Here I am at last, after making a stay at Lowestoft, where I sailed in
boats, bathed, and in all ways enjoyed the sea air. I wished for you
upon a heathy promontory there, good museum for conversation on old
poets, etc. What have you been reading, and what tastes of rare Authors
have you to send me? I have read (as usual with me) but very little,
what with looking at the sea with its crossing and recrossing ships, and
dawdling with my nieces of an evening. Besides a book is to me what
Locke says that watching the hour hand of a clock is to all; other
thoughts (and those of the idlest and seemingly most irrelevant) will
intrude between my vision and the written words: and then I have to read
over again; often again and again till all is crossed and muddled. If
Life were to be very much longer than is the usual lot of men, one would
try very hard to reform this lax habit, and clear away such a system of
gossamer association: even as it is, I try to turn all wandering fancy
out of doors, and listen attentively to Whately's Logic, and old Spinoza
still! I find some of Spinoza's Letters very good, and so far useful as
that they try to clear up some of his abstrusities at the earnest request
of friends as dull as myself. I think I perceive as well as ever how the
quality of his mind forbids much salutary instinct which widens the
system of things to more ordinary men, and yet helps to keep them from
wandering in it. I am now reading his Tractatus Theologico-Politicus,
which is very delightful to me because of its clearness and acuteness. It
is fine what he says of Christ--'_nempe_,' that God revealed himself in
bits to other prophets, but he was the mind of Christ. I suppose not new
in thought or expression.
Let me hear from you, whether you have bits of revelations from old poets
to send, or not. If I had the Mostellaria here, I would read it; or a
Rabelais, I would do as Morgan Rattler advised you.
_To Bernard Barton_.
[CAMBRIDGE, _Oct_. 18, 1846.]