Attended Divine Service all day, at Mr. Frothingham’s Church. The day fine for this month but a little windy. Mr. F. preached in the morning a Sermon which I did not see the end of. It was refined and drawling. My ideas of Eloquence are running away with me. They carry me into an enthusiasm which makes me feel unreasonably disgusted with the attempts of others. Mr. Motte preached in the afternoon.1 I recollect him well, as the Classmate of my brother George and at one time his College Chum. He had a reputation there which like nearly all those formed at that place disappoints when brought to the trial of the World. I think he has some ability but not of a kind to produce the greatest effects. And who among us has, when we consider what the Pulpit is, and the great field for the most magnificent effects of intellectual power. But I will think no more about this. It is foolish to speculate when it is necessary to practise.

I wrote a short and very indifferent Letter to my Father today,2 and read a Discourse of Jeremy Taylor upon the Nursing of Infants.3 Taylor was a sensual man by nature, or his imagination could not have been so lively, upon subjects which cold men cannot make themselves eloquent upon. He is quaint and very obscure, and this discourse on the whole did not please me. I afterwards read the portion of the Furies of Aeschylus not before read, reviewed the whole Play, and then went in with my Wife to see our Neighbour Mrs. Dexter.4 Mr. W. Foster came in during our stay there.5 And in conversation a singular mistake occurred. He made an allusion to the cold and reserved manners of my Father in a manner rather surprising to me. I presume he did not recollect who I was. But it was rather an awkward 111affair to the poor man as he made several attempts to recover it which only plunged him deeper. I pitied him and tried to help him out. But the thing was unpleasant. Returned early.