From John C Chadwick   July 9th 1844

Kinsale,¹ | July 9th 1844.²

Dear Tyndall,

I need hardly say that the receipt of your last epistle³ gave me a most uncommon deal of surprise as in verity I never expected to have heard from you again during the remaining term of this mortal life. I thought that you had departed long since⁴ for another and a better world, and that the green isle⁵ had lost one of its greenest sprouts. I wrote to you⁶ at some length at the time that you expected to leave the country, giving you any little information I could respecting your route. As you did not mention it I suppose it did not go to hand. Perhaps as you played so distinguished a part in the memorable revolt of the sappers,⁷ that Sir James Graham considers you worthy of official espionage by taking a peep at your letters. So mind your eye my old chap – but there was very little necessity for inditing such a lengthy monologue of repentance to excuse your epistolary hiatus. I am indeed a weak and erring mortal in that respect myself, and I should be the last to throw a shell towards any man’s condemnation. I am satisfied like Lazarus of old⁸ to pick up the crumbs of your correspondence whenever they may fall, well knowing that I am unworthy of more. So please yourself my dear fellow, and do not again bend your proud spirit to make excuses for an imaginary fault to a poor retailer of tape and thread.

(how are the mighty fallen).⁹

I quite conform to your creed of circumstances as indeed I do to your thoughts and theories in general. Indeed I have bowed so much before the shrine of your memory and genius that I think I will make you the head of a new sect called Tyndalites and in this age of dogmas it will be as worthy of followers as many of them. You can advise me in your next what you think of it, and what form of worship you would as a prophet, saint, or devil, (which you like) – prefer – You can make the power of circumstances a fundamental doctrine and mix it with a spice of fatalism and then we can shift the blame of our errors on our predestination and sit down blameless. I hope that the Spinning Jenny¹⁰ of your fate may weave the £300 you mention¹¹ into your web. Your reminiscences of the past impressed my spirit with a tender melancholy. They came like the sweet south breathing o’er a bank of violets, and alas I often think that the spring and elasticity of life has departed and left me like a defunct bottle of ginger beer, or like a frog after spawning vapourising in an eternal [cogsfundity]¹² of cogitation, the fertility of life’s morning having changed into a mental morass. Your memories came over my mind like beams of sunlight breaking from the west after the departure of day’s orb only to make the long night appear more gloomy. Cus you you tarnal devil could not you as well paint the future in the glowing colours of heaven’s bow as to rake up the ashes of the past merely to give me up a prey to the attacks of blue devils and ennui.¹³ I hope that your next may be more exhilarating, giving an account of judge Doherty’s¹⁴ repentance and the fruition of your £300 sterling desires. Such a length of time has elapsed since I indited any but business letters that you may deem my present scribble weary flat stale and unprofitable. Indeed I could not attempt to compare anything in your [1 word illeg] style as poetic as the wreath of Nourmahal¹⁵ so that you must be content with a plain dish of Kinsale cod and provide your own butter &c. You speak in anticipation of again seeing me. That would indeed be a pleasure to me. Oh speak again, and be more explicit. How I should like to give you a call in the event of your getting this job when Latimer¹⁶ and Ginty would be with you and to board you for at least two meals of Carlow potatoes. I have spoken your desired remembrance to old friends who were happy to hear of your welfare. Excuse me for not sooner answering your last as I did not receive it for a few days after its arrival having been from home. I was at Clonakilty¹⁷ bidding farewell to the Abbots¹⁸ who will be leaving about the first of August, Mrs Fudge¹⁹ and George²⁰ will go with them, and I may deem them my precursors, for I feel that this is not my abiding place. This place remains pretty much as you left it. There is generally an interval of twelve years between every event in this place. The word Kinsale seldom intrudes on the newspapers. Do you ever hear anything about the old survey? I hope you will write soon, as I should wish to hear how you get on about the applotment.²¹ If you do not get it I suppose it will be hey over to America with you once more. Indeed I should not wonder if you were disappointed, as every job is hunted up with the ferocity of a pack of wolves by the many solicitors in this miserably overpopulated land. One has hardly room to breathe freely in it. I suppose that America will eventually bring you up and I still fondly hope that our fates will bring us together there. Perhaps next spring you might be going with me. I have had a good deal of boating this summer. I often wish you were with me, as all I want is a companion of a congenial spirit to make the time fly happily. But we cannot look for too much happiness in this life. Mary²² desires to be particularly remembered to you. Miss Donoclift²³ is not yet married but will be in time to Barry the tutor²⁴ at Mr Perdue’s.²⁵ All friends send a length of love to you. My daughters²⁶ are growing up stout and strong and handsome as myself. I was thinking of rearing one of them for you if you will honour me with your alliance. It will be just the thing in your old age, that is if some fair Leighlinite does not forestall me. And now having spun my yarn to the last strand I must give up for the want of more wool, and wishing you every luck I am here

your steadfast friend | J.C. Chadwick.

I am in mourning for my sister Mrs Harrison²⁷ of Liverpool who departed lately so let not the black frighten you.²⁸

RI MS JT/1/TYP/11/3508

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