The morning was fair and uncommonly mild. Our season here has been altogether of a soft nature so far, particularly when I come to compare it with the two preceding years. I went to the Office as usual and passed my morning in rather a desultory way, having only a little while to devote to German. I made a little progress in the verbs notwithstanding. The difficulties which meet one at the outset of languages rather deter one from pursuing them, but I trust a little in my usual perseverance. Took my walk at one o’clock.

After dinner I sat down again to Cicero but I read over his sections about Wit so superficially that it disgusted me and I turned over to the beginning of the second book again to review thoroughly. And this time I very much got the Sense of the Author, so far as I progressed. The great method of understanding foreign Authors, is as Wyttenbach1 advises by constant reviewing. Thus the sense and force that may escape at one time will be caught at another. Evening, reading Corinne with my Wife. After which, I finished the sixth book of Paradise Lost and reviewed it. Read a little of Mr. Drake, and two Numbers of the Tatler.