To Thomas Archer Hirst   26th January 1857

26^th January 1857

My dear Tom,

I have just returned from Hampshire¹ and before I permit the vortex of duty to lay hold upon me again I will assert my freedom for an hour and write to my old friend. I travelled to Bossington Churchyard² yesterday as fast as train and horse could carry me and arrived just in time to see the mourners departing.³ I stood over the little grave and could not squeeze back my tears. I took the trap⁴ on to Queenwood⁵ and the bitter sleet that smote us as we crossed the hill along the Roman road⁶ gave me an excuse to wrap my plaid⁷ around my head I actually wept like a child, and though thick with sorrow and sympathy for poor Wright and his wife I blessed God to feel that I was still human. I slept at their house, and should have liked to talk to them in my own way; but I was forced to fall into the talk which had been established before my arrival and which was light and common place instead of earnest. Such talk of course staves off serious thought and may do a temporary good; but it does not impart strength; it does not arm the soul to cope with sorrow, and when it is past and the trifles are gone the poor thwarted heart will have its revenge. Thus though my going may gratify Wright & his wife as a testimony of respect on my part I fear the benefit must end here. As far I could see however they bear up against their calamity bravely. Another death occurred at Queenwood on the same week: that sickly boy Willie Smith⁸ has also taken wing. I saw Debus, but had time for only a few minutes conversation with him. Of business matters I only heard a little addition to George’s⁹ catalogue of follies, and a very unpleasant matter regarding your successor and his wife¹⁰—To my mind your sorrow and your grief are not to be compared with what that man must suffer. There is something holy and elevating in affliction—but for those who hate each other and whose aim seems to be to render each other miserable to be compelled to live in proximity to each other, to sleep together, to eat together, to travel the same road like two chained sheep pulling in opposite directions, if there be death in life surely this is it. But Wright will have given you an account of these things first hand so I may spare myself the trouble of dwelling upon the subject. It rejoices me to hear of the change in Anna's health;¹¹ —though the expression is so conventional it warms my heart when she sends me her love. Were I not held here by chains beyond my power to sever I would assuredly set out and soon be at your side. I long to see Anna and to talk to you both. Tom, that thought regarding the diminution of your power is a falsehood and must be trampled out. You had never half the reason that I had to dread such a diminution, and I know now, though worn down by fatigue, that the fear was a delusion. Your body must be strengthened, but this you neglect to do. Last Friday I had to lecture:¹² a year or two ago I should have spent the day puzzling over my experiments—but I left the Institution,¹³ took a pair of oars in my hand and gathered physical strength upon the Serpentine;¹⁴ and this proved more effective in tendering my lecture successful than if I had all the mechanisms of my lecture perfect and a broken soul speaking through the mechanisms. At the risk of provoking a smile I will tell you what I have found infinitely advantageous to me. I firmly believe that had I continued to take coffee for breakfast it would have killed me. I have long given it up and now take chocolate. I find it an excellent thing to take a basin¹⁵ of chocolate before going to bed—excellent for the bowels and well worth a trial on your part. But habitual exercise and a dismissal of science from the thoughts is an exceeding gain in the long run. I think a man must not expect a desire to be always strong—there are certain problems which require a certain intensity to crush them, and which can never be conquered by moderate work: but even here a sharp eye must be kept upon the relation of mind and body, and it is only by preserving the latter in a certain state of vigour that the maximum effect is produced. If you feel muddled do not persist—This is Sir Henry Holland’s¹⁶ warning to me—it is mine to you. But I wish I was near you: I would often draw the sweat from your brow—one ounce of such sweat would be worth a week’s study. I am almost an idea at your side, and hear Anna saying bravo! to me while I drive you from your books. Here I pause. God bless you Tom and God bless Anna.

Ever yours affectionately | John Tyndall

RI MS JT/1/T/637

RI MS JT/1/HTYP/488–9