Cloudy day. Morning Office. Afternoon to Quincy.

I this morning finished my last sketch of Burr. Good, bad or indifferent I am not going to trouble myself more about it. It is not worth the candle to play the game of reviewing. There are passages in this which I know are good but the average is below my usual force. Let it go and I will transfer myself to something else.

At home, finished Ajax, thus completing the plays of Sophocles. I admire them much. Perhaps this last one has single passages of the greatest power, but it is not so skilfully arranged as Oedipus King nor so highly poetical as Oedipus at Coloni, nor so pathetic as Antigone. On the whole, Sophocles is the most remarkable of all the poets of antiquity for the variety of his talent, from the high lyric to the most gentle and simple. I shall return to the study of him hereafter.

After dinner to Quincy. The workmen had completed their labour in blowing and now comes the getting out. I remained until sunset and did not get home until nearly nine. Fatigued and went to bed early.