May.—Some months have elapsed since I noted
down a line in this book. Indisposition and its
usual attendants, languor and lassitude, have caused
me to throw it by. Time that once rolled as pleasantly
as rapidly along, seems now to pace as slowly as sadly;
and even the approach of spring, that joyous season
never before unwelcomed, now awakens only painful
recollections. Who can see the trees putting forth
their leaves without a dread that, ere they have yet
expanded into their full growth, some one may be snatched
away who with us hailed their first opening verdure?
When once Death has invaded our hearths and torn from
us some dear object on whose existence our happiness
depended, we lose all the confidence previously fondly
and foolishly experienced in the stability of the
blessings we enjoy, and not only deeply mourn those
lost, but tremble for those yet spared to us.
I once thought that I could never behold this genial
season without pleasure; alas! it now occasions only
gloom.
Captain William Anson, the brother of Lord Anson,
dined here yesterday. He is a very remarkable
young man; highly distinguished in his profession,
being considered one of the best officers in the navy,
and possessing all the accomplishments of a finished
gentleman. His reading has been extensive, and
his memory is very retentive. He has been in
most quarters of the globe, and has missed no opportunity
of cultivating his mind and of increasing his stock
of knowledge. He is, indeed, a worthy descendant
of his great ancestor, who might well be proud of
such a scion to the ancient stock. Devoted to
the arduous duties of his profession, he studies every
amelioration in it con amore; and, if a long
life be granted to him, will prove one of its brightest
ornaments.
The Marquis and Marquise de B——
spent last evening here, and several people dropped
in. Among them was the pretty Madame de la H——,
as piquant and lively as ever, as content with herself
(and she has reason to be so, being very good-looking
and amusing) and as careless of the suffrages of others.
I like the young and the gay of my own sex, though
I am no longer either.
Prince Paul Lieven and Captain Cadogan[8] dined here
yesterday. The first is as spirituel and
clever as formerly, and the second is as frank, high-spirited,
and well-bred—the very beau ideal
of a son of the sea, possessing all the attributes
of that generous race, joined to all those said to
be peculiar to the high-born and well-educated.
I like the conversation of such men—men
who, nursed in the lap of luxury, are sent from the
noble dwellings of their sires to be “cabined,
cribbed, confined,” in (to my thinking) the most
unbearable of all prisons—a ship; pass
months and years exposed to hardships, privations,
and dangers, from the endurance of which even the poor
and lowly born often shrink, and bring back to society
the high breeding and urbanity not to be surpassed
in those whose lots have been exempt from such trials;
and, what is still more precious, the experience and
reflection acquired in their perilous profession, and
in the many hours of solitude and anxiety that appertain
to it.
