The Collected Letters, Volume 25


TC TO JOHN A. CARLYLE ; 5 March 1850; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18500305-TC-JAC-01; CL 25: 38-39


Chelsea, 5 March, 1850.

Dear Brother,—I have got my 3d No nearly done: a horrible tussle with it for above a week past! It has now fallen fairly into two; and there will be a No 4 called “New Downing Street”1 or some such thing. My liver is very bad; and were it not for this new truss, I should not be able to get exercise at all in the way of walking: I dare say you know well enough what that fact by itself may mean. No news at all from Aberdeen; so that we are happy to believe they have elected his Grace—more power to their elbow! I wouldn't have gone to Aberdeen just now, and opened my tinkler jaw,2 for many pounds.

Everybody is raging at No 3;3 at least so I hear,—meaning every Newspaper body:—for I read nothing of all that, and have not the smallest curiosity to read it. I suppose the thing to be partly true; and if so it will do them “a deal of good” by and by.— — I am now engaged on No 4,4 and have got it also well advanced. Pity me, wish me well thro' this ugly job. “A great demand for men to go on the forlorn hope at present!” said Thornton Hunt to me the other day.

By the by Thornton with Lewes &c are thinking of the Socialist line, I grieve to observe, in that Newspaper of theirs.5 Masson is not to be of them; instead of Masson is Ballantyne (once of Manchester, now an author, poor fellow), and one Linton,6 a noisy crazy worshipper of George Sand! Aus dem wird nichts [Nothing will come of it].— Thornton, a clever little creature, deliberately contemplates “revolution,” dangerous upbreak of the lower classes, as the one thing that will make the Governing Classes serious or do any good! He knows little what he is buying there.

Espinasse has come up, and drawn his pen again; is now hawking about, to gain some engaget in that kind. I sent him yesterday to one Bruce new Editor of the Gentn's Magazine; he is doing something for Chambers,7 for Dickens's Threepenny8 &c &c poor fellow!

Yesterday I sent my Mother her Book, with many silent blessings! Would that I knew how she is again; how you all are. Explain these new dikes and roads of Jamie's a little better: I do not quite understand them.— Write me a word. And don't slave too much over the paper. Take my Mother up the Langlands, the first sunblink you have. Blessings on her and you all!

T. Carlyle