'I cannot but think that in my languid and anxious state, I have some
reason to complain that I receive from you neither enquiry nor
consolation. You know how much I value your friendship, and with what
confidence I expect your kindness, if I wanted any act of tenderness
that you could perform; at least, if you do not know it, I think your
ignorance is your own fault. Yet how long is it that I have lived almost
in your neighbourhood without the least notice. I do not, however,
consider this neglect as particularly shown to me; I hear two of your
most valuable friends make the same complaint. But why are all thus
overlooked? You are not oppressed by sickness, you are not distracted by
business; if you are sick, you are sick of leisure:--And allow yourself
to be told, that no disease is more to be dreaded or avoided. Rather to
do nothing than to do good, is the lowest state of a degraded mind.
Boileau says to his pupil,
'_Que les vers ne soient pas votre éternel emploi,
Cultivez vos amis_[1091].'--
That voluntary debility, which modern language is content to term
indolence, will, if it is not counteracted by resolution, render in time
the strongest faculties lifeless, and turn the flame to the smoke of
virtue. I do not expect nor desire to see you, because I am much pleased
to find that your mother stays so long with you, and I should think you
neither elegant nor grateful, if you did not study her gratification.
You will pay my respects to both the ladies, and to all the young
people. I am going Northward for a while, to try what help the country
can give me; but, if you will write, the letter will come after me.'
Next day he set out on a jaunt to Staffordshire and Derbyshire,
flattering himself that he might be in some degree relieved.
During his absence from London he kept up a correspondence with several
of his friends, from which I shall select what appears to me proper for
publication, without attending nicely to chronological order.