From James Craven   January 1850¹

Horton Street, Halifax | January, 1850

Dear Tyndall,

Changes come round and it is now my turn to give you a few lines though the curious stage of existence in which I am now placed renders me not exactly in such a fitting train of thought as I could wish to reply to your letters.² However for a start or beginning I will (having already made you in part my confessor) relate the ideas which have for a very great number of years possessed me concerning my individual self. Though not generally much given to self esteem, for my failing lies more to the organ of approbation, yet the following savours more of the former. Well then – somehow a feeling of superiority over all that I come across possesses me – I feel as if I have powers (don’t laugh) which did I only take the determination and bring the whole of my mind to bear on must be successful. I feel in fact the lawyer like scheming, contriving and cunning is settled within me, and nothing would gratify me more than being immediately connected with some case of great intricacy requiring powers of discrimination etc. I do not know how it is but the slow, and in a great measure the almost useless occupation of a Surveyor is such as never to have excited this feeling within me – in fact I cannot say that I take to it with that interest I should, and the prospect opening forth to me is not very inviting seeing the number who are in it and the general unprofitableness attending it. These are ideas which have long filled me, and late as it is I almost meditate a change. Yes, late as it is – the feeling thus engendered has received particular impulse from my brother’s having just passed his examination,³ and as a seemingly good opportunity arises were I to join him (seeing that he is likely to have a first rate introduction in London) I find I could be of assistance here. And I am now considering whether it is too late or not to change. These turnings to and fro – these worldly schemes will have no interest to you except as an insight into character; however, as I stated above, having made you my confessor I must let you know my inmost ideas, fully confident in your directing me when you deem it necessary and fully aware of the secrecy which you will maintain in all the little matters I so freely, so trustingly confide in you. Of my power to keep myself for the necessary term of years and the expenses which would necessarily be incurred I can manage well, so that my plotting brain only considers the chances of luck or no luck in the undertaking. I mentioned this to my father partially the other day, when he seemed to think it too late; however I told him frankly that as to making a living out of Surveyorship was humbug. However he considered what with what I have already, together with my expectations, I need not fear. Indeed I do not at all, on this score, but I feel that I am throwing myself away in a profession in which the greatest scamps and vagabonds often as a last resource take to, and who often by gullibility gull the people – a profession wanting in respectability, wanting in honour. I am severe you see but it is what I have arrived at through a long series of reasonings, and while I write, I almost pass the word that after the expiration of my clerkship I go to some far distant town (my pride could not bear the reproaches which might be raised here) and there quietly by saving and perseverance obtain that which I at present think will suit the bent of my disposition.

After all I may be running after a shadow – perhaps so; however is it worth the experiment? Tom is reading his Algebra, I almost covet him his easy, unscheming and uncaring life. What a contrast, he and me – I diving into all the ins and outs of futurities – weighing chances for and against – while he without a look or glance at future makes use of time present. Well, well, as usual I comfort myself with the old hackneyed consolation ‘it’s natural, and what’s nature is nature.’

But what is this – I have been bothering you – the philosopher – the uncaring and heedless you? you who don’t care one bean stalk about the whole matter? Aye – Well, only this, let’s have your opinion and if it sanctions the course intimated above – by George, if my opinions on the matter do not undergo a supernatural change I will do it. And now to leave this speculative and weighing subject, I refer to your letter to answer it more in form.

So you were pleased with my last letter.⁴ I question what verdict this will receive. Methinks if allowed to enter your hands just now, the material views which are entered would give you a sickening idea of the thoughts of James Craven as a whole. But amidst all these forebodings and looking forwards I do think I frequently catch myself in the act of thinking on more immaterial questions. And now I will with your leave go on in a more systematic and regular course than what I have done in this letter, for I question whether it is altogether understandable to you.

Well here commences – You say that Buffon and Sir Isaac Newton say that genius and patience are the same⁵ – I don’t agree with it. A man may have as much patience in the world, but can never never instil into me that consequently he is a man of genius, and therefore I hold that genius and patience are not the same. But I do not deny that genius often smiles most when under the restriction of patience. I have noticed latterly in my general conversation that a rule seems established to obtain from the individual you are conversing with to get all the knowledge he possesses and at the same time to return as little as possible. I trust this is not our case. However nothing seems to present itself to me just now and so with very best wishes, only take care not to stay too long in Germany⁶ for my dear fellow I want to see you, and

Believe me, | Your little fellow what confesses | James Craven. | John Tyndall Esq.

P.S. I have not heard as yet respecting the composition of English money;⁷ however am seeing about it.

RI MS JT/1/TYP/11/3539–3541

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