Bath, March 12, 1813.
I have not passed four evenings from home since we parted. The false animation of acquaintances pretending to be friends, the slight gaiety of an assembly, and the satisfaction of hearing I look wonderfully well for my time, have done their duty, and divert me no more. My sweet children are my only real pleasures. —— has a depth of feeling very extraordinary. He began to question me upon one whom you and I speak of no more; and was very anxious to know why no other since that time had made me quite so happy. At last he said, as if he was satisfied at having found out the cause, and conceived it not to disparage my present love for him—‘I believe it is because he did die,’ with a certain solemnity of accent which I cannot describe. How much he must have felt and observed to arrive at this conclusion.
—— thought Miss K. handsome on the report of two or three people, but four or five have found her coarse, slouchy, red-armed, and somewhat like a housemaid; you know how much ‘love’s arrows go by hearsay.’ Moreover, she splashed through a bolero at an assembly where no one else danced but her and her partner; and with her large figure and strong countenance looked as if she was going to box. That is an improvement on the general expression of the dance, which always seems to say, ‘My name is Temptation; Touch me not.’ This ingenious dance is, you know, contrived to show how great a degree of assurance and airs de dragon can be united to pretty music and measured steps. Its gaiety and boldness will always recommend it to the majority; but there cannot be worse taste than making young ladies the performers.
M—— has written a kind letter to inform me of his intended marriage. I am delighted that people who love should marry; but when I know not the other party, and that it is my friend that has the worst of the worldly part of the contract, it is mere affectation and deceit to pretend to be quite satisfied, until one arrives at being a saint.
June 14, 1813.—The variations of the English climate may assist to increase the sensibility of the English character. Yesterday the sun shone resplendent on a country covered with the softest, deepest verdure, blushing with roses, and perfumed with honeysuckle; while a few fleecy clouds added pomp and richness and variety to the bright blue sky. The mind, enlivened by the scenery, expatiated on scenes of love and life and joy. To-day the whole horizon is enveloped in a thick fog; a chilling air distracts our thoughts by a slight sense of suffering from the objects around us, which, shrouded in mist, have lost half their beauty. The heart which but yesterday was filled with ideas of pleasure, is turned to-day to thoughts of privation, of fading glory, of decaying nature. In what variety of lights do these sudden changes present the same object, and what food do they furnish for meditation!
June 24.—The collection of Sir Joshua Reynolds’ pictures now offered to the public eye, is perhaps unique in its kind, as composed of more fine works by a single artist than have ever yet been seen together. They derive peculiar interest from this circumstance. The collection seems to be animated by one soul—the emanation of one powerful mind. Ugolino is probably the most pathetic picture extant, as exhibiting the highest degree of moral and physical suffering inflicted on those whose countenances bespeak exquisite sensibility, and accompanied with the utter extinction of hope—each individual agonizing at once by his own pains, and by the sufferings of those who are dearest to him. It is like a tragedy of Shakespeare on canvas.
TO RICHARD TRENCH, ESQ.
London, June 27, 1813.