candlestick

August-December 1842


The Collected Letters, Volume 15


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JWC TO JEANNIE WELSH ; 4 September 1842; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18420904-JWC-JW-01; CL 15: 66-67


JWC TO JEANNIE WELSH

[4 September 1842]

Dearest Babbie

Another “few lines” in expectancy of “a more convenient season”1— My last note to you was like to have been my farewell speech, I felt so ill on laying down my pen—that I proceeded to lay myself down and was not out of bed for all that day— I was not missed till Mr Buller wanted me to play chess before dinner— Carlyle had gone to Thetford, as I told you—lost his way of course—and of course kept the dinner waiting an hour and arrived when it was finished—having walked innumerable miles—so I had the additional discomfort of feeling that we were a most detestable pair of visitors—the one taken to bed—the other lost at the dinner hour!— He came safe however and was very sorry for me— At night being still no better Mrs Buller asked if I would let her give me something—anything I said not excepting even prusic acid—for I could not well have been made worse— She poured me something into a glass out of two different vials— I swallowed it and—in one instant I was well!!— I winked—listened to find where the horrid pain was gone but could hear no more tell of it!— Prince Hohenlohe performed no better accredited miracle!2 Last night I slept a little better which makes me feel more weak than before— but tomorrow I expect to be much stronger—

Another horse has been provided for Carlyle—that at least he may not lose himself on his own legs—and today he is gone a-riding—with a small map in pencil in his pocket— I suppose he will go on this quadruped to visit his battlefields in the beginning of the week— Charles comes on Tuesday or Wednesday— We took him (Carlyle) to Sir Henry Bunbury's yesterday and he was charmed with both the place and the people— this morning they send us an invitation to dine on Wednesday—declined happily— I have never told you of my visit to Lady Cullum3 and her museum for one can call it nothing else—nor of the great dimpling-baby in miniature that turned out to be Mrs Milner Gibson4—all that will keep—and today you see I am in a fidget—and I cannot tell you why on paper—

Read our cousins letter—and take care of yourself and love me in spite of bad writing, and little of it—

Bless you dear / Your ever affectionate /

Jane Welsh C