The day of the hero’s glory1 came in Clouds and rain. We had not so much noise and stuff this year. All is obtained. I wrote a long letter to my Father which occupied me all the morning, in a very interesting manner. A hint or two at my private affairs.2 My spirits today were low, but not so unsustained as formerly. There seems now to exist a buoyancy which keeps them up astonishingly. For although I have abundant reason for apprehension of the future, and at times, I feel as if certainty was coming over me, it is not so distressing to my Nerves as it was last year. My religious feelings are still strong and my confidence unimpaired. Afternoon, Mr. Burke upon French Affairs. Mr. Clay on the Tariff. Heavy rain. Evening, reading aloud at home.