The Collected Letters, Volume 4


TC TO MARGARET A. CARLYLE; 6 October 1828; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18281006-TC-MAC-01; CL 4:409-410.


Craigenputtoch, Monday, 6th October [1828]—

My Dear Mother,

I have been meditating a journey to you almost every day for three weeks, but some pitiful thing or another has always come in the way. I really believe that I shall be obliged to put off my journey, after all, till the Jeffreys are gone.1 We expect them this week. Meanwhile, accept this assurance that we are all well, and struggling away in our usual style. The London Reviewers have anxiously agreed to pay me at the highest rate, if I will continue to write for them.2 I go down today to Dumfries to draw on them for £50.

Here are two Letters from the Doctor, the last3 of which only came on Saturday. You will see that he is at Vienna, somewhat farther from home than Munich, and living in his own hired house! He talks about Lakes and villages and all other trash, but not a word of what he is doing, stumbling and clooting [cuffing, fighting] in these foreign places. Poor Doctor, and foolish Doctor! I will write to him tomorrow.— Mr Grahame brings you this: he has been here since Friday, and is in great haste to be gone this moment. So I have done.

With warmest love to all, believe me ever, / My Dear Mother, / Your affectionate Son /

Thomas Carlyle