Fine morning. I did not attend Divine Service today, but went with my Wife to Medford to Mr. Brooks’. Found the family consisting of himself, his son Gorham and his Wife very well. Dined and spent the day. The house seems to go through as many phases as it has new Tenants. They were pleasant. Took a walk down the bank of the Canal.1 It is picturesque, but the Country still has a bleak look. Not a leaf to be seen and the grass barely turning. Mr. Shepherd and P. C. Brooks Jr. came in the Afternoon. We left just after tea and got home shortly after Sunset.

I read a long Sermon of Massillon’s upon the Passion of the Saviour. John 18. 37. “To this end was I born, and for this cause came I into the world, that I should bear witness unto the truth.” He considered it, 1. as a manifestation of the obstinacy of the world to oppose the truth, 2. as the greatest evidence of that truth. His divisions are again subdivided. I think the first portion of the Sermon exceedingly powerful. It shows a keen insight into the weakness of human nature, and the precious sophistry which is perpetually employed to cover its indulgence. Nothing else but the Connoisseur.

The weather continues fine. I read a Satire of Horace and then to the Office where I made some progress in Sir James Mackintosh’s History. On the whole this comes more nearly up to my own idea of what it ought to be than any thing I ever read. He is perhaps a little partial to Elizabeth, but I do not know whether, after reviewing the circumstances in which she was placed, it is fair to say so.

I took a walk with Mr. Peabody. Nothing material. After dinner read Botta and Schiller. Evening my Wife being out, accomplished a few Chapters in Bigelow’s Technology—A book so useful I have a great mind to buy it, which is a rare thing with me.1 Went for my wife at Mrs. P. C. Brooks Jr’s. Several persons there. Mrs. Frothingham and Miss Lydia Phillips, Mr. and Mrs. Story, Francis Gray and W. G. Brooks. Returned at ten. Finished the first volume of Chateaubriand’s Itineraire.

Weather cloudy with a few drops of rain. I went to the Office and passed my time in reading far more usefully than I have been able to do hitherto. I finished all of the third volume of the History of England which remains of the composition of Sir James Mackintosh, and I think it is deeply to be regretted that he died precisely when he was treating of the most important point in the whole history. The continuator is more positive and less philosophical. I think I see an immediate difference. Perhaps my acuteness may be somewhat aided by my consciousness of the fact.

Walk. I had Gorham Brooks and Mr. Tenny to see me this morning.1 The first about the Theatre. His Wife wishes to go from Medford. I volunteered to ride out for her. Letter sent in by my father to copy. Did it, and rode to Medford and back before six o’clock, brought Mrs. Brooks in with me.

Evening, Theatre. Much Ado about Nothing. Benedick, Mr. Kemble, Beatrice, Miss Kemble. His performance was very good. I cannot speak in so unqualified a manner of her’s. She had a restlessness and excess of motion especially with her head which was tire-74some, and a mannerism which after a person has seen her several times is rather satiating. Her conception of the part was tolerable and yet not exactly mine. Beatrice is a Wit and a humourist, she has not much of the girl about her. Her speeches are those of a matured woman. Quick, and independent, haughty and reflecting. Such a character requires considerable dignity. And here was the failing. I think the Masquerade Scene was the best thing on her part.

We left the Theatre to go to a party at Mrs. T. W. Ward’s given to Miss Kemble. She has attracted much attention here in private circles. And much mutual misunderstanding has taken place. I thought her an ugly, bright looking girl.2 We returned home at eleven.