Fine day. I remained at home. Time taken up as usual, much of it at my House superintending various portions of the work, the rest at home reading. Homer and Plutarch. I have given up writing of late as an impossible job, but I still entertain some notion of returning to it, when my mind shall have become relieved from it’s present anxieties. For the rest it is rather pleasant to watch the gradual transformation from the rough state to the polished, which a house undergoes in building.
Afternoon, Wieland. Ride with my Wife. We got upon the Blue hill turnpike. I am very slightly acquainted with the vicinity of this place at present and am desirous of becoming more so. The Country never looked more green and fresh, and I am particularly partial to the scenery round Milton. Evening, Tocqueville.