Morning clear but rather cool. I read my portion in review of Aristotle and went to the Office. Time occupied there mostly in copying the first of my father’s series of Bible letters. Had but one or two visitors and those unwelcome ones. One man on this miserable business of the Pamphlet—Another application for money. The man did not come from Farmer, but he might destroy this edition. Of what avail this? Since the Pamphlet itself shows that three editions have been made one after another without any cessation of purpose.1 This has been a regularly arranged scheme from the first to draw Money by operating upon Family pride. I gave him the same answer that I give universally—That we must not flinch. Returned home as usual.

Afternoon read more of Cicero’s Letters. Those to Trebatius are very amusing, having all the Salt which belongs to the Style. The familiar style of letter writing is perhaps as rare to excel in as any, it requires wit and playfulness, which is a combination not very frequent. My Mother and Wife went to take a ride. I read this Evening the first Act of Racine’s Iphigenie, and the Spectator.

Morning clear, I read Aristotle as usual for an hour and then went to the Office. My time very little interrupted, and I devoted it to copying the Bible letters, two of which and part of a third I finished. The last not being taken from the original, there appear some awkward readings. The letter was probably worn out by handling upon which George made a Copy, and this bears the mark of having subsequently been corrected by my Father. But it is copied by a boy without regard to sense or periods.1 Returned home.

Afternoon, read an act of Iphigenie and then went with My mother and Wife to Medford to see Mr. Brooks, at whose house we took Tea. They were very pleasant and very kind. Chardon Brooks and his Wife and Miss Elizabeth Phillips were the only persons present. We returned home calling on the way upon Mrs. Angier. She appeared well and quite contented. She did commit the folly against which I warned her, in the expense she laid out upon her rooms, but having got over that, it is to be hoped that the future will teach her a lesson, gradually. We returned late, and I continued Iphigenie in the Evening, and the Spectator.

Morning pleasant. I finished this morning the review of Aristotle’s Poetic. The reading has not been without it’s use to me as I have obtained some idea of what may be called the origin of criticism. Aristotle confines himself to the successful efforts of genius for his Models of writing, and argues from them to Nature. Perhaps this is the safest though it is certainly not the most philosophical method. A thing pleases for some reason or other springing from the peculiar constitution of man. That reason should be traced to explain the sub-106ject. Aristotle merely says that it does please, therefore let it be done. Notwithstanding all this, he has given valuable advice to a Poet.

Went to the Office where I was busy in copying the Bible Letters. Thence to the Athenaeum where I got hold of the History of the Western World and was amused with it.1 If I could get, I would review it.

Home to dinner. Afternoon, read the Letters of Cicero with some of Caelius to him. The eighth book is made up entirely of these. Their style is colloquial and so concise as to be very obscure. I was amused with their liveliness. It is one of the great branches of Epistolary Composition, to touch familiar subjects just enough to excite pleasant ideas and leave off to take new ones. Evening, Mr. Degrand sat an hour. He is just from Washington. Writing afterwards, and the Spectator.