The Collected Letters, Volume 12


TC TO ALEXANDER CARLYLE ; 27 April 1840; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18400427-TC-AC-01; CL 12: 121-122


Chelsea, 27 April, 1840—

My dear Alick,

Your Letter1 of Saturday night rather alarmed me; I have been looking for the Postman this morning with unusual anxiety. He has now called,—with nothing but a harmless Newspaper; I take courage to believe that our dear Mother is better again, getting round at least, and not in a state that gives you uneasiness. You did well to write: it is good to have at all times the assurance that when we hear nothing there has nothing very specially gone wrong. But you must write now, were it only one word more, to assure me by affirmation as well as silence that our M[oth]er is better again. Or she will perhaps write to me herself? One way or other, [I] expect a word by return of post, if no conclusive word have arrived before that.

The Newspaper I got (five minutes ago) was a Bolton Free Press, containing some thing about W. Meister, me, my Lectures and so forth.2 I sent it round by James Aitken, addressed to you. I suppose he will know to forward it.— I marked in Fraser's on Saturday a copy of the Miscellanies for each one of your households, you, Jamie, Mary, Jenny, Jean3 (my dear Mother had one, I think); they are all directed to Aitken, Dumfries, and will reach you thence (arriving there by Edinburgh and Steam) early in May. I wish you all luck of them! It is a very pretty book; five green ornamented volumes.— I enclose today a Letter of poor old Hone's (you remember Hone?)4—to whom I had sent a ticket, knowing he was poor and an admirer of mine. He writes not like a happy man.

The weather has suddenly become burning hot. All my riding refuses to bring me into very eminent health: I agree ill with the heat, with the anxiety &c &c; however, I have floundered thro' such a thing in worse case before now. Jane says, I shall never lecture again. A good part of the thing is lying confusedly on paper; perhaps we shall print it.

No word from Jack last week, that I remember of. My last account of him was in a Note which Jean forwarded hither, in which he spoke of having written to you.— Jane has a headache today; but this weather generally quite sets her up.— Ever your affectionate

T. Carlyle