The Collected Letters, Volume 13


JWC TO THOMAS CARLYLE ; 27 August 1841; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18410827-JWC-TC-02; CL 13: 226-227


[ca. 27 August 1841]

Just when I had despatched the other travelled letter comes this one,1 also needing rest for the sole of its foot— I lose no time in forwarding it, in pity for the two modest youths who are sitting doubtless in that state of hope deferred which maketh the heart sick2— The Mr Espinasse I suppose must be a descendant of my favorite MADEMOISELLE Espinasse3 and Dunpaco4 has probably dropt from the moon—as I never heard “any thing in the least like it”—

I have no letters except one with inch broad black margin from Elizabeth Pepoli—enough to have thrown me into fits at first sight, if her handwriting had not been recognisable at a yard's distance— Pepoli is now recovered to “his usual health and spirits”—Pietro5 suffering new disquietudes from his wife Manfredi ill and terrified that he is dying— But what Elizabeth seems to regard as the saddest calamity of all our inimitable Chardonnel6 has suddenly lost her genius and misfitted Elizabeths new black gown— I am particularly sorry to hear it—for I shall need a new one when I go back—and shall be afraid to have it made by her— I have taken the waistcoat to Shankland—and it is to be “modestly believed” that it will not smell—for I bought the f[l]annel myself—without any smell to begin with, and have had it washed over and above— Shankland expresses his sense of the honour in a reverential under tone, and “presumed to hope that Mr Carlyle was in good health”— The wind has begun to howl hideously, and in consequence I am degenerating from a woman into a dog—bow wow wow