candlestick

July-December 1855


The Collected Letters, Volume 30


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TC TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE ; 15 August 1855; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18550815-TC-JWC-01; CL 30: 33-35


TC TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE

Bredfield, Woodbridge / Wednesday, 14(?) [15] Augt [1855]

Well, you won't go to Aldborough; so my responsibility is done. I confess, in my indolence, I was rather glad, this morning, that you had so decided. For F. and I were standing on the slip; and had your word been yes, we should have been off and in a great hurry indeed.

He knows Rottingdean, he says; a village correctly defined by you as clean and “sleepy”: I know not what to think of the Cottage; but mean, with due obedience, to go at least and look at it; you and the judicious Tait having all the arrangements estimated and prefigured ready for a Yes or No.— F. says it is a very dear country; otherwise without fault: he knows the Clergyman and Clergywoman; I also have got a notion where the place is,—to the east side of Brighton: one of the airiest and healthiest regions. But it strikes me always, a Lodging one could go to with comfort wd be less troublesome than a cottage.

I intend to come home by the Steamer (there being no open 3d class that I can hear of): Steamer starts from Ipswich on Saturday morning precisely at 8; gets to Blackwall (precisely?) at 4;—home therefore, if all have gone well, about the usual time of dinner (towards 6, I should think); glad enough to be at rest again; such rest as home only can yield, home even in the clangour of London. Ah me, ah me! Mutton broth, I should think, wd not be unwelcome for dinner, if we come by the Steamer? But my poor little Dame will contrive it all right for me, broth or no broth.— One reason that recommends the Steamer is that F. will hardly let me away till Sunday if I think of rail; and surely Saturday will be better.

On Monday, as I think, you heard we were carried over hither; dim necessities acting upon Fitz, who had to shew all the talent of a consummate Pig-driver in getting things brought to the point he wished. The Parsonage is perfection's self in respect of quiet, cleanliness, rustic worth as a residence for the like of me: excellent people too, old Crabbe a character in his way, full of humanity, sociality, opacity and veracity strangely combined; his daughter quite a model of filial piety, and exact regard to all forms of truth from the multiplication table upwards:—truly a desirable place. Nevertheless I lost a night's sleep by the job; miserable night that first Monday and miserable day following; however it is now all smooth, and I am as well or better both in health and in lodging, than at Farlingay, whither we return tomorrow, not to stir farther till Ipswich turn up. F. whirls me about long drives in his farmer's gig: today we went to see some notable mansion 8 or 9 miles off; notable Portrait of Oliver in it,—which proved worth nothing: but another Portrait, of the Duke of Lauderdale1 (Scotch to the bone, boar-like for strength, and and2 warlsworm3 every fibre of it) was worth all the ride. I never miss my bathe withal;—and today accordingly I return tired and hungry,—belated too, and am writing to my poor Goody, in great haste, till dinner come, post being earlier here.

Write you to me, Farlingay; almost on Saturday morning I shd get a Letter; but better not trust. Tomorrow your latest day.

Donaldson of Bury has left, or is about to leave, School being gone to nothing,—owing to heterdoxy &c:4 Cambridge instead. That is all my news,—of Sweaborg no mention.5 God bless thee ever

T. Carlyle

No blottingpaper here: so you find a page vacant. Fitz has given you a Lane's Arabia Anecdotes6 (value 6d or 1 / ) but excellt in quality I have no stamps for it today.