Mild and cloudy. Time as usual. Evening at home.

My morning was taken up by a succession of persons calling, principally applicants for the Weston farm. I was therefore obliged to omit Burr as well as Diary and accounts. Read Antigone, forty five lines, rather a small but a difficult lesson. I think I will go through with the seven plays of Sophocles. They improve the taste.

After dinner, having as yet no answer from Dr. Palfrey and being on my oars, I went to work upon the Adams MS and prepared nearly one volume more for binding. This work is very necessary but it drags.

Read aloud to my Wife a little of a new novel called Oliver Twist1 wherein the Author seems to indulge a propensity to abuse human nature. This has two sides after all, and it is best for us not to think too much of the bad one. Tried to write but could not so that I concluded to refresh my recollection of what I had done before, and read over my two last Pamphlets.