The Collected Letters, Volume 13


TC TO JOHN A. CARLYLE ; 3 May 1841; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18410503-TC-JAC-01; CL 13: 125-126


Scotsbrig, Monday 3 May, 1841—

Dear Brother,

Here is a Letter of Grahame's to me sent very lately, which will in some sort serve as an answer to your Times Newspaper, and the inquiry you made about the Consulship.1 All up, as you see.— If you step down to Jane, she will next tell you what news or rather no-news there are, and also predict about my homecoming. On Thursday or else on Friday I hope I shall see you again.— Our Mother goes on very well: she needs a good recipe for pills, I think: pray write her out one, and send it as soon as you like. She seems to go upon Ol-ricin2 chiefly at present, and has certain Dumfries pills, of which the recipe was stolen the other day by one of the children.— Jamie Austin is here today with stirks [steers] which he has been selling to James of Scotsbrig: all is well on his side of the country.— The weather is of the clearest, brightest, with a small chill Northwind breathing. The Cumberland Mountains had a coating of white when I went out first, which Helvellyn still retains. The stillness of this region would be a kind of Heaven for me, could I get it enjoyed. But I have no home here; I am growing weary of the perfect idleness: like that “everlasting Jew,”3 I must weiter [wander], weiter, weiter!— Enough for this day dear Brother. All salute you here, all love you. Alick had the profile that same morning my letter came. He drove me down to Annan, where as you may have heard Mrs Welsh was to have met us, but wrote that she now could not. We drove on nevertheless. I walked two hours with Ben Nelson; kind but not cheering company to me. Alick and I had dinner with him: his new wife he suppressed.4 Out of the window I again saw Waugh;5 stooping greatly, posting along with outstretched neck and a look of grim haste and resolution! The jail No-steeple still looks dismal, a mere ragged hole in the roof where it used to be! The stillness of Annan in the sunshine seemed to me almost ominous.— Robie Johnston “Teerantcht6 was also visible once at a shop door. Am not I myself Teerantcht [Deranged]?

Your affectionate Brother /

T. Carlyle

There is not a scrap more of paper here; you must take the cover of an old letter. I have parted my stock between Jane and you.—