candlestick

1841


The Collected Letters, Volume 13


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TC TO ALEXANDER CARLYLE ; 15 January 1841; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18410115-TC-AC-01; CL 13: 17-18


TC TO ALEXANDER CARLYLE

Chelsea, Friday 15 jany [1841]

Dear Alick,

Thanks again for your Letter: who knows but you will grow an altogether punctual copious Correspondent by and by! We hope poor Jenny is now out of danger; we shall count on you for writing if there is anything more that creates anxiety. Be a good Boy and look to it.

What I want of you today is to get that Bit of Paper changed at Postie's into a gold half-sovereign, and give it to Jenny at Kirtlebridge1 along with the note. One can now send money for three-pence! You have to take the thing to the Post-Office, and sign your name to it.— Gold rather than shillings: that will be handsomer!

I enclose you Jack's last Note; which you need not publish any farther than you see useful; perhaps not farther than yourself.— He is well; and tumbles along amid his coil of fasheries [troubles] with considerable cheerfulness. Fashery, I think indeed, is most of the work he has to do; and gets about as good as £1,300 a-year for doing!— My printing is not yet started; I scunner [flinch] somewhat at it: I can get for four months close labour the handsome sum of £75! On the whole if a man have bread to eat, why should he complain?

That is a sore tragedy which I read last night in the Courier, of John Bell, his Wife, Mother and Aunt Jean; all known to me, all dead, probably in great misery!2 I came upon it late at night, sitting quite alone amid my own reflexions.— The weather appears to be even worse with you than here.

A wretched mortal that was wont to leap from top masts, bridges &c, and dive and do feats of that kind, perished in a shocking manner (as you will see by that Newspaper) here this week. One of his tricks was to act hanging; the noose slipt; he was found hanged in earnest! When I think of the mob looking at him, brutal animals, the still more brutal ‘gentlemen’ of the Bridge Committee encouraging such a scene,—few things I have ever heard of seem more detestable.3

Adieu, dear Alick; I am too long here.

Your ever affectionate /

T. Carlyle