is time stayed out of the school for another year of freedom, returning only for the necessary final terms.
There had just been a large accession of books at the college library, and from that and the Francis collection I had a full supply.
I read Comte and Fourier, Strauss's Life of Jesus (a French translation), and bought by economy a fine folio copy of Cudworth's Intellectual system, on which I used to browse at all odd hours — keeping it open on a standing desk.
I read Mill's Logic, Whewell's Inductive sciences, Landor's Gebir and Imaginary conversations.
Maria Lowell lent me also Landor's Pentameron, a book with exquisite passages; Alford's poems, then new, and, as she said, valuable for their simplicity; and the fiery German lays of Hoffmann von Fallersleben, some of which I translated, as was also the case with poems from Ruckert and Freiligrath, besides making a beginning at a version of the Swedish epic Frithiof's Saga, which Longfellow admired, and of Fredrika Bremer's