Fine day. I remained at home and occupied myself in my usual way interrupted only in the morning once for the sake of taking a sea bath. Sat down to Hutchinson and wrote off without stopping a very considerable quantity of matter. But my process of composition is very laborious from the way I have got into of not maturing things in my 149mind. Writing is foolish without great reflection, and this should be managed without the aid of pen and ink. I now think I can make a good thing out of this.
Spent nearly an hour in comparing text with my father. The old Journals are sometimes tedious and they were so today. Afternoon, read Virgil’s third Eclogue which is very pleasing. And looked through the trunks for the old Papers I wanted, but without success. Found incidentally some scattering letters of my Grandfather’s Correspondence. Quiet evening.
The intention was to have gone on a party today to Nantasket with some of the Quincy family but the various members of the family felt indisposed to go, and we excused ourselves. Mr. Beale and his eldest daughter called in the Evening.