Mr. Wibird preached all day upon the Same Subject. His text was in I Corinthians XV. 55, 56, 57. O! Death! where is thy sting? O grave where is thy victory. The sting of death is sin; and the strength of Sin, is the Law. But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. I did not hear much of it: and indeed I very seldom do. However it was said, that Mr. W. has not preach'd this Sermon so often, as he does some others.

Mr. Cranch went to Boston. Miss P. Storer, N. Quincy and B. Apthorp, pass'd the afternoon, we play'd on the flute, on the harpsichord, and sung. There is always some fine music of one kind or another, going forward in this House. Betsey, and Miss Hiller finger the harpsichord Billy scrapes the Violin, Charles and myself blow the flute. Parson Wibird, was here all the evening.

Rain'd a great part of the Day. Miss Hiller is only fourteen, her person comes very near to my ideas of a perfect beauty. A pair of large black eyes, with eyelids, an inch long, and eye brows forming beautiful arches, would be invincible if they had a greater degree of animated,1 and if she was conscious enough of their power, to make use of it. She has not yet I believe been much into Company, and is therefore very silent: to an uncommon degree. I have not heard her speak three times in a day since I have been here. In short she does not appear to have sufficient sensibility her face is as white as the Snow And her bosom is doubtless as cold, but she is not yet arrived to the age, where Sensibility is called forth, and when animation is necessary; the Time will come, when her eyes will be as sparkling, as they are pretty; and her countenance as expressive as it is beautifull.