TC TO MARGARET A. CARLYLE ; 19 September 1842; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18420919-TC-MAC-01; CL 15: 94-95
TC TO MARGARET A. CARLYLE
CHELSEA, 19th Sept. 1842.
MY DEAR MOTHER,—Will you take the smallest of notes from me merely to perform the essential function of a note,—ask you how you are and say that I am well.
I wrote you ten days ago a long letter dated Cambridge from my Inn in that Town. This I hope you received duly. It would let you into my ways in those weeks. Next day I got well enough back to Troston, rain attending me for the last two hours. I was terribly wearied of my great flat-soled monster of a horse, but much gratified with my pilgrimage and all rejoiced very handsomely at my return. Charles had come in the interim. They would not let us away on Monday as we proposed. It was settled at last that Thursday should be the day. Charles came up with us to Town. We had a very pleasant kind of journey and got safe home to dinner here. So ends the Troston journey and I think all travelling for this season. The good Mrs. Strachey, who is now in Italy, wrote to offer us her house and servants for two months at Clifton, a beautiful Village near Bristol, 100 miles to the west of us, but we have refused. Rolling stone gathers little fog [moss].1 I must resolutely get some work done now.
Jane seems really better for her country excursion. I observed today that she eats a whole slice of bread to breakfast again. Little Miss W.2 is still here. I think she likes much better to be here than at home, in the midst of luxury but also of Liverpool stupidity. She is a fine cheery little lass, very pretty too, and would make a good wife for somebody.
The Duke of Buccleuch has now actually paid me the £100—at least sent a draft payable in 10 days hence. I sent my thanks and the business is all over—a right agreeable result. You may tell Jamie that the Templand Grates too are paid, payable at the same time; that we saved the Grates that day, and our broiling journey was not in vain, therefore.
I hope they have now all got a sight of your picture and that I shall get it soon. It will be needless to wait for Jack, he, as I reflect, can do nothing towards carrying it. Poor fellow—you will see him again. Here is his last letter, though it can have no news for you. How goes Jamie's harvest? The weather has been brittle ever since that thunderstorm. How go you yourself, my dear good Mother? Somebody ought to write to me now. I do not hear anything even from Jean. Could Jenny make me two pairs of flannel drawers along with the shirts? I fear not. Adieu, dear Mother, my love to one and all.