nd 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.]

MY DEAR BARTON,

Though my letter bears such frontispiece as the above, {209} I am no
longer in Bedford, but come to Cambridge. And here I sit in the same
rooms {210a} in which I sat as a smooth-chinned Freshman twenty years
ago. The same prints hang on the walls: my old hostess {210b} does not
look older than she did then. My present purpose is to be about a week
here: then to go for a day or two to Bury, to see Donne; and then to move
homewards. It is now getting very cold, and the time for wandering is
over.

Why do you not send me your new Poem? Or is it too big to send as a
letter? Or shall I buy it? which I shall be glad to do. . . .

All the preceding was written four days ago: cut short by the sudden
entrance of Moore, whom I have been lionizing ever since. He goes away
to London to-day. . . .

Moore is delighted with a Titian and Giorgione at the Fitzwilliam. I
have just left him to feed upon them at his ease there, while I indite a
letter to you.

_To W.