TC TO JOHN A. CARLYLE; 27 October 1849; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18491027-TC-JAC-01; CL 24: 272-273
TC TO JOHN A. CARLYLE
Chelsea, Saty 27 Octr 1849 (past 4 p.m.!)
My dear Brother,—I did design to write to you at greater length today: but, alas, I was finishing off some kind of things, more time went than I had expected,—and now here at last has an Irish acquaintance (one Hutton,1 whose Father was good to me) come in, and my means of writing are literally null!
You need not be told how glad we were of your good news about my Mother and Jamie. My good old Mother, it is a sad new sorrow to think of her as ailing; she seldom goes out of my head, when I fancy her in that condition— Now however it appears the disorder is really retreating, almost as good as gone, according to your account,—which we earnestly hope to get repeated, and confirmed, one of these days. Jamie too, what a comfort to think that he has got that ugly business so well over! You will need to use all your medical authority to impose on him now the importance of taking care; if he be cautious and strict with himself, this business may be a great relief to him indeed, and in several respects, a great improvement beyond the former state of matters before this began.— Write to us again, swiftly, about my Mother: this, and to assure you that we ourselves are well and without news, was nearly all I meant by writing now with my Irishman waiting on me.
A French Newspaper, sent by I know not whom, announces to us that “Chopin” (the Piano-forte man, Miss Stirling's)2 is dead, “the 17th last”: poor Chopin, an innocent, pale, melodious tremulous creature! Farey was here one day; settled in Town now; his Brother off to Madeira by Steamer. This Letter of Bunsen's was brought me the other day by the appointed “Ampère,”3—a broad-built earnest-looking man of my own age or more, with big mournful eyes, and quantities of grizzled hair;—a rational, intelligent, and very pleasant man; who unhappy was just about leaving England, and could come to me no second time.
Adieu, dear Brother, I must not spend another minute. Jane is out walking; pretty well she, very regular in her regimen, bed-time &c,—busy beyond measure just now with some sewing, which frets her (puzzles her) she says.— Yesterday I bought that Newspaper for her: today as I heard the Hawkers proclaim, the Mannings are “condemned.”
My love to all, my blessing to all
Your affectionate /