Morning cloudy and cold. Returned to town in time to avoid the rain which set in for the whole of the rest of the day. At the Office. Spirits not good as I am again becoming hypochondriac. Read Blackstone in the morning, Say in the afternoon and Pope’s Correspondence in the evening. My lodgings at the Marlborough though comfortable enough are not to my taste. I am exceedingly in want of society, for my thoughts instead of being diverted to outward objects, turn upon self where there is much which is not agreeable to think of.