In divinity matters I am obliged to stop—for my sins, I suppose. But it seems I am almost struck mad when I think earnestly about them, and I'm only reading now natural history or nature.
Never mind Autograph people, they are never worth the scratch of a pen.
Ever affectionately yours,
J. R.
46.
August 26th, 1881.
I'm in furious bad humour with the weather, and cannot receive just now at all, having had infinitely too much of indoors, and yet unable to draw for darkness, or write for temper. But I will see Mr. —— if he has any other reason than curiosity for wishing to see me—what does he want with me?
47.
21st October.
I am fairly well, but have twenty times the work in hand that I am able for; and read—Virgil, Plato, and Hesoid, when I have time! But assuredly no modern books; least of all my friends', lest I should have either to flatter or offend. Still less will I have to say to young men proposing to become clergymen. I have distinctly told them their business is at present—to dig, not preach.
Let your young friend read his Fors. All that he needs of me is in that.