The day was exceedingly warm. I went to town, according to agreement for the purpose of collecting rent, but was disappointed, as I was also at Payne’s hill where I called before starting.

I remained very quietly at my Office all the morning reading Marshall’s Life of Washington, and I could not help being astonished at the vast amount of difficulty to be overcome to get our present system of Government into action. Nobody but Washington could have started the vessel. It is hard enough for others to keep it afloat. Returned to Quincy—My horse suffering more from the heat that I ever knew him to do for the five years that I have used him.

Afternoon, wrote my Diary, read an Ode or two of Horace finishing the second book and began copying some of the Letters to my Grandfather. I have been reflecting that as there seems no immediate prospect of a continuation of my father’s proposed biography, there is very great probability many of the valuable evidences may be lost which are exceedingly important as testimonials. I have concluded to take copies of them, without saying any thing to any body.1

The Evening was bright and warm. Mr. T. Greenleaf and his two daughters were here for an hour. It is the first time for two years that the Portico has been delightful to sit in, which always puts me in mind of former days. Read the Observer—Cumberland’s peculiar view of Harmodius and Aristogiton.