because, though capable of judging, he is not cool and sober enough for unprejudiced, patient, and correct observation.
19th.—I visited the beautiful rural seat and pleasure grounds of the late poet and minister, Joel Barlow, on the heights of George-town.[27] I made many inquiries after this celebrated author {128} of the Columbiad, before I could learn when, where, and how he died and was buried; circumstances now scarcely known. He seemed almost forgotten. He died while minister from this country to the court of the Emperor Napoleon, and in pursuing him towards Russia, to obtain the removal of decrees against commerce. A tomb, into which I am now looking, was built for him on this estate, but it is still empty. His body was sought for, but, it is said, could not be found. A few graves mark these forlorn domains.
Visited Mr. Simpson, and viewed his English-like farm, about which I had heard much boasting, and much about
