candlestick

1850


The Collected Letters, Volume 25


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TC TO JOHN A. CARLYLE ; 2 July 1850; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18500702-TC-JAC-01; CL 25: 108-109


TC TO JOHN A. CARLYLE

Chelsea, July 2d 1850 (Tuesday).

Dear Brother,—Your Note did come on Saturday night; many thanks to you,—and send us another so soon as you can! Here is the Hudson's Statue, a very bad Pamphlet; but the best my biliary and other demons wd allow to make it; and now happily the last save one: that is the beautiful property of it! These two days I have sat over Jesuitism (or yesterday I fairly gave up sitting, and took to lying on the sofa, and reading): I do not remember that for many years I have been in worse case for writing. Nevertheless I will do it; as our brave Father used to say, “I will gar mysel do it!” Nay it will be much easier if I were once fairly into it. Rightly done [it] cannot by any method be just now: it is but the beginning of a boundless subject.

On Saturday evening there occurred a thing which I doubt will prove a national tragedy,—for the death of Sir R. Peel at present would be that! Have you heard of it? He was riding up Constitution Hill1 on a new young horse; a prancing horse and groom ca[me] by; Peel's horse pranced and sh[ied] [f]lung up its heels; the poor rider fell on his head over its ears, and somehow pulled [it d]own upon him: he lies in great danger ever since; collar-bone &c were broken, the new h[at] was all broken and crushed; the fear is of the head;—today, the postman tells us, the bulleti[n] is, “Had a bad night, and is worse!” Everybody is in great anxiety: Chorley & I went up yesterday, to gather tidings; all the back space in Whitehall was swarming with carriages & footfolk: ay de mi, I fear the worst, and it makes me really sad.

Last night I had to go to W. Stirling,—to tea only; tea near midnight! Plenty of waxlights, cigars and magnificence; but a class of human creatures and human talk & thot that filled me with loathing!— Oh take care of my Mother! Blessings with you all.

T. Carlyle

n.b. I don't believe it was Alison that wrote that stuff in Blackwood.2 He was at Stirling's last night, and looked decidedly like a friendly man, and above brutalities of any kind.— — Lehwald, Terrot3 &c &c the whole world seems to have given itself rendezvous down stairs: an intrusive mortal is expected here too. Eheu!—