candlestick

July-December 1858


The Collected Letters, Volume 34


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TC TO JWC ; 18 August 1858; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18580818-TC-JWC-01; CL 34: 143


TC TO JWC

(p.1!)1 / The Gill, Wednesday 18 Augt, 1858

I am overwhelmed in Proofsheets, Letters, Packings, Dearest; and have not a word this morning as I expected from you,—whh wd have been a great comfort to me in my deadly hurry, neck & neck agt time! Pray God there may have nothing gone wrong, as my weak imagination is too prompt to whisper me. But I will try to hope, to trust in “tomorrow,” as usual.— You may still get about one Letter from me (especially if you send the precise address, Chelsea or Bay House): but, after that, poor little soul, there will hardly be one for you in a week; and you will have to draw upon your remaining fund of courage. My dear little woman, Oh what a comfort it wd (2)2 be if I believed you all the while doing well,—if I could know it and be sure of it! Till you fairly get to Landhall, and report, I shall be in great uneasiness.

The day is bright and hot; but everything is drearyish and wae round me, while I welter among settlements and package of duds. Unsere stille Tage sind zu Ende [Our quiet days are at an end].3 Jean went at 8 last night: she was much in my way here; but her affectionate assiduity to do the impossible was touching (poor heavy-laden soul, she too) and her waeness made me wae.—To business, however; let me get this thing done, since I am got into it.

“Are you in want of money Louisa”?4 I have plenty to give you; if I had remembered to ask in time, it wd have been better. At any rate I can send you out of any part of Germany an Order on Dumfries or London for whatever sum you name;—and fear not to name it, Goody of my heart! By the bye, too, I have £50 destined for John Welsh5 if he go abroad (from a source you shall hear of):6 say nothing of that; & you shall add what more you like of our own. Is there Is there7 no news from the poor fellow, then?— Adieu, my own dear Jeanie there never was so hurried a man. Yours ever T. Carlyle

(My guess is, you return home on Saturday night: but I don't know)