[Page 1]
NEW LETTERS AND MEMORIALS
OF JANE WELSH CARLYLE
LETTER 1
"My brave little Woman had, by deed of law, settled her little estate (Craigenputtock) upon her Mother for life; - rent, some Two hundred Pounds, being clearly indispensable there: Fee-simple of the place she had, at the same time, by Will, bequeathed to me, if I survived her! Beautiful soul: I heard of this Will probably once only, and knew that it existed: but never saw it till June or July, 1866." - These words, written by Carlyle in 1869, are part of his unpublished annotations to the Letters and Memorials of his Wife: and though they were not written specifically to introduce the following Letter, they refer directly to the main subject of it, and may serve the purpose of an Introduction.
It may be added in further elucidation of the Letter that Dr. Welsh (Mrs. Carlyle's Father) had died suddenly in 1819, leaving his Widow altogether unprovided for. At the time of his death, and for some years previous, his Practice had become an unusually extensive one, for a Country Doctor; he had taken a Partner (Dr. Howden) into the business and the firm of Welsh and Howden continued to prosper, earning amongst other things a considerable professional income. Dr. Welsh, however, had spent all his savings in purchasing Craigenputtock, - or rather in purchasing his Brothers' and Sisters' prospective
[Page 2] shares of this Estate. To accomplish this he had been obliged to borrow money; and, although at his death the title-deeds of Craigenputtock stood in his name, he owed a considerable sum to his Brother Robert. On the other hand there was, of course, a little money in the Bank, in addition to out-standing debts due to him and his Partner. The final settlement of Dr. Welsh's Estate, which was arrived at in April, 1823, showed a balance of £145-12-3, due to his heirs after all debts had been paid. On submitting to Mrs. Welsh the final settlement and the accounts pertaining to it, her Family Lawyer, Mr. Alexander Donaldson, writes (on the 13th of April, 1823): "I subjoin an abstract of the whole: and that you may have the comfort of being out of debt, and possessed of some share of means, I enclose an Order on the Bank for the balance". (£145-12-3). - Dr. Welsh having died intestate, the real estate, consisting of Craigenputtock and the house in Haddington, became, on his death, the property of his Daughter. She was thus "an Heiress"; but an heiress with a Mother still in the prime of life, entirely dependent upon her. The "beautiful soul," as Carlyle justly calls her, generously came to her Mother's rescue, and sent to her, enclosed in this little Letter, a legal document which conveyed to her the unconditional ownership of the Haddington property, and made over to her "during all the days of her lifetime, all and whole the Lands of Upper Craigenputtock."
To Her Mother.
Haddington, '19 July, 1825.'[1]
My dearest Mother - Perhaps you will consider the enclosed a needless formality. It ought to have been done
[Page 3] long since, nevertheless; and should have been done but for my dislike of talking to Mr. Donaldson about my private affairs. This foolish feeling, which has prevented me hitherto from carrying my intention into effect, might have prevented me, I believe, still longer, had I not promised to Mr. Carlyle when he was last here, that before we met again he should be delivered from the thought of loving an Heiress, a thought which is actually painful to his proud and generous nature.
The inclosed Paper conveys to you the Life-rent of Craigenputtock, and places the House here and everything belonging to it at your entire disposal to sell or burn or do anything you please with (I mention this to save you the trouble of reading the three long pages in which it is expressed). In the event of my marriage, which may possibly happen some time within the next six years, you might find it more advisable to sell than let it (for of course we will never part); - but that is a far-away consideration.
I write to avoid speaking on the subject; and I will esteem it particularly kind if you will not say a word to me about it.
Yours ever affectionately,
Jane B. Welsh.
LETTER 2
Kelhead Kilns ("The purest lime in Scotland") are some twelve miles eastward from Dumfries, on the Upper or "new" road from that Town to Annan and Carlisle and London; cottages of quarry people are scattered about, or stand in bits of rows, here and there, around the great
[Page 4] chasm and pillar of smoke; no other form of village or house there: Hoddam Hill is two miles north by a branch road which makes off at right angles there, and goes straight for Ecclefechan, passing within 400 yards of our door, and still closer by the old grey sandstone Tower on the crown of the Hill, before descending, as it now rapidly does, towards Annan Water (Hoddam Brig) and the beautiful green plain or valley-side, which lies beyond, with its long avenue of big shady Beeches which continues to Ecclefechan about two miles off. My dear little Pilgrim dates from Dumfries, where she now was, with her three Aunts and Grandmother who had shifted thither ("Albany place" there) from Penfillan, since the Grandfather's (John Welsh's) death. Her regular abode, perhaps for the last month or more, was "Templand'', near Thornhill (almost right across the River from Penfillan, at a mile's distance and mutually visible): at this season she was apt to be on visit there with her Mother to Grandfather Walter[1] and "Aunt Jeannie," both of whom, especially Aunt Jeannie (a very pattern of amiability, modest neatness and dexterity), she much liked. The place, a little Farm, with hardy old Farmhouse, thin and high, is beautifully situated on a broad knoll in the valley of the Nith; and had been trimmed, by Aunt Jeannie's frugal ingenuity and assiduity, into quite a beauty of a rustic Dwellinghouse with garden and appurtenances; a right pleasant shelter for the old Papa! Aunt Jeannie's own course had been sad enough, cheerful as her air was; and she died in some three years more. Grizzie (Grace or Grisel, my Mother-in-law), her elder Sister, had removed to Templand for residence, so soon as Comley Bank, Edinburgh, was ready for us and ours; she, on Sister's last illness, took charge of her Father (equally skilful, equally generous, tho' much less patient and amenable); and continued there till her own death.
My poor Tugurium of Hoddam Hill had kindled its
[Image fp4: TEMPLAND, NEAR THORNHILL.]
[Page 5] household fire in May last, or earlier, and been my habitation ever since: one of the simplest establishments a Writing Man, out of health, and not far in of money, or of any other resource, could contrive for himself in this world! But it did hitherto quite prosperously well for me, and was felt as an immense relief from the intolerable fret, noise and confusion that had gone before. Brother Alick, with a cheap little man-servant, worked the farm, on his own footing and responsibility; my dear old Mother, with our maid-servant, and generally with Jean (always with her or Jenny, my two youngest Sisters, - Mainhill, with Father and two eldest ditto, only five miles off, in constant intercourse with us). Brother John, home from Edinburgh in Summer time, was usually our guest, botanizing, reading, good-humouredly roving about, - largely arguing too, and chopping speculative logic, when you would indulge him. The truth is, our Cottage Farmhouse (built for poor "Blackadder the Factor") was a neat enough kind of place, pretending even to something of ornamental (had its aims in that direction been at all attended to, as they had not); it was thoroughly watertight; had the essentials of utility, plenty of light, and at least two rooms of fair height and size most frugally but quite effectively furnished, which served me perfectly as bedroom and sittingroom, or working-room and diningroom; and were considered as my peculiar acquirement and conquest in the adventure. I had ample power of riding; and largely profited by it, in the airy expanses all about, silent, not desert, and known to me long ago. By day and by night, I had the blessed immunity from noise; none knows how welcome to me. Within my four walls was no soul that did not love me. I had steady work too, or was beginning to see it steady; - had bargained with Tait at Edinburgh, in April last, for the poor "German Romance" affair; and was busy, busy, reading for it, searching, modelling, considering, making ready to translate. Still more important processes were going on
[Page 6] in my inner man, tho' as yet but half-consciously; wait till they become conscious! Truly a Tugurium far more unfurnished might have served me on those terms. For the rest it had the finest and vastest prospect all round it I ever saw from any house: from Tyndale Fell to St. Bees Head, all Cumberland as in amphitheatre unmatchable; Galloway mountains, Moffat mountains, Selkirk ditto, Roxburgh ditto; - nowise indifferent ever to me, in spite of the prevailing cant on such matters; which always are subordinate extremely, and never supreme or near it.
Of course we were all on tiptoe expecting such a visit almost as if from the skies; and I, expectant I, was ready with two swift little horses, that Thursday evening at Kelhead. ... She stayed with us above a week, happy, as was very evident, and making happy. Her demeanour among us I could define as unsurpassable; spontaneously perfect. From the first moment, all embarrassment, even my Mother's, as tremulous and anxious as she naturally was (superficially timid in the extreme, tho' only superficially), fled away without return. Everybody felt the all-pervading, simple grace, the perfect truth and perfect trustfulness of that beautiful, cheerful, intelligent and sprightly creature; and everybody was put at his ease. The questionable visit was a clear success on all hands.
She and I went riding about; the weather dry and grey, - nothing ever going wrong with us; - my guidance taken beyond criticism; she ready for any pace, rapid or slow; melodious talk, of course, never wanting. The country, quiet, airy, wholesome, has real beauty of its kind; and in parts (Hoddam Brig, for example) is even mildly picturesque. One evening, in that region, we had got into the "rooky wood"[1] and fine quiet Hill of Woodcockair (mysterious to me in my childhood as the home of the rooks I saw flying overhead); we rode prosperously a
[Page 7] pretty while; then rashly thought of gaining the summit for a grand view northward; - but ere long the ground became altogether stumbly; I hastily dismounted, found it to consist indeed of mere tumbled sandstone crags overgrown with blae-berries; and with great caution, not without terror, led her down, who sat quite fearless, into safe tracks again. Except once, long years ago, I had hardly ever been in mysterious Woodcockair before; and have never since been. The evening flight of its rooks over Ecclefechan, flinging down their hoarse, fitful Even-song on us, or oftener voiceless far overhead, is one of the earliest recollections of my childhood, and still beautiful to me.
We rode one day to Annan, dined with R. Dixon and his Wife (Edward Irving's Sister, kind reasonable people); another day was chess at Hoddam Manse between the fine old Clergyman, Mr. Yorstoun and her (rivals at that game, in Nithsdale, before now); this also was a pleasant little expedition for both of us, tho' in the chess part of it, I played spectator only.
Perhaps our nicest expedition was that to The Grange, a pleasant little islet of a Lairdship, nine or ten miles away, northward among the sleek Sheep Hills; whose Laird and Leddy (Mr. and Mrs. Johnston, the latter a Newbigging from Glasgow) were persons of real politeness and refinement; pretty much my one visiting place in Annandale in those years. We rode up by Castle Milk, on one of those two Saturdays, staid over-night: and rode home next morning, by Dalbate, Dunaby Hope, and Waterbeck; a most still and pretty ride as I still remember. The Ecclefechan small contribution to Hoddam Kirk, slowly wending thitherward together, were the only people we had to disturb, even by a momentary transit. Of course she went to Mainhill, - tho' I don't recollect. Certain she made complete acquaintance with my Father (whom she much esteemed and even admired now and henceforth, a reciprocal feeling, strange enough), and with my two elder
[Page 8] Sisters, Margaret and Mary, - who now officially "kept house" with Father there. On the whole she made clear acquaintance with us all; saw, face to face, us and the rugged peasant element and way of life we had; - and was not afraid of it; but recognised like her noble self, what of intrinsic worth it might have, what of real human dignity. She charmed all hearts, and was herself visibly glad and happy, - right loth to end those halcyon days; eight or perhaps nine, the utmost appointed sum of them.
As I rode with her to Dumfries, she did not attempt to conceal her sorrow; - and indeed our prospect ahead was cloudy enough. I could only say, Espérons, espérons. To her the Haddington, etc., element had grown dreary and unfruitful; no geniality of life possible there; and, I doubt not, many petty frets and contradictions. Espérons, my Dearest, espérons. We left our horses at the Commercial-Inn door; I walked with her, not in gay mood either, to Albany Place, and there on her Grandmother's threshold, had to say Farewell. In my whole life I can recollect no week so like a Sabbath as that had been to me; clear, peaceful, mournfully beautiful, blessed and as if sacred! - T. C.
To Mrs. Carlyle, Hoddam Hill, Ecclefechan.
Dumfries, Saturday, '27 August, 1825.'.
My dear Madam - Your Son, I hope has explained to you, that I am not the very uncertain person whom you have had good reason to take me for; and that my delay in making out my projected visit to you has been occasioned by circumstances, over which I had no control. At length, thank Heaven, there is no longer any obstacle to my wishes; and I purpose being with you on Thursday next, about eight in the evening.
You must not receive me as a stranger, remember;
[Page 9] for I do not come with a stranger's feelings. Mr. Carlyle has made me already acquainted with every member of his Family: and no one he loves can be indifferent to me, who have a Sister's interest in all that concerns him. Moreover you must prepare yourself to like me, if you possibly can, or your Son, I can assure you, will be terribly disappointed. Say to him that he must write me two lines by Monday's post, or I shall not be sure that my Letter has reached you. The address is Miss Baillie Welsh, Albany Place.
Yours with respect,
JANE B. WELSH.
P. S. - The Coach in which I have taken a seat passes Kelhead about a quarter before eight o'clock.
LETTER 3
This Letter to my Mother (dear kind Letter!) I must have brought with me from Templand. Legible without commentary, - or with almost none. The Nithsdale visit is about terminating; and dull distant Haddington, with an uncertain future, lies ahead.
"The Fair" is Dumfries Rood-mass Fair, the chief one of the year in that locality. "Mag" is our lamented Margaret, my eldest Sister (four Brothers of us and four Sisters; all yet alive, except this one), who died five years after this, at Dumfries, whither we (in Craigenputtock then) had brought her for better medical aid, to no purpose, or less than none. A comely, quiet, intelligent, affectionate and altogether mildly-lucent creature (tho' of strong heart and will); simplex munditiis the definition of her, in person, mind and life. The dearest, practically wisest little child in her fourth or fifth years that I can remember to have seen. She had become my Father's life-cloak (so to speak), his do-all, and necessary-of-life;
[Page 10] he visibly sank on loss of her, and died within two years. To me it was the most poignant sorrow I had yet felt; and continued long with me, - nay at intervals is not yet quite dead. June, 1830, that dusky dusty evening with its poor noises, while she rode in a chair on my sorrowing Wife's knee, I walking by their side, to the new lodging we had got for her; which only lasted half a week! June 21, Alick and I were called, by express to ride (ever memorable "shortest-night" with its woods and skies); about 3 A.M., we found her dead: - about sunset that evening riding home alone, so broken by emotions and fatigues, I fairly, on getting into the quite solitary woods of Irongray, burst into loud weeping, lifted up my voice and wept, for perhaps ten or twenty minutes, - never the like since. We all of us mourned long; and the memory of our good Margaret is still solemnly beautiful to all of us. The little "Jean," another Sister, will appear personally soon.
"Dr. Waugh." a Cousin of my Mother's (only Son of her Mother's Sister) tho' but a few years older than I, - had been my Schoolfellow at "Annan Academy"; and still came occasionally over to us from Annan, his native place; where he had commenced Medical practice, and in spite of his bits of pedantries, flat-soled affectations, and ridiculosities, was held in kind enough esteem. He proved, however, more and more, a foolish indolent fellow; sluttishly squandered considerable gifts, qualities and resources, lumbering about in that region; and died there utterly poor, lazy and obscure, age perhaps about sixty. The last time I saw him was in February, 1842, silently and without his guessing or dreaming of it, - I sitting muffled on the top of the Mail-coach (hurrying from Liverpool towards Templand, on my Mother-in-law's death), he lazily and gloomily stepping across the street, on some dull errand he had, thro' the dim rimy morning while our horses were being changed. His Father, in whose house I had boarded while at school, was a strange,
[Page 11] awkward but excellent terræ filius and original; much laughed at still more esteemed: a man of many thoughts (heterodox considerably, it was surmised), and of no speech except in rude bursts; but who was (if any man ever was) absolutely without mendacity of word or mind, and would not do injustice (as I often noticed) to a very dog. Prosperous shoemaker by craft; - and far the best that ever cut leather for me. Poor "Old Waugh," be rises bright and luminous on my memory still; - as if I too had seen a bit of a living Hans Sachs! - T. C.
To Mrs. Carlyle, Hoddam Hill, Ecclefechan.
Templand, 9th Oct.,'1825.'
My dear Mrs. Carlyle - Mr. Carlyle has heard from me so often since we parted, that writing to anyone else of the family seemed superfluous. But I am not by any means unmindful of my promise to you; and purpose sending you a long Letter at no distant day. In the mean time my friend will tell you all about me; how shockingly I look, and how discontented I run, and various other particulars which you may care to know; and moreover he will give you a piece of muslin for a gown (provided he does not leave it on the road), which I send in the hope that while it lasts, it will sometimes bring me to your remembrance. I wish you may not think the pattern overgay; but I noticed you looked best in a light colour. Nevertheless should you dislike the thing, on no account wear it, but give it to Mag, who is young enough for all the hues of the rainbow.
It was exceedingly vexatious that we did not meet on the Fair-day, in Dumfries. Had I been my own mistress, I would have made a point of seeking you out; but on
[Page 12] that occasion, as on too many others, I was subject to a bondage which you who lie out of the cold ceremony of towns are happily ignorant of. Let us hope that it will not be always thus!
Now that the harvest is concluded, you must not fail in your promise to let Jean have leisure for her Latin lessons. You know "she is good for nothing else"; and this, I am confident, will be of use to her. Were it but permitted me to take charge of her education myself! Such an arrangement, in my present circumstances, is out of the question, but perhaps it may be managed at some future time. I do not despair.
God bless you all; I am going far from you; and who knows when we shall meet again? But wherever I go, I shall never cease to remember dear Annandale, and the friends I have left behind with so much regret. In the words of the Song (as Dr. Waugh would say), "Nor change o' place nor change o' folk can gar my fancy gee." And with this assurance, I remain,
Yours truly and affectionately,
JANE B. WELSH.
LETTER 4
In the beginning of 1826, or perhaps before that year quite began, I went to Edinburgh, to start the printing of German Romance; and staid some weeks, watching and directing till that business was fairly under way. Printers were the Ballantynes; - their incomparable Foreman, M'Corkindale, a gigantic man, with anxious patient eyes, voice ditto but strangely stammery (blurted out on you as if one syllable, what, on study, you found to be a sentence, admirably brief, good-natured and intelligent); man
[Page 13] "capable of sitting thirty hours there," I was told, "without sleep and without erratum", is still memorable to me. Of course I was at Haddington again; the Translating, I conclude, was suspended till my return home; - exact dates now lost. Letters themselves turned up unexpectedly, last Summer; honour to the dear Repositress, my ever careful and pious Mother, - preparing for her Son some beautiful and solemn hours as yet far off!
The "James Johnstone" spoken of here was a townsfellow, and then a College acquaintance, of mine; six or seven years my elder, but very fond of discoursing with me, and much my companion while in Annandale within reach. A poor and not a very gifted man, but a faithful, diligent and accurate; of quietly pious, candid, pure character, - and very much attached to me. In return I liked him honestly well; learnt something from him (the always diligently exact in Book-matters); perhaps ultimately taught him something; and had great satisfaction in his company (in the years 1814-'16, and occasionally afterwards). Poor James could not succeed in the world: perhaps it was about 1820 when (after much sorry Schoolmastering, having renounced Divinity pursuits), he went to Halifax, Nova Scotia, on a Tutorage, well-paid and hopeful enough; got almost frozen there, got fever-and-ague there, etc., etc.; and returned in a year or so, with health permanently injured, and outlook more forlorn than ever, Dark times for poor James, - I mostly distant in Edinburgh, and not corresponding much. At length he heard of Haddington Parish School; applied to me; I sent him with his Testimonials, etc., to Her. - She, generous Heroine, adopted his cause as if it had been mine and her own; convinced Gilbert Burns (a main card in such things), convinced, etc.,etc.; and, ere long, sees him admitted, as fairly the fittest man! - He started, prospered, took an Annandale Wife; "fortunate at last"! - but, alas, his poor agues, etc., still hung about him, and in five or six years he died. I think I saw him only twice after the present date; once at Haddington,
[Page 14] in his own house with Wife and little Daughter; once at Comley Bank on a "Saturday-till-Monday," rather dreary both times; - and I had, and again have, to say, Adieu, my poor good James!
"Shawbrae" (Anglice, "Wood-Hill," tho' there is not now a stick near it) was a "Duke's Farm" fallen vacant; which my Brother Alick now pressingly wanted, - but (happily) did not get. She knew the Queensberry Factor (a popular Major Crichton, very omnipotent in such cases), knew intimately well his clever Wife; and it was thought a word in that quarter might be useful. - T. C.
To Mrs. Carlyle, Hoddam Hill.
Haddington, Wednesday, 'Spring, 1826.'.
My dear Mrs. Carlyle - Thomas mentioned your wish to hear from me, more than two weeks since, and the intimation, I assure you, would have placed me at my writing-desk forthwith; but that it happened I had a cap for you just then on hand, which I somehow settled in my own mind must go along with the letter. - Now, I am by no means, the speediest needlewoman in the world, as you had ample opportunity of noticing while I sojourned at the Hill; and besides I have been unfitted for working at anything lately, but by starts, owing to an almost continual severe pain in my head: so that, all things considered, it is sufficiently intelligible how, with the best intentions, I should not have put the finishing stitch to this labour of love, till within the present hour. And what is it, after all my pains? Alas, that I have to fall on so paltry a shift to manifest my affectionate remembrance of you! Alas, that it has not pleased Fate to make me a
[Image fp14: MRS. CARLYLE'S BIRTHPLACE, HADDINGTON.]
[Page 15] powerful Queen, or even a powerful subject! Alas, finally, that the whole Universe is not ordered just according to my good pleasure! - It is better, you are thinking, as it is. Well! at bottom perhaps I think so too. But yet the wide discrepancy between my wishes and my powers will, at times, send a sharp pang through my heart, and tempt me to doubt, if indeed whatever is, be best.
Will you believe it, Mr. Carlyle has been within sixteen miles of me for three weeks, and we have not once seen each other's face! Now, is not this a pretty story? Can any one fancy a severer trial of patience? Positively, I am expecting to have my name transmitted to posterity along with the Patriarch Job's; for the woman who could undergo this thing, and yet not die of rage, could also survive, with a meek spirit, the carrying away of oxen and asses, the burning up of sheep, and even the smothering of sons and daughters. However, it seems probable he will speedily return for a longer period; and in the meantime, perhaps Fate may get into a more gracious humour: if she does not, I see nothing for it but to take the upper hand with her, - if we can. - Enter James Johnstone! -
Well! here is one thing settled to my heart's content; the Parish School is actually ours. Honest James was told the good news of his election, sitting by my side; and it would be difficult to say whether he or I was the happier. For, besides the pleasure which, I knew, this termination of the business would give to "Somebody," I have very good cause to be rejoiced at it upon my own account. Mr. Johnstone will be worth his weight of gold to me, in
[Page 16] my present situation; I am so ill off for some one to talk to about - Greek and Latin!
Were the Shawbrae but come to as happy an issue I should take heart and think that "the wheel of my Destiny" had made a turn. But "where an equal poise of hope and fear does arbitrate the event, my nature is," that I incline to fear rather than hope. The Major will surely not keep us much longer in suspense. I must now write a few lines to Jean in return for her postscript. Remember me in the kindest manner to all the rest. Make much of Thomas now that you have got him back again. And never cease to think of me with affection. It will be long before I forget you or the time I passed beside you.
JANE WELSH.
P. S. - I will send a proper front for "my" caps when I go to Edinburgh; but there is no such thing to be got in this Royal Borough. A certain Barber in the place is the happy possessor of three red ones; a black one, I suppose, would have been too much. The muslin cap, you will perceive, has met with an accident behind, which I hope you will put up with on account of the excellence of my darning.
LETTER 5
At Templand, Tuesday, 17th October, 1826, we were wedded (in the quietest fashion devisable; Parish Minister, and except my Brother John, no other stranger present); and, directly after breakfast, drove off, on similar terms, for Comley Bank, Edinburgh; and arrived there that night. The following is a postscript to a Letter of mine - T. C.
[Page 17]
To Mrs. Carlyle, Scotsbrig.
21, Comley Bank,[1] 9 Dec., 1826.
My dear Mother - I must not let this Letter go without adding my "be of good cheer." You would rejoice to see how much better my Husband is than when we came hither. And we are really very happy; and when he falls upon some work, we shall be still happier. Indeed I should be very stupid or very thankless, if I did not congratulate myself every hour of the day on the lot which it has pleased Providence to assign me. My Husband is so kind! so, in all respects, after my own heart! I was sick one day, and he nursed me as well as my own Mother could have done, and he never says a hard word to me - unless I richly deserve it. We see great numbers of people here, but are always most content alone. My Husband reads then, and I read or work, or just sit and look at him, which I really find as profitable an employment as any other. God bless you and my little Jean, whom I hope to see at no very distant date.
Ever affectionately yours,
JANE B. WELSH.
LETTER 6
The "Book" mentioned here with such enthusiasm (beautiful soul!) is that wretched "Didactic Novel"; which, in spite of all my obstinacy, declared itself desperate soon after this; and was shoved aside for other tasks, -
[Page 18] at last bodily into the fire.[1] "The Doctor," i. e. Brother John, appears to have been on visit to us at this time. Carrier's "name," nickname properly, was "Waffler". [loiterer]: he stuttered intensely, drank much whisky and had sunk in the world (pitied, laughed-at, almost loved), down to "Bobby". (B - b - bobby!) and the road-car Bobby drew. - T. C.
To Mrs, Carlyle, Scotsbrig.
21, Comley Bank, 17 Feb., 1827.
My dear Mother - My Husband is busy below stairs with his Book, and I, it seems, am this time to be the writer: - with greater willingness than ability, indeed; for I have been very stupid these some days with cold. But you must not be left in the idea that we are so neglectful as we have seemed: a little packet was actually written to go by the Carrier on Wednesday (my modesty will not allow me to call him by his popular name); when the rain fell and the wind blew so that no living creature durst venture to his quarters. The Doctor proceeded as early as was good for his health the following morning, in case fortune in the shape of bad weather or whisky had interposed delay; by that time however, Carrier, boxes and Bobby, were all far on the road. So you see there was nothing for it but to write by post, which I lose no time in doing.
And now let me thank you for the nice eggs and butter
[Image fp18: NO. 21, COMLEY BANK, EDINBURGH.]
[Page 19] which arrived in the best preservation, - and so opportunely! just when I was lamenting over the emptied cans, as one who had no hope. Really it is most kind in you to be so mindful and helpful of our Town-wants; and most gratifying to us to see ourselves so cared for. ...
The new Book is going on at a regular rate; and I would fain persuade myself that his health and spirits are at the same regular rate improving: more contented he certainly is, since he applied himself to this task; for he was not born to be anything but miserable in idleness. Oh that he were indeed well, well beside me, and occupied as he ought! How plain and clear would Life then lie before us! I verily believe there would not be such a happy pair of people on the face of the whole Earth! Yet we must not wish this too earnestly. How many precious things do we not already possess which others have not - have hardly an idea of! Let us enjoy these then, and bless God that we are permitted to enjoy them, rather than importune His goodness with vain longings for more.
Indeed we lead a most quiet and even happy life here: within doors all is warm, is swept and garnished; and without the country is no longer winter-like, but beginning to be gay and green. Many pleasant people come to see us; and such of our visitors as are not pleasant people, have at least the good effect of enhancing to us the pleasure of being alone. Alone we never weary: if I have not Jean's enviable gift of talking, I am at least among the best listeners in the Kingdom. And my Husband has always something interesting and instructive to say. Then we have Books to read; all sorts of them from Scott's
[Page 20] Bible down to Novells[1]: and I have sewing needles and purse-needles, and all conceivable implements for lady's work. There is a Piano too, for "soothing the savage breast." ...
So Jean is not coming to us yet. Well, I am sorry for it, but I hope the time is coming. In the meantime she must be a good girl, and read as much as she has time for, and above all things cultivate this talent of speech; for I am purposing to learn from her when she comes. It is my Husband's worst fault to me that I will not, or rather cannot speak; often when he has talked for an hour without answer, he will beg for some sign of life on my part; and the only sign I can give is a little kiss. Well! that is better than nothing, don't you think? -
(Mrs. Carlyle ends here, and Carlyle takes the pen in hand). "So far," he says, "had the Goodwife proceeded, when visitors arrived, and the sheet was left unfinished," etc. ...
LETTER 7
To Miss Jean Carlyle, Scotsbrig.
Comley Bank, 13 Nov., 1827.
My dear Jean - I find Mr. Thomas has left me nothing to say, except merely to add my supplication to his, That you will come without more ado. There is nothing in the world to hinder you and you have already been kept too long in expectation. My only fear is that the hopes you have been all this while pleasing yourself with, will hardly be realized; ... any way you are sure of one thing
[Page 21] - the heartiest welcome. - My kind regards to your Father and Mother and all the rest. Tell them we will take the best care of you; so they need not fear to let you go.
Your affectionate,
JANE WELSH CARLYLE.
LETTER 8
I remember almost nothing of that Scotsbrig journey, - except my arrival or approach through Middlebie, on a clear windy night, riding solus, on my old mischievous swift Larry; - and the strange pathetic nearly painful feeling which the smell of the peat-fires sent into me there! Journey was undertaken doubtless for Craigenputtock's sake: Alick and Sister Mary were already resident and busy there since about October last. My two nights at Craigenputtock with them (middle of March or so) I vividly enough recollect: Proof-sheets of Goethe's Helena in my pocket; and Dumfries "architects" to confer with. Scene grim enough, outlook too rather ditto; but resolution fixed enough. Poor little Sister Jean, now with us begins:
To Mrs. Carlyle, Scotsbrig.
21, Comley Bank, 19th Feb., 1828.
"My dear Mother - I was unwilling to fill up this room which I knew might have been used to more purpose; but I am to write good or bad. And I may here thank you very heartily for the nice little gown that you sent me: and I may also say that fortune seems to fa-" (little Jean ceases here, and Mrs. Carlyle begins) vour, I suppose; but the rest will follow in another place; here I must write a few lines. For in a minute Ellen will be come in with materials for a Dumpling to regale my Aunt Grace at dinner, and I shall have little enough time to
[Page 22] manufacture it,[1] being to attend a chemical Lecture in the College at 2 o'clock. I were very ungrateful, however, if I did not thank you by the earliest opportunity for the shower of "Christian coomfoarts"[2] you have sent down on us, particularly on unworthy me. The drawers I have had on, and find still more comfortable than my flannel ones; the stockings too are far warmer than Cruickshank's, particularly the black ones which look as if they were made for eternity.
[Page 23]
And Mag, I am sure, will be glad to hear that no egg was broken; only one or two of the uppermost layer were cracked, and these we fried and ate upon the spot. In short, the box as a whole gave high and general satisfaction; and is likely to keep us all in mind of Scotsbrig for some twelve months to come; for I see not how all these puddings and hams, etc., are to be consumed in a shorter period. I for one, so long as the ham lasts, shall every morning at breakfast remember you with thanksgiving; and perhaps some time after it is done!
In case Jean does not tell you herself, I may assure you she is doing exceedingly well. She enjoys good health, seems content with her earthly lot, and by her good behaviour gives the greatest contentment to both her Brother and me. So keep your good heart at rest about her; for I dare promise you will have no occasion to repent letting her come.
You enquire after my dear little Aunt[1]; I grieve to say she is no better. Indeed last week she was in the most perilous condition with spasms in her lungs. At present however, thank God, she is out of danger. Surely the warm weather will bring her round again; in nothing else have I any hope.
Carlyle is to be down to you in a few weeks; but recollect you are not to keep him above a day or two. - I must off to my Dumpling; I am already too late.
God bless you all.
Affectionately yours,
JANE WELSH CARLYLE.
[Page 24]
By the 26th of May, 1828, the Carlyles had entered into occupation of Craigenputtock, an estate of 800 acres, the patrimony of Mrs. Carlyle (tho', as we have seen, she had made over the life-rent of it to her Mother). The removal from a rented house in Edinburgh to their own property was a very natural and wise move on the part of the young couple: for they were both poor, and Carlyle, like other young literary men, found much difficulty in "getting under way." Mrs. Carlyle, however, was not dragged thither against her will, as Mr. Froude insists; for Carlyle writes, a little while before the removal, "both Jane and I are very fond of the project" (Carlyle's Early Letters, i. 34). They went there in search of a home and in search of health; and they were not disappointed. Many long years afterwards, looking back on their life there, Carlyle says, "perhaps these were our happiest days" (Reminiscences, i. 83). Mr. Froude, indeed, has depicted Mrs. Carlyle's life at Craigenputtock as one of the loneliest and dreariest possible; but Mrs. Carlyle's Letters, written there and then, do not confirm his view of the matter; they confute and falsify it almost as specifically as tho' they had been written for the purpose. Mr. Froude has confessed that he knew practically nothing of her life there; for he says (mistakenly) that few of her Letters were preserved; and he adds that, in consequence, "we are left pretty much to guess her condition; and of guesses the fewer that are ventured the better". (Life, ii, 147).[1] But, nevertheless, he has ventured on a good many "guesses," and how bad these guesses were Mrs. Carlyle's Early Letters, published in 1889, makes clearly manifest. Let us compare a few of Mr. Froude's "guesses" with Mrs. Carlyle's facts.
One "guess" (which, however, he sets forth as a fact) was that Mrs. Carlyle was obliged to milk the cows "with her own hands." Mrs. Carlyle herself writes: "Another question
[Image fp24: CRAIGENPUTTOCK.]
[Page 25] that is asked me, so often as I am abroad, is how many cows I keep; which question, to my eternal shame as a housewife, I have never yet been enabled to answer, having never ascertained up to this moment whether there are seven cows or eleven. The fact is, I take no delight in cows, and have happily no concern with them." (Mrs. Carlyle's Early Letters, p. 137).
Mr, Froude states, and insists on it over and over again, that Craigenputtock was "the dreariest spot in all the British dominions." Mrs. Carlyle writes: "Indeed, Craigenputtock is no such frightful place as the people call it. ... The solitude is not so irksome as one might think. If we are cut off from good society, we are also delivered from bad; ... I read and work, and talk with my husband and never weary. (Ibid, 129.) And again: "Returned to our desert [from a visit to Edinburgh], it affrighted me only the first day. The next day it became tolerable, and the next again positively pleasant. On the whole, the mere outward figure of one's place of abode seems to be a matter of moonshine in the long run." (Ibid, 149).
Mr. Froude says her health was permanently broken by the privations she had to endure, the hard menial labour and drudgery she had to perform at Craigenputtock. Mrs. Carlyle writes: "You would know what I am doing in these moors? Well, I am feeding poultry (at long intervals, and merely for form's sake), and I am galloping over the country on a bay horse, and baking bread, and improving my mind, and eating and sleeping, and making and mending, and, in short, wringing whatever good I can from the ungrateful soil of the world. On the whole, I was never more contented in my life; one enjoys such freedom and quietude here. Nor have we purchased this at the expense of other accommodations; for we have a good house to live in, with all the necessaries of life, and even some touch of the superfluities." (Ibid, 156).
Then, as to her health, she says, writing from Craigenputtock,
[Page 26] in Nov., 1833, near the end of her sojourn there: "To say the truth, my whole life has been a sort of puddling as to health. Too much of schooling hadst thou, poor Ophelia!" Too much of schooling, mark, not too much of menial labour! The fact is, her health had never been good; but it was better while she was at Craigenputtock than anywhere else. She makes few if any complaints of her health while staying there; but on every occasion when she leaves it her health breaks down, and recovers on her return. Witness her trip to Templand, described in Letter 9 of the present Collection; her stay in London in the Winter of 1831-32, when her health "worsened," as Carlyle says (see post, p. 34); her journey to Moffat in Autumn, 1833, where she grew worse, and said on her return; "I am hardly yet so well as before I went thither" (Mrs. Carlyle's Early Letters, 247); and lastly, her visit to Edinburgh in the Winter of 1833-4. On this occasion she grew seriously ill, and wrote to Dr. Carlyle: "In truth, I am always so sick now and so heartless that I cannot apply myself to any mental effort without a push from necessity" (Life, ii., 334); and it seems that, although she had in Edinburgh the best of medical treatment, she grew no better; for Carlyle writes: "Jane has walked very strictly by old Dr. Hamilton's law, without any apparent advantage" (Life, ii., 344). But after breathing the fine bracing air of Craigenputtock again for a little, she is able to say, "Since my homecoming I have improved to a wonder, and the days have passed I scarce know how, in the pleasant listlessness (Mr. Froude prints 'hopelessness') that long-continued pain sometimes leaves behind" (Life, ii., 352).
Mr. Froude reluctantly confesses that there were two horses in the stable; and that Carlyle and his Wife "occasionally rode or walked together. ... But the occasions grew rarer and rarer" (Life, ii., 45). Mrs. Carlyle writes, so late as June, 1832, "Every fair morning we ride on horseback for an hour before breakfast" (post, p. 43).
Mr. Froude says, "Carlyle was essentially solitary ...
[Page 27] he preferred to be alone with his thoughts." Mrs. Carlyle writes, "My husband is as good company as reasonable mortal could desire" (post, p. 43).
Mr. Froude says, "Nay, it might happen that she had to black the grates to the proper polish.". Mrs. Carlyle was very proud of her bright-steel grates, and though she had never been taught even the rudiments of housekeeping, it could scarcely "happen", that she would be foolish enough to daub bright-steel grates with dirty black-lead!
The above are only a few specimens of Mr. Froude's "guesses" and delusions in regard to Mrs. Carlyle's life at Craigenputtock. These, tho' they could be added to indefinitely, must suffice. One cannot, in any reasonable space, point out all his perversities. For truly, one may say, "of making many" corrections in Froude "there is no end." One makes two or three, or it may be two or three hundred, and then feels inclined to give up in despair; for the number of errors still remaining seems to reach so far away into infinity that the task of overtaking them all would throw the Labours of Hercules quite into the shade.[1]
LETTER 9
Mrs. Carlyle has gone down to Templand to consult with her Mother about ordering curtains and other furnishings for her new home at Craigenputtock. She is taken ill by the way, is detained longer than she expected and writes this Letter to allay her Husband's anxieties.
To T. Carlyle, Craigenputtock.
Templand, 20 August, 1828.
Kindest and dearest of Husbands - Are you thinking
[Page 28] you are never to see my sweet face any more? Indeed this long self-banishment may well surprise you; but when you hear how I have been forced to stay voluntarily you will excuse it.
The Bundels do not like fresh air; and I get sick in a carriage without it: accordingly, by the time we reached Wallace Hall that night, what with their close mode of travelling, and Miss Anderson's green tea, I found myself ready to faint. I hoped a sound sleep would put me all to rights; but no sleep was to be had; and the morning found me entirely demolished. In a case of this sort, to walk to Templand seemed an impossibility, and the Bundel carriage was gone to Dumfries to fetch old ladies. Mr. Anderson, (the Minister) was very pressing that I would join my Mother, and Agnes at his house at Dinner; and so I staid, simply because I was unable to go away. My Mother was almost frightened into fits when she found me sitting "like a picture," in the room where she was put to take off her shawl. Well, I had yawned over the forenoon; I almost groaned over the afternoon; - and at length was landed at Templand little more than alive. For once my Mother succeeded in persuading me that I was very bilious, and must submit to be treated accordingly. And so I have been spending half the days in bed, taking physic, even castor, brandy also to a considerable extent, and various other items, "which," I am told, "are to do me good." In a few days I shall be returned to you, a well-physicked Goody.[1] On Sunday perhaps you could send William, for me, with the horse. By which
[Page 29] time I expect to have tried the water at Moffat Wells!
Meantime the business I came about is not neglected. Agnes wrote away to Glasgow the other night, so that the curtains, etc, might be sent by the Carrier on Friday. I have ordered them not of chintz, but moreen, which is against your taste, and hardly according to my own; but the latter article proved on enquiry to be far the thriftier as well as the most comfortable; and therefore the best adapted for our purpose. Carpets are not chaip[1] at Glasgow, none being manufactured there. But I am to get one at Sanquhar as low-priced as my Grandmother's and of better quality. There are said to be excellent shoes at Sanquhar. It is a pity I have not your measure. In the meantime however I have got from my Mother a pair of waterproof half-boots for you, which, tho' not quite new, I am sure will be a great temporal blessing, [2]provided they fit.
What progress you will have been making with Burns[3] in my absence! I wish I were back to see it; and to give you a kiss for every minute I have been absent. But you will not miss me so terribly as I did you. Dearest, I do love you! Is it not a proof of this that I am wearying to be back to Craigenputtock even as it stands, and while everyone here is trying to make my stay agreeable to me! Indeed, I have not been so made of since very long ago. It is a pity my Mother is not always in this humour.
[Page 30]
Is there any Letter from Jeffrey, I wonder? I am sure he is to come upon us before we are ready for him.
Excuse this insipid scrawl. I have been sick as death all day with that abominable oleum diaboli.[1] God bless you, Darling. You will send the horses for me on Sunday, und nichts mehr davon!
Ever, ever your true Wife,
JANE WELSH CARLYLE.
LETTER 10
To Miss Jean Carlyle, Scotsbrig.
Craigenputtock, Monday, 'Winter, 1828'.
My dear Jean - ... I hope Carlyle told your Mother how much I was gratified by her kind present. I can assure you I am very vain of the beautiful little shawl; so vain that I rode to Templand with it above my habit.
Jenny would tell you of the gallant expedition[2] which Mary and I executed in Carlyle's absence? But nobody can have told you how we were bitten with the cold; or what temptation we resisted to halt for whisky at a public house by the way. I shall not travel in a Winter day again without a small phialful in my pocket.
My kind love to you all, and a kiss to your Father. I shall certainly see your Mother before long. She will come up hither, if there is grace left in her; at all events I will be down.
I hear you are very diligent and very good. I, on the
[Page 31] other hand, am very idle and very bad. I have done no one useful thing for a week, except making thee two daidlies.[1]
Affectionately yours,
JANE W. CARLYLE.
LETTER 11
Whether Miss Stodart (old Mr. Bradfute's Niece, subsequently "Revd. Mrs. Aitken of Minto") came to dinner I have no recollection. But I do well remember, one beautiful Summer evening soon after that date, as I lounged out of doors, smoking my evening pipe, silent in the great silence, the woods and hilltops all gilt with the flaming splendour of a summer sun just about to set, - there came a rustle and a sound of hoofs in the little bending avenue on my left (sun was behind the house and me); and the minute after, Brother John and Sister Margaret, direct from Scotsbrig, fresh and handsome on their little horses, ambled up; one of the gladest sights and surprises to me. John had found a Letter from Goethe for me at the Post-office, Dumfries; this, having sent them indoors, I read in my old posture and place; pure white the fine big sheet itself, still purer the noble meaning, all in it as if mutely pointing to eternity, - Letter fit to be read in such a place and time. Our dear "Mag" staid some couple of weeks or more (made me a nice buff-coloured cotton waistcoat, I remember); she was quietly cheerful, and complained of nothing; but my Darling with her quick eyes had noticed too well (as she then whispered to me) that the "recovery" was only superficial, and that worse might lie ahead. It was the last visit Margaret ever made. - T. C.
To Miss Jean Carlyle, Scotsbrig.
Craigenputtock, 'July, 1829.'
My dear Jean - You will herewith receive a pair of
[Page 32] neat little bootikins; which, tho' somewhat decayed may still be of use to you; if they are too small for yourself perhaps they will fit Jenny, who I am grieved to hear, has been ailing lately. However, I hope she, as well as Mag, is continuing to recover. Thank the latter for her Note. You must also thank your Mother in the kindest manner for all the creature comforts she sent along with it. The bacon ham I purpose cutting up on my birthday, when my Mother and perhaps Miss Stodart is to dine here. All my drawers are perfumed with your woodruff, which brings me in mind of you every time I open them.
I drew the pattern on your collar; and Mary finished it. And when I was at Templand last week, I presented it to my Mother, with as pretty a speech as you could have wished. I assure you she seemed greatly delighted with your remembrance of her, and charged me to tell you so, and much more which you may take for granted, as I have not time at present to detail it all; for I am going to Dumfries to-morrow and have a great many small matters to arrange.
I send a little parcel for your mother which I hope she will accept in her "choicest mood."[1] Tell her, with my kind regards and a kiss, that it was my wedding veil, which will give it more value in her eyes than one of more worth. When are you coming? It is your turn next. Jenny will tell you all about us. God bless you. Ever affectionately yours,
JANE WELSH CARLYLE.
[Page 33]
LETTER 12
Poor Horse Harry! This was a Horse-epidemic, that hot June day and weeks onward; proved fatal to one of Alick's horses and at last to wild gallant Larry too.[1] Harry was next seized: I had perceived the "Veterinary Licentiate" to be an ignorant puppy, who called windpipe "Larnyx;" him we dismissed; inquired of the Surgeon at Minnyive, how he would treat a man in inflammation of the lungs? "Bleed him, blister on breast, no food but slops"; and, treating poor Harry ourselves in that way, luckily pulled him through. By a perfect hairs-breadth, it seemed to be, for three days long. Every night of these three, She was down, in dressing-gown and slippers, stept across with the flat candlestick, alone under the sky; and one night (probably this of 4 A. M.) the poor creature (in reply to her stalk or two of green ryegrass) touched her cheek with its lips. - T. C.
To Miss Jean Carlyle, Scotsbrig.
Craigenputtock, June, 1831.
My dear Jean - I have kept the promise I made you, it must be confessed, but indifferently; yet more I hope through destiny than my own demerit.
That I do not altogether give myself up to ill-faith, you have a proof in the fact that I am here writing with half-open eyes at four in the morning. Poor Harry has been in the jaws of death: as your Mother would tell me, I made him too much an idol; his sides are all red flesh now, however, so that I am not likely to be very proud of him in a hurry again.
I send my cow's calf to Jenny and her heirs forever;
[Page 34] and hope she will train her up to emulate her Mother's virtues, who is one of the best cows in creation. There are also some other odds and ends; a tea, sugar and milk establishment for you; and the other things are for Mary. Pity they are not more worth. I was meaning to send you, by the same opportunity, Bubblius[1] and one of his turkeys, but she is hatching, so must wait till she has given me chickens. Carlyle is sound asleep. God bless you. Can you not come up with them?
Ever affectionately yours,
JANE WELSH CARLYLE.
LETTER 13
She arrived here (in London) about the 1st of October; Brother John and I were in waiting at The Angel, Islington; right well do I remember the day, - and our drive to Tavistock-Square neighbourhood, where our lodging was. She was very happy; much enjoyed London, and the novelties of such "Society" as came about us, all Winter; and, in spite of weak health (which worsened latterly) made no complaint at any time, but took hopefully, and with beautiful sincerity, ingenuity and insight, whatever the novel scene offered us of good, - often singularly bettering it (especially in reference to me) by her true and clever mode of treatment. A little Chapter might be written of our Winter here that year? Too sad; and, except herself only, too insignificant. Among the scrambling miscellany of notables and quasi-notables that hovered about us, Leigh Hunt (volunteer, and towards the end) was probably the best; poor Charles Lamb (more than once, at Enfield, towards the middle of our stay) the worst. He was sinking into drink, poor creature; his fraction of "humour," etc., I
[Page 35] recognised, and recognise, but never could accept for a great thing, - genuine, but an essentially small and Cockney thing; - and now with gin, etc., superadded, one had to say, "Genius?" This is not genius, but diluted insanity: please remove this! Leigh Hunt came in sequel (prettily courteous on his part) to the Article Characteristics; his serious, dignified and even noble physiognomy and bearing, took us with surprise, and much pleased us. Poor Hunt! nowhere or never an ignoble man! - T. C.
To Mrs. Carlyle, Scotsbrig.
4, Ampton Street, Gray's Inn Road,
London, 6 October, 1831.
My dear Mother - The Newspaper would give you assurance that I was arrived in London, and in a condition to write your name; but further particulars concerning myself and the barrel, you are still anxiously waiting for; and now that I find myself at liberty to write, it were inhuman to keep you longer in suspense.
To begin with the beginning: After leaving you all with a sad enough heart, and committing myself to the mercy of the waves, my case was none of the pleasantest. Alick [Carlyle] recommended me to go down to the cabin till the vessel got under way; - and I saw no more of the sea till I stept on shore at Liverpool. It was very stormy, and I was mortally sick the whole twenty-four hours. Happily there was no cabin-passenger besides myself. So I had "ample room and verge enough"[1] to make what demonstrations I pleased. My Cousin Alick [Welsh] was
[Page 36] waiting for me on the Dock, with a hackney coach which in a few minutes landed me with my trunks, etc., at my Uncle's. One of his men took the barrel in a cart to the office from which it was to be forwarded by the canal.
They were all very glad to see me at Maryland Street; and feeling entirely exhausted with my seasickness, I stupidly let myself be persuaded not to proceed till the Wednesday. And by Wednesday I was in worse fettle for travelling than when I arrived for I had almost no sleep the whole time of my stay, owing to a lady in the same room snoring like ten steam-engines. My seat was taken in a coach that came straight through; so that I had no shifting of luggage to embarrass me. My travelling companions were two Irish ladies, who neither picked my pocket of my purse nor watch; - and twenty-four hours after I started, I had the satisfaction of jumping into Carlyle's arms, who with John,[1] was waiting for me at a certain Angel-Inn. You may imagine the sight of their faces, among so many hundreds of strange ones, was a joyful sight! They were both looking well, - John thinnish but clear and healthy-looking. They had a nice little dinner of chops and rice pudding in readiness. Edward Irving came up in the evening, and all was well.
But I was not to escape so easily. The next day and the next my head was so ill I had to lie in bed. On Sunday I got out a little and saw the Montagus.[2] On Monday we were hunting after new lodgings, George Irving's being intolerably noisy, and still infested with bugs, which few
[Page 37] houses here are without. We succeeded in realising a much better up-putting, for the same money, in the house of a Mrs. Miles and Mrs. Page, - English people, - where I now write. The barrel had arrived the end of the week, and been unpacked; so that our flitting was no such light matter, and occupied all Tuesday. Yesterday I had a headache again, and to-day is the first that I can call my own.
I hope that we shall be very comfortable here: the people are of a prepossessing appearance, and the house is the only clean one that I have seen since I left Scotland. We have a Drawingroom about the size of our own at Craigenputtock, - more elegantly fitted up, - with a small but comfortable bedroom, opening from it with large folding doors. It is in an airy and remarkably quiet street.
I have no notion of London housekeeping yet; but am lying back till, with "weender and amazement,"[1] I have reviewed the ground. One fact I may mention as a sample: potatoes are a penny a pound, so that we pay three halfpence for barely as many as we need for a meal. The milk, too, is ridiculously dear, and such stuff after Nooly's! Thank Heaven we have good butter without running to the shops, - and Carlyle has fastened a lid with a padlock on the can: - but what place unites all the advantages of both town and country!
I have seen few people yet; not even Jeffrey, who is very ill, confined to bed. I was to have gone to him yesterday, but could not for my head. Carlyle and I are
[Page 38] thinking to walk over to-night, when his ladies[1] are at the House of Lords, which will suit me best.
John[2] set off on Tuesday morning, to join his Countess at Dover - a newspaper has since intimated his safe arrival so far. He was in good spirits of the enterprise, and we hope it will be the beginning of much good for him.
Carlyle is reading to-day with a view to writing an Article[3] - to keep mall in shaft. They are not going to print the Book[4] after all. Murray has lost heart lest it do not take with the public and so, like a stupid ass, as he is, has sent back the manuscript. The deevil may care, it shall be printed in spite of Murray some time; and in the meanwhile it is not losing any of its worth by lying.
JANE W. CARLYLE.
[Ends abruptly, to save another line for me, and my lengthy postscript. - T. C.]
LETTER 14
Written "With my own hand," and "Noble Lady" (Mrs. Basil Montagu) are phrases of Edward Irving's, supposed to be too high-flown for their respective occasions. The "Little Dear" is Jeffrey, now Lord Advocate, living in Jermyn Street, worried almost to death. Maid "Nancy"[5]
[Page 39] is Thornhill Nancy, who used to spoil my razors, privately dealing with a beard she had; otherwise not much comparable to the "bellissima Barbata," as Jeffrey used to call this Mrs. Austin, translatress of German, etc., femme alors célèbre! - T. C.
To Mrs. Carlyle, Scotsbrig.
Ampton Street, London, Nov., 1831.
My dear Mother - I have still leisure to write you a few lines "with my own hand," to thank you for your kind messages and kind thoughts, which are infinitely precious in this land of strangers. Many people here show a disposition to be kind to me as this world goes; but that sort of dinner-giving, speech-making kindness is but frothy unsatisfactory food for the heart, compared with the kindness one experiences in the bosom of one's own family: and I have now been so long and so intimately connected with you and yours that I cannot but look upon you all as my own Mother and Brothers and Sisters.
I should find myself very pleasantly situated here, if I enjoyed my usual health, and could avail myself of the various invitations that are held out to us.
Carlyle has tolerable health and spirits, and abundant prospect of employment. There is much to see and wonder at, even in a solitary walk along the streets; and enough of people come about us to talk, or rather to listen, among whom there are several whom I really like.
The little Dear is well again, and as gay as a lark; and trudges over to us twice a week, without women or equipage.
[Page 40] Always losing himself by the way and needing Carlyle to take him home.[1]
I have at last seen Mrs. Austin, and, so far as one could judge by a forenoon call, I think her the best woman I have yet found here. In appearance she is extremely like our Nancy, but drawn out to a considerable length, and her countenance refined and spiritualized. Her talk is all about books, and, tho' I should not imagine her a much cleverer person than myself, her command of what talent she has, will, I find, give her quite the upper-hand in any intercourse we may have.
Of the "Noble Lady" least said is soonest mended. God keep you all. My love to all of you down to the prattler over the way.
Ever your affectionate,
JANE W. CARLYLE.
LETTER 15[2]
[Page 41]
To Miss Eliza Miles,[1] 4 Ampton St., London.
Craigenputtock, 16 June, 1832.
My Dear Eliza - I could wager you now think the Scotch a less amiable Nation than you had supposed, least of all to be commended on the score of good faith. Is it not so? Has not my whole Nation suffered in your opinion thro' my solitary fault? In February I made a voluntary engagement to write to you, which now in June remains to be fulfilled! Still I am fulfilling it, which proves it is not altogether "out of sight, out of mind" with me; and could I give you an idea of the tumult I have been in, since we parted, you would find me excusable if not blameless. I never forgot my gentle Ariel in Ampton St., - it were positive sin to forget her, so helpful she was, so beautiful, so kind and good! Besides this is the place of all others for thinking of absent friends, where one has so seldom any present to think of. It is the stillest, solitariest place that it ever entered upon your imagination to conceive; where one has the strangest shadowy existence,
[Page 42] nothing actual in it but the food we eat, the bed one sleeps on, and (praised be Heaven!) the fine air one breathes; the rest is all a dream of the absent and distant, of things past and to come.
I was fatigued enough by the journey home; still more by the trysting that awaited me here; a dismantled house, no effectual servants, weak health, and, worse than the seven plagues of Egypt, a necessity of Painters. All these things were against me. But happily there is a continual tide in human affairs; and if a little while ago I was near being swept away, in the hubbub, so now I find myself in a dead calm. All is again in order about us, and I fold my hands and ask, "What is to be done next?" "The duty nearest hand, and the next will shew itself in course." So my Goethe teaches. No one who lays this precept to heart can ever be at a stand. Impress it on your "twenty children" (that I think was the number you had fixed upon), impress it on the whole twenty from the cradle upwards, and you will spare your sons the vexation of many a wild-goose chase, and render your daughters forever impracticable to ennui. Shame that such a malady should exist in a Christian land; should not only exist, but be almost general throughout the whole female population that is placed above the necessity of working for daily bread. If I have an antipathy for any class of people, it is for fine ladies. I almost match my Husband's detestation of partridge-shooting gentlemen. Woe to the fine lady who should find herself set down at Craigenputtock for the first time in her life, left alone with her own thoughts, no "fancy bazaar" in the same kingdom
[Page 43] with her, no place of amusement within a day's journey; the very church, her last imaginable resource, seven miles off. I can fancy with what horror she would look on the ridge of mountains that seemed to enclose her from all earthly bliss! with what despair in her accents she would enquire if there was not even a "charity sale" within reach. Alas, no! no outlet whatever for "ladies' work," not even a Book for a fine lady's understanding! It is plain she would have nothing for it but to die as speedily as possible, and to relieve the world of the expenses of her maintenance. For my part I am very content. I have everything here my heart desires, that I could have anywhere else, except society, and even that deprivation is not to be considered wholly an evil: if people we like and take pleasure in do not come about us here as in London, it is thankfully to be remembered that here "the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest." If the knocker make no sound for weeks together, it is so much the better for my nerves. My Husband is as good company as reasonable mortal could desire. Every fair morning we ride on horse-back for an hour before breakfast (my precious horse knew me again and neighed loud and long when he found himself in his old place). Then we eat such a surprising breakfast of home-baked bread, and eggs, etc., etc., as might incite anyone that had breakfasted so long in London to write a pastoral. Then Carlyle takes to his writing, while I, like Eve, "studious of household good," inspect my house, my garden, my live stock, gather flowers for my drawing-room, and lapfuls of eggs; and finally betake myself also to writing,
[Page 44] or reading, or making or mending, or whatever work seems fittest. After dinner, and only then, I lie on the sofa and (to my shame be it spoken) sometimes sleep, but oftenest dream waking. In the evening I walk on the moor (how different from Holborn and the Strand!) and read anything that does not exact much attention. Such is my life, - agreeable as yet from its novelty, if for nothing else. Now, would you not like to share it? I am sure you mould be happy beside us for a while, and healthy; for I would keep all drugs from your lips, and pour warm milk into you. Could you not find an escort, and come and try? At all rates, write and tell me how you are, what doing and what intending. I shall always be interested in all that concerns you.
My health is slowly mending.
Yours affectionately,
JANE CARLYLE.
LETTER 16
Sister Jean is now married; Brother Alick, in Catlinns (Gaitlinns?) Farm near Lockerby, has been on visit to us and returned to Dumfries. - T. C.
To Mrs. Aitken, Lochmaben Gate, Dumfries.
Craigenputtock, November, 1833.
My dear Jean - I commissioned Alick to transmit my thanks to you in the handsomest manner; but, "it may be strongly doubted" if he acquitted himself of the commission at all to my satisfaction. So I now send them "under my own hand" with the same warmth in which they were at first conceived, and which is not likely to
[Page 45] know any diminution so long as a morsel of the dainty remains.
How are you getting on? Bravely I hope; but the question would be better asked of your Husband than of you. There is never much to be feared for any one that is born with sense and truth in him, whatever else he may have or want. And so I always augur well of the judicious Crow[1] in whatever circumstances she may find herself. If the devil should get into her by a time, he will find her good sense and truthfulness such bad neighbours that he will be fain to decamp before he have done any serious mischief. ...
I have made up my mind, after four years of deliberation, to be at the expense of framing the Lord Advocate[2] in imitation rosewood. So I send him to your Husband to get done. Nota bene, the gilt moulding must be under the glass, as it is in your frames, and is not in any of the others. A symptom of preference which strikes me as sufficiently barefaced.
I expect Grace Cavan to-day; it will be a pity if she do not know that you are in Dumfries. Nancy is still staying on - doesn't look as if she were much disposed to flit. It is a great temporal blessing for me that no interregnum has taken place; for my increase of years and infirmities has nearly altogether incapacitated me from working. You ought to write to me frequently, and also come and see me frequently when you are within such
[Page 46] manageable distance. Our compliments to your Husband, who I hope may be able to get the upper hand with you; for I can tell him it will depend on himself whether he "make a spoon of you or spoil a horn."
Your affectionate Sister,
JANE CARLYLE THE ELDER.
LETTER 17
Preparations for the great Expedition, or Shift to London, were now about completed. Had been left (in my imaginary hurry, "necessity to get a house before May 26") wholly in her eagerly willing hands; how willing I knew well, but not how wonderfully swift, skilful and sure, in this entirely new province! In about two weeks as appears, she has prosperously lifted anchor, with the Liverpool Steamer (at Annan Foot); and in one week more, she will be with me! - T. C.
To T. Carlyle, 4 Ampton St., London.
Templand, Monday, '27 May, 1834.'
It is all right, Dearest, the Letter is come! I had taken the precaution for having it forwarded hither by post, and, but for the regulation about church hours, might have had time to answer it last night. ...
Now you wish the furniture and Goody off immediately. Dearest, "it shall be done!"[1] There is no earthly objection to my sailing on Friday first (but on the contrary every motive to hasten to you at the soonest possible), except one, and that one is not of consequence enough to stand in the way of your wishes and my own. It was only in case of there being no outrake for me, if I joined
[Page 47] you so soon, that I spoke in my last of waiting till the Friday following.
I wrote to Alick last night (according to previous appointment) between the receiving of yours and the departure of the post, and told him I would meet him at Dumfries on Wednesday (the day after tomorrow), where he was to be at any rate. My Mother talks of going to Dumfries along with me. She was for going all the way, - to Annan that is; but I strongly objected. One has enough to do at present without scenes. I fear there will not be time to get another Letter from you before Friday, but at all rates I shall expect to find one in Maryland Street (they do me so much good); and I will write from Maryland St. when you are to expect me in London.
About two hours after my last was on its road, it came into my mind like liquid fire, and ran over my whole face, neck and arms, that I had omitted to seal it! Had it been under cover to Jeffrey, I think I should have died of vexation, for I am doubtful whether he would not have read it from beginning to end. But Charles Buller is "an English Gentleman," and would take no advantage of my stupidity. The thing that annoyed me most was the unsatisfactory idea of my whole general disposition for the management of "the great thing to do," which such a blunder would cause to you, and the insecurity you would feel in consequence. But console-toi! I think it was my first blunder, and shall strive that it may also be the last; and it happened quite naturally as I shall explain to you hereafter.
[Page 48]
... My Mother is writing (to Maryland Street) to-day, and will warn them of my arrival (in Liverpool); and Arbuckle[1] I will write to myself.
And now, my Darling, with respect to those two houses, I declare to thee they look both so attractive on paper, that I cannot tell which I ought to prefer, and should like to see them with my bodily eyes before you decide. I have a great liking to that massive old concern with the broad staircase, and abundant accommodation for crockery![2] And dressingrooms to one's bedrooms is charming! I should not quarrel with the quantity, even tho' (like my china assiettes) it might be asked "what we have to put in it." But is it not too near the River? I should fear it would be a very foggy situation in Winter, and always damp and unwholesome. And the wainscoting up to the ceilings, - is it painted? If in the original state, hardly any number of candles (never to speak of "only two") will suffice to light it. And another idea presents itself along with that wainscot - if bugs have been in the house! Must they not have found there, as well as the inmates, "room without end?" The other again does not attract me so much, but to make up for that, suggests no objection; so keep them both open, if you can, till I come: and if you are constrained to decide, that you may not let both or either slip through your hands, do it with perfect assurance that Goody will approve your choice. The neighbourhood I would not let be a material point in your
[Page 49] deliberations. You have a pair of effectual legs to take you wherever you please; and for me, my chief enjoyment, I imagine, will always be in the society of my own heart's Darling, and within my own four walls, as heretofore.
My Mother sends her kindest regards. She is in the most gracious, bountiful mood; - giving me gowns, etc; - has even bought a superior silk-handkerchief for Alick! and a gown for little Sister Jenny whom she never saw! What a mercy for you, Dearest, that I have not her turn for managing the finance department! We should, in that case, soon sit rent-free in the King's Bench. And now I must conclude - a mean return for your long precious Letter; but I have a headache to-day, and must not drive it beyond bounds. God Almighty bless you, my Love. Before many days I shall see your face again.
YOUR OWN JANE.
LETTER 18[1]
To Dr. Carlyle, Rome.
Chelsea, 12th January, 1835.
... Mrs. Austin sends me occasional "threepennies" overflowing with "dearests," and all that, and asks me to her soirees now and then, and even plashes down here in wheeled vehicles at rare intervals. But what is all this to one who really longs for a little sincere friendship? There is a Mrs. Taylor whom I could really love, if it were safe and she were willing; but she is a dangerous looking woman and engrossed with a dangerous passion, and no useful relation can spring up between us. - In
[Page 50] short, dear Brother, I am hardly better off here for society than at Craigenputtock; not so well off as when you were there walking with me and reading Ariosto.
J. W. C.
LETTER 19
A visit of her own to Nithsdale, to Mother and kindred; journeyed by herself (I sitting here, in fiercely steady wrestle with French Revolution); her first journey from London, - attended with much physical hardship, excitation and petty misery to the too delicate creature; as generally to both of us, they all were. Thick skin cares for nothing; thin does for very much!
"Robert Hanning" is my youngest Sister Jenny's Husband; lately wedded, and settled with her in some small kind of trade in Manchester. A good enough little brisk-stirring, kind of fellow (was boy Farm-servant at Scotsbrig, several years in Jenny's childhood, and rather a favourite there); ... is now, this long while, settled into modesty, and doing well in Canada with his Jenny and the children and grandchildren they have. - Their lodging in Manchester, where I once tried sleeping, - first floor above their shop, in a street with many Mills adjacent, - was very bad and noisy; tho' the welcome, cordial and supreme, especially in the first instance, would make some amends.
"Goody" used to be my sportname for her. "Burnswark" (Birrenswark) is a "tabular Hill" in Annandale remarkable for its perfect Roman Camp, and still more for its almost exact shape (frustrum of a rectangular pyramid) and for the great extent of view it has all round, Lancashire, Cumberland, Yorkshire, to Selkirkshire, Roxboroughshire, etc.
"Oatmeal to John Mill" - was for his Father's use. Father was now on his deathbed, and had taken a longing for the food of his childhood. This, I conclude, would be a supplementary or second sending; no third, alas, was needed. - T. C.
[Page 51]
To T. Carlyle, Chelsea.
Templand, Saturday, '19 July, 1836.'
Heaven be praised, here I am at last, dear Husband; a most tired but not utterly demolished Goody. On the whole I have been mercifully dealt with; my journey has been assuaged for me in many ways which I had no reason to expect; and, considering my want of sleep, and all the rest of it, I am in a wonderful state of efficiency already.
The man you saw in the Coach with me was my only fellow passenger to Derby; so that, during the night I had a whole side to stretch myself on; and from Derby to Manchester I might even recline diagonally, having the whole Coach to myself. Besides the "ample room and verge enough," I had. also to congratulate myself on uninterrupted silence; for even while the man was there, no speech went on; he rolled up his great-coat to make a cushion for my back, presented me with three lemons, and for the rest took no notice of me whatever.
On arriving at Manchester, I felt considerable apprehension; for it had long been revealed to my recollection that, according to my late practice, I had come off without Hanning's address! So that if no one awaited me at the Coach I should be set down in the Street with my trunk, in one of the foolishest dilemmas imaginable. But Robert's happy face, popped in at the coach window, even before we stopped, rescued me from the well-merited punishment of my inadvertency; - he actually dropt a tear of joy! at sight of me, and looked as tho' he were half-minded to kiss me brüderlich: but that I rather waived.
[Page 52] We mounted into a hackney; and in a few minutes were opened-to by wee Jenny; who welcomed me most cordially in her still way. Both indeed expressed a satisfaction that was highly consolatory to a wandering pilgrim; and so also was the excellent chicken broth which was served up to me in no-time.
Jenny makes a most sedate, orderly, satisfactory-looking Hausfrau; and her little Husband, barring a little innocent vanity, and trustful forwardness, is a most comfortable landlord. But let no weary traveller ever dream of staying there with any view to sleep! The house is a nice enough little house, and the bedroom looks rather inviting even; but the bed is hard as a deal board, with a considerable elevation in the shape of Burnswark in the middle: there is, moreover a species of bug in it which raises lumps "the size of a hazel-nut"; - and to crown all, you are next door to a "jerry shop," where drunk people issue into the street all night long, trying who to rage loudest. Nothing would have tempted me to stay two nights, had I been able to proceed; but my head was horrible on the Monday.
On Tuesday afternoon I reached Liverpool after a flight (for it can be called nothing else) of thirty-four miles within an hour and a quarter. I was dreadfully frightened before the train started; in the nervous weak state I was in, it seemed to me certain that I should faint, and the impossibility of getting the horrid thing stopt![1] But I felt no difference between the motion of the steam carriage and that in which I had come from London; it
[Page 53] did not seem to be going any faster. As I had sent no intimation to Maryland Street, I was left to my own shifts on landing; the greatest difficulty was in getting my trunk from among the hundred others where it was tumbled. "You must take your turn, Ma'am, you must take your turn" was all the satisfaction I could get in pressing toward the heap; at last I said, "stand out of the road, will you? there is the trunk before my eyes; and I will lift it away myself without troubling anyone!" Whereupon the clerk cried out in a rage, "for Godsake[1] give that Lady her trunk and let us be rid of her." The omnibus man clutched it out of my hands, and promised to put me down within ten yards of Maryland Street. He was better than his word, for he drove me to the very door.
Nothing could exceed the astonishment occasioned by my apparition in the room where they were sitting at their dessert. There was wondering and laughing without end but no tea, nor prospect of any, - till, at last, in extreme thirst and despair, I fell to work on a plateful of strawberries and cream! Instead of killing me, the mess agreed with me so well that, I had strawberries and cream six times during the day and half I staid. - They were in a great confusion with painters, etc., etc., but as kind as ever; and as inconsiderate about sleep. I thought the bugs of Manchester had left nothing for the Liverpool ones to do; but I was mistaken; I had twenty new bites on my neck and arms the first night. O Darling, thank Heaven that we are without bugs; - and see that John's window be kept open, when he returns; and order Ann
[Page 54] to take down his clothes and shake them in the Garden; for he will go by Manchester!
On Thursday night at ten o'clock I was to sail: but the sea was a little rough, and my Uncle had heard something of the boiler being unsafe; and so nothing would pacify him but that I should go by the mail. As the most convincing argument that could be used, he went and took a seat for me, and paid it himself; besides this, he laid out eight guineas on the largest, warmest, most beautiful shawl that ever was seen, to regale me with, on my birthday, the day I left Liverpool! It was a most welltimed present; for the weather is become intensely cold, and I left London in a most destitute condition with respect to wrappings. ...
I wrote to John and my Mother from Liverpool; warning the former to meet me at Dumfries, and expecting the latter to come without being asked; as she did. When the Mail stopt at the King's Arms, Dumfries, I saw my trunk into the house, and then ran over to the Commercial to tell Mrs. Wilson that if my Mother should come I was gone out to Jean's. For I was in at half past eight, and the Steamboat was not expected till eleven. While I was waiting in the lobby for Mrs. Wilson, my Mother came down the stairs! Such an embracing and such a crying! The very Boots was affected with it, and spoke in a plaintive voice all morning after.
Mother looks well; - and is making a perfect fool of me with kindness. I was scarce home when she presented me with a purse she had worked me, - filled with sovereigns! for my birthday present!! So that I shall not be poorer
[Page 55] for my journey. John came before we left Dumfries, with Alick; and astonished me considerably by announcing his intention of "leaving the middle of next week,"[1] - without seeing more of me. ...
I did well enough on getting home, till I dined; and then I got deadly cold, - and my Mother wrapped me in wrappings innumerable; I then fell asleep; then I awoke with my head and body all in a cramp - not Caliban but a cramp;[2] - and then I did not know what I said or did; for it was the third night I had not slept a wink. And then they gave me tea and bathed my feet and put me to bed. I had a wonderful night, but slept off and on to a considerable extent, and as you see, am able to write after a fashion.
You may expect John the end of next week. I am going to be ill off with sour bread and boiled tea; and there are no peats to bake with. I forgot to send the meal to John Mill; I hope you have done it. Write instantly to me how you get on, to the minutest item. I mourned to hear of sleepless nights. My next Letter, it is to be hoped, will be better worth postage. As yet I am not subsided into good sense or "proper feelings." Kind compliments to Ann. I sent her Letter by John to Annan, and will take the Dolls for her Sisters myself: her people are all well. I passed thro' Annan in the Mail, but took it for Longtown until I was fairly out of it and recognised the house in which Mary had lived.
[Page 56]
God forever bless you. For God's sake do not work too hard. Go to bed in time, and take your meals regularly; - and think of me as kindly as you can.
"JANE W. CARLYLE" (no room for signature).
[Letter is full to overflowing: I remember all the points in it; and see myself reading it; but could not have dated within several years. - T. C.]
LETTER 20
"Dearest ... not speak," was one of Mrs. Basil Montagu's too stately preludes of a Letter to her in past years, while the "Noble Lady" was personally still a stranger. - T. C.
To T. Carlyle, Chelsea.
Templand, Saturday, '2 August, 1836.'
"Dearest of Friends - I write the thanks which I cannot speak." It may be true in most cases, as you have often admonished me, that "he who gives quickly gives twice"; in the matter of Letters I am very certain that he who gives tardily gives three or four times. Your Letter had been anxiously waited for: and all that anxious waiting told to its advantage; tho', by the way, there is not much wisdom in telling you so; since I would rather that the next came to hand enhanced by no such fraudulent merit.
It will not be long, however, that there will be any need of Letters passing between us, either swiftly or slowly. Nothing could make living here at all expedient for me, except the conviction that I was thereby gaining physical good; and such hope fades further and further into the distance every day. I shall get better in London, or not
[Page 57] get better, as may please the Upper Powers. In any case, "there is no use in rebelling against Providence,"[1] and I shall try all I can not to rebel: but here! mio Caro, the rain it raineth every day; there is no victualling to be had till ten in the morning, - at least not without an almost superhuman effort, - and I awake quite regularly at four! There is no quiet to be had, except in your bedroom, with the door locked; for the children[2] (Maggie, Mary, and Johnnie) are in perpetual movement, seeking whom they may devour; - there is no bread to be had (that is not next to poison), for love or money or tears or supplications, or even "bursts of Parliamentary eloquence." You know my Mother's way: she will give you everything on earth, except the thing you want; will do anything for you, except what you ask her to do. As for new milk, you may have it in any quantity; but then only immediately before your breakfast, or immediately after your tea; and the proposed sip of brandy in it, without which I incline to believe it unwholesome, that is offered, is pressed upon you to your pudding, your water, plain, diluted, cold, and hot; but, to your milk (since the thing was mentioned), it is impossible to have it, without a sacrifice of one's modesty, too cruel for so trifling a gain!
All these things are against me! As I indeed anticipated they would be. And my greatest consolation is, that you are not also "in the midst of them!"[3] You could not have lived here two weeks on the present principle (in spite of all your passionate longing for the country); and I
[Page 58] see not how the present principle could have been altered without our all having been born again. It is wonderful that one should vex and frighten oneself so much, in anticipation of serious evils, when it is all the little things of life, which, in reality, make up our happiness or misery. - One more fact, let me mention: having come off without any sufficient shoes, and the roads here being more like kennels than roads, I bought a pair, not made in Northampton, a shilling dearer than the best in London, easy as possible to slide the feet into; and already they have lamed me, both heels and toes, to such an extent as I shall not soon recover from. Consider all this, Dearest of Friends, and imagine much more than I could tell you, of the same sort; and infer from it, if you be wise, that the thought you are apt to dwell on too exclusively: that "God made the country, and man the town," is to be taken with large reservations; - is indeed to be "strongly doubted."[1] You may depend upon it, Sir, Man and even the Devil have had a very considerable hand in making the country also.
The most providential-looking thing that has happened to me since I came here, was the other day, about an hour after the receipt of your Letter, that a boy came to the kitchen-door, offering for sale two scrubs![2] Judge if I did not purchase them on the spot! Scrubs so manifestly destined for me, and no other. They cost twopence; and I hope soon to see them in brisk action at Chelsea; in the
[Page 59] meanwhile it will be something to keep Ann in heart. Give her my compliments, and say, I am glad to hear she is doing well, and that I will not fail to rummage out "Wee Jen"[1] when I go to Annan; and will speak French to her, if need be. Did John tell you that I saw Jane's Mother in Lancaster? We had but five minutes, and poor Jane herself was at the far end of the town; but the Mother, a most intelligent, amiable-looking woman, came running, and seemed greatly delighted to see me and gave me the most comfortable accounts of Jane; and assured me that she continued to think of me with "the greatest love and respect that one human being could bear to another." Such being the case, I shall surely write to her, when I return to London, and can get a frank. It is highly consolatory to be loved and respected by a person whom you have scolded for six months, without intermission; as it proves there must be an inexpressible something in you which triumphs over all contingencies. If Jane Ireland loves and respects me, there is no reason in the world why you should not do the same; you have never had quite so bad a time with me as she had, poor girl!
Mrs. Chrichton[2] has been absent at Aberdeen; but is returned, I believe. And I think of going to make out a few days with her. Most probably I shall go down to
[Page 60] Annandale the end of next week. I shall be able to do here till then, without explosion; for I am going to swallow a dose of senna to-morrow morning; and one has fine times with my Mother, after an act of docility like that. Let me know when John is to set out. I do not know how I shall return, - by coach, air, or sea. If any cheap and safe conveyance offered, I should certainly try the air this time; for the other two ways I have proved to be equally detestable - and killing. The sea offers the attraction of a glimpse at Edinburgh, if indeed that can be called an attraction, now that so little is left for me there to take pleasure in; and that the bad magic of my dyspepsia "makes that little less." I shall see after your commissions to the best of my power.
Poor John Sterling is gone,[1] I suppose. He wrote me a long letter, with evident effort, speaking of his future in a tone of sad gaiety, or gay sadness, I know not which to call it; but it was grating to my feelings. I do not think we shall ever see him again; and we shall certainly never see a better man.
Poor Mill! he really seems to have "loved and lived"; his very intellect seems to be failing him in its strongest point: - his implicit admiration and subjection to you. What a mercy I did not go with them! You make me ready "to shriek at the very idea of it." You need not be envying me the gooseberries, - there are plenty; but the "mountain thrushes" pick them all; sic omnia! I have seen William Menteith[2] and his beautiful Wife, much fitter
[Page 61] for him than I, - young as himself, and silly as himself, and happy-hearted as himself.
I saw and read Wilhelm Meister! God bless you. Thanks for all the kind, encouraging things you say to me. I wonder you never weary. John Sterling said you were in good spirits. I am exceedingly happy to hear it.[1] You do not say that you miss me; but I hope it is out of self-denial, not indifference.
"J. W. C."
LETTER 21
Is gone on a tour with the elder Mr. and Mrs. Sterling, while I am in Scotland rusticating and vegetating. - T. C.
To T. Carlyle, Scotsbrig,
Clifton, 29th Angust, 1837.
Dearest Love - I have been too long waiting for certainties; hithering and thithering being a condition under which I find it almost impossible to write, or indeed to do anything except fret myself to fiddlestrings. What I generally do in such cases is to shape out a decision with all dispatch for myself, and leave the others to welter on in their own fashion. Accordingly, when I found on our arrival at Clifton that it was all in the wind whether we should stay there one week or two or three, and whether we should return straight to London or by Brighton, or by the Isle of Wight, or first making a "run over to Dublin," I immediately announced my intention of descending by Parachute, and was only prevented from carrying it out by humane consideration for the parties in the Balloon, where
[Page 62] there was evidently going to be an alarming explosion in case of my departure; Mrs. Sterling having set her heart for a visit of some length to the Bartons, and his Whirlwindship finding the whole Barton generation "creatures without stimulus," whom he was desirous to cut and run from, by "feeling it his duty to see poor Mrs. Carlyle 'ome." His secret purpose was evidently to take himself and me back in the carriage, and leave Mrs. S. to follow as she could; and this I felt would have been a very ungracious proceeding towards that good soul, who treats me with such kindness and consideration. I now perceive the use my company is of to them both, better than I did when we set out: I furnish, as it were, the sugar and ginger, which makes the alkali of the one and the tartaric acid of the other effervesce into a somewhat more agreeable draught; for, "the effervescing of these people!" To say the least "it is very absurd!" But I shall keep all my stock of biographic notices to enliven our winter evenings. Meanwhile you are to know that we left Malvern for Clifton a week ago, all of us with very dry eyes.
Mr. Sterling, on finding that certain lords who smiled deceitful at the Carlton Club, were absolutely inaccessible at the Foley Arms, suddenly discovered that your beautiful scenery was a great humbug, as you had only "to strip the soil a foot deep and it would be a vile black mass." Mrs. Sterling, in her querulous, qualifying, about it and about it way, doubted whether it was wholesome to overlook such a flat, "not but what it was very well to have seen for once, or if there was any necessity for living there, of course one would not object," etc., etc.: - and, for me poverina, from
[Page 63] the first moment I set my eyes on the place, I foresaw that it would prove a failure; that it would neither make me a convert to Nature, nor find me in a new nervous system. Every day of our stay there I arose with a headache, and my nights were unspeakable; every day I felt more emphatically that Nature was an intolerable bore. Do not misconstrue me, - genuine, unsophisticated Nature, I grant you, is all very amiable and harmless; but beautiful Nature, which man has exploited, as a Reviewer does a work of genius, making it a peg to hang his own conceits upon, to enact his Triumph der Empfindsamkeit[1] in, - beautiful Nature, which you look out upon from pea-green arbours, which you dawdle about in on the backs of donkeys, and where you are haunted with an everlasting smell of roast meat - all that I do declare to be the greatest of bores, and I would rather spend my days amidst acknowledged brick houses and paved streets, than in any such fools' paradise.
So entirely unheimlich I felt myself, that the day I got your Letter I cried over it for two or three hours. In other more favourable circumstances, I should have recognised the tone of sadness that ran all through it, as the simple effect of a tiresome journey, and a dose of physic at the end; but, read at Malvern, with headache and ennui for interpreters! - Alas! what could I do but fling myself on my bed and cry myself sick? I said to myself you were no better than when you left me, and all this absence was gone for nothing. I wanted to kiss you into something like cheerfulness, and the length of a kingdom was between us, - and if it had not - the probabilities are that, with the
[Page 64] best intentions, I should have quarrelled with you rather. Poor men and poor women! what a time they have in this world, by destiny and their own deserving. But as Mr. Bradfute used to say, "tell us something we do not know."
Well, then, it is an absolute fact that his Whirlwindship and I rode to the top of Malvern Hill, each on a live donkey! Just figure it! with a Welsh lad whipping us up from behind; for they were the slowest of donkeys, though named in defiance of all probability, Fly and Lively. "The Devil confound your donkeys!" exclaimed my vivacious companion (who might really, I think, "but for the honour of the thing," and perhaps some small diminution of the danger of bursting his lungs, have as well walked!) "they are so stupidly stubborn that you might as well beat on a stick." "And isn't it a good thing they be stubborn, Sir?" said the lad, "as being, you see, that they have no sense; if they wasn't stubborn they might be for taking down the steep, and we wants no accidents, Sir." "Now," said I, "for the first time in my life I perceive why Conservatives are so stupidly stubborn; stubbornness, it seems, is a succedaneum for sense." - A flash of indignation - then in a soft tone, "Do you know, Mrs. Carlyle, you would be a vast deal more amiable, if you were not so damnably clever!" This is a fair specimen of our talk at Malvern from dewy morn to balmy eve. My procedure at Worcester (where we passed two days, and whence I sent a Newspaper) was unexpected and disappointing in the extreme. I walked into the house of the illustrious Archdeacon along a lengthy passage, down two steps into an antique-looking drawing-room or suite of drawing-rooms; without giving proof of
[Page 65] being anything out of the common. I cast my nota-bene eyes over the man: - a large portly figure, belonging to the rotund school, the very beau ideal of an old Abbot, with countenance full of twinkling intelligence: and gregarious good humour, having a high metallic tone of voice, and a whisking suddenness of movement, accompanied by a peculiar fling of the coat-skirts, which reminded me forcibly of the Archivarius Lindhorst. I also flung a cursory glance on a table, where a massive lunch was spread out, such as realised one's sublimest conceptions of a Convent refectory; and then without more said or done, I pitched myself into a fluffy, snow-white bed, which was shown me as mine; where I lay twenty-four hours, not out of sheer contradiction, but because I really could no longer hold myself erect. In vain the prim Archdeconian Perpetua came at stated intervals to know if I wanted anything? receiving always for answer, "To be let alone"; and in vain the Whirlwind himself came at intervals not stated, to ask in a tone of deep, tho' loud pathos (for it was from outside the door) "if I believed that he was exceedingly sorry," receiving also one unvarying answer, "Yes, yes!" My headache refused to listen to the voice of either charmer till it had run its course. It was indeed a strange preternatural night, the first I passed in that Prebendary Establishment, right under the stroke (it seemed to me) of the great cathedral clock, which strikes even the quarters, haunted by the Images of the large Archdeaconess and large pigeon-pie I had seen below, and surrounded by queer old cabinets and gigantic china bowls; - all which taken together had to my over-excited imagination a cast of magic! Especially
[Page 66] in the dead of night, with a rushlight dimly lighting the chamber; and betwixt sleeping and waking. I repeatedly sprang up in a panic, with my head quite mystified between this Worcester Archdeacon and the German Archivarius, and could by no possibility decide whether Archdeacon Singleton was not also the father of a green serpent and could make his face into a bronze knocker! Worthy man, when he welcomed me anew next day with the broadest smiles, he little suspected what strange thoughts I had had of him.
But I have quite miscalculated my distance, and have left no room for my travels' history since. The loss will not be material. Suffice it to say, we came from Malvern to Chepstow all in one day, besides "doing" Eastnor Castle, Goodrich Castle, Tintern Abbey, and Chepstow Castle; and the next, on to Clifton; thoroughly tired body and soul. We are in lodgings here: I have a quiet room, and sleep better. Every day we dine with the Bartons, the kindest people to dine with one could wish; but as he says, there is a lack of stimulus. The Brother that is returned from India is the most wonderful compound appearance of Cavaignac and - Mr. Bradfute: ecco la combinazione![1] And now here is surprising news for you: - John Sterling is to be back in London, with his Wife and her little ones, about the 12th. He himself having turned towards Madeira, in consequence of cholera abroad, and the family to remain at Knightsbridge; which I do not
[Page 67] think his Father half likes. Poor John is really a little flighty, "after all."
I fondly hope to quit Clifton the end of this present week; and to go home by the base of the isosceles triangle, which the Isle of Wight makes with Clifton and London, instead of along the two sides. I long for home, and to be putting in order for your coming. I shall send you a Newspaper immediately on my landing; and then you will write to say when. O, my Darling, we will surely be better, both of us, there again: effervescing even: - don't you think so? I made no "mark" - wrote nothing on any Newspaper, - it must have been some editorial mark of Mr. Sterling, which I had not noticed. I have sent you Papers from every large Town where I have been.
I have kept no room for kind messages. Say for me all that you know I would wish to say. I saw the Crawfords at Monmouth. Mr. C. is most emphatic for another Course of Lectures: - the characters, he thought a most glorious project. I have no doubt but you will find an audience prepared to be enchanted with you, whenever you want one. - The Book seems to be much more popular than I ever expected. Archdeacon Singleton finds nothing Radical in it! J. W. C. (No room for more.)
LETTER 22[1]
'Chelsea, 1 May, 1838.'
My dear Jean - When a man - at least when this man has "physic in him," it appears to me that he should
[Page 68] make a distinct announcement of the fact in the very first sentence of his Letter, instead of mentioning it by the bye, at the end; as the reader then takes in all he may say or sings with allowance. Thus had he begun with, "My dear Jean, I this morning swallowed 'quite promiscuously' a dose of castor oil, mixed up with my own hand too (my Wife being in bed at the time), and sit down to write under its 'dark brown shad,'" you would have formed to yourself, as you proceeded, a much cheerier, as well as truer, picture of "the wark." I can assure you his nerves were a vast deal stiffer than last year. I took one glimpse at him (just one) when he came on the stage, - and to be sure he was as white as a pockethandkerchief, but he made no gasping and spluttering, as I found him doing last year at the fourth Lecture. By and by, when the rate he was getting on at told me I might look with safety, he had recovered all that "bonny red in his cheeks" which Miss Corson of Craigenputtock so highly admired; and having a very fine light from above shining down on him he really looked a surprisingly beautiful man. His Lecture was to my taste better than any he delivered last year in my hearing (tho' he himself thinks, forsooth, there was not enough of fire in it); and he delivered it very gracefully; that is to say, without any air of thinking about his delivery, which is the best grace of any. I, in a measure, "took up my bed and walked" to hear him, - for I was hardly up after several days with tugging on with influenza like a fly among treacle, when the arrival of a gentleman with a close-carriage to take me, was a temptation not to be resisted - and I just waited to send off
[Image fp68: MRS. J. B. WELSH.]
[Page 69] Him with my blessing, and then flung on my cloak and drove after him, - arriving at the door from opposite sides in the very same instant with himself; - but I turned away my face and passed on without taking any notice, as the pheasants when they want to hide think it is enough to stick their heads into a hole. Beware, however, dear Jean, how you encourage that little morsel of yours to follow the trade of being a Genius - it is a considerable risk - one way and another - and for my part, if I had the power of administering it, I should advise it much as our good Doctor used to do with his Senna, - "you had better give it him - or perhaps you had better not."
My Mother complains that you take no notice of her, and the only news she gets of any of you is by way of London. For shame! You who can write so well ought not to be so slack.
Ever your affectionate Sister,
JANE W. CARLYLE.
Remember me very kindly to James[1] whose sympathetic looks on my wayfaring at Dumfries, I shall long be grateful for.
LETTER 23
Sterling was at Blackheath two successive summers; went to Hastings for a while in the autumn of the latter (1838). "Portrait" must be Laurence's Crayon Sketch, still here? No, it is the Oil-Picture (baddish) now at Scotsbrig.[2] - T. C.
[Page 70]
To the Revd. John Sterling, Blackheath.
Chelsea, Wednesday, '11th July, 1838.'
Geflügelter! - My getting to Blackheath seems to be a "camel-passing-through-the-eye-of-a-needle" sort of problem, which it is as good as useless to set the heart of me on at present. Thursday I cannot go; for, having excused myself from the Communion of Saints at Woolwich, on the plea of ill-health, I must, in common decency, abstain, for that day at least, from any open demonstration of locomotive force. Friday my Husband sits for his picture (a miracle of art likely to be, but in the meantime a thing of dread enough to curdle all the milk in Middlesex); and I, poverina, make tea for the Artist before he begins, and encourage him with my exquisite clitter-clatter while he works. Saturday (Carlyle told me on his return yesterday) we are engaged to dine with Darwin, and walk in the evening in St. James's Park (to cultivate a taste for innocent pleasures, I presume). So there is the whole week disposed of; and for me to be making appointments beyond the week I am in, were, what they call in Scotland, "a tempting of Providence." Come you here. It is better so. I can listen to you with composure of soul, and talk to you very prettily on my own sofa; but nowhere else am I good for anything, except to remind people of their latter end.
When they are gone from Knightsbridge, both your Wife and you will have some time on your hands, which I lay claim to, as the next in merit and locality. Carlyle sends regards. It "is a possibility that he may see you
[Page 71] on Thursday; but not to be positively calculated on." Kind love to "Mrs. John" and the little unfledged.
Your affectionate,
JANE CARLYLE.
LETTER 24
I remember the poor "easy-chair," which has vanished from the house long since; - there are many things of the same type still here; never was such a creature for noticing cheap waifs as she passed along, and transmuting them by an alchemy all her own! Poverty on such terms may truly be considered (especially in these mean days) a kind of wealth. - To "raise" is Annandale for "achieve the finance of" (by effort muster the price of, - I have also heard them call it "string," "strung," evidently the German strugend). To "harl" is to drag slowly, and with imperfect success; a "harl" of anything expresses defect both in value and form. A country fellow enumerating the miserable ailments that beset his poor Mother, added lastly, "and ony harl o' health she has is ay about mealtime." (Fact this, I have heard; scene Dr. Thom's Surgery, Ecclefechan.) - T. C.
To Mrs. Carlyle, Scotsbrig.
Chelsea, '28 November, 1838.'
My dear Mother - On reading over this Letter,[1] I can bethink me of only one earthly thing that he has omitted to mention; which is, that we have, within the last few days, raised (as dear Mary used to say) a capital easy-chair, in which one or even two may sit very snug in winter-nights; and, with such a cinder fire, as he has got to-night, may be slowly roasted alive: as in a Dutch-oven, for it is exactly the shape of one. A great addition
[Page 72] to our coomfoart![1] As is also the woollen spencer he bought me with your money, which I am rejoicing in at this present writing. I have also, you will be glad to hear, "a cap on my head," tho' not of "thick muslin"; and you must be resigned to the idea of my flinging it off again so soon as the frost abates. But the wonderfullest of all my acquisitions is a thing made of black silk with a quarter of a mile of brass wire in it, which I clasp on the under part of my face when I go out; and which is precisely like the muzzle on a mad dog; but has the property of making all the air that goes down one's throat as warm as summer air. They call it a respirator. Carlyle keeps saying he is very bilious, etc., but he looks very passably, is not so desperately "ill to deal wi'" as you and I have known him, and has always a good "harl o' health at meal-time." I am sorry to hear of poor Isabella's delicate state; knowing so well from experience, what it is to be laid on the shelf with the feeling that everything must be going wrong without me. Give her my kind regards, and to all the rest remember me also affectionately.
Tell Alick I ate every morsel of the honey myself.
Ever affectionately yours,
JANE CARLYLE.
LETTER 25
To Mrs. Welsh, at 3 Maryland St., Liverpool.
Chelsea, Sunday, 7 April, 1839.
Dearest Mother - It is a week past on Thursday
[Page 73] since you went away, and really that one week looks longer than all the time you were here. Parting is one of the few hardships in this world which one does not "use to"; indeed the last time seems always the worst. It was quite heart-breaking leaving you in that tremendous apparatus, given up as it were to an irresistible destiny; to be shot away from one like an arrow into space! I cried all the way home; and then sat down so dowie by the fire, indisposed to speak to any son or daughter of Adam. But Helen was determined I should not despond for lack of a little of her Job's comfort; so she broke the silence by an announcement that we were "out of baith dips and moulds." "There," said I, giving her money, and returned to look into the fire. But she lingered as she went, and at the door she made a stand and gave a great sigh, and then broke forth, "I declare it's no like the same hoose, sae dull and dismal-like, it's just as if a corp had gaen oot! She was so attached!" What could one do in such a case but either jump up and fell her, or burst into new weeping? Having little spirit remaining, I chose the latter alternative. Then as if on purpose to keep alive my regrets, ever so many things have turned up, since you went, that I should have liked you to have been present at. The very next evening came the French Catholic Rio, that Carlyle had described to us as such a striking man. He pleased me much, tho' resembling the description in no one particular except the duskiness of his complexion. I had fancied him a stern, bigoted enthusiast, whereas he is a sort of French John Sterling;
[Page 74] if possible even more voluble and transparent; and his Catholicism sits on him just about as lightly as John's Church-of-Englandism sits on him. I happened to ask him if he knew Cavaignac: "Ah, who does not know Cavaignac by name? But I, you know, am a victim of his party, as he is a victim of Louis Philippe. Does Cavaignac come here?" "Yes, we have known him long." "Good gracious! How strange it would be for us to meet in the same room! How I should like it!" "Well," I said, "he is to dine here on Monday." "I will come; good gracious, it will be so strange": and he seemed amazingly charmed with his prospect. Not so Carlyle, who began, before he was well out at the door, "Mercy Jane, are you distracted?" "What can you do with these two men?" etc., etc. I assured him it would go off without bloodshed, and began to think of my dinner. In addition to the boiled leg of mutton already projected for the sake of the capers, I decided on a beefsteak pie; and, that care off my mind, I trusted in Providence that the men would not come to an explosion.
The dinner, however, could hardly be called a "successful one." Rio appeared on the scene at half-past three, as if he could not have enough of it. Latrade came as the clock struck four. But Cavaignac - Alas! Two of his friends were on terms about blowing each other's brains out, and Cavaignac was gone to bring them to reason; and not till they were brought to reason would he arrive to eat his dinner. Now, whether the men would be brought to reason before the dinner
[Page 75] was quite spoiled, was a delicate question that Latrade himself could not answer. So, one half hour being gone, and still no appearance of him, I was on the point of suggesting that we should wait no longer, when a carriage drove up and deposited Mrs. Macready and Macready's Sister. Was ever beefsteak pie in such a cruel predicament! There was no help, however, but to do the amiable, which was not ill to do even in these trying circumstances, the visitors were such attractive sort of people. Mrs. Macready asked me how I liked Harriet's Book.[1] I answered "how do you like it?" She made wide eyes at me and drew her little mouth together into a button. We both burst out a-laughing, and that is the way to get fast friends. An hour and half after the dinner had been all ready we proceeded to eat it, - Rio, Latrade and we, And when it was just going off the table cold, Cavaignac came, his hands full of papers and his head full of the Devil knows what; but not one reasonable word would he speak the whole night. Rio said nothing to his dispraise, but I am sure he thought in his own mind "Good Gracious! I had better never be in the same room with him again!"
But there has been another Frenchman here that I would have given a gold guinea that you had seen: To-day gone a week the sound of a whirlwind rushed thro' the street, and there stopt with a prancing of steeds and footman thunder at this door, an equipage, all resplendent with skye-blue and silver, discoverable thro' the blinds, like a piece of the Coronation Procession,
[Page 76] from whence emanated Count d'Orsay! ushered in by the small Chorley. Chorley looked "so much alarmed that he was quite alarming"; his face was all the colours of the rainbow, the under-jaw of him went zig-zag; indeed, from head to foot he was all over one universal quaver, partly, I suppose, from the soul-bewildering honour of having been borne hither in that chariot of the sun; partly from apprehension of the effect which his man of Genius and his man of Fashion were about to produce on one another. Happily it was not one of my nervous days, so that I could contemplate the whole thing from my prie-Dieu without being infected by his agitation, and a sight it was to make one think the millenium actually at hand, when the lion and the lamb, and all incompatible things should consort together. Carlyle in his grey plaid suit, and his tub-chair, looking blandly at the Prince of Dandies; and the Prince of Dandies on an opposite chair, all resplendent as a diamond-beetle, looking blandly at him. D'Orsay is a really handsome man, after one has heard him speak and found that he has both wit and sense; but at first sight his beauty is of that rather disgusting sort which seems to be like genius, "of no sex." And this impression is greatly helped by the fantastical finery of his dress: sky-blue satin cravat, yards of gold chain, white French gloves, light drab great-coat lined with velvet of the same colour, invisible inexpressibles, skin-coloured and fitting like a glove, etc., etc. All this, as John says, is "very absurd"; but his manners are manly and unaffected and
[Page 77] he convinces one, shortly, that in the face of all probability he is a devilish clever fellow. Looking at S |
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