Weymouth Wednesday | April 17th. 1862.
My dear Mrs Pollock.
I reached this place to-day at 4½ P.M., ordered dinner, strolled ankle deep in pebbles along the beach, returned to my whiting and chops and afterwards rambled along the seething sea edge for a couple of miles in the direction of the Portland2 breakwater. The light gradually faded, the sky was overcast and the wind gusts which caught the wavelets by the top filled the air with a mournful music. At a little distance from me, and quite on the sea edge, with some thirty feet of cliff raising it from the water, I saw a ruined castle, gray & mournful as the evening itself: thither I wandered, and sheltered by one of its broken walls listened for a long time to the sound of the wind and of the sea. The part of human nature which comes into play under such circumstances is that which puzzles me most. That solemn unison which the soul experiences with nature, and which is a thing essentially different from the intellectual appreciation of her operations. But I will not carry you into a cloudland where I have often wandered myself without finding rest for the sole of my foot; and where probably man’s spirit may wander till the end of time without becoming sensibly more instructed.
I quitted the Waterloo station to-day at 11 A.M. In the carriage with me was a maiden & a little boy—a fine, frank, fearless looking little fellow with a full brown eye, and countenance full of animation. His sister, for she must have been so, was the image of good health & good nature; and showed a grace and dignity withal that were quite charming. We were together for four hours without entering into any conversation. Still the very presence of both was pleasant to me. At Brockenhurst3 the boy shouted ‘Oh there, Pa!’ A gentleman opened the door and looking at me murmured “Mr. Tyndall”. It was a Mr Law4 & the young lady was his daughter. She must be the sister of young Law whom I have often met at Barlow’s5—Her forehead is shaped like his. Now there is gossip instead of metaphysics for you.
I shall walk over to Portland tomorrow,6 and return here tomorrow night. On the following morn[in]g I start along the beach to Bridport,7 and may push on as far as Lyme–Regis8 that day before I return I hope to work my way on to Torquay9 picking up letters at Sidmouth & Teignmouth:10 and whenever my time is likely to be evilly occupied I will drive away Satan by taking up my pen & writing to you.
It is now bed time; Give my love to Moss, to Walt, & to Fred.11
goodnight | Yours always | John Tyndall
RI MS JT/1/T/1136
[16 April 1862]: 17 April 1862 was a Thursday. It is more likely that Tyndall was correct about the day—on the 15th he noted that he planned to ‘quit London’ on the evening of the 16th (see letter 1881)—but not the date.
Portland: Isle of Portland, Dorset, England.
Brockenhurst: Village in New Forest, Hampshire, England.
a Mr Law: not identified.
Barlow’s: John Barlow (1798–1869), former Secretary of the RI.
I shall walk over to Portland tomorrow: Tyndall’s account of this Thursday excursion can be found in letter 1886, which provides further evidence that he wrote this letter on Wednesday 16 April.
Bridport: Market town in Dorset.
Lyme–Regis: Coastal town in west Dorset.
Torquay: Coastal town in Devon.
Sidmouth & Teignmouth: Coastal towns in south Devon.
Moss, to Walt, & to Fred: Juliet’s three sons, Maurice Emilius Pollock (1857–1932); Walter Herries Pollock (1850–1926); Frederick Pollock (1845–1937).
Please cite as “Tyndall1885,” in Ɛpsilon: The John Tyndall Collection accessed on