Rainy morning; mercury at 37. Afternoon clear and pleasant. Dined with
Lord Fairfax at Belvoir.
In the evening felt somewhat a lowness of mind, and am reminded, as I
write, that I have never had the inclination to set down in my diary
other than practical matters. To distract my thoughts, I began to
run over what was wrote last year and to consider of what has passed
since I wrote, and of what must be done with what was written. My
late brother Charles dying in September, I am the only male left of
the second marriage. We are no long-lived people, and when I shall be
called to follow them is known only to the Giver of Life. When the
summons comes, I shall endeavour to obey it with a good grace.
I have had much anxiety during the past two years concerning my
country, and especially as to the indignities inflicted on us by the
French, and a certain relief not to be again called, at my age, into
the field. I may have been too anxious, but a bystander sees more of
the game than they who are playing, and I believe I have had cause to
feel uneasy. But the Ship of State is afloat, or very nearly so, and,
considering myself as a passenger only, I shall trust to Heaven and the
mariners, whose duty it is to steer us into a safe port of peace and
prosperity.
[The general died on December fourteenth of this year, seventeen
hundred and ninety-nine.]
* * * * *
Transcriber’s Notes:
――Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).
――Archaic and variable spelling, and misspellings in correspondence,
have been preserved.
――Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.