January-September 1845

The Collected Letters, Volume 19


TC TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE ; 27 August 1845; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18450827-TC-JWC-01; CL 19: 171-172


Chelsea, 27 August / 1845—

My Goody,—I am very deep today in the settling of rubbish; tying up of Cromwell fragments &c &c: I have ordered my horse at 1 o'clock, and willride to Robson the Printer,—will try that, if the streets prove not too uncomfortable for me. Ellen is washing my things! Nothing now but fastening up of thrums; that I may leave the Loom in some tolerable state, and be off!— The worst thrum is my horse; but I have many very many thrums!—

Tomorrow evening at five, unless Fuz contradict, I am to go and dine with him; that will be one thing done. I had promised to Browning, but only “if possible”: most likely it will not be “possible.” I must also be off from Sir Hy Varney and his Visit. Looking at the Maps I find he is not in Bedford at all, but in Bucks County: I at one time thought of riding my horse up to Bedford in that way myself;—but that now is off. Besides I am bilious! Visits among commonplace Strangers are not to be thought of in these circumstances.

Last week the two hoo-ing Miss Kers1 of Woolwich forced their way in here: Scott is coming over, perhaps already come now: I undertook to go out one day this week and see him. He is going back to France straightway.2 Reported to be in the way of recovery, but still far from the goal: “all the blood-vessels relaxed” &c. I will manage Browning and him both at once.

The Barings are come home again! The continued storm and rain all the way up to Westmoreland had given the poor Lady a bad cold, with two days confinement to the Inn at Windermere;—terrified them back again to their own quarters in the south. I saw them both last Sunday,—rode out and came back again very prosperously (all but an accursed plate of veal-soup,—ay de mi!),—next morning they were to be off for Alverstoke to join the Ashburtons. A small basket of grapes sent hither gave, accordingly, clear token that so it had been.— Alas, there are sorrows appointed, each its own, for all classes of human kind! I think that of a great Lord or great Lady at present, in such an England as this, is perhaps one of the most difficult and sorrowful of all.— I should not wonder, if you, so soon as you return hither, got some invitation to the Grange where the Party will then be;—whither you can go if you have spirit enough for it

Darwin has not returned that I hear of. He was to be a “week” at Woking.3 We went out yesternight for a walk which I meant to direct to him: but Jack forcibly turned it to Gambardella and the stars;—endless trials to see Saturn, Mars, Jupiter better and better. “Wo'king for 17 hours aday,” to grind the mirror right; “wo'king” so, smeared with emery and oil, and full of jolliness and friendly welcome and interest nevertheless!4 Du Himmel [Good Heavens]. An unreadable German Letter has come from Paris,—franco!—nichts zu bedeuten [nothing of importance]! Be well, my little Jeannie; be good and cheery. Thine Ever

T. Carlyle