Fine day. I remained at home and resumed my writing. I gave in the first place a deliberate review to what I had done, and then I sat 321down with the intention of writing a correct copy. But as I went on, I found myself gradually altering the disposition of my materials until the new draught became a very different thing from the old one. I flatter myself it is better, this is one of the numerous self deceptions which writers always experience.

Afternoon. Read the larger part of Seneca’s book of Consolation to his mother Helvia. Written to sooth her grief for his exile. The severity of this punishment is comparatively unknown to the moderns. Rome was the centre of every thing prized by its Citizens. It seemed to them to be the only place worth living for as it was the mistress of the world. Hence the complaint of Cicero and Ovid and the Consolation of Seneca.

Quiet evening at home. Mr. Beale called in for a short time.