A summer’s day. Brooks returned to Twickenham. The bag from America came in this morning and absorbed my attention as it always does. I cannot say that it gave me any more255 agreeable sensations than usual. Either affairs there have been very badly conducted or else we have had an uncommon share of ill fortune. My official despatches were very brief and I had but a single private letter. Strange to say I had little or nothing to do. Visits from Mr Eddy of Boston, Mr Vivaldi, the Consul at Brazil, and Mr Watson. The latter relucting to take the oath of allegiance could not get his passport. He came in to explain the reason. It was not want of fidelity, but it was the fact that his estate in Alabama, and he might lose it by taking the oath. It was no part of my duty to shew him that he equally lost all right of protection for himself and his property by renouncing the government of the United States. I merely expressed a polite regret that I could give him no passport. He took leave of me rather puzzled what to do. I called on Mr George Baty Blake in return to his visit of a week or two since, and then went according to appointment to sit to an artist, Mr Küntse, who has asked to take a medallion of my head. I was there an hour very drowsy. After that, a walk with Mary to look after a piano forte for her, and a quiet evening at home. Continued Whitelock.