A clear and tolerably fine day. I read a little of Humboldt, finishing the first volume of his first work. I admire the spirit in which he writes. That of observation with a view to improvement.

Attended divine service and heard Mr. Kendall of Plymouth in the morning from 2. Peter 1. 16. “For we have not followed cunningly devised fables, when we made known unto you the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, but were eye-witnesses of his majesty.” Afternoon from 72. Psalm 6. “He shall come down like rain upon the mown grass, as showers that water the earth.” I gathered very little from these discourses. Mr. Kendall is of the old class of the clergy, contemporaries of Mr. Whitney, more remarkable for dullness than any thing else.

He dined with us, and just before dinner, my mother with all the rest of the family arrived. This was somewhat unexpected to us as we had got no notice of it, however we were pleased to see them all looking so well after their Journey.

Read a sermon of Sterne upon Self examination. Isaiah 1. 3. “The ox knoweth his owner, and the ass, his master’s crib, but Israel doth not know, my people doth not consider.” The common mistakes of men in judging themselves, either from a false Standard, or from a partial view. Sterne has a pretty talent in showing forth one or two common foibles of human nature, but he rarely goes deep.

Evening, walk with my father to Mr. Quincy’s—himself his Wife 264and her aunt. Conversation took a religious turn and my father would have remained until midnight if I had not roused him. As it was, we reached home after ten.

Fine day. I went to town. Engaged as usual very busily in commissions and in Accounts. Nothing however remarkable. A morning in town has but little of profit in it to me, but it is hardly possible to avoid spending at least two in each week.

Saw Mr. Brooks and arranged with him that he should come with Mr. and Mrs. Sidney Brooks tomorrow, provided the weather should prove fair. Then home. Afternoon, a short time at the house, and then down. But I felt uncomfortable with symptoms of approaching cold.

Wrote a little, and read Wieland, whose History becomes a good deal more applicable to our Country. The question of the Ass’s shadow is hardly more absurd than some of those we have disputed about in this generation. Evening at home. Conversation. Afterwards, writing Diary.

The day was stormy, the wind being from the South and torrents of rain. I felt unpleasantly from a cold in my head which reminds one of winter. Occupied in writing another short article for the Quincy Patriot,1 and in reading as usual, Homer, and some portion of Humboldt.

Owing to the bad weather, our company did not come. But from some cause or other, very possibly imprudence at dinner, I suffered exceedingly during the Afternoon and was unable to apply myself diligently to any thing. Read some of Wieland which was almost the only thing I did. It is very seldom I now experience any inconvenience from diet, and when I do, perhaps it makes it more intolerable to me.

Evening, conversation, until I went to bed to pass a feverish and restless night for a head ach set in which lasted until morning. I believe this is the first day that I have been out here, during which I have not some part of the day been at my House. But I felt unequal to attempting it today.