What I might feel if I again saw Downing Street and Palace Yard is another question.

I tell you sincerely my present feelings.
I have cast up my reading account, and brought it to the end of the year 1835.

It includes December 1834; for I came into my house and unpacked my books at the end of November 1834.

During the last thirteen months I have read Aeschylus twice; Sophocles twice; Euripides once; Pindar twice; Callimachus; Apollonius Rhodius; Quintus Calaber; Theocritus twice; Herodotus; Thucydides; almost all Xenophon's works; almost all Plato; Aristotle's Politics, and a good deal of his Organon, besides dipping elsewhere in him; the whole of Plutarch's Lives; about half of Lucian; two or three books of Athenaeus; Plautus twice; Terence twice; Lucretius twice; Catullus; Tibullus; Propertius; Lucan; Statius; Silius Italicus; Livy; Velleius Paterculus; Sallust; Caesar; and, lastly, Cicero.

I have, indeed, still a little of Cicero left; but I shall finish him in a few days.