April 1849-December 1849

The Collected Letters, Volume 24


TC TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE; 3 September 1849; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18490903-TC-JWC-01; CL 24: 215-216


Glen Truine House, 3 Septr 1849—

I got a sleep last night, my Dear; have had a most still, solitary ride in the shade and sunshine, and again a bit of sleep;—so that now I have a tolerably fair outlook, and you need not make yourself uneasy about the dolorous long bulletin of yesterday. Except Miss Emily and I, the whole world is off after its various callings; one set, to hunt about “the Bothy,” another on the Hills hereabouts, and the Ladies have all driven off westward to Laggan, Marquis of Abercorn,1 Lord Granville or I know not whom, and, after this night, I am to have a bigger room and quieter (Ld Bath and Mildmay are both in it just now, and My is to change with me when the noble Booby goes): Milnes too is coming on Friday, and one or almost both of these illustrious Peer strangers are going with their retinues; so that then and henceforth we shall probably do a little better. The day is beautiful exceedingly, that is a favour; and in the bright solitude of those “corries” (mountain hollows, so-called) there is a silence which I am also grateful for.

Often have I thought today how you are getting across the Frith; at present (4 o'clock) I suppose you still in Edinr, and shall not till almost evening-mail time feel sure of you in Haddington. God go with you there and everywhere, my poor afflicted Jeannie: if it please Heaven, there shall yet be cure of these afflictions, and even a profit found in them.

This poor Miss Emily (that is her name) has grown considerably deaf; sits mostly silent; makes one very wae to see the change that has occurred for her. The Lady Sydney, I find, is a Paget,—Lord Sandwich's sister-in-law,2—a pale, bright-eyed, elegant-looking creature, with no gift I hear of but that of “sketching,” the general female resource here as at Kirkcaldy. Lady Canning knows the names of field-flowers the three kinds of heath &c, a good creature,—only unfortunately her husband, audibly to me in this room, snores. They go on Friday, speed to them!— Frank Charteris and his Dame are in Edinr; she has had a daughter there.3 Lady Sandwich is come over from Paris; was “nearly choked” in Dover and London; is now at Hinchinbrook, and is to go before Lady Ashn comes southward. This is all the semblance of “news” yet attained here: I send you this, and request from you the like and better; and so with many blessings let you go for the present. Lyell's America is here for me;4 indifferent tobacco, only the worst of pipes; and I am to dine for my own behoof at five today, instead of 8. God bless thee always, Dearest.

T. Carlyle