My cold continues in the most astonishing manner. I am very hoarse and suffer in my head more than I have done for years. Concluded to lay aside the Physiognomical Travels as yet too difficult to enjoy, and to take the Maid of Orleans of Schiller which Mr. Frothingham recommended to me.1 I find however even in reading the Travels that I have made progress since I took them up in November. I mean to continue the habit until it becomes familiar to me. This is the only way to master a language.

Office where I was not much occupied. Looked over my Essay, supplied some new ideas which had occurred to me, and marked the passages to be put into a new form. But while my cold lasts I feel hardly activity enough to set about the work. Short walk.

Finished the Nux of Ovid. Apparently a little boyish effort. Nothing remains of him but the Ibis and I shall be without a book of Classics before I return to my own house. Afternoon Grimm and Cuvier, who is wretchedly translated. Evening, finished the History of Henry the 7th who is the founder of the modern British Monarchy. A couple of fragments. A little of Mons. Guizot.