candlestick

January-July 1843


The Collected Letters, Volume 16


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TC TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE ; 16 July 1843; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18430716-TC-JWC-01; CL 16: 280-281


TC TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE

Llandough, 16 july 1843 (Sunday night, 10 o'clock)

Yet a few last words before quitting this place! I have had, as usual, a divine forenoon, lying under shady trees in the most exquisite summer atmosphere; and then a most laborious afternoon, bathing, galloping, dining, talking; till now when I ought to proceed to pack and arrange—if I did not prefer scribbling to Goody, still a word or two.

Your Letter of Today ought, as I find, to have been a Letter of Yesterday: “missent to Kingston” is on the back of it, and the date “14 july.” All the welcomer when it does come! It is the last I shall get here; for there can be none tomorrow.

Did you write a word of response to Miss Wilson?1 If not, or still better, at any rate, go and see her: I will try to write from Carmarthen; the smallest Note from a Bishop's will have a certain smack in it for her.— I can hardly make out poor Betty's Letter;2 but it means, “I do heartily love you, and rejoice in my simple heart to learn that you are well!” Poor Betty, she always does make that clearly and credibly understood. The Liverpool anticipation of me was somewhat of the suddenest: but tell Jeannie I shall gradually approach, and if all go right, arrive; and should it be in a household earthquake, they are never to mind. I am bent on not staying long in any Town till I return to Cockneydom again. You should really get these Mudies done: the placing of the two girls if it be possible is palpably the right course; if impossible, the project I think should be with all despatch renounced and finished off. Mudiedom, one has reason to apprehend, is a bottomless quagmire of gin confusion and falsity, on the brink of which it is not pleasant to linger— — Did Fuz3 come on Saturday? He is the old fellow; great cry, and a reasonable stock of wool.4

But I must not scribble and babble in this manner; at such an hour. Tomorrow at noon I have to be on the roof of the Mail at Cowbridge. A day of hot travel. I shall certainly not again be lodged so quietly anywhere. There will be rapid spiritual conversation in the Bishop's; and no green tree with Book and Tobacco to lodge under. One must take the good and the evil. I find this Redwood a really excellent man; honest, true to the heart, I should think, and with a proud and pure character hidden under his simplicity and timidity. He has been entirely hospitable to me; is sorry that I should go; speculates on my coming back &c as a proximate event: ah me! The old Mother too is very venerable to me. Poor old woman, with her yearly Monitors, with her suet dumplings, and all her innocent household good!—

My packing will not be difficult: I have never had any drawer here, not one, and my few Coats &c have had to lie folded on a chair: the servant is a rustic gearpole, and my bedroom is without bell. After a day or two I reconciled myself to the arrangements, but never approved of them!— Tomorrow I shall probably carry this Letter to the Post-Office myself; and its com[ing]5 safe without accompaniment must be considered a sign that I have got off safe. On Wednesday you get nothing. On Thursday? Yes, if possible. Bless thee.

T. C.