Day cold and cloudy. I went to the Church in Chauncy place as usual after reading a part of Goethe’s Tasso. This is a curious production from the simplest of materials. The passions of a wilful Poet who has all the irritability of the tribe, acted upon by the various characters of those about him. At Church heard Mr. Frothingham from Jeremiah 23. 23.24. “Am I a God at hand saith the Lord and not a God afar off? Can any hide himself in secret places that I shall not see him? saith the Lord. Do not I fill heaven and earth? saith the Lord.” I did not fix myself enough which I regret for this subject is one upon which I have thought not a little. Afternoon John 18. 36. “My kingdom is not of this world: if my kingdom were of this world then would my servants fight.” Mr. Parkman is a very worthy man but there are few I should not rather hear preach. He has the twang of the profession upon him about as much as any man I have ever seen. Read an excellent Sermon of Dr. Barrow from 1 Thess. 4. 11. “And that ye study to be quiet and to do your own business.” Perhaps no practical subject in the Bible is more full of difficulty than this. The exactly dividing line between interest in the actions of others and meddlesomeness, between a wish to do good and a mere desire to gratify curiosity is hard to perceive. Dr. Barrow defines the justifiable objects and examines those which are not so, closing with certain exhortations to practical conduct which are admirable. On the whole I like this Sermon best of all I read.

Read Grimm and finished the second part of Philip van Artevelde. 126This is a dramatic Poem written in a taste far more correct than that which has been predominant for some time. It has many beauties of detail in thought and expression but it appears to me to want that which can only create great poets, genius. The conversation is philosophical and speculative not active, built upon the German and the Lake School rather than the old british drama. The delineation of character is not vivid. The Nobles are all alike and the revolted are all of one mould excepting the hero who thinks, feels and acts neither like a virtuous nor a vicious man. He speaks good sense, poetically arranged, but he is neither Richard nor Jack Cade, Macbeth nor Mark Antony. He wants identity, idiosyncrasy the learned would have it. Evening quietly at home. Mrs. Everett remained much the same.