Morning fine. I went to the Office and by a vigorous prosecution of the work again made up the Arrears of my Diary. I hope I shall hereafter by attending to it as the first thing be able to keep it along, although if it should fail altogether I do not know that it would harm any body. Mr. Walsh came in for a few minutes and we had a little talk but nothing to prevent my work. I also took a walk.

It seems a little strange that I should hear nothing from Washington. Home to read Homer. Afternoon, Burnet with a little of Plutarch and the third volume of Forster. This appears to be somewhat fragmentary.

Evening to the Play. My Wife went with her father but as there was no other ticket in the box of Mr. Inches, I sent down and procured one at the door. Tobin’s play of the Honey Moon.1 Duke Aranza, Mr. Barry. Juliana, Miss Tree. The piece was very well cast and performed to the best advantage. Johnson as Lampedo was the feeblest of the characters. What a difference it makes to see a Comedy generally well done and one sustained only in parts. What a contrast between the performance tonight and on Wednesday. Home before the Ransom. Read Wraxall.