Cloudy day. Time occupied as usual. Evening at home.

I devoted some time to the arrangement necessary for removing the body of T. B. Adams and had a little left for writing. But I did not satisfy myself. When do I? The day was foggy and drizzly and I felt dull.

A Letter from my Mother with no news in it.1 Philoctetes, making great progress. It is the easiest Greek tragedy I ever read. Continue to work on MS and Gibbon, so I did not do as I said on Saturday. Evening, French, and Burr which I worked over as usual.