Clouds and light snow. Time as usual. Evening at home.

My morning went rapidly. W. Spear came in from Quincy without any particular business and took much time. I therefore did little with Burr, but got an answer from Dr. Palfrey which makes my work somewhat obligatory.1 Continued Antigone, the first part of which is difficult and the lyric poetry highly elliptical.

I sat down in the afternoon to write upon the state of the currency but found myself at fault for information. I therefore directed my attention to the balance of the Adams MS. Finished the arrangement of the collection of the State Department which goes far towards two volumes.

Went out too and spent an hour with Edmund Quincy who certainly has the appearance of a very sick man. He was lying on a sofa reading, says he has lost blood and is too weak to go upstairs. Our talk was of indifferent topics. In the evening, French, and Oliver Twist which is interesting however disagreeable.