Morning at the Office. Weather cold and chilly. Reading Blackstone, in the Court of
Common Pleas and engaged in making a Writ. My professional business continues still.
Conversation with George who goes positively tomorrow. I rode to Quincy after dinner
in a sharp piercing East Wind. Gave some directions about the Garden and went up to
see my Uncle. The family are very comfortably and prettily settled in their new residence
and on the whole I think it more comfortable than the old one.1
Much conversation but there is something sticking at bottom which made them dull,
which I could not at all understand. How great a similarity all sense of wrong creates
in conduct in all men. George and my Uncle are both quivering under the fear of the
merited reproaches which my father can though he will not give them. Returned rather
later than I had expected so that it was nine o’clock when I reached my Office. Read
the Spectator until ten.