TC TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE; 3 April 1849; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18490403-TC-JWC-01; CL 24: 6-8
TC TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE
Chelsea, 3 April, 1849—
No news at all today, and no Letter at all,—unless we reckon Robson's long-delayed Proofsheet a Letter. The wretched mortal has not got 150 pages done yet; I have sent him off all his Appendix stuff &c, with a good scold. No other work done; alas, hardly any!—
How did you do for rain yesterday, poor little soul? It began to be very heavy when Clough and I went out: I shook off Clough at the Ln Library, and took shelter. A not very entertaining man.1 Froude,2 he tells me, is now with young Kingsley;3—has £100 a-year, father an Archdeacon of something, with landed property for his eldest son;4—this heretic F. is for the “German universities”; what can he do there?5 Get into Bruno-Bauerism,6 and the bottomless Pool.— Clh, as you see, forgot the spleuchan [pouch]; but has now got it safe:7—can get no Letter from you, careless soul, his address being here!
Dinner yesterday on roast mutton and the smallest pudding in the world: excellent both. Did not s[l]eep; sat reading in absolute silence;—and walked out (with key, n.b.) about midnight; having written to Mrs Macready not to take me to Donnadieu and his Autograph marina-stores, horrible was the thought to me.8 Bed, alas, not till after one, too late by at least an hour.— — Aubrey de Vere seems to be gone into lodgings; he had called yesterday in my absence, and left 2 cards; Darwin too called. Better that the human soul was left to itself, and saw and heard no other soul at all, for a while.
I sent the Newspaper to my Mother; having clipt out your Mazzini's passage, which I saved. Tell Lady Ashburton I did read Peel's Speech,10 and am thinking about it a good deal. Perhaps the most important event even of the last revolutionary year.— Is Lord Ashburton here?11 How is he to go on Thursday, or must I go myself;—at all events, what hour is your dinner? I am really very unwell; and know not whether Thursday will do.— To “Alsop,”12 as I pen up now. Do you want him?— I wish I knew how you were getting on; how sleeping &c—ah me, my dear little Jean, adieu! Till tomorrow