The mere conception
of such an inquiry is an illustration of his strength and hopefulness,
and it is impossible to say to what results it might have led him.
But the work was too heavy for his tired brain. It was long before
he could bring himself to relinquish it and during this struggle he
often suffered from fatigue of mind. It was at this period,
and before he resigned himself to the repose which marked the last
two years of his life, that he wrote to me the following letter--
one of many priceless letters now before me--which reveals, more than
anything another pen could express, the state of his mind at the time.
I was sometimes censured in his presence for my doings in the Alps,
but his constant reply was, 'Let him alone, he knows how to take
care of himself.' In this letter, anxiety on this score reveals
itself for the first time.
'Hampton Court, August 1, 1864.
'My Dear Tyndall,--I do not know whether my letter will catch you,
but I will risk it, though feeling very unfit to communicate with a
man whose life is as vivid and active as yours; but the receipt of
your kind letter makes me to know that, though I forget, I am not
forgotten, and though I am not able to remember at the end of a line
what was said at the beginning of it, the imperfect marks will
convey to you some sense of what I long to say. We had heard of
your illness through Miss Moore, and I was therefore very glad to
learn that you are now quite well; do not run too many risks or make
your happiness depend too much upon dangers, or the hunting of them.
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