Fine day with a cool, Northwesterly breeze. I remained at home and after my usual tour round my ground and the improvements making under my direction nearer this I sat down and finished the fifth book of the Iliad.1 This reading has given me an idea of the work which I never got from Pope nor from my college reading of the original.

How little of my college acquisition has been useful to me. Was this my fault entirely? It was, if the remark of President Quincy to me is just that it is with students as with horses led to the water. They are brought to it, but all the world cannot make them drink if they are not so minded. But a little more than bringing is possible in my opinion. Some thirst may be created by such as strive to invent the means.

Read also some of Lessing’s Laocoon. Afternoon, amused myself with Corisande de Mauléon, the French novel mentioned yesterday. It is dull at the outset and I could hardly make any entrance for some time, but as the story proceeds it becomes more interesting. Tried to write but could not succeed. Nothing from Mr. Hallett since my last. Is he trying to trifle with me or is he not?2 Evening at home. E. C. Adams and Miss Miller here for a short time.