There was little of importance for me to record this day. The cold and east wind was much as usual and I spent perhaps wastefully as much time in the direction of my road. This is however going on now pretty actively. I hope in a few days to finish it, after which there will remain only the inclosure about the house in which there is to be sure much to be done. The workmen are actively engaged in finishing the lower rooms and there will soon be nothing for them to do. I am now beginning to feel a little relief from anxiety by seeing the light at the end of the dark passage.
I read about seventy lines of Homer, and one of the Stories of Simon le Borgne aloud to my Mother. Evening at home. My mind has of late been running much upon the question of the currency and I have entertained an idea that I might elucidate it a good deal if I had time to sit down to write about it. But very seldom do I feel able to sit in the summer steadily to the task.