TC TO EDWARD CHAPMAN; 7 December 1849; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18491207-TC-EC-01; CL 24: 306-307
TC TO EDWARD CHAPMAN
Chelsea, 7 Decr, 1849—
I wish to Heaven you could deliver me of these Paper Bundles, now hung round my neck, and like to strangle the life out of me! But no, I fear you cannot yet;—however, a word from you might help to throw light on the affair. Something must be decided soon. I used to think, having plenty to say was a grand thing; but I find it now rather worse than having nothing, for that would at lease1 leave one a quiet life. Heigho! There is a mass of mud and street-sweepings (bigger than all Chadwick's), and at what corner to begin is and has long been a desperate mystery! For most part, I stand leaning on my shovel; looking at it with mere helpless dismay, unable to strike in anywhere with decision or fixed purpose. Probably I shall run away from it altogether, and seek shelter in the wildernesses?—
I have a Banker,2 inconveniently situated in Dumfries; he can do second Draughts, easily by the aid of Penny Stamps. About a Hundred Pounds will be needed here; the rest may go to him: so please make it up in that way, when you come to see me, some morning soon.3 First, however, look into a certain £5 payable to one of Robson's men for extra services (extra in two senses), and make a decision about that,—which decision I will stand to.
The Edinr Books appear to have arrived safe at their destinations; at least one of them clearly has, and the other we can infer in the meanwhile.— Of the two fractional Cromwells4 one is intended for Ireland; the other may come hither by any opportunity, by which too I could send back the First Vol. of the Irish one. Do you communicate with Waterford at all? Dublin, at any rate, will do.
Miss Brightwell's Etchings ought to have the date put upon them:5 if the Plates are in your hand, pray do not neglect that.
Yours always truly /