The Snow was thick enough to make very good sleighing, and the Streets looked very lively. I went to the Office as usual, and passed my time in writing my Journal and reading Enfield’s Philosophy, in which I made progress as far as the Cynic Philosophy. This is a very useful book and I am a little surprised I never took hold of it sooner. It has given me a better insight into the doctrines of the different Masters whose names we see perpetually in the Classics, than I ever possessed before. How much knowledge we ought to possess before even starting to read the older Authors, and yet we touch them first in boyhood when we do not even understand the Language, much less the multiplicity of allusions to mythology, philosophy, religion, habits 400and manners. No wonder there is so little taste for the Dead Languages.

My time was cut in halves by being obliged to go and see my Cousin Miss A. S. Adams who was in town, expecting to receive her Quarterly Interest. This however saved my going out of town as I had intended. After dinner I finished the Orator with which I have been on the whole edified. Though part of it is mysterious, yet it contains a vast deal of excellent matter to be practically exercised. The whole business of the choice of words, how vastly different from our Teachers. Yet who compares with Cicero in the most unerring test, success.

Evening. Began A Year in Spain, a new book by a young New York man.1 Quite lively. Continued my Catalogue and read the Tatler.