

I went into State Street to see Mr. Quincy and give him the Papers relative to the Execution of my Grandfather’s Will,1 which he looked over and returned to me. Thus vanished the morning. I took my usual walk. I continued my review of the second book de Oratore, which I found much easier than before and became reconciled in the course of it to Wells and Lilly’s Edition, notwithstanding the lettering and printing.2

Evening a portion of Corinne with my Wife and after it a little of Wordsworth’s Poetry to diversify.3 He is too simple for my taste, next 365to what the common people would call natural. I then read the seventh book of Paradise Lost containing the History of the Creation. After which I finished by a little of Mr. Drake and two Numbers of the Tatler.

Morning pleasant. Went to the Office as usual and occupied my time upon the German Grammar, upon which I made some progress. I think I have now got far enough properly to begin to read but I am stopped by not possessing any elementary work. This will drive me to reviewing my Grammar again and perhaps this exercise will not hurt me in the end. The verbs are tolerably easy, much the larger proportion of them being regular.

I wrote a letter to my father,1 called to see Mr. Brooks, and went to read an article which appeared this morning in the Gazette against my Father. It was abusive enough, and after reflection the only source to which I could attribute it was Jonathan Russel, whose grief time has done nothing to alleviate.2 I considered whether any notice should be taken of it, but reflected on the whole that it would not be advisable. Took my Walk.

After dinner, I read Cicero de Oratore, and completed the review of what I had read until the Wit which I was able to comprehend as little as ever. I must seek a Translation. In the Evening Corinne as usual. I then read over the seventh book of Paradise Lost, and part of the eighth. Finished by a little of Mr. Drake and two Numbers of the Tatler.