The day cloudy but without rain. I went to town and my time was taken up in Accounts and in a call at my house to superintend the receipt of my chair from Washington. This is the way in which time goes. Made some other calls and passed a little time in Accounts at the Office. Then return.
Nothing new in town to start the wits of the public. I see in some distant papers extracts from my numbers with moderate praise, but so shockingly printed that I wonder they were not censured. In town no notice has been taken of them whatsoever. Home.
Afternoon at home. Read Lucretius whose text appears to have suffered somewhat by corruption and to be rather antique. Also, Bayle. Literary letters but not very interesting. Evening at the Mansion.