The Collected Letters, Volume 26


TC TO MARGARET A. CARLYLE; 24 April 1851; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18510424-TC-MAC-01; CL 26: 67-68


Chelsea, Thursday 24 April 1851—

My dear Mother,

Here is an old dry Sponge which a penny will carry to you; so I send it off this morning, sorry only that it is not a gift several thousand times as valuable! I hope you will laugh at it, and receive it kindly, as you constantly do all things from me good and evil.

We have again bright balmy weather, the rain having gone its ways again; one's thick winter clothing is no longer permissible even within doors. I rejoice much in the notion that you will now get out into the air again, and have a chance for much better health than you can have had of late. I hope you will soon make out your ride to the Gill now; and be the better for it too.— Have you anything to read that interests you? Bid John tell me. No such ardent reader ever was more easily contented with Books: in this respect too I have to praise my good old Mother, and be very well content with her. How many sickly pampered souls do I see to whom no such praise, in any respect, can be awarded!—

John Mill has married the Widow Taylor (you can tell Jack); it was announced in the Times yesterday! Taylor died 18 months ago; poor Mill is gone to a perfect scarecrow, when I saw him last; the widow has been hidden (none knows where) ever since Ty died.1 It is a sad, half-miserable half-laughable affair.

We are very well here,—really very well for us. I must now off for there is not a vestige of work done; and the sun is getting high.— Adieu, dear good Mother; my blessing with you and them all. Your affecte T. Carlyle