To Thomas Archer Hirst   15th. June, 1856

[Vine Cottage, Broughton] |15^th. June, 1856 |

My dear Tom

Here I sit in your little study all alone except the accompaniment of an oblique sunbeam which comes athwart the door and smites your bookcase. The birds are singing and the grass shining like an emerald while butterflies are wafted to and fro across your little paddock – all these, with inexpressible softness, tell me that [I] am far from the smoke and roar of London. I had a good nights rest in the charming room you left prepared for me, and feel better this morning than I have done for a long time. If this mortal coil of mine would only remain in order I think nature intended me to be a happy joyous fellow; accepting of course the sorrow as well as the gladness which accrues from the changeableness of external things, but untroubled by vapours or spleen which arise either from dyspepsia or the confusion and clash of the moral powers. I walked into your study after breakfast; It was hushed and peaceful; and turning to your bookcase I saw there ‘Plutarch’s Lives.’¹ I remember our evenings in Marburg² when, after the accomplishment of a hard day’s work, we regaled ourselves at night with the companionship of this glorious old soul, and this memory lent an increment to the pleasure with which I read this morning the life of Marieus Coriolanus.³ Plutarch at the end compares Alcibiades⁴ and Coriolanus; almost all my nature sympathizes with the latter, only a fraction of it with the former. Both perhaps were equally competent, but Alcibiades loved riches and honour and would win them by craft and flattery of the mob. Coriolanus erred in his contempt of the populace, and in an obstinacy which Plutarch himself analyzes in an admirable manner, and strongly condemns. The remarks of the old biographer are full of wisdom, which smacks of the practice of life, and is not that merely which the student gathers in woods and solitudes. But a truce to Plutarch. I have been out in your garden and seen the boundary of it all purple with the bloom of flowers; the bells of the church are now chiming merrily and Mr Lee is preparing for the delivery of his weekly lesson on religious mechanics. ⁵

I was up at Queenwood last night: I came by the last train, and sending my portmanteau on to Broughton turned off from Rose Hill to Queenwood: I saw Edmondson; he wished to appear frank, friendly, and hospitable; but there was a dryness in his words, which seemed to me to shew a hospitality reaching from the larynx upwards. I wonder has the man ever had a serious earnest moment. I hardly think it. The few moments conversation I had with him last night, although on matters as light as a salad supper, and a knife and fork at dinner, was not at all pleasing to me, and when I bade him good night I found it impossible to look with frank and friendly trustfulness into his eyes, but made the act of shaking hands as mechanical as his own nature.⁶ Debus asked me some questions relative to my coming to Queenwood. If I thought my vocation lay here, that I had not work before me which has a still graver demand upon me I would come. But in aiming at too much I should I fear accomplish very little. I set the question thus before me – either you give up your present vocation and turn once more to Queenwood heart and soul, or you cling to your present course with an undivided spirit – both you cannot accomplish, and by endeavoring to accomplish both you will do neither as it ought to be done. This is the inexorable fact Tom, and I have no doubt as to which course you would counsel. In the matter of education I see much to be done in another field – in a field where I can be more useful than at Queenwood. All this I stated in substance to Debus: he regrets it, but still could not advise me alter my determination. I see danger, great danger to Queenwood in advance. I do not in the least see how your place here is to be filled, and I fear the gods which have thus far befriended Edmondson are about to forsake him, though he from man can discover nothing of the kind. He cannot look beyond the present hour and I would venture to say would be a little surprised if he hears me express my estimate of the loss he has suffered in losing you. It would be a weary work for me Tom to endeavor to couple with the tranquil & earnest pursuit of my researches the propping up of such a shaky edifice, and to keep a man whose nature is as quicksilver from running into error and mischief. I could not do it Tom, so I see nothing for it but to permit Queenwood to roll along with the momentum which it has already acquired, and to hope that the forces now within it may not be exhausted simply in neutralizing one another. I think your suggestion regarding Haughton⁷ a good one: if you like I will write to him direct, but by far the best way would be to give you the introduction you spoke of so that you might see with you own eyes, and converse with the person he might recommend. We had some bitter hail showers yesterday. I thought of Anna as I came along in the train: a handsome lady sat opposite to me who appeared to be in weak health: she was married and her husband I think is an officer at Aldershot.⁸ To keep out the cold draught a gentleman had closed the main door of the compartment. I saw the lady become paler & paler and finally almost white. I opened the window, gave her air[,] tried to heat her up and finally she became restored and animated. She told me all about her health – She got chilled after dancing last winter and the cold has clung to her since. She takes cod liver oil, which she abominates, not being able to take any food for hours after each dose; but she is getting stronger and hopes soon to be quite well again. I united Anna and her in one enormous wish, hoping however that Anna would get well first and she afterwards, or more correctly that both might be restored within the shortest compass of nature’s power of effecting such a restoration.

And now my dear Tom I think I have said all I intended to say, I hope you will have patience to read the letter. Have you made any arrangements about the letting of your house? I think you ought to look to this, and if necessary advertise that it is to be let. Have you thought of my means of occupying your leisure on the Continent – You know the subject of education is one of great & general interest in England at present and I know that few are able to look at it in a truer light than yourself. Could you not turn your experience to account and give the world something on this subject. Let you be Emerson and I will be Tom Carlyle, write an introduction to the book and get it quick access to the pundits of London. I think this subject well worthy of your consideration – You will do the thing with a freshness now which may not be attainable when your present impressions become dim.

Ever your affectionate | John

RI MS JT/1/T/626