A succession of clear, warm days. I went to town after a not very early breakfast. Office where I was engaged in copying for my father several letters and this with making up my Diary consumed my time. Thus passes the most valuable portion of the time, which I do not profit by.

To Medford—The day becoming rather oppressive. Afternoon passed rather languidly. I read a little of the Life of Hampden which contains much of plain good sense without much ornament. Also made considerable progress in the reading of Ovid. I do not think I have ever so wasted a Summer. But the spring of exertion is much relaxed with me. I am fond of literature and of luxury—Attached to my family and I hope a tolerably moral man. The rest is in me but I do not know whether circumstances will ever be favourable or my courage great enough to bring it out. Evening, Mr. and Mrs. Angier, not her husband but her brother.1