April 1849-December 1849

The Collected Letters, Volume 24


TC TO JOHN A. CARLYLE; 10 November 1849; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18491110-TC-JAC-01; CL 24: 285-286


Chelsea, Saturday, 10 Novr '49

Dear Brother,—I have just got finally done with Carrick,—the wretched little smatchet [insignificant fellow], he has taken two more of my mornings, painting hands and dressing-gown!—and now, in sufficient haste, I append my postscript. With the hope principally of urging to write to us speedily again. For we have great need of news, especially just now.

I wrote to Grahame two days ago about the Carpet: he is to call at Scotsbrig, and fix with my Mother and you as to the quantity, all the rest being settled; and then is to expedite the matter, and trouble you no more about it. Pray give him friendly despatch when he calls; and let this little matter be ended.

My imitator or parodist in Fraser is one “Waring,” of whom nothing else is known to me, or need be known: I left a few leaves of scattered paper gathered up into a kind of “Article” for Parker,1 the other day, and learned this fact: no “proof” has yet come to me,—neither, in fact, is it much matter (except that the price will buy me some winter apparel and equipments) if they burn the whole concern, and so make me rid of it. I cannot for my life yet get into the proper vein; but must get.2 On Monday, it appears, Cromwell is to come out:3 I will send one of you a copy, in spite of the great superfluity of Cromwells there is about the Scotch premises.— Thackeray is still utterly weak, but is reported out of danger. The Mannings are to be hanged on Tuesday,—à la bonne heure [well and good]; poor wretches! I saw Chadwick the other day, and Darwin one evg: no other acquaintances: friends I do not find that I much have here or anywhere now.— We want exceedingly to hear about my Mother again; hope all the rest of you are well and at work. Ever your affectionate

T. Carlyle

Some butter and meal will be written for, soon, you can tell Isabella, with our love. Jemmy will be worse than mad if he do not now take care of himself!— Blessings to my dear Mother. Adieu