candlestick

October 1856-July 1857


The Collected Letters, Volume 32


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TC TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE ; 27 July 1857; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18570727-TC-JWC-01; CL 32: 206-207


TC TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE

[27 July 1857]

Monday 3 p.m. Not a word from Goodikin today; unless 6 o'clock prove better than 2 has been. Heaven grant the poor little soul be well (what we call ‘well’), while going on her poor little flitting to her new quarters, Edinr-wards! Poor wee soul; “Lucy's flitting”:1 may good go with thee my dear little woman!—

I am down here beside the water-butt again; first of the morning was spent aloft; sky being cloudy and wind out: but I gradually got a headache, and came down with my waste-basket in hand. Little work comparatively; but some. God help me, it is like making a watch on the top of a mast to a 74:2—but it must be done, must, quiet, and do it, if one can!—

The best news is, my Glasgow Pipes are actually here! Came on Saty late; and I have paid the man; and Anne has sorted out the back-kitchen; new Pipes and all are put on the right foot there;—and that is a finished thing: best pipes in the world actually! I am on my first pipe still; nobody cd fancy what a difference it makes: I have not had another right pipe since leaving the Gill last year. May indicate a turn of the tide, this poor bit of good luck, small but real!

Anne found the old nail-hammer head; it wants nothing but a handle:—you need not make that purchase: add the proceeds of the Hurchin3 to your general sinking-fund, and be thankful!4

Tait is here all day; cannot be kept from photographing;5 fiddles about twice interrupting me for minutes; and makes a deal of bad smell, witht profit visible till 100 years have passed. Poor Tait:—the Beauty6 too came one night. “What is pleasanter than light?—Shuch! said the Snake.”7 Ach Gott!— — A yellow scoundrel8 has started warbling within earshot, too. One of the chief nuisances of this world is “music” at present. As may well be, if they are of the pig species generally that begin to sing themselves!— Write at once, dear little soul; and take care of thyself.

T. Carlyle

n.b. my cold is pretty well gone; don't fret yourself with that. Headache is mostly off; and I will take care