I begin upon a new volume of my Diary. An occasion which is fitting for a little reflection upon the past, the present and the future. Of the past I recollect much that is gratifying and much to be thankful for. Of the present I think with a more mingled sense of moments not suitably employed and to the future I look with hope and fear. My personal situation changes little, so little that a record ceases to possess any interest, and yet I grow older and feel more heavily the burden of the charge so neatly expressed by Glaucus in the passage which I have prefixed as an epigraph to this volume. Perhaps I may say that I appear less favorably placed than heretofore for acquiring the honest reputation which is my wish, but this does not dishearten me as I trust all things will with fair exertion come right at the proper time. My happiness can be consulted without going in search of extraneous objects for it and this is cause for the profoundest gratitude to the giver of all good.

I remained at home all day. My first business is to hear the girls read four chapters of the Bible, a practice established by my father and which since his departure I have continued. After this I make arrangements of the superfluity of books into the rooms newly opened for them, or read Homer. These occupations were interrupted today by a visit from Mrs. Frothingham and Horatio Brooks who has lately returned from a voyage. He has lived very fast and bears the marks of it.1 308They went home to dinner. Afternoon read Humboldt. Evening, play at Loto with the children, after which, engaged in writing.