me dreadfully
disgusted with my racing _metier_. What a life as compared with
mine!--passed among great and wise men, and intent on high
thoughts and honourable aspirations, existing amidst interests
far more pungent even than those which engage me, and of the
futility of which I am for ever reminded. I am struck with the
coincidence of the tastes and dispositions of Burke and
Mackintosh, and of something in the mind of the one which bears
an affinity to that of the other; but their characters--how
different! their abilities--how unequal! yet both, how superior,
even the weakest of the two, to almost all other men, and the
success of each so little corresponding with his powers, neither
having ever attained any object of ambition beyond that of fame.
All their talents, therefore, and all their requirements, did not
procure them content, and probably Burke was a very unhappy, and
Mackintosh not a very happy, man. The suavity, the indolent
temperament, the 'mitis sapientia' of Mackintosh may have warded
off sorrow and mitigated disappointment, but the stern and
vindictive energies of Burke must have kept up a storm of
conflicting passions in his breast. But I turn from Mackintosh
and Burke to all that is vilest and foolishest on earth, and
among such I now pass my unprofitable hours. There seems to me
less gaiety and bustle here than formerly, but as much villany as
ever. From want of money or of enterprise, or from greater
distrust and a paucity of spectators, there is very little
betting, and what there is, spiritless and dull. There are vast
crowds of people to see the Princess Victoria, who comes over
from Wentworth to-day, and the Due de Nemours is here. I am going
to run for the St. Leger, which I shall probably not win, and
though I am nervous and excited, I shall not care much if I lose,
and I doubt whether I should care very much if I won; but this
latter sensation will probably be for ever doubtful. There is
something in it all which displeases me, and I often wish I was
well out of it.

Burghley, September 21st, 1835 {p.315}

I did lose the St. Leger, and did not care; idled on at Doncaster
to the end of the week, and came here on Saturday to meet the
Duchess of Kent. They arrived from Belvoir at three o'clock in a
heavy rain, the civic authorities having turned out at Stamford
to escort them, and a procession of different people all very
loyal. When they had lunched, and the Mayor and his brethren had