Tuesday, 3 (Leeds). -- I was reflecting on an odd circumstance, which I cannot account for. I never relish a tune at first hearing, not till I have almost learned to sing it; and as I learn it more perfectly, I gradually lose my relish for it. I observe something similar in poetry; yea, in all the objects of imagination. I seldom relish verses at first hearing; till I have heard them over and over, they give me no pleasure; and they give me next to none when I have heard them a few times more, so as to be quite familiar. Just so a face or a picture, which does not strike me at first, becomes more pleasing as I grow more acquainted with it; but only to a certain point: for when I am too much acquainted, it is no longer pleasing. Oh, how imperfectly do we understand even the machine which we carry about us!
Thursday, 5. -- I had the comfort of leaving our brethren at Leeds united in peace and love. About one I preached in a meadow at Wakefield. At first the sun was inconvenient, but it was not many minutes before that inconvenience was removed by the clouds coming between. We had not only a larger, but a far more attentive, congregation than ever was seen here before. One, indeed, a kind of gentleman, was walking away with great unconcern when I spoke aloud. "Does Callio care for none of these things? But where will you go, with the wrath of God on your head and the curse of God on your back?" He stopped short, stood still, and went no farther till the sermon was ended.
Saturday, 14. -- In the evening I preached at Liverpool; and the next day, Sunday, 15, the house was full enough. Many of the rich and fashionable were there and behaved with decency. Indeed, I have always observed more courtesy and humanity at Liverpool than at most seaports in England.