To Hector Tyndale   July 27. 1855

London July 27. 1855

My dear Hector.

When your letter¹ reached England I was in the midst of Normandy with a knapsack on my back seeking the health and vigour which had ebbed from me during the preceding session. Debus was my companion. We went first to Jersey, thence to St. Malo, thence to Dinan in Brittany, thence to Avranche, through Dol, whence we crossed the sands on a visit to Mont Saint Michel – thence to Mortain, thence to Vire thence to Caen, from Caen by water to Havre, thence to Rouen, thence to Paris.² The weather was glorious, and the country through which we passed worthy of being lighted up by such a sun. Normandy presents the general aspect of a garden, and since the days of my railway campaigning I have not enjoyed such an amount of physical energy as I experienced during the fortnight I spent there. It served to sustain me for three weeks amid the heat and confusion of Paris whither I was called to act the part of Juror to the great exhibition.³ During my stay there I could mark a daily and rapid advance towards the completion of the exhibition and it is now thought to rival, if not to surpass that of London in 1851.⁴ I should have remained there longer, and may be compelled to return, but I received an official letter offering me the examinership in Physics of candidates for the Royal Artillery & Royal Engineers⁵ which offer I did not think it wise to decline; and as the examination was to commence on the first of August and a conference was to be held in relation to the subject on the 23rd of this month, I was compelled to start so as to be present at the latter. This accounts for my presence here and it also accounts for the fact of my not having written to you earlier, for your letter is of a character to prompt me to seize the pen and reply to it at once.

It is a remarkable letter Hector, and would require a week’s discipline in prayer and fasting on my part to reply to it aright. That ‘chronic indifference’ is a thing I do not like – I remember some years ago suffering from something of the kind and being willing almost to accept the lowest superstition – any thing in fact that could stir up my emotion and rouse within my heart the affections of human nature, in exchange for it. I once saw in a picture a monk with his forehead in the mud prostrate before an image of the virgin⁶ or something of the kind, and I wished to be like him. There is a species of knowledge sometimes possessed by the mind, which, while it completely annihilates the bugbears of superstition, also strikes at the very essence of faith and hope and love, and may perhaps do more mischief to the human soul than superstition itself. I will not say that that analytical spirit to which you refer is bad in itself, but it requires sturdy checks to prevent it from ending in painful vacuity. You have said so little about it that I am not quite sure whether I understand you aright, nor indeed am I certain of my own ability to understand you, for the understanding of such things implies an experience of them. All I feel is that there are sources of courage strength and consolation open to the human soul which are beyond my powers of analysis, they reveal themselves to me with an evidence equal to that of any physical fact, and I return to them sometimes with a certain willful obstinacy in opposition to that analysis which would fritter them away. In one thing I believe neither you nor I can hope for satisfaction, and that is in a life of idleness. The possession of force implies the existence of an object on which to exercise it, and if we cannot find proper scope for our powers in the world without, they will turn and feed like cankers upon the world within. Why man there is a wonderful significance in that little remark that you have attached to your letter. ‘I have not been ‘waked up’ this long time as in writing this letter’. You must make that waking up perennial and then all will be right. I could see as your letter progressed the gradual dissipation of the clouds which beset your brain at the commencement, until at length you gave me utterances worthy of yourself. I remember many years ago an experience of this kind which induced me to write a rhyme in which the following lines occur:–

‘Labour is worship – so some sage has said

And surely it preserves from many an evil

For though it may not lift to heaven the head

It keeps the heart from wandering to the devil!’⁷

In fact I had been idle, and cloudy and discontented,⁸ and my heart stood a perilous chance of wandering to the devil, when something occurred that called me to act – It was the beneficial effects of this action that I endeavoured to extol in the doggrel from which the above is a quotation. You know how Carlyle defines that unpleasant feeling which you now experience – ‘It is force that has not yet found its way’⁹ – You may ask where is the way? That is a problem which you yourself must solve, but the only plan that I have ever found effectual in finding the right sphere of action is to do the duty which lies nearest at hand, for this very act clarifies the vision and enables a man to see more clearly what his duty really is.

But you will wish an end to this impertinence of mine – and now with regard to other matters:– I have already sent you some scientific papers which you do not appear to have received:¹⁰ I have also given directions to have a memoir¹¹ sent to you which has just been published and which formed the Bakerian Lecture before the Royal Society for the present year – I think the paper was posted yesterday. With regard to Faraday, there is no fear of any permanent difference between him and me – each succeeding day knits us more closely together. I love the man, and when I think of his great achievements, of his childlike simplicity, of his humility, of the absence of all assumption of impatience, of all trace of egotism which is a perpetual offence in the character of men of narrower natures, and a perpetual source of discomfort to themselves; when I think of all this Faraday’s character is to me incomparable, and my scientific rebellion¹² is swamped by the affections which such a character engenders. But there is no reason why I should use the word rebellion – for there is a remarkable unity of thought between Faraday and me. He said himself to me not long ago ‘Tyndall I believe there is no difference between us, I believe when we understand each other that we shall perfectly agree’.¹³ I believe so to, and even should we differ in opinion I feel satisfied that such a difference will never modify that friendship which constitutional sympathy has established between us.

I commenced this letter when I arose this morning, and at the end of the last paragraph the clock struck 7¼: I breakfast at 8 o/c and the three quarters between 7¼ & 8 I have devoted to a plunge into a reservoir of cold water. I have paid my 6 pence & returned shivering though still in a glow. I do this for the sake of my head which is not as strong as I should like to see it. You say that I have no right to be unwell; I wish to heaven you could abolish my right to be unwell, I wish you could cleanse my cranium of that perilous stuff which sometimes weighs upon my brain – My great desire is to work, but I am perpetually baulked in this desire by headache and bodily debility,– Depend upon it the miseries of this life are pretty equally divided, and each of us has his own share of the load. I sometimes am forced to fetter myself and to sit still, not daring to think of any thing which requires serious thought. You might see me sometimes pale as a ghost, so pale indeed that you might imaging me upon the grave’s rim, ready to drop into it for ever. But when I throw science overboard and return to that sweet nature whom I have always loved, and who has always been kind to me my force returns and with the return of force the return of thoughts which soon break me down again. Thus does my life oscillate, and the conviction is often forced upon me that I am far less strong than I was 5 years ago, and worse that I can hardly hope for a return of that vigour which was once mine and which no work seemed able to impair. When I said that the thoughts of friends entered when my head became bad, I meant to say that such entered as comforters, and hence are not likely to be regarded as bores. It is good for us to be smitten at times – It makes us feel as men – perhaps if I enjoyed unbounded health, and could pursue my work without check or hindrance, I might become less human – A man’s sufferings are often wholesome lessons, sorrow, as Charles Mackay says, can give the eyes new lustre,¹⁴ and through toil and trial and pain we work our way to the heaven of peace. All you say about the rare and radiant maiden¹⁵ I entirely respond to. If I ever choose one I shall endeavour to choose a woman. I know it is true the choice was made – all my friends tell me so, still as ever I hang my fate upon the chapter of accidents and resign myself to the guidance of the gods. I have heard nothing of the Edinburgh professorship¹⁶ for some time, and the reason is that the health of the present occupant of the chair continues sufficiently good to enable him to hold it. Payne has got married¹⁷ – I received his card¹⁸ in Paris, but I do not know where he is. I am not disposed to regard that problem regarding the influence of gold as highly as [some] seem to do. I think the world still possesses a few men of the Fabricius and Cincinnatus stamp¹⁹, and their characters are much fairer to me as ideals towards which an approximation ought to be made than the characters of those who sweat for gold. I question my own ability indeed to solve the problem to which you refer; for I have never felt, and never hope to feel that might of gold which must be felt before we can render an account of it. Full well I know that gold cannot satisfy the aspirations of the human soul – full well I know that I have been sometimes a better, higher, and happier man with a slender purse and a bleak look out, than when my purse has been full and prospects fair. Dont mistake me – I like gold and will earn it – I shall have enough of it for my wants, but I will not seek it as an object of ambition, my work is of another kind & whatever gold I may possess must be made subservient to that work. Had I the splendid crown diamonds at present exhibited in Paris, by Jove I would soon have the best of them between the poles of a magnet, gold cannot purchase peace of mind, nor the warmth of a friendly heart and both of these are in my estimation infinitely beyond what it can purchase. And now I wont bore you any further. Goodbye my dear Hector & believe me

ever yours affectionately John.

RI MS JT/1/T/1443