_March 31st_. I have given no little part of the winter to a revision of my manuscript journal of travels through the Miami and Wabash Valleys in 1821. The season has been severe, and offered few inducements to go beyond the pale of the usual walk to my office, the cantonment, and to the village seated at the foot of the rapids. Variety, in this pursuit, has been sought, in turning from the transcription of these records of a tourist to the discussion of the principles of the Indian languages--a labor, if literary amusement can be deemed a labor, which was generally adjourned from my office, to be resumed in the domestic circle during the long winter evenings. A moral enjoyment has seldom yielded more of the fruits of pleasure. In truth, the winter has passed almost imperceptibly away. Tempests howled around us, without diminishing our comforts. We often stood, in the clear winter evenings, to gaze at the splendid displays of the Aurora Borealis. The cariole was sometimes put in requisition. We sometimes tied on the augim, or snow-shoe, and ventured over drifts of snow, whose depth rendered them impassable to the horse. We assembled twice a week, at a room, to listen to the chaste preaching of a man of deep-toned piety and sound judgment, whose life and manners resemble an apostle's.
In looking back at the scenes and studies of such a season, there was little to regret, and much to excite in the mind pleasing vistas of hope and anticipation. The spring came with less observation than had been devoted to the winter previous; and the usual harbingers of advancing warmth--the small singing birds and northern flowers--were present ere we were well aware of their welcome appearance.
Hope is a flower that fills the sentient mind With sweets of rapturous and of heavenly kind; And those, who in her gardens love to tread, Alone can tell how soft the odors spread.
_April 20th_. "There are, it may be," says Paul, "many kinds of voices in the world, and none of them is without signification." It could easily be proved that many of these voices are very rude; but it would take more philological acumen than was possessed by Horne Tooke to prove that any of them are without "signification." By the way, Tooke's "Diversions of Purley" does not seem to me so odd a title as it once appeared.