Morning clear, but with a cold and cheerless wind. I had anticipated a pleasant ride to Medford, but was somewhat disappointed. The east predominated too much. Arrived, we attended divine service all day and heard Mr. Stetson. I was so cold in the morning having imprudently left my great coat behind me that I could hear little. The subject however was prayer. In the afternoon, his sermon was upon Sunday Schools and somewhat severe upon the practices of his neighbours of the orthodox creed. I am not over fond of militant Theology, and therefore pay little attention to denunciations from the pulpit of any kind. It is a little unfortunate for Communities that they have in them commonly smart spirits who in the desire for self distinction which animates man as a race, seek those ways calculated to breed evil passions and disagreeable feelings in the hearts of fellow men.

But I am not going to moralize on hackneyed topics. The world must always be taken by every generation as it is, and if it is the work of half a life to come to an understanding of this nature, it only shows, what shadows we are, and what shadows we pursue. My time was lost. Dr. Swan paid a short visit in the evening.

This was the first morning that the Spring Season had manifested itself in an unequivocal manner, and therefore quite delicious. The air was soft and made our ride returning from Medford quite agreeable. I went to the Office and enjoyed a morning totally uninterrupted from any visit of any kind but not on that account entirely well spent. My books are at home and having finished Graham, I had nothing else to begin upon, so that I did little except to look over the series of letters written to my brother George by my father.1 They are deeply interesting to me as evincing his constant unabated affection and anxiety for him and the trouble that his procrastinating conduct occasioned. If ever there was a son who had advantages from his father, it was he, and his mind and taste merited a better fate. But the past is not to be recalled, and we submit under the affliction more readily when we suppose that it is probably for the best.

The afternoon was passed in my study writing a rough draft of my Essay upon our early History. I was tolerably well satisfied with what I had accomplished, and if I can do it all in the same manner I hope it will do as my first effort in a long composition. But it will need revision and reflection, and my time is very short. I have so many in-217ducements to continue it that I anxiously hope they will carry me through the necessary labour. The days have now grown so long that I have but a short time to read Eustace to my Wife and we progress slowly. After it, I accomplish something, and this evening finished my father’s Lectures which have done me good.