Madeley, Oct. 5, 1818.
My dear Armstrong,
YOURS of the 8th of August reached me yesterday evening, and afforded me
much refreshment of spirit after the labours of the day, as your kind and
interesting communications almost invariably do; but if they sometimes
may fail in imparting refreshment, they are never wanting in interest and
in solid instruction. The only effect sometimes produced, is in deeply
humbling me, in abasing me before my friends, and in the presence of my
God. I feel myself so wretched a sinner, and so completely unworthy of
your least notice. Indeed, I sometimes think that if you could but see
me instead of hearing from me—could we but renew our personal
acquaintance—you would detect in me such evils as would almost make you
ashamed of acknowledging me. In my letters, hurried as they generally
are, you see me under assumed appearances. I step a little out of
myself, sentiments are expressed, prayers and wishes are breathed forth,
and statements likewise made, which are so very very far from being
habitual, that you can know but little of me in this way. Were you
actually to know me, even all the joy of meeting an old friend would soon
give way to some such exclamation as that uttered by Æneas at the sight
of Hector, “Oh quantum mutatus ab illo.” I thus write in consequence of
the first paragraph in your letter, in which you speak of having looked
over some old letters of mine. The reflections in which this re-perusal
made you indulge quite startled me as I read them, and I cannot but still
think that no small measure of hypocrisy must attach to my character, if
my communications do really convey such sentiments to your mind as those
which you express; for I dare not withhold from you the humbling
confession that, gratified and thankful as I should be for the discovery,
I cannot perceive the impress of truth on any of them. But I fear I
shall tire as well as disgust you with so much about self, and therefore
turn to some other subject.