I had fixed upon this day to go to Quincy, but upon waking, I found it raining heavily which continued without intermission through the day. Consequently I sat down very quietly and deliberately to read and occupy myself at home. My time was not heavy at all. I began reading the Letters of Ortis in Italian,1 a work of high sentiment apparently upon the plan of Werter. I do not much admire the Author’s preface. My hours were divided between Mirabeau, Madame de Stael, Ovid, and this Italian, besides a Letter to my Mother which I completed and yet with nothing
To LCA, 10 May (Adams Papers).