This was the day fixed for the annual Thanksgiving. It was bitterly cold in the morning but moderated as the day advanced. I occupied myself in reading an introduction to the study of the Greek Classics by young Coleridge a nephew of the Poet.1 It is a sensible production. When I think of my taste for the classics and of the little I do for them, I am filled with regret.

Attended divine service and heard Mr. Frothingham from Nehemiah 8. 10. “Go your way, eat the fat and drink the sweet and send portions unto them for whom nothing is prepared; for this day is holy unto our Lord. Neither be ye sorry, for the joy of the Lord is your strength.” He discoursed upon health, plenty, and peace. He was quite happy.

Walk. Mr. Brooks, Mr. Frothingham and Mr. Walsh dined with me. Pleasant enough. Evening over to Mr. Everett’s. Nobody there but Mr. and Mrs. A. H. Everett and the Earl of Selkirk, a Scotch nobleman travelling in this Country to amuse himself.2 He was unassuming, something uncommon. I was not in sorts, and glad to get home.