To Thomas Archer Hirst   Sunday February 1st 1852

Queenwood Sunday February 1^st 1852.

My Dear Tom.

I lay in bed this morning until nearly 8 after I had been awake from 6, but lay there thinking or endeavouring to think; sometimes a bright idea would flash in upon me, but I usually relapsed very soon into that slumberous state which, though not actual sleep, is just as sterile as regards true thought as sleep itself – My old admonitor nudged me at times with the exhortation to get up – another of my mental occupants would then present a picture to my mind’s eye of what I was to expect if I did get up – on the picture the tedium of shaving and washing were very prominently brought forward – this repeatedly turned the balance of judgement in favour of repose, and there I lay until it was close upon 8. For a quarter of an hour previous, however, I felt a certain anger rising within me, a force at first feeble, but which increased as I lay, finally overcame the inertia of my body, and placed me steadfastly upon the floor – In such experiences I think one may obscure the isolated operations of what we are accustomed to call intellect – it is simply a seeing faculty. My mind was clear during part of the time I lay there – I could see my duty plainly enough, I could see that the mental occupant which invited me to repose, was a cajoler and a liar, and as he suggested that I might enjoy myself at least that morning and rise early the next I knew very well that it was arrant humbug and that the scoundrel was willing to play me the same trick next morning if I permitted him – all this I saw clearly nevertheless I lay there. Now it struck me that I had made a mistake in deeming the act of washing and shaving a nuisance – could this gap have been removed and could I have at once stepped into the harness and commenced my work I should have done so. But what right had I to estimate one portion of my necessary work more highly than another? The act of washing and cleansing was as necessary as any I could perform; it formed, or ought to form, a fractional part of a true day’s work, but in my eagerness to engage in my other occupations, in my exorbitant estimate of these occupations as compared with washing and cleansing, I am sometimes led to ignore the claims of the latter altogether. This is not as it should be. Were the object of existence the performance of a certain work, the neglect of every thing else might be perhaps justifiable; but if the end of existence be not the performance of work, if work itself have an end and object, namely the cultivation of human powers and the enriching and expanding of human experiences – then I say that washing and cleansing if devoutly done and at its proper time, is as important as any other portion of our labour.¹ Again, our forces are aroused by our contemplations. Man feeds his ambition by picturing to himself the excellences of power, and can work himself into phrenzy by the contemplation of his wrongs. The lover feeds his flame by the image of his mistress, the light of her eye at a certain moment, a certain smile, a particular glance, a word, all form nuclei round which the beauty and odours of thought congregate and thus is his passion deepened. Now here I conceive the human will comes into play; it is in a mans power to present objects to the intellect for contemplation which shall stir noble aspirations within him, and by exercise in this way the will may become very powerful. That it is in his power to present ignoble objects is sufficient illustrated by what occurred to me this morning in bed. But a truce to theories; I got up with a certain calm humiliation of thought and washed myself, taking a certain pleasure in thus beautifying (!) the temple of my mind. I felt a kind of selfrenouncement as I proceeded and looked upon the world with a loving and forgiving eye. ‘Why should I ever be hasty’, I said, or feel any thing approaching to anger? Why should egotism or self ever lift its head within me? Why should I be envious at the success of others, or why oh why should the gratifications of sense, the love of repose or comfort, invade the triumphant mental calm which I now enjoy I will always be thus’ I exclaimed ‘I will renounce all I will feed my soul on high contemplations, I will make it the study of my life to enoble myself; my work shall be the instrument of my culture and not the object of my existence. On this high ground body and soul will shake hands together, and the reasonable demands of both be cheerfully granted’.

In this mood Oh, Tom did I purpose to write to thee this morning and the twilight of this mood still glimmers in my soul. It is difficult however to preserve that serenity of mind amid the clouds and vapours which encircle daily transactions. The highest peak of the Andes, above which is the clear heaven, and below which the clouds usually sail is sometimes visited by a storm. There is a certain fallacy in this figure but I will let it go. Shortly after breakfast this morning a complaint reached me that two of the farmers had been guilty of an act considerably disgusting. I went to consult with M^r Edmondson about it and found his little brain exasperated in a variety of ways against them; they had been letting of squibs of powder and making a noise the night before which vastly excited his ire – These little breaches of discipline are the things upon which his eye chiefly rests; his opposition to them belongs to what Tennyson calls ‘the falsehood of extremes’,² and hence I rarely sympathize with him. Well I made proposals and he made proposals, and under all the circumstances I found it difficult to preserve that sunclear frame of mind which I enjoyed while dressing. Sufficient of it however remained through all to demonstrate what might be done by culture in this way. These very sources of irritation the contact with narrow, weak, and defective men, are perhaps the very purchases by which one is exalted into this cloudless region and without which it perhaps could not exist.

Surely I have given you enough of speculation this morning Tom. I will now dismiss it, and talk of something which the majority of men would call more real, though I doubt its claim to the title. The Sydney matter is finished, decided against me – I received a note from Sir John Herschel³ a few days ago apprising me of the fact.⁴ to the name of the person chosen for the post⁵ for which I applied was attached the term ‘chemistry’ – I am perfectly contented with the result. With regard to the Toronto affair it is still undecided. The matter has to undergo a variety of siftings from a variety of gentlemen before the candidate is chosen.

And now I should like to know a little about yourself and your future movements – I suppose you are preparing for an examination in Marburg. What afterwards? Would you not like to spend a little time at Göttingen with Weber and Gauss, or at Berlin, or at both? If you fix on Berlin first let me know, so that I may write to some of the people there about you – If you have no particular objection to it I should recommend you to try Göttingen for a semester; had I had the means I should undoubtedly have done so. But I trust your next letter will contain a full account of your intentions, and leaning on this trust I will for the present refrain from asking any more questions.

And now my dear brother good bye. This letter was commenced early this morning – it is now deep in the shades of evening,⁶ and I have met many little matters to test my philosophy during the day – across them all however I look to thee at this closing hour of the day, and surely it is a blessing to have one little visual speck in that strange land, one incarnated thought, towards which amid all these petty janglings my heart can turn an unclouded side.

John.

JT/1/T/548