To Thomas Archer Hirst   Sunday night¹

Sunday night

My dear Tom.

I received a letter² from you a week ago. It came to me like the opening of a radiant dawn full of promise, the foretaste of a splendid day. “Good fellow” I exclaimed as I read of your purpose of writing to me – “his letters will be a medicine to my soul.” I give you credit for the best intentions when you wrote that letter – no doubt in one of those sunny moments when the heart is uppermost you conceived the amiable thought of lightening the weariness of your friend, by pouring the balm of friendly counsel and communion into his hot brain; but the week is gone and there has been no realization of the promise. But I do not blame you no more than I blame the sun of April for being occasionally hidden behind a cloddish cloud. I must content myself with those dull atmospheric darkenings which belie the promise of the morning, and wait patiently for the time when the celestial blue will shew itself once more and the sun can radiate unhindered. Nor do I take credit to myself for writing to you tonight – indeed I rather regret that I should find it needful, that this body of mine renders me afraid of taxing it and drives me to write letters merely with a view of killing time. I might write to somebody else, but there is nobody to whom I can write with so much freedom. I swear there is no body who will understand me so well when I wander hither and thither over the regions of thought as yourself, and therefore through pure love of liberty I choose you as a but against which to discharge my epistles. I was almost tempted to go out to Bevington this afternoon; I was down at Anderton’s³ and the thought occurred to me as I returned. When I reached home and found myself warm and well I regretted that I had not gone, but the regret soon vanished as my regrets usually do, being swallowed up speedily by something else. I think you are mistaken in deeming that my life fluctuates so much – in fact considering that I am an Irishman I consider my life a remarkably level one, and I feel a certain contempt for these fluctuations to which you refer. What I want is steadily to get my work done with the straightforward persistence of a natural force, and not to heap up the little strength I possess into eminences which are checked by hollows of corresponding depth. Well what am I going to say next? Myself appears to be my principal theme in these latter days – but I think I am not altogether to blame for this, for the kind solicitude of my friends has in some measure forced myself on myself as an object of contemplation, and hence I am likely to become an egotist if I do not take care. Francis read a letter of yours⁴ for me yesterday – Francis can read a letter very nicely, and I suppose this was the cause of the conclusion that I came to regarding it, that it was well and wisely written. He intends coming up to me one night a week I suppose with the laudable intention of driving away the scientific blue devils⁵ which he imagines haunt me. I shall be glad to see him at all events. I get on with Faraday just as usual, last Friday evening at Owen’s lecture⁶ I found myself planted between him and the Duke of Argyl.⁷ The relation between us is exceedingly frank and pleasant. I feel it a privilege to be able to attest my loyalty to such a man in his declining years, and I trust I shall never do any thing which he might wish I had not done; for I think the noblest reward I can offer to such a man is the free reverence of a free soul; and it is a benefit to myself to find an objective outflow for this reverence. On Sunday evening he told me that some scientific bookseller⁸ had asked him for an introduction to me with a view of engaging me to write for him, but in the bustle after the lecture I made my way towards Bevington and forgot the bookseller. The managers⁹ have a scheme for a course of 4 lectures¹⁰ after Easter to be given by several different men: The subject will be education; among the number spoken of are Lyell,¹¹ Playfair Dawes¹² and your friend John.¹³ An older man would speak with more authority but they seem to desire that I should be one of the lot. I shall endeavour to make the little experience I had at Queenwood useful and if proper occasion offered would mention the place; but supposing the Doctor sham¹⁴ to prosper there do you think that I could mention it? – I should on the contrary rather feel inclined to disclaim all sympathy with a place where such things were tolerated. I have little fear however that you will permit this weed to flourish there. Trample it down by all means my boy and make the light heads and hearts around you feel that there is a focus of stern sincerity among them. I may possibly find a page or two of your journal¹⁵ of service to me also – that part where you describe taking that little boy with the eloquent eyes into the fields and teaching him Euclid¹⁶ with bits of stubble. I should like to introduce it, if the general tenor of the lecture would permit of it, for I believe the thing is a record of true teaching. Last night I had a dull headache which I believe was brought on by the cold north wind at present prevalent. I sent out for a cigar and at the risque of fumigating Faraday if he should call to see me I smoked the half of it – strange to say it cured the headache – thus the thing which under ordinary circumstance, would give me headache in this instance cured it. Will D^r. Fox¹⁷ accept this as a proof of the sound uses of homeopathic principles? My lectures thus far have gone on pretty prosperously – last Thursday at the L.I.¹⁸ I gave the audience a lesson on electricity with which all appeared highly satisfied. My lecture at the Royal¹⁹ also seemed to give general satisfaction. I of course am the chief learner on such occasions. If I can get over a year or two I have no fears of ultimate success for I find my power of utterance becoming more and more unshackled, and I trust wholly to the inspiration of the occasion to furnish me with the requisite form of expression. By cultivating this trust I hope eventually to become a passable speaker. But I see my paper is drawing to a close and it would be preposterous to commence another sheet. It is also creeping up to 10 oC and my candles are sinking towards their jackets. I shall therefore turn my shins towards the fire and indulge in half an hour’s rumination. Good night my dear boy and believe me as ever

Your affectionate John

‘For pain, danger, difficulty, steady slaving toil and other highly disagreeable behests of destiny, shall in no wise be shirked by any hightest mortal that will approve himself loyal to his mission in this world.’ Life of Sterling page 79.²⁰

Ich bin zufrieden!²¹ | 11 oC.

RI MS JT/1/T/587

RI MS JT/1/HTYP/312