The Collected Letters, Volume 13


TC TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE ; 6 July 1841; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18410706-TC-JWC-01; CL 13: 168-169


Scotsbrig, Tuesday Morning 8 [6] july 1841—

Dear Jeannie,

I said, in two posts expect to hear from me again. Alas, Dearikin, yesterday was a day of continual rain, unfit for any human creature's travelling; a day fit only for “proving one's mackintosh”: I sat all day within doors, reading the scoundrel Balzac1 (brutallest blackguard now extant with any talent), and consequently there was nothing whatever done. Today, blessed be Heaven, for the first time since I left you the blessed sun shines out, and there is prospect of an altogether lovely day. Jamie and I set out for Annan, to see this wondrous Newington,—also to investigate another chance there has arisen of geting a kind of house ready furnished. The furnishing of Newington does not flatter my imagination much at present; a fine house, but the stock of goods to put in it a scanty and very miscellaneous one: however, there is certainly nothing to be had without trouble; we will endeavour to choose the eligiblest, and to have the thing set in motion if possible this very day. The furnished house is a dandy cottage close by the shore at a place called Newby (which Jack knows, tho' the cottage is since his time); a mile and half from Annan to walk, three miles to ride or drive. I shall see and try; I will write to you what I have seen probably tomorrow.

Add only, dear Jeannie, that my Carlisle sleepless night2 has not yet been followed by any sufficient sleep. Yesterday morning I awoke at 5,—miserable enough for a while; today again at 5, having sat up too till near one. Tout est dit [All is said]. I am not radically ill, however, at all; I am radically even well. I sleep in the east room, the one you were in; and I am now writing there, about half past 7 by the clock, while my Mother makes breakfast in the other end of the edifice. Poor body, she slept today till 7, and makes a thousand apologies: her normal hour of awakening is my bitterest exceptional one, 5 o'clock: I feel ashamed of myself when I hear her speak of it.

Tell Jack, when he calls, that she is well; that they are all as well as usual; that I have yet had no composure to write to him, but will soon.

The Annan people have elected Ewart, with considerable difficulty, with some rioting and tarring of clothes.3 A pretty prize they have got.

Has Harriet written to you? Write you to me,—as indeed I daresay this very morning you will, like a good lassie! And so blessings on your early cup of coffee for you, poor little thing, and be good, and let us meet soon!

Yours ever /

T. Carlyle