January 1835-June 1836

The Collected Letters, Volume 8


TC TO JOHN STUART MILL; 9 March 1835; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18350309-TC-JSM-01; CL 8:71-72.


Chelsea, Monday [9 March 1835]—

My friend,

You shall do the thing you so earnestly entreat for: it is not unreasonable; ungigmanic it may either be or not be. How lucky, in this as in other instances, that neither of us has money for the lifting; that neither of us is wealthy, and one of us poor! It has positively hereby become a case which money can remedy. For my own share I find that the thought of my having got day's wages for my labour will give a new face to the whole matter: what more do I ever expect (so often not finding it) but day's wages for my work? It is likely enough this may prove the only portion of the Book I may ever get so much for. I can attack the thing again, with unabated cheerfulness; and certainly, one may hope do it better and not worse.

For you again, the smart of having in so simple a way, forfeited so much money (which you also had to work for) may well burn out the other smart; and so, the precious feeling of a satisfied conscience succeeding to great pain, the whole business be healed, and even made wholer than ever. Let us believe firmly that, to those who take them wisely, all things whatsoever are good.

I am to be out tonight, at tea with Allan Cunningham. The following nights we are at home: on Thursday night, I could even hope to give you the completed Fête des Piques [Feast of Pikes] (if I get on well),—provided you durst take it: with me it were no daring; for I think of all men living you are henceforth the least likely to commit such an oversight again. I mean also by the first good opportunity to let you see a little farther into my actual economic position here than you have yet done: these confusions, I feel, have thrown us still closer together than we were; and I hope in that sense too will be blessed.

One thing I forgot to mention on Saturday: that we will not speak of the misfortune, to any new unconcerned person; at least not till it is made good again, or made better. I had to impart it in general terms to the Bookseller Fraser, but only in general; as “an accident” chargeable on no one; and he has promised me to maintain perfect silence. My Brother John and my Mother must know of it; but no other has right to do so.

Among the Books needful one of the needfullest, as I now bethink me, is on your own shelves: Condorcet's Life of Turgot.1 Pray bring it in your pocket. I will also have de Stael's Considerations;2 but this I think I can procure perhaps more readily than you.— The thing must be made better than it was, or we shall never be able, not to forget it, but to laugh victorious in remembering it.

And so, now for the Champ de Mars! And with you be all good!

Your Affectionate /

T. Carlyle—