To Thomas Archer Hirst   14th April 1852

Queenwood 14^th April 1852.

My Dear Tom.

My intention was to write you yesterday – nay the day before, a half formed resolution to throw a bombshell into West Parade Huddersfield¹ where it should explode upon your arrival floated on the surface of my will. Yesterday I had risen nearly high enough to inscribe resolution in performance but I was fairly dragged down again by a species of magne-crystallic gravitation which works upon my brain and cripples its free action. Tom Carlyle mentions the case of Brindley² the engineer who when in a [net] a difficulty which threatened to defeat him went to bed for 3 days and rolled about like one possessed by a devil, wrestling with his difficulty and at times omitting a groan or oath as if he were grappling with a lion. I am not a man of Brindleys intensity and would deem it irreverent to swear – I dont go to bed for the purpose of thinking, but when I go there for the righteous and peaceable purpose of sleeping I find I cant do it. The last image before my mind’s eye at night is an attempt to give form and figure to the play of heat within a crystal – my first thought on waking is the same, as if the same ideas had flowed on all night like a subterranean stream and bubbled up to light again in the morning. I say to myself sometimes ‘is it manly to be a slave of these things? are you doing your duty in this invading your health, drying up your heart, sacrificing the impulses of love and friendship and converting your religion into a scientific stalactite?’ The question put in these strong terms startles me, and I halfresolve to smash my fetters and liberate myself. I am further encouraged to this by the ominous croak of every body around me – ‘why dont you go out? why will you waste yourself soul and body in this way? you are killing yourself, you are now an old man, and a premature grave is already opening its jaws to receive you!’ I pause an instant and cogitate thus: – My brain is engaged in a battle and shall I give it up because the fight thickens and I am weary? Friendship, Love, religion may be invaded by this scientific demon but the question is, shall I run away from him or beat him down? In the thick of conflict a man forgets to pray, forgets every thing, except how to hit his foe to the best advantage. I do not think that it expresses the thing fairly to say that I am the slave of my pursuits. When two foes engage in fair and honorable contest neither can be said to be a slave to the other. A British tar grappling with a Turk at the battle of Navarino³ and grappled by him in turn, cannot be said to be the turk’s slave – he has it is true no time to woo his maiden or to pledge a bumper to his comrade while the struggle lasts; and the closer the grapple the more he will forget both mistress and friend, but fairly over and the Turk set at rest maiden and comrade will think all the more of poor Jack. I have a turk at my throat just now, but three months hence I hope to have him hewn to pieces and then by the gods I shall be as exuberant and joyful as any man among you.

The day we parted I accompanied Haas to Southampton – you know the difficulty regarding the London tickets – on good Friday however tickets were issued which were valid up to the following tuesday. Haas and I took a run across to Cowes⁴ where we waited for a few hours; the sea breeze was a medicine to my bones, and that evening I found myself better than I had been for weeks before – next day I started for London and arrived in time to learn that Francis had just departed. In the afternoon I found myself flat and weak; this came on day after day, lessening however, for some time. I returned from London on Sunday; the east wind gradually yielded up its sting and the weather became warmer; under this influence I mended rapidly and am now greatly improved – We commence operations again today; I will take care of myself for some time and have no doubt I shall defeat all auguries regarding my dissolution and keep death and his marrow-bones at a respectful distance.

Surely this glorious weather is sufficient to put new life under the ribs of death – Would that I were at your side among those northern hills – I do not say it repiningly but I should enjoy it from my heart. When I look out upon the blue sky and the rich sunshine teemed down upon the world, and think of you, and January, and Jimmy,⁵ and Beacon Hill, and Skircoat moor, and those billows of a granite sea which rear their crests over Todmorden;⁶ by the lord I wish to be among you all! I think I could drink in a vigour which would put my former self to shame and with it as a matter of course all those (you included) which even the said poor former self used to crush, conquer, and bewilder!

If my paper were longer I would write more,⁷ but here I pause – shake the hand of January for me – counsel Jimmy, kick Tom Perkinton [,] kiss my little sweetheart⁸ if she lets you – spread out your arms to Beacon Hill and worship his bald crown. If you see M^r Larkin⁹ present my respects – here my occupation ends – good bye¹⁰

John

RI MS JT/1/T/550