Thursday, June 25 1761

I dined on the remains of yesterday’s dinner, with the addition of a hog’s cheek boiled and gooseberry pudding. Oh, how melancholy my situation. Not a friend to pour that pleasing balm of consolation into a heart overwhelmed with grief, no, nor one enlivening object gains admittance in my distracted breast. There, oh, there is naught but melancholy and pensive sadness! What can give pleasure or present one pleasing idea to my mind since she for whom I lived and in whom I centered all earthly happiness is now no more? Oh could I forever sing her praise and describe her virtues, it would be a task (though pleasing to my mind) for beyond the reach of my understanding. But let me call home my wandering thoughts and reflect that man, poor frail and mortal man, is born to trouble as the sparks fly upwards; then why should I who am a vile and sinful creature be exempt from that which our whole race is subject to? No, rather let me rejoice and give thanks, that Providence directs all things with infinite goodness and wisdom, for the Lord will not forsake forever, but though he send affliction, yet will he have compassion according to the multitude of his mercies. For he does not punish willingly nor afflict the children of men.

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