The thunder showers of yesterday and the day before instead of dispersing the clouds and cooling the air, appeared merely as precursors of the storm which came today. It rained hard and therefore in my Wife’s condition detained us here today. There was so large a number here however that we were by no means dull. I spent part of my time in writing a letter to my Mother to give her some Account of my situa-11tion,1 part in reading “Sartor Resartus” of which I know less what to think the more I get on in it. I sometimes doubt whether a man who studies to envelope his ideas in a style of mystery and conundrum has in fact a clear notion of his own meaning, and whether it is not a resource for half fledged undertakings. The idea of Sartor Resartus in itself good does not appear to me distinctly carried out—Much episodical writing which obscures rather than explains. Evening, we had a round game at cards but girls always get in a frolic and disturb the play so that we finished soon.