TC TO JOHN A. CARLYLE ; 19 July 1843; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18430719-TC-JAC-01; CL 16: 295-296
TC TO JOHN A. CARLYLE
Abergwili, Carmarthen, 19 july, 1843—
My dear Brother,
I wrote to you yesterday; but it was to Scotsbrig, and you will not now receive it, I find. In these hours you are driving (or rather you have driven for it is now three o'clock) from Dumfries towards Annan; and have left our good Mother at Gill: a scene very lively to me, and very curious as I paint it out here!— Yesterday I could decide on nothing as to roads, and was still thinking of struggling thro' by Aberystwith, and some uncertain intermittent conveyances there are: but seeing you now at Liverpool I decide another way. We have a Coach to Glos'ter; and that, with railways, will be it. It is a mail, goes well thro' pleasant country; reaches Glo'ster about 8 at night. Tomorrow morning I meant to be off; but the Bishop will not let me, I perceive: he is very good, this brave Bishop, and we do extremely well together. But on Friday morning I set out. At Glos'ter I survey the town, pass the night; take an early train for Wor'ster, see that town; and then get on for Birmingham and Liverpool that same night. Pray tell Cousin Jeannie that this is the way. And so on Saturday evening, by the late or latest train very probably, I shall hope to see you.
If after we have looked about us in Liverpool, you will embark on a small foot excursion into Welshland, by Bangor or otherwise, I shall be very willing to entertain the project. We shall see,—we shall see, about that, and all things!
You did well to write to Alick; poor fellow, he sticks nearly constant in my head at present: but I have never got him written to at all. If it please Heaven, there is a time coming. That little frustrated farewell1 was very sad to me at Llandough.
Today I will write half a line also to my Mother. I think I have told you all that was essential; and as my time is in the strictest sense limited, I will cease. My kind regards to all at Maryland Street, and to the good Arbuckle withal. Hoping for Saturday night,
Your affectionate /
I meant to visit the Crawfurds somewhere about Ross; but that is now off, and no matter. George Johnston at Glo'ster I shall remember kindly, but not mean to visit.2— Our weather is broken, but very bright occasionally. I have the prospect in twenty minutes time, of three hours riding “for views” with the Bishop. Yesterday, in rain, I had four hours of it,—ach Gott!