We have had dry and hot weather for so long that the country begins to show signs of suffering. I was visited by my father to enquire of my condition, and to talk of my papers of which he penetrated the authorship.

My time was principally consumed in drawing out the last number which embraces the vexed question of Slavery, which I finished before dinner although it does not quite satisfy me. The difficulty of the subject and of the audience to address it to is such that I hurry matters which ought to be dwelt upon.

Afternoon, Pliny’s Panegyric which goes over every thing in the world that would furnish material, and Bayle’s Letters which are rather amusing. Evening at the other house spent in conversation. Remarkably beautiful night.