This pill
swallowed and forgotten, it was already time for my Second
"Course on Philosophy" at Cambridge,--which I had accepted again
that I might repair the faults of the last year. But here were
eighteen lectures, each to be read sixteen miles away from my
house, to go and come,--and the same work and journey twice in
each week,--and I have just got through the doleful ordeal.
I have abundance of good readings and some honest writing on the
leading topics,--but in haste and confusion they are misplaced
and spoiled. I hope the ruin of no young man's soul will here or
hereafter be charged to me as having wasted his time or
confounded his reason.
Now I come to the raid of a London bookseller, Hotten, (of whom I
believe I never told you,) on my forgotten papers in the old
_Dials,_ and other pamphlets here. Conway wrote me that he could
not be resisted,--would certainly steal good and bad,--but might
be guided in the selection. I replied that the act was odious to
me, and I promised to denounce the man and his theft to any
friends I might have in England; but if, instead of printing
then, he would wait a year, I would make my own selection, with
the addition of some later critical papers, and permit the book.
Pages:
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413