On Monday morning, hankering after some sort of dissipation to divert my melancholy, I fortunately recollected that Jane had left Cowper’s Letters, and that I had not read the third volume. I got it, and beginning knew not how to lay the book out of my hand, and before night read the volume through. There is an uncommon charm in his sentiments and his style; something that interests the heart wonderfully. The religious passages are peculiarly valuable, and a few struck me very much.
On the Sabbath he is extremely just. On turning the mind from creation’s beauties to creation’s Author, the observation is fine; his remarks on the life of dissipation at Brighton, beautiful; on religion, page 106, on local attachments, on familiar communion with God, on natural music, terminated by a most sublime passage—‘There is somewhere in infinite space a world that does not roll within the precincts of mercy; and as it is reasonable and even scriptural to suppose that there is music in heaven, in those dismal regions perhaps the reverse of it is found. Tones so dismal as to make woe itself more insupportable, and to acuminate even despair!’ What a striking thought! But how many are there that will believe in neither hell nor devil, and what must their belief and feelings be who, closing their ears here, open them to the sounds of such a world as that! How many passages do we meet with in great authors which seem sufficient to strike a reader’s mind to conviction and conversion; yet read by thousands, perhaps admired, without the smallest effect on the heart.
25th.—A Mr. Cole called here to ask about passports for Russia. He has hired 30,000 acres in the province of Minsk, which he is to have with 300 boors, paying half the profits as rent. He was advised not to take a grant of land, as it would cause a difficulty after it to quit Russia. I must caution Arthur about this, for he may entangle himself without being aware of it. In the melancholy, solitary moments I pass here, I have been thinking of the many blessings the Almighty has been graciously pleased to shower down upon me. First, He gives me great health, at sixty-four, as good as at any time for twenty years past, and much better than forty years ago. Secondly, He has been pleased to leave me two children. Oh, that He would call them to feel truly His faith, fear, and love! Thirdly, He has granted me an ample income very far beyond what I had, upon entering the world, the smallest reason to expect. I have many doubts of money ever being a blessing, but that is owing to the receiver and not to the giver, it certainly is that which might be made by grace a very considerable one. Fourthly, He has given me the power of being greatly useful to my country; it would be foolish not to reckon that which I know beyond the possibility of vanity deceiving me. Fifthly, He has given me a paternal estate and residence which I greatly love and never wish to change. I could go on and reckon many other things, but these are sufficient to call for a heartfelt and deeply abiding gratitude. I ought to be able to add, that I am miserable for want of feeling this as I should do; in truth I am in this respect a brute beast devoid of everything that marks the Christian and the penitent. O Lord, of Thy mercy soften this obdurate heart by the grace of Jesus Christ! Fill it with contrition for offences. Purify and renew it, bring it in holy faith to the foot of the Cross, and make it feel its iniquities, till it be changed and impressed with Thy holy image.
26th.—I read the concluding entry of yesterday, and it struck me that I had not thanked God for the friends He had given me, and this made me muse for a while. Had I wrote before I became serious, how warmly should I have thanked Him on this score! How it is with others I know not, but with me religion has cooled, checked, or annihilated those feelings; real friendship cannot be felt by a Christian but to a Christian.
What surprises me much more is that I do not feel any very striking advantage from the society of Christians. This I attribute as a fault in myself, and dare say it is for want of more grace and prayer. I love their company, and, some hankerings apart, desire no other. I hope with God’s blessing to improve in this respect—hitherto solitude has been my best friend. Here there are none to be acquainted with but a very few poor people who are never at their ease with me; and at London those I know are too much engaged to see many more than for a moment. Going to bed at nine o’clock prevents the society I might otherwise have there if it were followed up.
28th.—Symonds slept here the night before last and dined twice, which obliged me to postpone more business than I otherwise should have done. He told me one anecdote I had not heard before. In Lord Bute’s administration, as his lordship told him himself, the King settled with him to give the Royal Society 500l. a year for ever, which was accordingly communicated, and to Lord Bute’s amazement refused. On enquiry he found that the motive was an apprehension that he should become too popular if it was accepted! Was ever such folly heard of?
Another anecdote of Symonds. He dined last year at Sir C. Bunbury’s, where he met the rich Mr. Mills, the brandy merchant, who bought Mure’s estate, and who said he found my ‘Annals’ there, which were good for nothing. ‘What, nothing good in them?’ said S. ‘No, nothing at all.’ ‘That is unfortunate with so many correspondents. But if the “Annals” are bad, have you read Mr. Y.’s travels?’ ‘Yes, and very poor stuff they are.’ ‘That is still more unfortunate, for I know that the Marshal de Castries and the late King of Prussia spoke in the highest possible terms of them, and books in French by respectable writers have been dedicated to Mr. Y. in consequence of that publication.’ ‘I can see nothing in them.’
The next day he wrote Symonds a letter with many apologies, as he understood that he had been talking to a gentleman who had contributed much to the ‘Annals.’
So much for my rich neighbour.
Letters from London, and I am very sorry to find that my poor wife is much worse. Nothing but bad news. Sir J. Banks writes me that Sir J. Sinclair is to resume the chair of the Board under promises of good behaviour. My wife’s miserable state is a much worse business.