April-December 1844

The Collected Letters, Volume 18


TC TO CHARLES REDWOOD ; 11 July 1844; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18440711-TC-CR-01; CL 18: 121-122


Chelsea, 11 july, 1844—

My dear Sir,

You are always very good and kind; but, alas, there is no possibility of such things at present!1 I do not think I shall get away out of London at all this year; I have prospered so badly with my work, I seem to have no title to such recreation, and even a reproachful con-science would deny me the power of enjoying such.

The fact is, I did not find that, last year, I got any benefit by three months of idle locomotion and spiritual stagnancy; no benefit, but only mischief,—palpable increase of sorrow and stupidity. My poor nerves are not to be cured in weeks; it would take a plunge of a whole year's continuance, a deep bath of twelve months in the Silences and Solitudes, to do me any good! My present notion is to continue here. In about a month, the tumultuous Quality, with their racket and riot, will have gone their ways; London then, on my side of it, is one of the loneliest places in all the Queen's Dominions— The air truly is dusty, the streets backed, the physical environment more or less detestable; but one is at home,—there are other annoyances, even uglier than these, which a poor invalid creature keeping in his own den avoids. Cromwell, Cromwell! I must have done with Cromwell, if there be life enough left in me: then off to some foreign place, Swiss mountain-side, Scotch moor,—only far enough from Cockneydom,—and there stay till one be tired!

Glamorganshire is too distant for a Country house; measured by time it is farther than the South shore of the Solway,2 from which one's poor old native hills are visible. Alas, I feel at present as if I should never see Glamorganshire again,—or not for many long years.

My Wife is, for these two weeks, gone to Lancashire, where the last Uncle she has, almost the last cousins and kindred she has, reside: I am a Hermit till she return; and very busy.

I send my very kind regards to your good Mother—I pray all good to be with you; and am always

Most truly Yours /

T. Carlyle