candlestick

October 1856-July 1857


The Collected Letters, Volume 32


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TC TO JOHN A. CARLYLE ; 2 November 1856; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18561102-TC-JAC-01; CL 32: 24


TC TO JOHN A. CARLYLE

Chelsea, 2 Novr, 1856

Dear Brother,

I want the saddle up from Scotsbrig, will you tell Isabella: saddle and Bridle,—the Crupper is not wanted here, and can be given to Jamie for the red mare's use, when she comes round again from her troubles. But the saddle and bridle, some time in the course of the next eight days,—be so good! I suppose the right railway train, to bring them up at their cheapest, and the way of rolling them together in some bit of packsheet, will not be difficult to find out.

My Neuberg Horse proves very decidedly inferior to Jamie's, not in temper, paces, still less in bridling (for it is perfectly bred), but in strength of bone and solidity of body;—at least £10 inferior, I should say, were it not for these corny hoofs. I have got clear benefit from 5 rides upon it (4 only, but one coming):—tomorrow, however, I send it back, in a dubious state of bargain (neither bought nor given up),—till I see, for one week to come, what Farie can do, who promises great things. By one means or other I must have a horse; if not a better, then this one back: riding is going to be very indispensable to me. I also find I shall be apt to have the Horse all to myself; no partnership,—poor Neuberg has had to give up that; and it will suit me better too perhaps. Ng's Brother-in-law seems to be dying; Ng can attend to nothing but the sorrowful cares and gloomy confusions that now devolve upon, and will double in that sad event, if event it prove.

My new Clerk is a most assiduous industrious creature; quite a famulus [attendant] in the ancient Germn Gelehrten [scholar] style; a Wagner to his Faust;1 and promises to become extremely useful by and by. I ride him at the high trot thro’ these confused seas of Mss. and we make daily a bit of way.— — I never was more in haste; therefore will add nothing but my love and regards to all at Scotsbrig.— Yours ever / T. Carlyle