18th.—Cowper is invaluable to a country gentleman that would enjoy his residence without the world’s assistance. Reading his letters has made me more attentive to every beauty of this place, of which I was always so fond; there is something very amiable in the manner in which he converts every flower, tree, and twig to enjoyment, and I walk out better prepared for this pleasure from the perusal of that most agreeable writer. There is but one danger from which, poor man, his poverty secured him, and that is the mind insensibly running into speculation of improvement. I have made many here, and the taste is very insatiable; this may without a guard lead to too much expense. But I endeavour to correct the wanderings of imagination, and to dwell on the beauties of every single tree, shrub, and spot, and to be content with them all as they are. The laburnum in the back lawn is more beautiful than I ever saw it, so entirely covered with rich clusters of its golden flowers, that I can admire it for an hour together. This enjoyment, however, is very poor and fading if we do not, with Cowper, tum our minds habitually to the great and beneficent Author of all these beauties. This sentiment is impressive and durable, and leads the mind to the richest contemplations. If for such a race the earth is thus clothed, what must heaven be?
A reading habit is a great blessing. I am sure I find it so, for though I have risen at 3 A.M. since I have been here, and not once been in bed at four, still I am not tired at night. A walk is a refreshment to be had in the country in a moment, but at London half a mile of street thronged and noisy, and then only a crowded park, with sights to wound or to tempt. I do not like snow, but a deep one and blustering wind here is preferable to calm sunshine in the streets of London.
But much as I like Bradfield even alone, I must leave it and get quickly into Essex. I could write the Report from materials before me, and from a long knowledge of the county, and produce a valuable work, but that would not be honest. I shall take their money, and will therefore travel as much in it, and give as much attention to it, as if I had no materials at all to work upon.
August 12.—Letters from Jane and Arthur at St. Petersburg. They give sad accounts of the treatment the English have received there if most specific agreements be not made beforehand for everything. I wish cordially they were well home again, and so do they, I believe.
October 20.—At Rayleigh. To keep a journal in this manner is nonsense, and worse than nonsense; besides, I have time to do better, and therefore ought to do it.
Three nights past I slept at the Earl of St. Vincent’s, who, being a great character, forces a note. I had much inclination to have called on him, as I heard of Sir T. Leonard that he farmed, but I thought it would be a forward step, and so passed on to the Squire of the parish, Towers. He was in with the gout, but his sons told me that they had lately dined in company of Lord St. V., who mentioned my being in the country, and that he expected to see me. Whence this expectation came I have no conception. He received me politely, pleasantly, and cordially; kept me all day to dinner and to sleep, and desired me if ever I came near him again to be sure to make his house my headquarters. He showed me every acre, cow, ox, and pig, and talked sensibly enough on farming, as far as he knew of it. When he returned he told me he did not dine till 6 P.M., and as he should be out again, I should have a fire in Lady St. V.’s dressing room, and a pen and ink, and that I was my own master. Montague Burgoyne coming, he sent him up to me. At and after dinner much political conversation, for Burgoyne is a desperate politician. It was plain that Lord St. Vincent thought himself very ill used by opposition as well as by Mr. Pitt; he seemed to think that they made a great cry about him while it served their own purpose, but that when this would not answer, they cared little for him and forgot him, but he praised Lord Sidmouth greatly. Burgoyne, who wanted Fox in when Lord Sidmouth accepted, told Lord St. V. the only sin he ever committed was joining that lord, as he could not have made an administration without him. He said it was impossible to resist, the state of the country was such that his conscience would have condemned him; it was greatly to his personal injury, for he was, as commander of the Channel fleet, in the receipt of a good 25,000l. a year, which he gave up for a miserably paid Cabinet place then of only 3,000l. That the King urged him to keep the command with the Admiralty, and Lord Sidmouth agreed to it, but he would not do it, it would have been wrong. The King urged the precedent of Lord Howe, who kept both, and why should not he? But he was firm. He hates all religions, called Lord Barham an old canting hypocrite—all of them—and ‘little Wilber-force too!’ I said something against that, but not half enough. He remarked that the old hypocrite would soon, very soon, be removed. I hope in this he will find himself mistaken. He swears pretty much, not quite as sailors do, but he says grace before and after dinner; is not this hypocrisy? He has great spirits, a good understanding, and is very pleasant.
December 9.—My old friend Symonds being dangerously and in all probability fatally ill, I went yesterday to see him. I was there four hours. He dozed much, but when awake had the perfect use of his faculties, though not quite speech enough or recollection to explain himself as when well; my dear Jane took him to be a real Christian, though not without thinking he had bad notions on certain points. I ever doubted it, and thought I saw much in him of sound, good doctrine, but great deficiencies.
He utterly disbelieved original sin, which appeared always to me a fatal sign.
He talked to me of Naples, Bonaparte, &c., said he had something particular to say to me, upon which B. left the room. It was to tell me that Cocksedge would not give 40l. for a very well done map and survey of the Eldo estate, and that therefore he should take care that he should have nothing done to accommodate him, no part of the furniture should be his, &c. This will be talked of, and therefore mention the motive. What stuff to occupy the attention of a dying man! I took four or five opportunities, or rather made them, to turn his mind to Christ, but they passed, and he was silent, not one religious or serious word came out of his mouth, nothing of the kind seemed to be in his mind. He was in general quite easy and composed, and slept perfectly free from any apparent disturbance. Awful is such insensibility.
10th.—I was with him again yesterday, and through such a day of rain that I hope I shall not take cold. He was just the same, mentioned Casburn’s account of the Blue Coat Hospital, and being washed four times a day; talked of the water gods, smiled, and joked. I could not endure the moment passing without another attempt to turn his mind to more serious impressions. I asked C. if he had had any prayers said to and for him. No, he had not mentioned it, but two nights before he had prayed shortly for himself. I told him that there ought to be prayers in the room, and that C. could read them. He said, ‘Yes, he could,’ and for the family also! It made no impression, and soon after closing his eyes as if for sleep, said, ‘Your servant, I only keep you,’ so I left him. I have fears that it is a sort of judicial blindness and insensibility of his state to have his senses and make no better use of them, I am much shocked.