The Collected Letters, Volume 25


TC TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE ; 7 October 1850; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18501007-TC-JWC-01; CL 25: 252-254


Chelsea, 7 Octr, 1850—

Why did you burn the four pages! Perhaps you might as well have sent me what the spirit dictated on the spur of the occasion; the deeper it came out of your heart (which cannot mean anything that I should be displeased with), it would have more clearly pointed me out my path. O Goody, Goody dear! But one is master of one's own writing; and it is always a little in the case of John's medicine, “You had better take it, or perhaps you had better leave it alone.”

I will come by the Train you mention, one o'clock precise from Waterloo-Bridge Station; and, if it please Heaven, I shall see my poor Goody again at Andover Road, soon after three! But you will have to write for Wednesday morning too; and can mention accurately what time a Cab takes from this: I will attend to all your directions hitherto given, nay have already attended; but—but, on Saturday as I went out towards the City and Chapmans Bank there, I perceived at the end of this street a Hansom, and in it Farie! Poor soul, is dull as ditchwater or duller, just come from the Watercure, to see his Brother off to Lisbon,1 just returning to the Watercure, and capable of no speech but about that: and now today, not finding you, he has written a Letter “to be forwarded,” speed, speed, all about the Wahlverwandtschaften;2 how the maid is to be taught to find it; how &c &c—how in short he may directly get it again,—with my blessing to it! I have sought in all places, especially on the top of the Bookshelves; but can see nothing of it. Tell me on Wednesday morning, and let that matter conclude itself witht Emma's help. Both the Spencer and claret-coloured gown (a reddish shade of do,—I rejected one of Emma's offerings, whh was brown with stripes, and not merino, and am sure I am right) have been sought out; and Emma is now sleevingone of my waistcoats: so that I fear nothing from cold. You have the brown “rug” with you, I suppose;—so that I shall bring a plaid. Lady A. promises a horse (on which topic I fear I was almost rude): and so, in all respects, we must do the best we can!— — I am really happy the solemn “Spirit of Love” is gone, or going before me. In my present humour such a phenomenon is dreadful. The advent of Thackeray, alighting like a big dangerous Condor upon that Coq d'Inde [turkey cock] among his hens, and revolutionising all the barnyard, is a thing worthy of memory! More power to his elbow. Kinglake is an acquisition; Brookfield, Rawlinson &c will do; and the Bishop's dinner is over;—and, on the whole, will not my own poor Goody meet me with welcome the day after tomorrow!

Last night was my first good sleep; my vile railway headache is not gone till now. Thanks to castor and blue-pill withal:—poor Emma administered even that to me, tolerably well, by dint of instruction;—and I sat in the house, and strode across the Sunday Park, in profound silence; called only at Darwin's finding his street all in straw, his window-blinds down, and not even a servant in. Rain was evidently brewing itself as I came home Rain fell all night; and today there is sun and blustery wind. “Mutton-chops” for dinner today; do tomorrow; the poor creature does them really well,—yet I am right glad to hear of an experienced servant: a novice is terrible to handle, especially to the like of me! Adieu Dearest; God bless thee / T. C.

Bölte had Nero out yesterday, and spoke to me for a moment: the maid also went at night to some street and place by her injunctn, but found nobody.

Mrs. Helps had seen me on the street; this sent Helps; he Craik, this morning,—from whom I have bought an Annual Register,3 “in 75 voll. 8vo,” which is coming tonight!