Christmas day. A day of some festivity in three fourths of the Christian world and even here celebrated by the members of the elder religious sects. But our old Puritans saw how it formerly was prostituted to the most sensual indulgences and from their religious horror ran to the other extreme. Not myself being much acquainted with 43Churches here I do not attend Divine Service but I regard the day and do not incline to use it in mere temporary Affairs.1

I went to my office merely for the purpose of writing my Diary which I did. Then a walk. It snowed all the morning but cleared away and was pleasant afterwards. Read Ovid, the dispute for the prize of the arms of Achilles. The speech of Ulysses is a masterly specimen both for arrangement and persuasiveness. Ovid certainly can write with abundant power. His resources were greater than those of Virgil. Afternoon, Letters of Mr. Gerry and Mr. Dana, neither explicit enough.

Miss Henrietta Gray passed the day here. Evening Mr. and Mrs. Frothingham. He is amusing from the vehemence of his opinions, but he is a little given to literary pedantry which makes him in regarding the shell frequently overlook the kernel. His criticisms are too enragée to be just. Only time for a few pages of d’Israeli.

There is a great deal of power in Don Carlos. It is a piece that interests at once from the grandeur of the scene, the historical associations and the melancholy circumstances. The dialogue is simple, well sustained and highly interesting. The plot adroitly managed. On the whole I admire the manliness of Schiller’s style and wonder the Germans do not set it higher. I think it finer than Goethe’s.

I went to the Office where I was busy in Accounts and Diary. Then a walk, although it was a severely cold day. Ovid. Story of Acis and Galatea. Afternoon reading Mr. Dana’s Papers in which the allusions are so mysterious and the language so guarded, it is difficult to decipher the meaning. Evening, reading Faust aloud to my Wife. Mr. Brooks was out. Afterwards, Don Carlos. The day was cloudy. Miss Gray left us today.

A fine day. I went to the Office and was busy there in draughting my Quarterly Account for the close of the year, which was a business of no small difficulty from the number of secondary Accounts. The charges at Quincy, the travelling expenses to Washington and the 44sales of New England Insurance Stock making separate papers. Mr. Jones from Weston called in and made settlement in part which enables me very well to meet my engagements here at present.1

I called in at the picture gallery and found things by sunlight looking a great deal better. One or two of these pictures I should like, but I have already consumed all of my fund for things of this description so that I shall let them go, Walk. Ovid, Glaucus and Scylla. Evening at home. I finished reading Faust to my Wife and continued Don Carlos to myself, also d’Israeli, whose book is very amusing. This is a species of literary luxury which spoils a man for more continued studies. It collects the cream so handily for conversation. Yet the multitude of anecdotes makes remembering them difficult.