TC TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE ; 15 July 1846; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18460715-TC-JWC-01; CL 20: 237-238
TC TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE
Chelsea, 15 july, 1846—
My poor little Goody, you are still very unwell! Pray, for Heaven's sake, compose yourself: what is the matter whether I write to you or not? Does the whole past history of my life depend upon that wretched puddle of a Seaforth Postmistress? Whom may the gods—amend! The unfortunate Blockhead, spilling all one's best contrivances; afflicting one's poor little Jeannie in that way!— Tomorrow for example I will not write a word, nor next day,— till I hear from you what is to become of Bobus a little!
My work here, unless it be that I am resting here, is really as good as ended; could end whenever I lustily bestirred myself in a space of four-and-twenty hours. But I grudge to pack myself into the rail-train like luggage again; if I had any real courage, I should take a stick and plunge forth into green England at large, as I am always engaging to myself to do!— I have written to Miss Fergus, to indicate the possibility of our being at Kirkcaldy; nothing was fixed; if she write to you, answer vaguely as you like.
Yesterday Darwin came, and then Anthony Sterling; detained me till half-past four: with difficulty I got away with Darwin at last, for a small drive, with walking back, as my bit of exercise before Helen's soup came. Followed dinner, with a hasty cup of coffee; then a long expedition to Maurice's,1 a kind of romance thro' the old streets in the balmy summer evening, which was making even Monmouth-Street, le jeune [the young] Monmouth-street, sport. Painter Lawrence was there, and then Darley. Mrs Hare and a very small young sister whom I had never seen.2 Darley took to stuttering exclusively with Mrs Hare; Laurence did not stay very long. We had a pleasant kind of evening: Darley and I walked home together. Hare has not yet got poor Sterling's papers disposed of; will “in three weeks”:3 Maurice contemplates a Tour in Germany,—wherein am I to accompany him? The thought of such a possibility was very joyful to poor Maurice!
Helen's ham (I mean the pig's ham, under her keeping) had got full of jumpers [maggots]; wherefore she has boiled it,—will fry me a little of it from time to time. À la bonne heure [Very good]! My kind regards to “Betsy” and Geraldine.— Tell me what is become of the cough? Be still, O be still,—and do not fret thyself for any cobweb or brainweb! My Goody!—
Nothing of the Letter kind; only another Yankee Newspaper with farther dreary controversy about the character of Carlyle,4—which I have already disposed of. Adieu, Dearest.