Morning cloudy, but mild. I went to the Office as usual but had little time to do much at my Accounts for the quarter having visits of different kinds to interrupt me.

Letter from my Mother1 written apparently in much agitation and giving some more details of this poor fellow’s death. A short story. He died from one of the fevers of the Country, his system having been previously weakened by chills during the Summer.

Home. Herodotus, the review of the first book I have finished. Afternoon, read a number of the Quarterly Review a new periodical sent to me to examine.2 Set up by a man who thinks he has a call to write. I could not find that his work justified him at all. He talks much of the spirit of the age and has at least the merit of desiring to think independently. I am inclined to believe that the public is becoming daily better prepared for independent thought. Evening read to my Wife my Lecture and was so dissatisfied with it, I believe I must remodel it.