candlestick

1852


The Collected Letters, Volume 27


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TC TO JOHN A. CARLYLE ; 26 May 1852; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18520526-TC-JAC-01; CL 27: 121


TC TO JOHN A. CARLYLE

Chelsea, 26 May, 1852—

Dear Brother,

We came home from Addiscombe yesterday, after nearly a week of country, under what may be considered the most favourable circumstances. I was twice on horseback, I had the most perfect groves and green places to saunter in; “change of air,” the sovereign remedy, may fairly be said to have been tried in my case, and now I shall at least no longer be bothered with talk about that.— The truth is, I am quite free of my disease; only unusually torpid in the bowels, and weak and lazy, of which ailments I do not expect to get rid by “change of air,” but only by careful regimen, precaution and attention continued for some space of time.— Last night I confess I was very glad to see my old quiet curtained bed again; and indeed I had a first-rate sleep, better greatly than any I had realised since last there.— Today has been a copious east-wind rain, which perhaps is yet hardly ended: a beautiful accompaniment to the Epsom solemnities of the Derby Day! I calculate on getting out for a bit of walk; which, under due limits, I believe to be the one real remedy for me. You can assure my dear Mother that I am perfectly well, except this torpor in the inside, whh is gradually giving way; and that she need not disturb her imagination about me at all, at all.

There are now 250 Candidates for the London Library! Among them is Jones (as he writes to me yesterday, note lost), who has not, I shd think, any chance whatever, there being several really superior persons in the field. A Subcommittee (fair enough names, all) is to sift down the 250, and report, I do not know when. The Gladstone Neapolitan, it is thought, is now far over the horizon,—no fear of him at any rate. Enough, dear Brother; for I have still various Notes to write, and by no means like writing. My blessings to my dear old Mother; my love and regards to you all.

Yours ever, /

T. Carlyle—