To Thomas Archer Hirst   4th April 1857

4^th April 1857

My dear Tom,

I have this week finished my course before Easter¹ and as usual feel very tired after the conclusion of it all. For the last few days my head has been bad—I have been giddy as I walked the street; still thank the Gods I had sufficient utterance, sufficient mastery of my own thoughts granted to me on Thursday, to enable me to finish my course with comfort, if not with ‘joy’. Tonight—Saturday night; I am on the rim of a flight into the country—tomorrow I steer towards Debus, and feel the human blessedness of having that spark of friendship to turn to at a distance from London.² Sitting in the reading room of the Institution³ and the books and papers of the day I turn over a volume of Bacon’s Essays⁴ and find one of them on Friendship. The wise man explains ‘There were princes that had wives, sons, nephews, yet all these could not supply the comfort of friendship’.⁵ One of the uses of friendship which he renumerates is that it ‘redoubleth joys and cutteth griefs in half; for there is no man that imparteth his joys to his friend but he joyeth the more, and no man that imparteth his griefs to his friend, but he grieveth the less’.⁶ One fragment sentence struck me much ‘those that want friends to open themselves to are cannibals of their own hearts’.⁷ And I softened as I read these words, and thought why should I not write to Tom now, and exalt my little gladnesses by communicating them to him. I thought of the conclusion of my course, and of the real kindly feelings that seemed to have established themselves between me and my audience. I thought of the friendly grasp of men’s hands, of sweet smiling eyes and fair faces. I remembered that an old member said to me that since he had come to the Institution he had never heard lectures to equal those. That other members with cool heads and not enthusiastic temperaments had called them ‘splendid’. Well I really do not set an overweening value upon them myself. To me they did not appear splendid, but I was satisfied, considering my environments and the impediments which often beset me. But all this appreciation and recognition—what am I to do with it? Shall I cast it utterly away and let it have no weight in the formation of my happiness; or shall I not rather accept it as I do the sunshine of nature, and permit it, though external, to gladden my heart. We are men and must, upon occasion, be able to live through a stormy sunless day; we must not faintly shiver when the sun is absent, but this is not incompatible with the enjoyment of his beams when they appear. Bacon has rather tended to the development of this softer side of human nature within me tonight, and seems to justify the satisfaction derived from the external approbation granted to my work, and not only so but tempts me in accordance with his theory to augment the little pleasure by communicating it to my friend. I am a being of slow growth, and ever since I came to London I have found my roots striking slowly deeper; slowly gathering, without haste or strain, kindly feelings and friendly relations round me. With one old gentleman of fine benevolent disposition whose name has been recently given to the highest mountain in the world⁸ I had a wholesome cordial dinner a few days ago. One mild cultivated countenance which has met me often of late, I find to be that of Admiral Codrington.⁹ Cardwell¹⁰ the ex president of the Board of Trade¹¹ was in my last lecture,¹² and came to me with his friendly hand at the conclusion. Faraday was not there being engaged out of doors, but his wife¹³ saw that his message was ‘remember me to him’. There was M^rs. Drummond¹⁴ too, the wife of Drummond¹⁵ of the Drummond light¹⁶—Under Secretary of State for Ireland, and who uttered the immortal sentence which roused the brutal roar of the landlords of Ireland ‘Property has its duties as well as its rights’.¹⁷ I name her relations thus particularly because she is so kind towards me; and her fair daughters¹⁸ are very pleasant blossoms, both physically & intellectually. Last night I had a chop with my friend Pollock¹⁹ the son of the Chief Baron,²⁰ a man of fine cultivated mind, and whose wife²¹ overflows, by her excellence, the measure of those beautiful ideals that we used to admire together long ago in the earlier poems of Tennyson.²² The Moores²³—nephews & nieces of Sir John Moore²⁴ who fell at Corunna²⁵ all treat me with the most brotherly kindness. I told you too I think that they had talked of putting me on the list to be presented to the Academy of Sciences.²⁶ I was written to by a member of the Academy upon the point. Of course I am no candidate, as the sole value of such things consists in their being spontaneous. Today I had a note from my friend Hooker²⁷ saying that he had been asked for my age and birthplace with a view to my election into the oldest scientific body in Europe.²⁸ But I feel my heart getting cold as I talk of these honours; let me turn once more to the thoughts suggested by Bacon. Do I afflict you? Why do I ask the question? If I had a suspicion of the kind it would tear Bacons theory to rags, or more truly would cut away its application in my case. But I do not think that even Bacon unaided would have caused me to write as I have written; my heart was overflowing and he simply transacted the mechanism of turning the top. Added to all the kindnesses, and friendly gladnesses which it has been my lot to experience within the last ten days your memoir with its dedication came to me this morning.²⁹ I have noticed that I am like a reed shaken with the wind when my eyes wander over anything that pleases me extremely. It seems as if my spirit could not calmly drink in its happiness, but fluttered tremulously like a bee which had discovered a well of honey at the bottom of a flower, and which can hardly taste the treasure for joy. Well Tom I have handed over your paper to Francis, and to your private copies he will have your dedication attached—that is the usual way. There it shall stand, a remembrancer and refresher to my old age, if this heart which now feels so warm and fresh can ever grow old. With what treble comfort can I read the Essays of Bacon feeling as I do that I possess in you all that a man ever possessed in a friend. There is a certain wildness in my heart when I think of our relationship to each other; I mean that wildness which would make self sacrifice cheap if offered in the cause of that holy friendship. If you ever felt that ‘fine excess’ you will understand me: if not it must be an Irish feeling which words would not explain. Ever & always John.

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