The weather was so doubtful that I did not go to town. Time occupied partly in reading some of Horace and partly in attention to my gardening and planting projects. This is, all of it, vanity and vexation of spirit. But I have persevered through all sorts of discouragement until at last I have a little prospect of success. My principal difficulty here in Quincy consists in the desultory character of my occupations which prevents all pursuit of any definite purpose. Residence here is the most quiet thing in the world. We have no interruptions from abroad, and live almost as much to ourselves as any family can be supposed to do. The monotony of existence is such that my Journal can barely be kept along. Yet I waste my time just as much as if I was in the middle of dissipation and tumult.
Afternoon, read Mons. de Burtin. I believe I continue with him because I have no other subject to turn to at present. I do not admire his taste or his doctrines which flow from it. Evening Madame de Sevigné and the Observer.