A pleasant day. I was occupied most of my morning in finishing the copy of the Fragmentary Journal and in correcting what was already copied. I have now supplied the interval which was not copied and propose to turn my attention to a collateral branch of investigation in reviewing Grahame’s two last volumes.

I have formed a somewhat extensive plan but doubt my energy in execution. The little success corresponding to all my exertion has the effect of damping my ardor in undertaking. I go about a plan with a sense of the pressure of a resisting medium.

The Carriage went in for the family and brought them out before noon, the remainder of the morning spent with them. My father remains behind a few days, to correct and publish his last Speech. My Mother looks better but fatigued. Afternoon, divided between Pliny and the superintendence of my ground, which requires constant care to look well. Evening at my Mother’s.