The Collected Letters, Volume 27


TC TO MARGARET A. CARLYLE ; 8 January 1852; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18520108-TC-MAC-01; CL 27: 6-8


Chelsea, 8 decr [January], 1852—

My dear Mother,

Here is Jenny's Letter, which I have had for two days; I will not send it back to you without a word from myself, hurried as I am, to say that all is still in the old way with us here. Poor little Jenny appears to be getting on very well in her new home: let us hope, after this first fit of illness, she may have got used to the climate, and have her health too, which seems the only thing needed to make her very happy where she is. As she says nothing or almost nothing about that point, I conclude she feels quite stout again. Certainly she seems to have made a great improvement in her way of life by the change: her letters have a cheerfulness and expansion of humour which they never shewed before in any of her former situations. Indeed I suppose she was very unhappy at Dumfries, poor little thing, and never knew any contentment there. We have got established in the old train here, and are going on as softly as possible. Jane has left all her colds at The Grange; and roves out, as heretofore, daily with the little dog at her heel;—only she seems to have given up the walk before breakfast, which for her is perhaps “quite as well.” As to me I run out every morning, cooled to the bone with bathing, and walk vigorously till I recover heat; the first thing each day: it is far from agreeable, but I rather find it wholesome (or think I do), and it has partly the air of virtue too which recommends it. I am reading books as before; very uncertain yet when or how I shall get a stroke at writing again! I must try, try, and be at once patient and diligent. A poor fellow called Eliot Warburton,1 a Writer of some note, whom I knew a little of, and had a Note from while at The Grange, set off, on the very day of our return, in a steamer called the Amazon for Mexico &c abt which I suppose he meant to make a Book: alas, news is already here that the Steamer took fire, near the Scilly Islands, and that of 160 souls only 21 escaped, of whom he is not one! His poor widow and children (in an expensive house and without resource) have a terrible sorrow in these days!—Twistleton2 (whom the Dr knows) told us this news yesternight, having come down for an hour or two,—not quite, bad company he. Another evg Cooper the Chartist3 came by appointt; a man not beautiful, “a tiger marked with small-pox,” but possessed of honest sense too: he told us Maurice's Tailors were all going to sixes and sevens.4 Enough, enough!— Dear good Mother, I hope you will get Jack to write before long that you are still in your usual way; a weak but patient and cheerful Mother to us in these dark winter days. May God's blessing be on you always,—on you all

T. Carlyle

I have sent the Westr Review today; I shall soon have a Letter to some of you again, more extensive than this.—