I took a bath, but the water was too cold. I felt chilled during the remainder of the morning. My morning duties were performed, after which I wasted the day, employing it only in writing two letters, one
to George and the other to Richardson.1
My spirits sunk from want of occupation and it was one of my horrible days. In the evening, Reynolds, the expedition man,2
called to see me and drew me out of myself for an hour.