He did so, feelingly, forcibly, solemnly; it is an excellent sermon; yet so read—he so sad, and myself so ill—it was almost too much for me, and I had some difficulty to behave with proper propriety. To him subjects of this sort, ill or well, bring nothing, I believe, but strength as well as comfort. The voice of dejection with which he began changed to one of firmness ere he had read three pages.
Something he saw of unusual sinking, notwithstanding what I hid; and, with a very kind concern, when he had finished the sermon, he said, “Is there anything upon your spirits?”
“No,” I assured him, “but I was not well; and mind and body seemed to go together sometimes, when they did not.”
“But they do go together,” cried he, “and will.”
However, he took no further notice: he is like me, for myself, in that—that whatever he thinks only bodily is little worth attention; and I did not care to risk explaining to his strong and virtuous mind the many fears and mixed sensations of mine, when brought to a close disquisition of awaiting eternity.
I never, but with Mrs. Delany and Dr. Johnson, have entered so fully and so frequently upon this awful subject as with Mr. Fairly. My dear and most revered Mrs. Delany dwelt upon it continually, with joy, and pure, yet humble hope. My ever-honoured Dr. Johnson recurred to it perpetually, with a veneration compounded of diffidence and terror, and an incessant, yet unavailing plan, of amending all errors, and rising into perfection. Mr. Fairly leans upon it as the staff of his strength—the trust, the hope, the rest of his soul—too big for satisfaction in aught this world has given, or can reserve for him.
He did not, however, “go quietly home,” when he had finished the sermon; on the contrary, he revived in his spirits, and animated in his discourse, and stayed on.
In speaking of the king he suddenly recollected some very fine lines of Churchill, made on his accession to the throne. I wish I could transcribe them, they are so applicable to that good king, from that moment of promise to the present of performance. But I know not in what part of Churchill’s works they may be found.
Finding me unacquainted with his poems he then repeated several passages, all admirably chosen; but among them his memory called forth some that were written upon Lord H—, which were of the bitterest severity I ever heard:—whether deserved or not, Heaven knows; but Mr. Fairly said he would repeat them, for the merit of the composition. There was no examining his opinion of their veracity, and he made no comments; but this: Lord H——- was the famous man so often in the House of Commons accused of expending, or retaining, unaccounted millions.
Having run through all he could immediately recollect, he said, with a very droll smile, “Come, now I’ll finish our ode,” and went to my drawer for “Akenside.”