Fine day. The weather is pleasant but not particularly warm for the season. I spent an hour at my house as usual, then returned, and devoted some time to the reading the remainder of the fourth book of Homer—about ninety lines. Being somewhat in the humour for studying Greek, I got something of a critical apparatus of Lexicons and began Plutarch’s Essay upon the subject whether old men should continue in public life. The text is however corrupt and obscure.

Afternoon, my Wife went with me and we rode through Braintree and Weymouth, a pretty ride over cross roads which are narrow enough to make much beauty. There is little in either of these towns however, which bespeaks more than the ordinary comforts of life. None of the luxuries and ornaments which wealth creates and by which it is most adorned. Read Wieland. Afterwards, visit with my Wife, Mr. Beale and his daughters. He is now very anxious about his second one, who does seem in a critical condition. Home. Read Humboldt.