TC TO JOHN A. CARLYLE; 17 April 1854; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18540417-TC-JAC-01; CL 29: 66-67
TC TO JOHN A. CARLYLE
Chelsea, 17 April, 1854—
My dear Brother,
We have not gone to Addiscombe, and are not going at present: owing to bad cold of Lady A.'s (from which she is recovering out there in solitude, and getting ready for a run to Paris), the whole business has been given up; and I stay here over my confused Papers, which is evidently the thriftier method for me, and everyway the most agreeable as my humour runs. You may write, therefore, to the Common Address, when there is anything for us in your thoughts. And this is really the substance of all I had to say, in my present hurry, amid the bleak spring winds, and futile industries that occupy me at present.
Libri has sent another Note (indisposed, or he would not have delayed bringing the Book, which he now sends):1 Note I think is burnt; Book (two heavy volumes) goes to Chorley who wants it; I have written some screwed word of thanks, if possible not quite untrue, to Guizot;—and so this matter again is brushed away from me.
Bosworth threatened the Leader with Law; whereupon they were forced to eat their leek in the way you see!2 Lewes came here, one night last week, with a man called A-Beckett3 (a grave heavy man, with something like the air of a thinking Parliament-Geordie, if you can conceive that); and told us so, among other things. Poor soul, he is threatened with “congestion in the brain,” it appears; and the Doctors have ordered Paris and a month's holiday.4 I find the Leader, especially Hunt's part of it, inexpressibly foolish; and have thoughts of breaking off again,—into what? Fuz's Examiner is probably still more intolerable. Suppose one broke off into Nothing; and left the vile clamour of conflicting balderdashes to take its own course!— Adieu, dear Brother; I send my love to your Phoebe, and am ever