candlestick

1853


The Collected Letters, Volume 28


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TC TO JOHN A. CARLYLE ; 1 July 1853; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18530701-TC-JAC-01; CL 28: 181-182


TC TO JOHN A. CARLYLE

Chelsea, 1 july, 1853—

My dear Brother,

This morning at ten o'clock I put my poor Jane into the Train at Euston Square, on her way towards you; and by this time (3¾ p.m.), if all have gone well, she must be approaching the Liverpool region. Her meaning was, to stay in Liverpool not longer than till Tuesday morning (might be Monday, but not likely);1 and on Tuesday afternoon, some time or other, to be with you in Moffat. Of course she will write, settling the hour &c; but I despatch this, of my own motion, as harbinger, certain so far, of what will follow.

The day before yesterday I wrote to my Mother,—poor old Mother, she is a constant presence, very sad and very sacred, in my thoughts for some time back.

On Wednesday night was a grand Ashburton Ball,—the ne-plus-ultra of sublimity: to me, I confess, a mere heaviness and weariness:—prime Cost of do, as I understand, about £1000!—

I am very lonely now (Darwin too is just going off, &c &c); I must actually, by way of sole remedy for all things, make a desperate attempt at shoving my heavy baggage of work a little forward! I am very weakly, biliary, morbidly thin of skin; am best to sit “maistly in a place by mysel',” like Jas Aitken's crazy joiner.2 The weather is delightful to my taste (not to the wheat's, they say); moist and windy; frequent little S.W. showers, and sky mostly gray.— —— I sent the Nigger Pamphlet &c in a Parcel to you the other day: the man paid me £20 for 4,000; and they have nothing that I do not well believe. I did not send a Copy to my Mother; meaning you to judge if it wd not afflict her to read it,3—and to warn me, and take measures accordingly. Nobody but Jean at Dumfries has got a Copy; item my own Jane,—who, if you think right to warn her, will keep it quite out of my Mother's sight at Scotsbrig. But perhaps it may not be so offensive there now?— Enough at present. Ever your affectionate

T. Carlyle