To Thomas Archer Hirst   19th Oct. 1858.

Queenwood 19^th Oct. 1858.

My dear Tom

I received your long and truly interesting letter this day¹ and have read it with great delight. The picture of your journey is so beautiful that I am half tempted to send it off to those dear friends of mine whom I mentioned to you at Saas,² and to whom you refer in the last paragraph of your letter:³ for well I know it would interest them. I hope you will give yourself a good holiday before you commence your ‘equally attracting bodies.’⁴ I mentioned the title of your investigation to Miss Edmondson⁵ today, and explained it by stating that two young ladies were violently in love with you, but their attractions were so equal that you did not know how to choose between them. Your meteor account⁶ was so interesting that I transcribed it and sent it this evening to the Times: they may print it or they may not—if they dont I will send it to the Philosophical Magazine.⁷ Again I say give yourself a good holiday and carve a good picture of the ‘Eternal City’⁸ upon your brain before you commence your mathematics.

Now I do not intend to refer to all the points in your letter which gave me delight, but I will just repay you by giving you a sketch of what has occurred to myself since we parted.

I went to Chamounix⁹ but the weather was very bad, and it was aided by a stupid guide Chef¹⁰ who affirmed that I must conform to the ordinary regulations. I addressed the Syndic of the Commune,¹¹ the Intendent of the province¹² & secured their sympathies. Armed thus I was led to the top of Mont Blanc¹³ by Auguste Balmat. We were driven down by a tourmente,¹⁴ and Balmat very nearly lost his hands. He was prosecuted afterwards by the Commission of guides,¹⁵ and I dont know the result.¹⁶ But I went down to Leeds and brought the case before the British Association,¹⁷ where a resolution was passed¹⁸ that application sh^d. be made to the Sardinian authorities for increased facilities in making observations upon the summits of the Alps. I doubt not that before next year all those fetters will be broken and it will be no longer in the power of an ignorant guide chef to thwart a man of science.

While at Leeds I was the guest of M^r Beckett of Kirkstall Grange.¹⁹ Lord Carlisle²⁰ was there at the time and some other great people. One evening at M^rs Beckett’s²¹ request I gave them a simple account of my ascent of Monte Rosa.²² Lord Carlisle came to me afterwards apparently much interested, and declared that we must always be friends. He said more pleasant things to me than I have room or time to repeat.

You know I intended to throw the Alpine observations into the form of a book.²³ To promote this idea I came down to Queenwood.²⁴ I have got on but slowly, still I have accomplished something & the book when finished will, I hope, have many readers.

But now you ask me to let you know something of that matter regarding which I spoke to you at Saas—well here goes to gratify you.

M^rs. D.²⁵ writes a beautiful letter²⁶—She has a great love for the country and describes it with the warmth which that love prompts. Well I had one of her letters at Chamounix,²⁷ dwelling upon the beauties of the little paradise which they occupy in Surrey.²⁸ ‘How I should should²⁹ like to shew it all to you’ She said ‘Will you not come to see us when you return from the Alps?’ I could not say ‘no’ so I promised, and went.

One evening I reached a beautiful little country hotel near to the place where they live. I wrote a note³⁰ saying that I had arrived there and would join them next morning at breakfast. My messenger brought a reply³¹—‘Come here this minute you shall not sleep in any house but mine’. I waited to finish a little sherry, took my bag in my hand and went towards their house. The evening was raw & foggy: on the road I thought I saw some ladies figures and soon heard a pleasant voice crying ‘well!’ They had all come out to meet me & surely no man could have received a warmer welcome. I stayed with them 3 day: the forenoon of each day was spent rambling through the woods and along the downs of the most beautiful country that my eyes ever rested on. We usually dined at 2 oC. and the carriage was invoked in the afternoon to take us to some distant scene of loveliness. We returned to tea at 7 oC. and after tea had another excursion. There is a dense wood of box³² at the summit of a neighbouring hill, and thither we climbed by moonlight and wandered along its dark corridors listening to the owl hooting forth its rich melancholy notes. We had our little frights and surprises, for I was the only man in the company and I sometimes disappeared mysteriously leaving my fair friends alone. The moon whitened the boles³³ of the trees, and the light was sometimes sent in silver spangles from the glassy surface of the box leaves. Two of the girls who are tall and straight were provided with black mantles having hoods: these they drew over their heads and walked silently on in front of us; exactly like meditating monks in the gloom of a cathedral. In the open moonlight spaces they sometimes turned round and let the light shine upon their white dresses. —the whole thing was more like a romance than a reality. In short I never spent three such days, if the value of days be measured by social enjoyment. Before I came away I had engaged to eat my Christmas dinner with them: this is taking time by the forelock with a vengeance.

We have written to each other since I came here that is M^rs. D & I. I left my axe behind me with them when I came away, and a few days ago I had a note³⁴ informing me that the said axe was reposing in dignified idleness in the chimney corner of their drawing room, waiting for its master to come and take it away. I was reminded of the cosiness of the said corner and requested to come before the conclusion of the month, when they depart for Torquay.³⁵ Next Friday I go to Abbotts Ann³⁶ to spend a couple of days with M^r Best³⁷—on Monday the 25^th I hope to reach my friends: I purpose staying with them until the 28^th and then finally return to London.

Thus stands the matter my dear Tom. I thought it all past, but I sometimes think it is not over yet. If I could find any flaw in these people it would perhaps be well for me; but they are altogether beautiful. These girls³⁸ have been brought up in opulence and among fashionable people, still there is not a trace of artificiality among them. A noble truthfulness of demeanour, a direct reliance upon high natural qualities, and a lovingness of disposition which warms and beautifies all, are the characteristics which I have ever observed among them. I sometimes ask myself, is it manly to permit them to take such a hold of me? would it not be manlier to say sternly I will see them no more, and get on with my work? but then my reason tells me that these people are admirable. It is not blind feeling which produces this conviction but the open eye of my intellect and this ‘manly’ part may therefore be the part of a fool. I know that others like them as much as I do, that many a fine fellow has laid seige³⁹ to that fair citadel in vain. When I think of this and of my own position, the whole thing appears so wild to me, that I shake it suddenly from my thoughts as an utter absurdity. Still I doubt if ever she was kinder to any man than she has been, & continues to be, to me. Nay if I dare trust my instincts in the matter I should dare to hope. But the odds against me are too patent to be overlooked.

Again I sometimes reflect on her mother’s knowledge of the world, and of the workings of the human heart. I think of her practical wisdom and of her truth of character, and I ask myself what am I to conclude from the liberties which she allows me? Do I commit the mistake of an ignoble nature and put a false interpretation upon her great kindness? Still she knows what I have felt towards her child.⁴⁰ She knows quite well that I have gone through a fiery struggle to obtain any freedom; and still, with this knowledge before her eyes she puts me again in peril. I know she likes me; I believe I am not presumptuous in thinking this, for the proofs of her affection to me have been numberless. but is it either kind or wise to throw me into such danger? Perhaps she deems me old enough to protect myself—and I hope I am so, even should this dream go to pieces.

Sometimes I doubt not the counsel of a friend like you Tom would be worth something to me; for I fear my own pride in this matter; I mean that pride which has clung to me through life, and which causes my soul to revolt from any compromise of independence. This girl has been brought up in opulence: Even if I had never heard it mentioned, the manner in which they live is an evidence of their wealth. I confess this is one of the grave thoughts that beset me. I would not drag her down, I am unable to maintain her at her present level, and the thought of her dragging me up is so terribly repugnant to me that even supposing what is far too daring to suppose, I could not bear it. Thus on all sides this question is surrounded with difficulties. But I will not seek them. I will resign myself calmly to the guidance of that spirit which has hitherto shaped my almost miraculous career, and wait for the solutions which time must bring. God bless you Tom

always yours affectionately | John.

While writing this I have had a note from my friend⁴¹—kind, good and affectionate as ever.⁴² Atkinson⁴³ is here: he will write to you in a few days. This is a terribly long letter all about myself, still I do not think it will weary you.

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RI MS JT/1/HTYP/515–16