TC TO JOHN A. CARLYLE ; 26 November 1845; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18451126-TC-JAC-01; CL 20: 63-64
TC TO JOHN A. CARLYLE
Bay House, 26 Novr, 1845
My dear Brother,
Inclosed here is a Key which will open for you the general frame of the little “Pedestal Chest of Drawers” which stands between the two Windows in the Drawing-room or Library room where I write. In the top Drawer of that said “Pedestal,” you will find either all the Keys of the Cabinet that is in my sleeping-room closet, or at least a Key to one of the Drawers of that Cabinet which will introduce you to all the Keys. I think the former is what you will find. But in either case you will with a little industry get access to all the Drawers of the Cabinet in this way; the Keys of it have leather labels No1, No2 (Counting from the top): and you can open any one you like. Now of a certainty in one of these Drawers, I think perhaps in No2 or No3, you will find the two masses of D'Ewes Ms. very conspicuously lying: pray, pick them up for me, tie a string round them with the address of Bruce, and leave them with the Bookseller specified in his Note;—so that this business, if it be not too much trouble for you, may be finished. Then be so kind as replace all the Keys where you found them, and return me the Master-Key; and then it will be all right. Can you do all this for me?
I also wish you would take distinct charge of the Newspapers: nothing but confusion attends them as at present. For example they have just arrived this morning, not till now; and the Examiner has never either this week or last arrived at all! What I want you to do is to take charge of having them forwarded without ever coming to me at all: The Tablet to Dobbie, Herald to Jamie, Courier to Alick, Nation to Brother John &c; you know their destinations; and as for us here, we have some half dozen newspapers daily, not one of which do I ever read,—so that here any new arrival of that kind is superfluous. Yesterday I sent off a Spectator to our Mother; I thought she might have got the Examrs otherwise.
My sleeping powers continue limited; my idleness complete: but all else goes well. Yesterday I cantered to Titchfield1 and back; a delightful ride by myself: and we dine always at half past four.— I am to see your friend Dr Richardson, the poor Widower, who is in the Haslar Hospital here;2—at least so the new Bishopkin (Wilberforce)3 announced to me yesterday when Buller and I called on him. Far niente—Dolce, amaro [To do nothing—is it sweet or bitter]? Ever your affectionate / T. Carlyle