candlestick

1851


The Collected Letters, Volume 26


-----

TC TO JOHN A. CARLYLE; 25 November 1851; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18511125-TC-JAC-01; CL 26: 242-243


TC TO JOHN A. CARLYLE

Chelsea, 25 Novr, 1851—

My dear Brother,—Here, along with Jamie's Newspaper which only reached me this morning, is a quantity of Letters &c, mostly very insignificant; which I am afraid you will get little good of yourself, but which you will perhaps read to my Mother, and so make an hour of the gloaming cheerfuller for her in this cold dark season. To send you these, and say we are still well, is my whole message this morning.

I have given up riding for a week past; Twistleton's was my last day: I found it absolutely impossible, without a pair of mud-boots (not easily procurable here) to keep my feet warm in the dim frosty days; nay I had already contracted a little cold by former riding: so for the present I gave it up. I am still busy with Preuss's Frederic; but meet with innumerable interruptions, do all I can,—ah me! Every morning still I bathe (frosty enough work, but I make it very brief); then out, what I can stride; and in an hour or less am warm enough again, and ready for breakfast. I believe it to be wholesome for me; and in fact, one way and another, I am perceptibly better in health than usual just now.— We have had Clough;1 are expecting Twistn, James Spedding: but on the whole keep as solitary as is possible easily. Your own thots, if you have enough of them, are infinitely preferable to the grinning jargon of most men.— I have a good Letter from Tom Spedding; but it is not worth the additional 2 pence today.— The weather has gone from soft and fresh to absolute rain, and now again we have a return of frost with plenty of white rime this morning. A hard winter everywhere, they say. Many a time I think of my poor Mother, and wonder what is becoming of her in the cold air! Oh be careful of her!— Of course she does not now rise till the house is quite warmed, and breakfast ready: which surely is a great improvet.

The Mazzinis have quitted their den in Brompton, and gone to lodge with Postie Piper in some off-street from the King's Road: such shoals of Italian Destituti [Poor] came about Mi, he was fain to run for it.2— By the bye, you did not chance to see anything of an old German Map which you long ago lent or gave me? I cannot find it anywhere; I must have laid it by too well, I suppose.— — Adieu, dear Brother: I must waste your time and mine no longer. My love to all.— Your affecte

T. Carlyle