Fog and rain. At home, dine at the Mansion and evening.
I devoted my whole morning to the examination of my books without however succeeding in detecting the error that had taken place. The day was dull and rainy. I dined at my father’s by request as the two young men and E. C. Adams were to dine there too. Nothing new of any kind.
A little of the first book of the Annals of Tacitus. The text is as familiar to me as if I had never read any thing else. And yet when I was at College I certainly slighted the study of it much. Perhaps reading Crevier last winter which is in many parts a mere translation may explain it. An hour at the Mansion below.