TC TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE ; 10 October 1845; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18451010-TC-JWC-01; CL 20: 19-20
TC TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE
Scotsbrig Friday 10 Octr 1845—
Dear Goodykin, you shall have more money and no mistake; the thriftiest Goody cannot do without money! Neither let the Dog and its howlings distress you at all: hang the Dog, we will live in spite of it,—or even if it bark and torment us, and send us sheer away out of London into some friendlier Country retirement, who knows if it will not turn out to be a blessing? Be content; I am coming back directly. Next Wednesday I sail by the Victoria,—will try if I can visit Pauletdom; but you shall hear more precisely before that time. What is important at present, is to bid you write on Sunday, and give it to Jack in the evening to put into the Sloane Street or some other Town Post-Office. Left there any time before Monday morning (about 8, I think), it will find me here on the Scotsbrig frontiers precisely about 10 on Tuesday morning. Do not neglect this. Whitherward to write next, you shall hear in good time. To Pauletdom? I really do not know. The Steamer hour (11 a. m from Annan) is the best; and means about 9 p. m. that same night; but nobody can appoint accurately the hour of such a Steamer;1 and in fact if the Paulets do not very authentically want me (which may be much doubted), I for my own share had rather hold on without turning aside. I will consider better of it.
Today I am just off for Dumfries again; round by Gill home again tomorrow. My farewell visit; it is principally calculated for my Mother,— my own wish would rather be to sit still by the sunny side of some whinstone boulder, and do nothing but dream. We have, since that fit of sixty hours, the beautifullest weather I have seen any where for some years: bright, transparent, silent; the Country people all carrying their locks [bundles] of corn, the sound of them alone breaking the stilness of the world. The trees are getting red at the ends of the leaves;—and Time, that never sleeps, is rushing on. Allah akbar [God is great]!
I have written to Mrs Russel, will send funds when I have seen you. Yesterday I saw my Titlepage again; but it and the beggarly Table of Contents still hang unfinished. It is possible you may hear of them on Tuesday still at Chelsea: but that is the last,—my malison on them!
Bp Terrots “City of God” must be a City of Mumbojumbo,2—doubtless you will have it well hidden before I come. But the pistols, where did the pistols come from? And the stars and moon—were they entirely abandoned, or does the frantic Goody still persist? O Goody, Goody,—I give thee three kisses (taking as many) and end!