Fine day. I went to town. Engaged as usual very busily in commissions and in Accounts. Nothing however remarkable. A morning in town has but little of profit in it to me, but it is hardly possible to avoid spending at least two in each week.
Saw Mr. Brooks and arranged with him that he should come with Mr. and Mrs. Sidney Brooks tomorrow, provided the weather should prove fair. Then home. Afternoon, a short time at the house, and then down. But I felt uncomfortable with symptoms of approaching cold.
Wrote a little, and read Wieland, whose History becomes a good deal more applicable to our Country. The question of the Ass’s shadow is hardly more absurd than some of those we have disputed about in this generation. Evening at home. Conversation. Afterwards, writing Diary.