Morning at home. The men were at work shovelling and ploughing down this morning until noon, but the weather was so showery that it was impossible to continue with profit so I told them to come again tomorrow. I read a hundred lines of the Iliad and a little of Corisande. Also copied the whole of a letter for my father. This is nearly all the work I do in the course of the day and a pretty poor account it is. I forgot to mention Humboldt and Lessing which are too desultory to be much taken into account. Evening some conversation with my father upon political topics.