28 July

With me, as regards literary production, the summer has been unprofitable

Friday, July 28th. [1843]

We had green corn for dinner yesterday, and shall have some more to day, not quite full-grown, but sufficiently so to be palatable. There has been no rain, except one moderate shower, for many weeks; and the earth appears to be wasting away in a slow fever. This weather, I think, affects the spirits very unfavourably. There is an irksomeness, a restlessness, a pervading dissatisfaction, together with an absolute incapacity to bend the mind to any serious effort. With me, as regards literary production, the summer has been unprofitable; and I only hope that my forces are recruiting themselves for the autumn and winter. For the future, I shall endeavour to be so diligent nine months of the year that I may allow myself a full and free vacation of the other three.

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