We have been left alone again this day. Mr. and Mrs. Hilliard went away this morning. I employ most of my time at present in reading the Abbé Millot's elements of history.1 They are well written but very concise. He is quite philosophical: in some pas-119sages perhaps too much so. At least he calls in question many historical facts; without sufficient reason, I think. His reflections which seem to form the greatest part of his work, are for the most part just, and display, much humanity, which is an essential requisite in a historian.

Mr. Read came here in the afternoon, to spend a day. Though he cannot entirely lay aside the Tutor, but retains a little of the collegiate stiffness, yet he endeavours to be affable, and is very sociable. These people when distant from their seat of Empire, and divested of that Power, which gives them such an advantageous idea, of their own superiority, are much more agreeable, than, they are, when their dignity puts them at such an awful distance from their pupils. Mr. Read conversed much upon several subjects and with a great deal of complaisance; but with most ease, and pleasure upon subjects which form part of the studies at the university.

Mr. Read set out in the afternoon to return to Cambridge. In the Evening Mr. Cranch returned from Boston, and Lucy and her brother from Haverhill.

Mr. Wibird preach'd all day from John I, 47. Jesus saw Nathanael coming to him, and saith of him, Behold an Israelite indeed in whom is no guile! Mr. W. is said to be so fond of his ease, that he seldom writes new Sermons, but preaches his old ones over and over, frequently. But this was new, and one of the best that I ever heard him deliver, full of judicious reflections, and wise instructions, which proves that if he is not of great service to the People, of this parish, as a moral teacher, it is not for want of sufficient abilities. The family here, are in affliction, on account of the Death of Mr. Perkins1 in Virginia, a young gentleman, who resided in the house some months, and endeared himself to the whole family. A more particular attachment between 120him, and Eliza, renders his loss more distressing to her, than to the rest; and her great sensibility deepens the wound. Her grief is silent, but is painted expressively on her countenance.