Another year has come upon us, and has opened opportunity for reflection. The past is matter for consideration, the future for improvement. Though I have striven to do my best, yet I feel conscious of time misapplied and purposes unexecuted. I have laboured with some assiduity and I have not improved in proportion. When I look back upon the course of years however, I feel a reason to congratulate myself for the fortunate dispensations of Providence towards me, and to be reasonably gratified with my own situation. Fears which once tormented me have been dissipated, anxieties have been soothed, and on the other hand, desires have been gratified and hopes exalted.1 When I consider in how many respects I am happy, my heart is full of gratitude, and I constantly warn myself as a lesson that this world is not permanent, to keep in mind not to be unduly elated, or to cease to exert myself to deserve as much as I can, the good gifts of a Deity. I have been faulty in many respects, I have indulged perhaps too much in the dreams which youth and success will excite, I have not laboured to deserve the claims which my vanity suggests to me to make, this is all matter to turn to profitable use in future and not unnecessarily to mourn over it now. One thing I may fairly pride myself upon, that I am not sensible of having done any thing for which to be ashamed. But enough of this.

I went to the Office after spending an hour trying to find for my Wife something for her to give to Mrs. Frothingham. She has made me a very pretty little gift of the kind, in an Inkstand for my Study. Her heart is full of affection. I was busy at the Office in making out my new Year’s Accounts, and went to pay Miss Louisa C. Smith, her amount of Legacy left on the second Distribution of the Estate of My Grandfather. As my Wife and Mrs. Frothingham had gone out of town to dine I remained a little later at the Office and dined at Fenno’s.2

This day my long written Article upon Grahame appeared, and I read it in the North American Review,3 but so altered, I might say mutilated that it gave me no pleasure. On the whole, I have gained my point, but I do not know whether I shall not now be disappointed in the result. Perhaps instead of a forward it may be a backward step. Read a part of the Orator but it is difficult. Evening, attended the Debating Society and was put in the Chair. Returned late, but sat down to Catalogue as usual and read the Tatler.

The day was pleasant although the weather was cool. I attended Meeting with my Wife in the morning and alone in the afternoon. Heard Mr. Frothingham preach a Sermon upon the opening of the year, and my Classmate Cunningham in the Afternoon on the same. I do not think the latter will be likely to take very much among the good people of Boston. I could not realise to myself that in that pulpit stood the man whom I had formerly known so well, and who was now trying to assume a tone which my preconceived notions of him made me feel to be unsuitable. His address is artificial, and his style far too figurative for the times.1 I could not help reflecting what a severe hand had corrected my style, giving no Quarter to my Flowers, which were mere daisies along side of this man’s lilies and Tulips. I afterwards read Middleton, in whom I made some progress. But not with much earnestness. My studies seem now a little aback. Evening, just as we were sitting down to read a little French, Edward Blake came in and spent an hour. He was quite pleasant. And after he left us, we had 395little inclination to resume. I went on however with my Catalogue and read the Tatler.