This morning passed in reading Mr. Burke on the sublime after copying a little. Found
myself threatened with a head ache, and had one of my terrible fits of low spirits.
Received a letter from Abby which I answered immediately. She is enjoying herself
in New York. My head became so bad, I declined going to the races, but rode afterwards
in an open Carriage with my Mother. The pain increased until after my return when
it went off and during the rest of the day I had little or nothing of it. If I could
keep my thoughts pleasantly employed and not harass my mind with the particular terms
under which I suffer so much, it would be much to my advantage, this kind of life
will not do.