The Collected Letters, Volume 25


TC TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE ; 24 September 1850; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18500924-TC-JWC-01; CL 25: 229-230


Scotsbrig, Tuesday 24 Septr, 1850.

Well Goody dear, this is to salute you at The Grange on Thursday morning, where I hope it will find you safe (and well-slept I should like to add!), and looking out upon Nature not “budding Percy,”1 but “decaying Jeannie,” with a certain degree of quietude and hopefulness. You have done all that was to be done hitherto quite in the way one wishes; held to your own day &c independently of the Farrars, “tho' dreadfully poor”; taken in a judicious space for stay; and all the rest of it: in fact, if you can sleep and be quiet, all the rest will go along at its own rate in a tolerable fashion, and your little spell of country will do nothing but good. It will also be a pleasing feature to start with that you are not “using up Miss Farrar and she you,”—at least not quite at the beginning of the enterprize! I am sorry and angry the lazy Chapman did not come with your money; the blockhead—but indeed I suppose he is simply rusticating by the sea-shore yet, and will call in your absence, poor man! Write to me instantly, however, if you really have the smallest threatening to want money: here, or at Chelsea, or wherever you hit me, there shall money to the required amount set off by return of post; would that all else could go as sure as money can. Also assure yourself, poor little Goody, your private capital will not be drawn upon for that mysterious “improvement” at Chelsea, whatever it may be. No, I should think not. And oh my Dear, if you could but cease being “conscious” of what your company is to me;—the consciousness is all the malady in that: ah me, ah me! But that too will mend, if it please God.

—Here has Tea come, summons to Tea; most unwelcome to me, who dined hardly an hour ago: and Tea done, here already is Garthwaite's Boy, my messenger to the Post: no hope of a long letter tonight! I am pretty well, and all is pretty well; let that suffice you for the present. No great misfortune has happened me, and all these tossings and tumblings will come to some benefit when once I am out of them.— Yesterday the weather grew bright again, and the auspices better: I rode to Annan, alone, and in 40 minutes, with decidedly composing sensations. But, alas, “Batluck” followed me to the Orient: No Scotsbrig Gig or any vestige of escort was there! I set out on foot in an angry rapid manner; and so held on, little comforted by the balmy silence of the country, and the Elysian afternoon; got here, safe, while they were at Tea: “No letter had come.” I put it in along with yours, to whh the[re] is an answer today, when it from Dumfries is just arriving! All were sorry for me; they got me fried ham, did their very best.— Adieu, my Dear, I will write again tomorrow or next day, why should I scribble more just now. My respects to your noble Hosts. What is this of Lord An and Spain!— Be quite quiet Dearest; dinna gang to dad tysel a' abreed!2— I have got my clothes home, and will take care of the drawers. Have not yet written to Cumberland;3 but must. Adieu, God bless thee

T. Carlyle