Morning clear and the snow began to melt with great rapidity. I went to the Office as usual and passed most of the morning in writing to my Father.1 Dr. Wendell called upon me and paid his little balance, which thus clears off another of the very disagreeable trifles that have been pressing me. I hope in time to get through them all. My letter was upon business and a brief and clear statement of his affairs. Not 198over flattering to be sure, but still worthy of attention. Half an hour was passed attending a Stock Sale,2 which turned out however in nothing material. I have funds to invest but fear I shall not be able to make them fully available, just yet, this I regret, as the Atlas Stock which I propose to purchase went low.

Returned home and after dinner was employed in reading Demosthenes, and finishing the celebrated oration on the Crown.3 It is a great effort and deserving perpetual study. The remarkable point is that he manages so well to throw over the whole the strong colouring of truth. Who can help feeling as if he had truth on his side when he recapitulates his services and his motives? Who does not feel as if Aeschines his accuser is playing a low game? On the whole, I think I have been fully paid in this study, by the insight given me into the power of words. Who does not feel the truth of Mirabeau’s explanation of his power when he said that he always considered Words as things.

The Evening was passed at the usual meeting of the Debating Society. The question of Theatrical Exhibitions was again brought up and discussed. I took no part in it however this evening as I had on the last exhausted all I had to say. It was a little singular that Chapman followed my ground precisely. We carried our point. This was the closing evening in this season. In looking back to the beginning, I find I have not lost my time, for in ease and self possession, in the knowledge of division and exposition, I have made considerable progress. This is all however, but little compared to what I wish.