The Collected Letters, Volume 28


TC TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE ; 26 December 1853; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18531226-TC-JWC-01; CL 28: 353-354


Scotsbrig 26 decr, 1853—

My dear little Jeannie,——We are here in the house of mourning, and I can have no news to send you; but I will write a word, to satisfy a want of my own, in case you should be expecting a word. I slept badly last night, and had abundance of ghastly enough reflexions; but I am not the least in bad bodily health; so let not that be an addition of distress to you. In general my feeling is that of solitary misery, of sad bereavement, and approximation to the pale kingdoms where human thought fails and is silent: but it flickers like a gleam of wintry sunshine over the black confusion of my mind, “Elle ne souffre plus [She suffers no more].” Her fight is ended; honourably done;—and God is great, God is good and just: that is all we have to say.1

The Funeral is to be on Thursday; I may, if I like (as is probable) be home by the end of the week.

We have the beautifullest chill clear December weather; I pass much of my day sauntering about the fields, under sheltering hedges: in “7 minutes” (it appears) I am to attend John to his Ecclefechan station: he is going off, poor fellow, and a great increase of composure is certain to result till Thursday.— Jean is just gone, along with Mary who came this morning to see, and heard the sad news at her arrival. Jean is quite worn out,—never recovered from her dead child2 (as she told me); her eyes look very excited; and it is certainly a blessing that she is now to have some rest.

Jack sits waiting; I must not add another word. Ten minutes ago he gave me a fresh cause of uneasiness: it seems the Bankers now need one of Gladstone's stamps put on their money orders; and some won't pay without it.3 What a vexation if Adamson were in that case, and your money had not only not been delivered, but had never come! However, I persuade myself he wd at least have written to say so; and that on the whole all is right.

Take care of yourself, your sleep &c for my sake. And be as good to me as you can, for I have now no other.

And may God bless you ever, Dearest.

T. Carlyle