ell content to let it work still among the
ploughmen and weavers of to-day; and even to suffer some absurdities in
the Form, if the Spirit does well upon the whole. Even poor Exeter Hall
ought, I think, to be borne with; it is at least better than the wretched
Oxford business. When I was in Dorsetshire some weeks ago, and saw
chancels done up in sky-blue and gold, with niches, candles, an _Altar_,
rails to keep off the profane laity, and the parson (like your Reverend
Mr. Hitch {227}) _intoning_ with his back to the people, I thought the
Exeter Hall war-cry of 'The Bible--the whole Bible--and nothing but the
Bible' a good cry: I wanted Oliver and his dragoons to march in and put
an end to it all. Yet our Established Parsons (when quiet and in their
senses) make good country gentlemen, and magistrates; and I am glad to
secure one man of means and education in each parish of England: the
people can always resort to Wesley, Bunyan, and Baxter, if they want
stronger food than the old Liturgy, and the orthodox Discourse. I think
you will not read what I have written: or be very bored with it. But it
is written now.

I am going to-day into the neighbourhood of Kimbolton: but shall be back
here by the end of the week: and shall not leave Bedford till next Monday
certainly. I may then go to Naseby for three days: but this depends. I
would go and hunt up some of the Peterboro' churchmen for you; but that
my enquiries would either be useless, or precipitate the burning of other
records. I hope your excursion will do you good. Thank you for your
account of Spedding: I had written however to himself, and from himself
ascertained that he was out of the worst. But Spedding's life is a very
ticklish one.

_To E. B. Cowell_.

[1847]

DEAR COWELL,

. . . I am only got half way in the third book of Thucydides: but I go on
with pleasure; with as much pleasure as I used to read a novel. I have
also again taken up my Homer. That is a noble and affecting passage
where Diomed and Glaucus, being about to fight, recognize each other as
old family friends, exchange arms, and vow to avoid each other henceforth
in the fray. (N.B. and this in the tenth year of the war!) After this
comes, you know, the meeting of Hector and Andromache, which we read
together; altogether a truly Epic canto indeed.

Yet, as I often think, it is not the poetical imagination, but bare
Science that every day more and more unrolls a greater Epic than