Foggy with an occasional Easterly puff of wind which kept us quite cool. I remained very quietly at home pursuing my usual studies and reading more letters. The number of separations which took place in the lives of the pair was considerable—As many as six or eight, and each interval is filled up with letters twice, thrice and oftener per week. The collection is consequently very considerable. And although I have been industrious and picked up a great many it is very clear to me that more remain behind. The whole, if ever I can get them together will form a very valuable mass of history, and parts of it might be published to great advantage. Other parts will tell truth not to be spoken at all times.

Read an Ode or two of Horace whose powers until now I never appreciated. A student at Cambridge forms no valuable idea of any thing in the way of literature. He gets crude notions of a Classic, is discouraged with the difficulties and want of helps he experiences in reading the mere sense, and leaves off disgusted with learning. That is to say, if he is ambitious of rank as a Scholar, he will delve through, but the moment the incitement is taken off, he flies to other and more congenial pursuits. How many of my class are precisely in this predicament.

Evening, Humphry Clinker, and the Mirror.