Mild and cloudy. Time as usual. Evening at home.

My morning was taken up by a succession of persons calling, principally applicants for the Weston farm. I was therefore obliged to omit Burr as well as Diary and accounts. Read Antigone, forty five lines, rather a small but a difficult lesson. I think I will go through with the seven plays of Sophocles. They improve the taste.

After dinner, having as yet no answer from Dr. Palfrey and being on my oars, I went to work upon the Adams MS and prepared nearly one volume more for binding. This work is very necessary but it drags.

Read aloud to my Wife a little of a new novel called Oliver Twist1 wherein the Author seems to indulge a propensity to abuse human nature. This has two sides after all, and it is best for us not to think too much of the bad one. Tried to write but could not so that I concluded to refresh my recollection of what I had done before, and read over my two last Pamphlets.

Clouds and light snow. Time as usual. Evening at home.

My morning went rapidly. W. Spear came in from Quincy without any particular business and took much time. I therefore did little with Burr, but got an answer from Dr. Palfrey which makes my work somewhat obligatory.1 Continued Antigone, the first part of which is difficult and the lyric poetry highly elliptical.

I sat down in the afternoon to write upon the state of the currency but found myself at fault for information. I therefore directed my attention to the balance of the Adams MS. Finished the arrangement of the collection of the State Department which goes far towards two volumes.

Went out too and spent an hour with Edmund Quincy who certainly has the appearance of a very sick man. He was lying on a sofa reading, says he has lost blood and is too weak to go upstairs. Our talk was of indifferent topics. In the evening, French, and Oliver Twist which is interesting however disagreeable.