I went to the Office this morning. My time after breakfast and in the evening is not devoted so usefully as I could wish; I lose ground in my German from the indifference respecting the selection of a new work to read. Supposing I select the Robbers of Schiller?

Mr. Walsh has got over his modesty and comes in to see me much as he used to do. He informed me this day of the unexpected result of the election in the Senate of the State of a Senator. They have unexpectedly made choice of my father on their part. This is one of the most singular political results that has occurred within my remembrance of political affairs. The present Senate of Massachusetts consists of Forty men not one of whom stands in any political relation with him. It consists of a large proportion of the old federal spirit which is as well as Masonry adverse to him. And yet the reputation of my father is too strong for them to resist. As a testimony to his character I think this is flattering although it is extremely doubtful whether it varies the general result.

I took a walk and read Ovid as usual. Afternoon engaged upon a new translation of Faust by a man named Hayward with a Preface in which he explains his particular opinions.1 He is very critical in his judgment of Leveson Gower’s production. His is a literal translation. It is interesting if not absolutely sound. Evening, reading aloud to Mr. Brooks. Afterwards d’Israeli.