Heavy rain in the morning, and thick weather all day. I was engaged in details much of my morning, preparatory to change of residence. Took an Account of my Wine of which I have far more than I know what to do with. Arranged my papers &ca. At the office where I read very quietly some of Jefferson’s Correspondence. One rigmarole Letter to a lady in the shape of a Dialogue between his head and his heart is a very curious specimen of gallantry of the heavy style.
Home. Afternoon, continued reading the Dissertation of Mandeville. As singular as any thing I ever knew. Ovid also, Hermione to Orestes. Evening finished Miss Edgeworth’s Belinda. The catastrophe is disfigured by one or two awkward incidents. The idea of a girl’s being in love with a picture is not a natural one. And the calm philosophy with which Belinda passes herself over from one betrothed to another, though it may be reason, is repugnant to the feelings.
My wife took tea with Miss Carter and I went in the evening. Two Miss Sigourneys from Hartford, Miss Julia Gorham and her brothers. Tedious. Returned at ten.