TC TO JOHN A. CARLYLE; 1 December 1854; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18541201-TC-JAC-01; CL 29: 209-210
TC TO JOHN A. CARLYLE
Chelsea, 1 decr, 1854—
My dear Brother,
I know not well where you are: but here is a Note (no doubt, his Account) which Mares left the night before last; and I am uneasy, or fancy myself so, till it get into your hands. Mares came himself; but I was at dinner, and had no long interview with him;—indeed there was nothing more to have been said or talked, had we had the whole day at our disposal. The Stone, he informed me (and as I had seen) was now all right; the evergreens &c put in:—the non-change of the Name, he farther said, was not by specific agreement with the Clerk of the place, but merely by tacit sufferance; if they ever did make any objection (of which there did not seem now the least risk), he, Mares, wd be the person applied to, and he would and could at once make the change.— In short, I suppose, there is nothing now to do but to pay him his account, and so end with him. A Draught on some London Bank, such as they furnish at Dumfries, with a stamp on it, and your Name written across the stamp,—this way, or some handier that the Bankers may have, will be the method.
We have very wild bad weather here; nothing but deluges of rain for a week past. Yesternight, deceived by a bright day, I went out without an umbrella; got damped thro' my thick coat; and thereby give myself a fresh dose of cold,—to reinforce the dirty stock I have already had for a good many weeks past, which has been a visible addition to my plagues and dispiritments of late. I have only today got a carpet on my room, the floor, fireplace &c all put right (am still in the drawingroom): my poor task has not profited by these accompaniments. It is such a task as I never had, for distress, confusion, aridity, disgust, and even remorse: however, I do persist: the only remedy lies in getting done with it. And indeed that is (pretty literally) all the recompense I expect from it.— For these two days, furthermore, I am occupied with a dirty, genealogical historical bit of stuff whh is to come out as “Article” in the new Westminster,1 & which is in the most refractory condition just now,—in “slips” that came yesternight; unreadable to gods and men. Heigho!
The Grange visits are all up, postponed, and gone into