The day was clear, but with the atmosphere so exceedingly close and sultry that it was prostrating. I felt so languid that I was unable to accomplish as much as I generally do. Morning, one hour in writing rather in a rambling way. Then to the Office where I wrote my regular Diary and copied one Bible Letter. A single visit from T. B. Adams Jr. who had very little to say. Returned home, feeling as if I had been 109walking ten miles. Tried to get the History of the U. States but could not.

Afternoon, came to a stop. Cannot do anything without the book. Shall I try to do any thing at all? Almost discouraged. Took up the Letters of Caelius and finished the rest of them. He seems to have been a pretty well disposed man, without much principle and with strong passions. His friendship for Cicero kept him generally inclined to the right, though his sudden influences frequently drove him wrong. His letters are mutilated and obscure in their nature.

Evening quietly at home, excepting a short walk with my Wife. Read La Harpe’s Criticism upon Iphigenie. He thinks the Play nearly perfect. Strange that it should not interest me. I prefer Phedre and Athalie. The Spectator as usual.

Morning clear and warm. Having finished Aristotle’s Poetic, I now took up Horace’s Art of Poetry again being about to read through the Quatres Poetiques of Batteux.1 This pleases me more every time I take it up. Every thing satisfies me that one reading of a Classic is nothing for the purpose of understanding him. Went to the Office. Wrote my regular Journal and copied No. 7 of the Bible letters. My father came in, but remained a very short time, being engaged in this business of the ΦBK again. Mr. Curtis called with a little Law matter. I went to the Athenaeum where I wasted an hour in fingering books. My father dined with me.

Afternoon, read a part of the Ninth Book of Cicero ad Diversos. Letters to Varro and Dolabella. He wrote to the latter after the divorce of his daughter. This shows that little shame attended these divorces. But I cannot get over the evident political arrangement which gave cause to the marriage.

Evening quietly at home excepting a short walk. Mr. Degrand spent part of the evening here. I read more of Horace and began the fifth volume of the Spectator.

Morning clear and warm. Finished Horace’s Art of Poetry with great pleasure to myself. On the whole, I know nothing in its way 110superior to it. The beautiful passages of the different ages of Man might be compared with Shakspeare’s to some advantage. And the very judicious advice seems to have exhausted the most of what Aristotle left undone. At the Office, occupied in copying my Fathers Bible Letter No. 8. One of these takes me two hours and a half steady writing. So that while they last I shall not do much else. Went to the Athenaeum, but the Book I want has been spirited away. So that I wasted the time.

Afternoon at home. Continued the Letters of Cicero and closed the Ninth Book. Among them a remarkable one upon the doctrine of the Stoics as to obscene words. A discussion rather curious than useful. But it is very curious as a matter of language. There is a great deal of lively wit in these letters. Perhaps they are the best models extant. I passed the Evening with my Wife and walked with her. Afterwards, read the first book of Milton’s Paradise Regained.1 It wants interest. Why? Afterwards the Spectator.