Home to dinner, where W. Joyce came, and he still a talking impertinent fellow.

To bed, finding myself just in the same condition I was lately by the extreme cold weather, my pores stopt and so my body all inflamed and itching.

To see my Lord Sandwich, who I found very merry and every day better and better.

Up betimes and found my weather-glass sunk again just to the same position which it was last night before I had any fire made in my chamber, which had made it rise in two hours time above half a degree.

So home and fell hard to make up my monthly accounts, letting my family go to bed after prayers. I staid up long, and find myself, as I think, fully worth 670l.

To my office, reading over some papers which I found in my man William’s chest of drawers, among others some old precedents concerning the practice of this office heretofore, which I am glad to find and shall make use of.

Waked as I used to do betimes, but being very cold I lay long, it raining and snowing very hard, which I did never think it would have done any more this year.

To my office, and there late, writing a chiding letter to my poor father about his being so unwilling to come to an account with me, which I desire he might do, that I may know what he spends, and how to order the estate so as to pay debts and legacys as far as may be.