TC TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE ; 6 July 1846; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18460706-TC-JWC-01; CL 20: 220-221
TC TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE
Chelsea, 6 july, 1846—
My Dear, I hope it is only displeasure or embarrassed estrangement from me, and not any accident or illness of your own, that robs me of a Note this morning. I will not torment myself with that new uneasiness: but you did expressly promise at our parting to announce your arrival straightway.— This is not good; but perhaps an unfriendly or miserable Letter would have been worse: so I will be patient as I can.— Certainly we never before parted in such a manner! And all for,—literaly,1—Nothing! But I will not enter upon that at all. Composure, and reflexion, at a distance from all causes of irritation and freaks of diseased fancy, will shew us both more clearly what the God's Truth of the matter is: may God give us strength to follow piously and with all loyal fidelity what that is!—
On coming home on Saturday, in miserable enough humour, the saddest I think I have been in for ten years and more, I directly got out my work, and sat down to it as to the one remedy I had. All day I toiled at Christies Index (a very ugly burbly [intricate] job indeed), and all next day; and have just finished it, five minutes ago. These two Notes were lying for me, Redwood's with a breath of something like comfort in it: I thought of sending them off to you for your Sunday morning; but delayed till too long,—felt indeed that I could write little along with them that would be comfortable. I was in fact in very bad health too. Robertson interrupted me in the evening; not very welcome;—and ended in a late walk. Yesterday I suppose you fancied me very happy at Addiscombe; alas, I was in no humour for anything of that laughing nature: I sat digging all day in the rubbish-heaps of Christie,—a frightfully hot forenoon; then wind and clouds rising, I went out to ride, had decided on riding to settle with Greathirst and his Portland-Place Stable-keeper; did ride thither, and settle, forcing myself, tho' horribly indisposed to it;—attempted to gallop home again, seeing thunder nigh; was overtaken by thunder, by rain &c, but got home little worse notwithstanding; and dined upon a bread-pudding, which has agreed very ill with me. John Chorlie2 about 8 p.m. came and roused me from my Christie, smoked, clattered, and finally went out to walk with me (Helen's time for coming in being at hand): this was my only company throughout the day;—a day of the resurrection of all sad and great and tender things within me; sad withal as very death, yet not unprofitable, I believe. Perhaps not.— There had come a Letter from Dunlop too;3 and today there are other babble-babbles, worth nothing at all. I now wait for my Horse in a short time; shall have wind enough and probably rain. The weather, since the sharp thunderstorm, is considerably cooled. I was awake about 5 o'clock: if not in too bad spirits still, I am due at Stanhope-Street in the evening;4 if otherwise I will walk to Putnam's with my completed Index.— Nothing here will suit the Picture at Laurence's;5 I am obliged to get a new Box made. I wish there were any work for my Horse beside you; any grass for him even: he is doing no good here; is even sickly still, and unthriving in the heat. At worst, I must send him off to Scotsbrig soon.— Adieu my Dearest (for that is, and if madness prevail not, may forever be, your authentic title): be quiet, do not doubt of me, do not yield to the Enemy of us all, —and may God bless thee always!
All kindest regards to your kind hosts from me.