Fine morning. I read and finished Mary Stuart today. The defect of the piece is that it has no action. She is introduced after her trial and sentence so that the whole interest turns upon a weak effort of Mortimer and Leicester to release her and upon the struggle in the mind of Elizabeth as to the execution of the sentence. It is rather wonderful how much he has done with these small materials. The character of Mary Stuart is poetically drawn and with tolerable accuracy—That of Elizabeth also.

I went to the Office, where I wrote Diary and began a Letter to my father but Mr. Brooks interrupted it by wishing me to accompany him and see a piece of land behind my House about which there is a question of selling. This consumed the remainder of my time. Walk and home, where I continued Ibis and it became more difficult. I am nearly at the end of it. Hardly any body would wish to read it excepting as a sort of literary curiosity.

Afternoon short because P. C. Brooks Jr. and Mr. Perry a young shipmate home1 of Horatio’s dined with us. Grimm and Deontology which I finished. There is not much in it. Perpetually prating about the greatest happiness of the greatest number and yet unable in ten cases out of twelve to pronounce what it would be. For who is to be the judge. Why, it may be said, the greater number. A morality put to the vote. I should prefer not to live under it. Evening, Mons. Guizot whose views are clear.

Cold morning. I read Schiller’s Preface to his Bride of Messina—An attempt to bring back the Antique Theatre with it’s chorus. He opens some views of the dramatic art which are in a manner new and insists upon it that the chorus is a great instrument to raise the character of the poem to the height which Author and Spectator equally require. I am doubtful upon this point. That it is an avenue for the introduction of lyric poetry which no other portion of the drama can furnish is certainly true, but it becomes a poem and not a drama. Schiller maintains that it is a merit in a Chorus that it checks the interest and the illusion which might in many cases become more painful than is consistent with the only purpose of scenic representation. This seems to me erroneous. The most painful plays that are not 99disgusting are the most popular. At least it is so in England. Notwithstanding all this, I think the argument has some weight when applied to operatic performances in which illusion is of less consequence and music of the most. The chorus here is a great thing.

I went to the Office. Engaged in writing, and copying a Letter to my father,1 also Diary. Received a letter from T. B. Adams approving of my transactions on his Account.2 Mr. G. W. Beale came in and wished a message sent to my father upon the settlement of Mr. Lunt, as Minister at Quincy. I was kept at the Office so long as to lose my walk. Read Ovid and nearly finished Ibis.

Afternoon, Mr. Brooks got me to draw a Deed for him of the land in question behind my house. Finished a history of the greatest happiness principle as impudent a piece of ipse dixitism according to their own barbarous jargon as any they abuse. Evening, read to my Wife, Hannah More’s Thoughts on the Manners of the great.3