The Weather we have so much enjoyed has at last come to an end. We arose this morning in darkness, with a storm raging without. I did not myself feel over well, and this is so rare an occurrence with me now that I feel restless under it. I did not go to Meeting this morning, but took the opportunity to write a Letter to my Father,1 containing a 129kind of Analysis of the Oration of Aeschines which I have just finished. I put some labour into this in order to show to my Father that in my reading I am not trifling. And though it is a little amusing that I should address such a thing to him yet I hope he will feel gratified by my exertion if not entertained by my subject.

My Wife was quite sick all day with a violent cold which weighs upon her. I went out in the afternoon to hear Mr. Pierpont preach.2 His sermon was tolerable. It’s difficulty was that it was not sufficiently clear. But he has much merit in his correctness of reading. I cannot say that I quite like his tones, or his breadth of pronunciation of particular words, but on the whole I was pleased. I returned home, finished four pages to my Father, and passed the Evening in reading Clarissa aloud. I was much fascinated with this part of the Book and began to think that Richardson merited his fame, an impression which I had not fully given to me, I admit, hitherto.3 But the conduct of Clarissa after her dishonour is a noble effort of the mind. I afterwards sat an hour continuing my Essay on Eloquence.