October 1845-July 1846

The Collected Letters, Volume 20


TC TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE ; 8 April 1846; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18460408-TC-JWC-01; CL 20: 163-164


Chelsea, 8 April, 1846

Dearest,—I had your Note today to breakfast: with the exception of two hours when I rode and dined, I have been busy ever since; and it is now striking ten. Many Notes to write: a considerable gap, too, made in the Cromwell rubbish; it is fast disappearing before me. Heigho!— But my existence is not now so haggard as it was for some days past: the sun is shining, the work going on, all day;—one has many sad reflexions, but they are not unprofitable wholly, not the worse for being sad. “No man can help another!” sighed the melancholy Pestalozzi.1 Which is partly true, and yet not true; a kind and trustful word is very helpful from one to another. O my poor Goody, let us endeavour to be wise and just and good: nothing more is required of mortals! That is a fact one forgets sometimes.

I am very sorry to hear of you “pitted against Chaos”2 all night, and coming off second-best. My poor little woman! But you will be home again soon; I will at least try to help you against Chaos: now and henceforth as heretofore, I will do my best in that.

For one thing, I really wish you could find an eligible House somewhere out under the quiet sky,—removed fairly from these tumults and loud-braying discords of every kind; which it is growing really horrible and miserable to me to spend the remnant of my days among! “Like living in a Madhouse,” as the Lady says. Truly so;—and one has nothing to do with it either: one does not subscribe to Hudson's Column-of-honour; one has no trade except disgust with all that! May the gods grant—I was going to say; but it requires only that one's own mind “grant,” so soon as one has got to clearness on the matter.—

Robertson came in last night before my two Proofs were done; consumed the whole evening for me. He had taken charitably to Espinasse; wanted consultation about that; wanted also to have me ‘dine at the Reform Club’3 some day in my solitude, which latter project I diplomatically waved into the vague. For the rest, poor R. was looking decidedly less of the reprobate; told me about the Daily News, about the ‘Scotch-Entail Question’ &c:4 and at last I got him away.—— No Letter much worth sending. Write to me what time dinner is on Saturday. My Horse seems thin enough, fresh off the straw: yet he is ‘light and airy,’ almost reminds me of Mr Barings Kangaroo in lightness! It is one of my cheerfullest hopes to get you and him well fixed in the shandrydan; and so be rid once for all! Blessings on thee, and a better night.

T. C.

Liverpool Letter came this Evening.