Peterhouse, _December, 1736._ After this term I shall have nothing more
of college impertinences to undergo. I have endured lectures daily and
hourly since I came last, supported by the hopes of being shortly at
liberty to give myself up to my friends and classical companions, who,
poor souls, though I see them fallen into great contempt with most
people here, yet I cannot help sticking to them.
Indeed, what can I do else? Must I plunge into metaphysics? Alas! I
cannot see in the dark. Nature has not furnished me with the optics of a
cat. Must I pore upon mathematics? Alas! I cannot see in too much light.
I am no eagle. It is very possible that two and two make four, but I
would not give four farthings to demonstrate this ever so clearly; and
if these be the profits of life, give me the amusements of it. The
people I behold all around me, it seems, know all this, and more, and
yet I do not know one of them who inspires me with any ambition of being
like him. Surely it was of this place, now Cambridge, but formerly known
by the name of Babylon, that the prophet spoke when he said, "The wild
beasts of the desert shall dwell there, and their houses shall be full
of doleful creatures, and owls shall build there and satyrs shall dance
there." You see, here is a pretty collection of desolate animals, which
is verified in this town to a tittle.