Day very dark and gloomy with rain and snow. I felt somewhat better, though with many indications of a cold caught last night. At 17the Office. Time taken up in writing and reading Dr. Lingard. I was unable to take my regular walk. Nothing material transpired. The gloomy weather makes me dull. After dinner, busy in reading Anquetil in whose work I made progress. I ought not to omit mentioning that I passed an hour pretty pleasantly with my friend Thomas Davis. We talk freely upon various subjects, and his mind is so fully stored with matter for conversation that I enjoy his company.1 I put the finishing hand to my Article. Now the question is, Shall I send it again? I pause for a reply.

We were invited out for this evening, but as the weather appeared stormy, we were excused. The consequence of which was a quiet evening at home—A thing I enjoy doubly after going out for a night or two. Read Caroline of Litchfield, a very pretty little book, and Lady Craven who grows sensible all of a sudden. I expect there is a mixture here of two minds at least, and some plagiarism besides. Read Wieland.

Foggy morning but it afterwards cleared away. I went to the Office and as it was a little cool I thought I would sit by the fire and read Lingard first, after which write my Journal, but I pursued my reading so steadily through the thirteenth volume that I left myself but half an hour, and that time was appropriated to another purpose—My Carpenter Mr. Ayer coming in to settle his annual accounts against me. My walk too must not on any consideration be interrupted. Met J. G. Rogers today—A man whose mind does not seem to work at all in parallell lines.1

Afternoon, reflected upon my Article and concluded to send it. It is a turning point in my career of that kind. If I do meet with any more mortification about it, I lay down my pen for ever so far as voluntary exertion is concerned. It is disappointing to my pride which ought not to humiliate itself before others. Occupying the situation in Society fortune has given me, if I fail in making myself deserving by my own acts why should I expose myself to the contempt of others farther than is requisite to ascertain the failure? After this, I will not blind myself. Read Anquetil and evening at home. Wieland.