January-July 1843

The Collected Letters, Volume 16


TC TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE ; 30 July 1843; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18430730-TC-JWC-01; CL 16: 325-326


Carnarvon, Uxbridge Arms Inn Sunday july 30, 1843—

My dear Bairn,

Here we are at last, out of the Hills and the rain-torrents and confusions; quietly waiting for the Welsh Tour's terminating—by a Steamer to Liverpool tomorrow morning. Thank Heaven! Not that all has not been what they call “well”; but “well” in the travelling way is not near good enough for a poor wretch like me. I have been awake at all hours from 3 to 6; I have &c &c: in fine, thank God here I am!

We left Chorley's this morning at seven; the good Chorley accompanying us with smiles and benedictions to the side of the Coach; a Mackintosh Cape too was not the least of his favours. He is the cheeriest, kindliest, [beste?]-humoured little man I have for many a day fallen in with; he quite gained my heart by these qualities,—he had well nigh induced me to take up my autumnal residence in a Lodging in his Village, just over the way from him: it was very cheap, room in it for Goody and Ellen;1 decent people;—cheap, clean, but very damp, very distant (for some of the parties): I do not think it is likely you will say yea; tho' I did promise to consult you! The region is rocky, picturesque, but barren, weedy; the natives have almost no English, and I doubt extremely little sense;—moreover, it seems and is said to be the dread-fullest place for wet that could anywhere be met with; Dumfriesshire a mere Sahara to it. Tremadoc will not do, will it? I was for trying it a week on my own basis; but Jack would not (having the perpetual motion in him), so it is left behind us over the slate hills. The women Chorleys are going thither early next week: does that make you shriek at the idea!— Well, there is something right good in that worthy little Chorley; I shall long remember him as the pleasantest thing I have seen in Wales. Blessed be Heaven however there is a Liverpool Steamer tomorrow morning: perhaps I shall get some sleep in my old bed there;—at all events I shall get to Annandale in the course of the week, and there—! Ah me!—

There will be a Letter from thee tomorrow in Baby's hands;2 perhaps more than one. I do want much to hear about all thy outs and thy ins. My poor Goody!— As for myself I will not try to write any farther in these present circumstances, where pen, place, head, hand, paper and ink are all against me. I should like well to hear that the Painting of the House was done, and Goody free for some country or sea-side expedition, where I might be in waiting for her, or join her, or in some way see the face of her again!

I wrote to Jeannie yesterday; heralding our advent: she will get the Letter tomorrow morning.— Here is dinner! Adieu, adieu.

Thine ever / T. Carlyle