Morning dark with heavy rain. Went to the Office as usual. No letters from my father which I cannot help thinking a little strange. Something must be the matter to keep him so very silent about his coming in this direction. I am afraid it is again my Mother. My own spirits are much affected by this idea. But it cannot be helped. The great misfortune for a man is to marry and live at a distance from his natural home, for his Wife never gets a taste for her husband’s proper residence, and this keeps him away from it.

The greater part of my morning was passed in my translation of Aeschines which in this manner progressed exceedingly. I am engaged at present in ascertaining the meaning merely and design to beautify afterwards. Only one person came in, with an Account against New’s Estate, and he gave me some account of the man, his life and the causes of his death. Intemperance, a natural leaning to which increased by the misconduct of all his children, brought him to his grave just as he saw the close of his property. He probably dies insolvent.

Afternoon continued Demosthenes but somewhat superficially as I had forgotten Negris and was therefore aware that I must go over it again. The style is very different and much more close than that of Aeschines. I progressed rapidly during the afternoon and evening. And succeeded in reading a good deal to my Wife from the Tour in Silesia.