Fine morning, with occasional clouds, which only served to keep off the great heat of the Sun. I attended divine Service all day, and heard 91Mr. Whitney of Hingham preach. His morning Sermon was upon Content with small gains, preferably to wealth unfairly acquired. It was very far above the general tone of his Sermons and really exceedingly sensible. His manner of delivery is very bad and his appearance far from favorable, but he is more of a Preacher than I took him to be. He dined with us, and did not support in the tenor of his conversation any opinion which his morning’s Sermon might create. The afternoon’s discourse was not so interesting. I finished Hurd’s Commentary upon the Art of Poetry and Francis’ Translation today.1 The first is good but I am afraid a little fanciful. The latter seems very spirited.

In the evening, my father and I went down to pay a visit to the Quincys. Found them at home and enjoyed the visit. There is something pleasant after all in going to see educated people. The style of conversation is better, and the sense that your mind is not wholly unemployed makes the time appear spent not altogether without profit. Returned to read Grimm and the Spectator.