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In one of my crazy old chairs at night. 10th Decem^er 1819

My Dear Friend

   It is ^[[now]] just turn^d. of 10 by the old bulls eye. Peggy after a fatiguing half hour lullabying to her Dear Sweet little William, left me half past 9. a volume of Swift lay upon the table I picked it up read up and down here there for twenty minutes and so threw it down.  Think I to my self what the devil ails me, I am well and yet I am not. How the devil is this quoth I, have you never been in this fix my friend? When I [[strikeout]] [[?]] [[/strikeout]] one know^s not what to be at, what the notion are they to do - c: what would I had the command of such society as is befitting my excentric way ward temper. The other night I felt all over quesy I could not see what to do. Peggy was in bed and all my little ones "rapt in down (too poetical): Suppose I go to bed say, [[underline]]to myself[[/underline]]: and what then. to become the prey to foolish thoughts - no says I the bed is to sleep in at last if there^s. any more thinking to do. suppose I think ^it all [[at?]] [[once?]] & so have done with the pestiferous demon--Suppose by way of getting my thoughts in a train. & my affections  huddl^d a little more into a knot. Smite Joseph a stave or two ... The Scheme [[worked?]] & in an instant I was all over good nature & for the time was happy -  Happy! ah ha - says you
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