candlestick

January-July 1843


The Collected Letters, Volume 16


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TC TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE ; 5 July 1843; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18430705-TC-JWC-01; CL 16: 233-234


TC TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE

Wednesday [5 July 1843], Midnight—

My Bairn,

I have been at Chepstow; in all kinds of weather, in rain, in glowing heat, and then home thro' the heart of thunderstorms: I am totally waried; and have just got up to my sleeping place, which seems tolerably quiet: I must not spend above a minute or two in writing. But tomorrow at 11 o'clock, I have to be on board the Cardiff steamer; there will not then be any Letter for perhaps two days,—as, I believe, a day is lost somewhere between Wales and this by all Letters: take my kind goodnight therefore dear Goody, and thanks for the punctual most welcome despatch which I found lying on my table on returning today. You are very good. Write always. Write to the new address: “Chas Redwood Esq, Llandough Cowbridge S. Wales”; except thro' your Letters I am at present disunited with all the Earth.

Chepstow is beautiful; the rocks of the Avon at Clifton on the road thither by steam excel all things I have seen,—even I the most determined Anti-viewhunter1 find them worthy of a word. I have passed the day perhaps not ill,—tho' in laborious idleness: who knows? Yesternight we had a soiree at Mrs Hare's: one or two intelligent persons; the Doctor Symons, a hectic clergyman, a Mr Frippe (I think) very deep in business, all decided Carlyleans—ach Gott. There was also a tremendous artist-fiddler and piano-player, and certain pretty young women sat speechless.2

I will to sleep, I will to sleep!

The Scoundrel umbrella-vender! He is the first below Darwin's entry on the same side, as you proceed towards the Quadrant: send the Stimabile in his Brougham to thunder eight-ninths of the wretched tailor-life out of him for his sin!3

Adieu, and thousand goodnights. You have done quite right about the Mudies.— Ever your affectionate

T. C.

Thursday morning [6 July] 7½ o'clock.— The best good morning to thee, Dearest! I have got the third of my nights put behind me, not so badly after all; and am now up, waiting for hot water, then for packing, then for breakfast, then for Cardiff at 11 o'clock. There is a brisk cold wind, which will brighten up to drought and brightness I think. My longing to be in some kind of quietude is considerable.—

Perhaps there will a Letter come from your yet this morning? If so, I will mark a pencil stroke on the outside of the cover; for at present I must seal. Adieu, my Dearest! I hope thou hast slept, and art soon to have some coffee!

The hot water is here. Off!—

Affectionately ever /

T. C.