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NEW  LETTERS  &  MEMORIALS  OF 
JANE  WELSH   CARLYLE.    VOL.  II 


mm 


NEW  LETTERS  AND 
MEMORIALS  of  JANE 
WELSH  CARLYLE 

ANNOTATED  BY  THOMAS  CARLYLE 
AND  EDITED  BY  ALEXANDER  CAR- 
LYLE, WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION  BY 
SIR  JAMES  CRICHTON  -  BROWNE,  M.DV, 
LL.D.,  F.R.S.,  WITH  SIXTEEN  ILLUSTRA- 
TIONS, IN  TWO  VOLUMES.  VOL.  II 


JOHN      LANE,     THE      BODLEY     HEAD 
LONDON   AND   NEW   YORK.      MDCCCCIII 


Copyright 
in  America 
by  John  Lane 
1903 


HMfl 


Wm.  Clowes  and  Sons,  Limited,  Printers,  London. 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

1.  THOMAS  CARLYLB,  cetat.  46.    (From  a  water-colour  Sketch  by 

Samuel  Laurence,  in  the  possession  of  the  Editor)  Frontispiece 

To  face  page 

2.  HARRIET    LADY    ASHBURTON.       (From    an    Engraving    by 

Francis  Holl.  Drawn  in  Lithography  by  T.  E.  Way.) 
Described  by  Mrs.  Carlyle  as  "  the  cleverest  woman  out 
of  sight  that  I  ever  saw  in  my  life,"  "very  lovable," 
"  very  pleasant  to  live  with,"  "  full  of  energy  and  sin- 
cerity, and  has,  I  am  sure,  an  excellent  heart " ;  and  by 
Carlyle  as  "  the  facile  princeps  of  all  great  Ladies,"  "  that 
most  Queen-like  woman,"  etc.  .  .  .  .12 

3.  MRS.  CARLYLB  AND  NERO.     (From  a  Photo  by  Mr.  B.  Tait, 

1854.     Drawn  in  Lithography  by  T.  E.  Way)          .         .       78 

4.  Facsimiles  of  a  page  of  Mrs.  Carlyle's  Journal,  and  of  the 

inscription  on  the  fly-leaf  of  Mrs.  Carlyle's  first  copy 
of  '  Sartor  Besartus '  (sheets  from  Eraser's  Magazine 
bound) 106 

5.  DR.  WELSH  AND   MRS.  WELSH.      (From  Miniatures  in  the 

possession  of  the  Editor)        .          .          .          .          .          .150 

6.  WILLIAM  BINGHAM  BARING,  LORD  ASHBURTON.     (From  a 

Portrait  "  done  at  one  sitting  "  by  Landseer.  Drawn  in 
Lithography  by  T.  E.  Way) 276 

7.  FRONT  VIEW  OF  No.  24  (formerly  5),  CHEYNE  Kow,  CHELSEA. 

(Drawn  in  Lithography  by  T.  E.  Way.)  Home  of  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Carlyle  from  June,  1834,  to  their  deaths.  In 
1895  the  House  was  purchased  by  friends  and  admirers 
of  Carlyle ;  it  contains  a  valuable  collection  of  Books, 
Portraits,  MSS.  and  other  interesting  relics  of  both  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Carlyle.  Open  to  the  public  every  week-day  .  302 

8.  BACK  OR  GARDEN  VIEW  OF  No.  24  CHEYNE  Bow.     (Drawn 

in  Lithography  by  T.  E.  Way) 330 


(0 

NEW  LETTERS  AND  MEMORIALS 
OF     JANE     WELSH     CARLYLE 


LETTER  111 

To  Dr.  Carlyhj  Scotsbrigl 

Auchtertool  Manse,  Sunday,  5  Augt.,  1849.1 
Thanks  for  your  Letter,  dear  John, — come  an  hour  ago, 
with  one  from  Plattnauer,  giving  the  news  of  Mr.  C.,  which 
he  has  not  time,  it  seems,  to  write  himself.  I  send  it  at 
once,  as  your  Mother  will  find  any  news  better  than  none. 
Certainly  the  Letter-department  here  is  arranged  on 
an  entirely  wrong  basis.  The  delay  is  monstrous.  I  can- 
not write  at  any  length  to-day,  for  fear  of  stirring  up  my 
head  into  a  promiscuousness!  The  late  hours  here  don't 
suit  me; — in  fact,  there  is  a  good  deal  in  life  here  that  don't 
suit  me;  and  which  is  the  more  trying  because  it  is  wrong, 
and  because  one  " feels  it  his  duty"  to  be  in  revolt  against 
it.  Breakfast  at  ten — dinner  nearer  seven  than  six — 
"dandering  individuals"  constantly  dropping  in — dressing 
and  undressing,  world  without  end!  All  that  is  so  wholly 
out  of  place  in  a  Scotch  Manse.  And  the  chitter-chatter ! 

If  my  Uncle  could  only  speak  intelligibly  I  should  get 
good  talk  out  of  him;  but  since  he  lost  his  teeth  his  artic- 

Vou  II.-1 


2  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

ulation  is  so  imperfect  that  it  needs  one  to  be  used  to  it 
to  catch  one  word  out  of  ten. 

By  the  way,  I  must  not  forget  to  tell  you  his  criticism 
on  your  Dante.  We  had  been  talking  about  you  the  other 
night,  and  then  we  had  sunk  silent,  and  I  had  betaken 
myself  to  walking  to  and  fro  in  the  room.  Suddenly  my 
Uncle  turned  his  head  to  me  and  said,  shaking  it  gravely, 
" he  has  made  an  awesome  pluister  o'  that  place! "  "Who? 
What  place,  Uncle?"  "Whew!  the  place  yell  maybe 
gang  to  if  ye  dinna  tak'  care!"  I  really  believe  he 
considers  all  those  Circles  of  your  invention. 

You  are  going  to  let  Rosetta  slip  through  your  fingers; 
her  Brother  is  going  to  take  her  home  to  Germany  in  two 
months.  Or  will  you  go  and  propose  to  her  there,  and 
take  me  with  you? 

Walter  performed  the  marriage  service  over  a  couple  of 
colliers  the  day  after  I  came.  I  happened  to  be  in  the 
Study  when  they  came  in,  and  asked  leave  to  remain. 
The  man  was  a  good-looking  young  man  enough — dread- 
fully agitated,  partly  with  the  business  he  was  come  on, 
partly  with  drink.  He  had  evidently  taken  a  glass  too 
much,  to  keep  his  heart  up.  The  girl  had  one  very  large 
inflamed  eye  and  one  little  one,  which  looked  perfectly 
composed;  while  the  large  eye  stared  wildly  and  had  a  tear 
in  it.  Walter  married  them  very  well  indeed;  and  his 
affecting  words,  together  with  the  bridegroom's  pale,  ex- 
cited face,  and  the  bride's  ugliness,  and  the  "poverty, 
penury,  needcessity  and  want"  imprinted  on  the  whole 
business, — and,  above  all,  fellow-feeling  with  the  poor 
wretches  there  rushing  on  their  fate, — all  that  so  over- 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  3 

came  me  that  I  fell  a-crying  as  desperately  as  if  I  had  been 
getting  married  to  the  collier  myself.  And  when  the  cere- 
mony was  over,  I  extended  my  hand  to  the  unfortunates 
and  actually  (in  such  an  enthusiasm  of  pity  did  I  find  my- 
self!) presented  the  new  Husband  with  a  snuff-box(l) 
which  I  happened  to  have  in  my  hand,  being  just  about 
presenting  it  to  Walter  when  the  creatures  came  in.  This 
unexpected  Himmelsendung  finished  turning  the  man's 
head;  he  wrung  my  hand  over  and  over  again,  leaving  his 
mark  for  some  hours  after;  and  ended  his  grateful  speeches 
with  "Oh,  Miss! — Oh,  Leddy! — may  ye  hae  mair  comfort 
and  pleesure  in  your  life  than  ever  you  have  had  yet!" 
which  might  easily  be !  Walter,  infected  by  my  generosity, 
presented  the  Bride  with  a  new  Bible.  The  coal-pit  would 
ring  next  day  with  the  "gootlock"  which  had  "  followed 
them  to  the  Orient."* 

But  there,  you  see,  is  a  long  Letter;  and  my  head  is 
aching,  and  that  is  stupid.  I  must  go  and  sit  in  the  Gar- 
den. All  the  House  is  at  Church. 

Your  affectionate 

J.  W.  C. 

*A  foolish,  fluffy  Dane,  one  Brandes, — from  whom  I  had  some 
lessons, — was  narrating  something  to  her,  about  somebody's  his- 
tory, How  "  he  went  to  India,  Ma'am,  and  good  luck  followed  him 
to  the  East,"  but  smothered  it  into  "  Gootlock  followed  him  to  the 
Orient!"  which  was  not  forgotten  for  a  long  time  here! — T.  C 
To  this  phrase  Mr.  Froude  gives  an  explanation  of  his  own,  wholly 
original  and  "significant  of  much."  Mrs.  Carlyle,  writing  from 
Haddington  to  her  Husband,  says,  "It  seems  a  month  since  we 
parted  at  Dundee  .  .  .  Gootlock  did  not  follow  me  into  the  Orient 
by  any  means.  A  headache  followed  me,  and  stuck  by  me  till  the 
Monday  that  I  left  Kirkcaldy."  (Letters  and  Memorials,  ii.  76.) 
Whereupon  Mr.  Froude  notes,  "  Haddington  is  east.  Mrs.  Carlyle 
had  returned  thither  to  stay  with  the  Donaldsons."  Mrs.  Carlyle, 
of  course,  is  speaking  of  her  journey  from  Dundee  to  Kirkcaldy, 
which  is  s.  s.  west  rather  than  east,  and  Haddington  had  nothing 
to  do  with  it;  she  merely  repeats  a  bit  of  coterie  speech,  and  is  not 
solemnly  giving  Carlyle  a  lesson  in  the  geography  of  ScotlandJ 


4  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

LETTER  112 

To  Dr.  Carlyle,  Scotsbrig. 

Chelsea,  Saturday,  'Emd  of  Oct.,  1849.' 
Cool!  upon  my  honour!  I  write  you  a  long,  charming 
Letter,  tell  you  everything  I  know  and  some  things  more, — 
and  far  from  making  me  a  "  suitable  return,"  you  make  me 
no  return  at  all!  .  .  .  I  have  taken  a  spree  of  Novel 
reading,  too, — read  Shirley  last  week,  by  the  Authoress  of 
Jane  Eyre,*  and  one  of  Trollope's, — having  been  taken 
one  day  to  Mrs.  Procter's  to  see  Trollope  in  her  own  house, 
and  introduced  to  her  as  "a  friend  from  the  Country" 
(that  at  my  own  desire,  for  fear  that  she  would  return  the 
call) ;  and  having  found  her  a  shrewd,  honest  woman  to 
hear  talk.  But  her  Book  is  rubbishy  in  the  extreme;  and 
Shirley  isn't  much  better.  That  spell  of  Novel  reading, 
and  a  dinner  at  Knight  the  Publisher's,  to  patch  up  a  feud 
with  Harriet  Martineau,  is  all  in  the  shape  of  amusement 
that  I  have  taken  since  my  return, — and  not  much  more 
amusing  than  darning  stockings.  .  .  . 

Darwin  is  come  back,  but  I  have  not  seen  him  yet. 
Miss  Wynn  is  come  back  also,  and  her  I  have  seen,  once, 
in  a  clatter  of  Parrots  and  little  cats  and  dogs,  with  which 
she  solaces  her  loneliness,  at  the  top  of  the  house.  Bolte 
is  still  in  Germany  imbibing  "the  new  ideas."  Anthony 
Sterling  has  got  Harriet  Martineau  going  to  visit  him  for 
a  couple  of  days  next  week — or  rather  going  to  visit  his 
lackadaisical  Governess.  ...  He  has  found  a  new 
outrake  for  his  superfluous  activity  in  a  small  Print- 

*  Charlotte  Bronte'. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  5 

ing-press  he  has  set  up  at  Headley.  With  the  power  of 
not  only  writing  verses  but  printing  them,  one  may  live  a 
little  longer. 

Please  to  write,  tho?  it  be  but  with  "somebody  waiting 
to  take  the  Letter  to  the  Post-office."  We  want  to  hear  of 
your  Mother  very  often  till  she  be  quite  recovered.  And 
really,  considering  that  I  am  your  patient, — to  urge  no 
other  claims, — you  ought  to  keep  an  eye  upon  me,  to  be 
sure  I  don't  poison  myself  with  the  prodigious  assortment 
of  pills  I  am  continually  swallowing.  I  write  to-day  at 
Mr.  C.'s  suggestion,  who  has  only  time  to  "add  a  post- 
script," the  Painter  Carrick  having  got  hold  of  him  again. 
— Love  to  them  all. 

Yours  ever  affectionately, 

<j.  w.  c: 

LETTER  113 

To  John  Forster]  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields* 

Chelsea,  7  November,   1849. 

Yes,  dear  Mr.  Forster,  on  Wednesday,  that  is,  to- 
morrow week,  the  "Great  Fact"  shall,  Deo  wienie,  get 
itself  accomplished. 

Meanwhile  do  not  trouble  to  send  me  Shirley:  I  have 
just  finished  that  not-masterly  production.  Now  that 
this  Authoress  has  left  off  "Cor sing  and  schwearing"  (as 
my  German  master  used  to  call  it),  one  finds  her  neither 
very  lively  nor  very  original.  Still  I  should  like  very 
much  to  know  her  name.  Can  you  give  it  me?  as,  if  she 
have  not  kept  company  with  me  in  this  life,  we  must  have 
been  much  together  in  some  previous  state  of  existence. 


6  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

I  perceive  in  her  Book  so  many  things  I  have  said  myself, 
printed  without  alteration  of  a  word. 

What  a  bore  that  we  cannot  get  done  with  the  Man- 
nings.* I  begin  to  fear  you  will  not  have  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  her  turned  off,  after  all. 

Ever  inexpressibly  yours, 

JANE  W.  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  114 

To  Dr.  CarlyUj  Scotsbrig*. 

Chelsea,  '10  December,  1849.'. 

My  dear  John — I  ought  to  tell  you  that  I  am  about 
again;  that  is  to  say,  when  it  does  not  rain;  and  that 
again  is  to  say,  at  rare  intervals.  The  weather  is,  in  fact, 
detestable;  but  it  will  mend  in  time, — which  can't  be  said 
of  all  the  detestable  things  one  knows. 

The  chief  news  I  have  to  tell  you  is  that  I  have  got  a 
little  dog!|  and  can  hardly  believe  my  senses !  I  should 
never  have  mustered  courage  to  risk  such  a  great  step, 
had  not  Dilberoglue,  the  Greek  I  know  in  Manchester, 
having  heard  me  talking  about  my  wish  for  a  dog,  which 
was  merely  a  "don't  you  wish  you  may  get  it?"  actually 
on  his  return  to  Manchester,  set  about  seeking  one,  and 
fired  it  off  at  me  by  Railway.  And  so  well  has  he  sought 
and  found,  that  here  is  a  little  dog  perfectly  beautiful  and 
queer-looking,  which  does  not  bark  at  all!  nor  whine 
more  than  if  it  were  deaf  arid  dumb!!  It  sleeps  at  the 
foot  of  my  bed  without  ever  stirring  or  audibly  breathing 

*  Murderess  Manning. — T.  C. 
t  Dog,  "  Nero." 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  7 

all  night  long;  and  never  dreams  of  getting  up  till  I  get  up 
myself.  It  follows  me  like  my  shadow,  and  lies  in  my  lap; 
and  at  meals,  when  animals  are  apt  to  be  so  troublesome, 
it  makes  no  sort  of  demonstration  beyond  standing  on  its 
hind  legs!  Not  only  has  Mr.  C.  no  temptation  to  "kick 
his  foot  thro7  it,"  but  seems  getting  quite  fond  of  it  and 
looks  flattered  when  it  musters  the  hardihood  to  leap  on 
his  knee.  So,  there  is  one  small  comfort  achieved;  for  it 
is  really  a  comfort  to  have  something  alive  and  cheery  and 
fond  of  me,  always  there. 

My  fear  now  is  not  that  Mr.  C.  will  put  it  away,  but 
that  I  shall  become  the  envy  of  surrounding  dog-stealers! 
Anthony  Sterling  says,  "it  is  much  too  valuable  a  dog  not 
to  get  itself  stolen  fast  enough."  Well!  I  can  but  get  a 
chain  to  fasten  it  to  my  arm,  and  keep  a  sharp  look 
out. 

My  cold  is  away  again;  but,  oh,  dear!  my  "interior" 
is  always  very  miserable;  and  nothing  that  I  do  or  for- 
bear seems  to  make  the  least  difference.  The  worst  is  the 
dreadful  pressure  on  my  faculties.  There  are  kinds  of 
illnesses  that  one  can  work  under,  but  this  sort  of  thing 
that  I  go  on  with  makes  everything  next  to  impossible  for 
me. 

Mr.  Neuberg  is  always  lamenting  your  absence.  He 
comes  occasionally  and  plays  chess  with  me,  and  I  gen- 
erally beat  him.  What  is  it  that  makes  that  man  so 
heavy?  He  is  clever  and  well-informed,  and  well-bred, 
and  kind,  and  has  even  some  humour;  and  yet,  when  he 
goes  away  every  time  I  yawn  and  yawn  and  feel  so  dished! 

No  thoughts  of  coming  back  yet?    I  miss  you  very 


8  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

bad.    Mr.  C.  bids  me  tell  you  to  cut  out  his  "Trees  of 
Liberty"*  from  the  Nation  and  send  it  back. 

Ever  yours  lovingly, 

JANE  W.  CAELYLE. 

Kindest  regards  to  your  Mother  and  Isabella  and 
Jamie. — I  don't  think  you  will  gel;  so  well  on  with  your 
Translation  there  as  here. 

LETTER  115 

To  Dr.  Carlyle,  Scotsbrig. 

Chelsea,  'December,  1849.' 

My  dear  John — I  feel  as  if  it  behoved  me  to  write 
to  you  this  morning  to  congratulate  you  on  a  narrow 
escape.  I  dreamt  over  night  that  you  were  on  the  point 
of  being  married — to  a  Miss  Crawford  from  about  Darling- 
ton! No  dream  could  be  more  particular;  I  was  not 
"  en  tangled  in  the  details"  the  least  in  the  world.  We 
felt  much  hurt  here,  that  you  had  kept  the  thing  from 
our  knowledge  till  the  eleventh  hour,  tho'  you  gave  for 
reason  that  you  were  "  afraid  of  its  going  back,"  and  then 
our  laughing  at  you.  It  had  been  settled  for  months 
however;  and  now  it  came  out  that  your  long  stay  at 
Scotsbrig  had  been  for  the  object  of  laying  in  a  great  stock 
of  Wedding-clothes!  shirts  sewed  by  your  Sister  Jenny, 
and  coats  and  trousers  world  without  end,  by  Tom  Garth- 
wait.  The  whole  thing  seemed  to  me  questionable,  and 

*An  Article  by  Carlyle  advocating  the  planting  of  Trees  in 
Ireland.  It  was  published  by  Sir  C.  G.  Duffy  in  the  Nation,  No- 
vember, 1849;  and  again  in  his  excellent  little  Book,"  Conversa- 
tions with  Carlyle,"  1892. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  9 

I  was  glad  to  awake.  Considering  that  I  did  not  fall 
asleep  till  four  in  the  morning  and  then  (after  a  dose  of 
morphia)  only  slept  by  snatches,  ten  minutes  or  so  at  a 
time,  I  might,  I  think,  have  been  spared  the  bother  of 
your  marriage! 

Geraldine's  Tale  is  now  going  on  in  the  Manchester 
Examiner.  I  sent  the  first  three  parts  to  Auchtertool 
three  days  ago,  desiring  them  to  forward  it  to  you.  And 
do  you,  when  done  with  it,  send  it  back  to  myself,  as 
I  wish  to  lend  it  to  Miss  Wynn,  etc. — It  is  good,  so  far — 
no  "George  Sandism"  in  it  at  all.  Indeed  Geraldine  is 
in  the  fair  way  to  become  one  of  the  most  moral  "Women 
of  England."  Seriously,  she  has  made  an  immense 
progress  in  common-sense  and  common  decency  within 
the  last  year;  and  I  begin  to  feel  almost  (as  Mazzini 
would  say)  "enthusiast  of  her!"  Her  last  Letter  contains 
some  details  I  had  asked  for  respecting  Espinasse,  who 
had  told  me  in  three  lines  that  he  was  about  to  retire 
into  very  private  life,  till  some  sort  of  amalgamation 
were  effected  betwixt  the  French  and  the  Scotch  blood 
in  him,  which  "insisted  in  flowing  in  entirely  opposite 
currents."  I  will  send  that  part  of  the  Letter  —  a 
wonderful  style  of  proceeding  in  the  nineteenth 
century!  .  .  . 

I  had  a  Letter  the  other  day  addressed,  "Mrs.  T. 
Carlyle,  Esq.,"  from  one  of  Helen  Mitchell's  Dublin 
Brothers, — the  poor  one.  He  wrote  to  ask  the  fact  of 
her  leaving  here.  Since  she  left  Dublin,  she  had  written 
to  none  of  them  till  now;  and  now  he  said  she  wrote  in 
"great  distress  of  body  and  mind." — She  was  living  at 


10  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

Bow;  had  not  been  in  service  apparently  since  she  left 
the  place  I  got  her.  What  she  is  doing  the  Devil  I  suppose 
knows.  If  there  were  the  least  chance  of  saving  her, 
I  would  seek  her  out;  but  there^is  none.  Even  the  Letter 
to  her  Brother,  under  the  present  circumstances,  has 
been  one  mass  of  lies. 

Elizabeth  does  not  go.  It  would  have  been  the  ex- 
treme of  folly  to  keep  her  to  her  vow,  when  she  evidently 
wished  to  remain;  and  I  knew  of  no  better  person.  So, 
one  day,  I  asked  her  if  she  wished  to  leave  at  the  end  of 
her  month,  or  the  end  of  her  quarter?  And  she  answered 
most  insinuatingly  that  she  did  not  wish  to  leave  at  all, 
if  I  were  satisfied  with  her.  So  I  gave  her  a  good  lecture 
on  her  caprices  and  sullen  temper;  and  all  has  gone  on 
since  better  than  ever.  Not  a  frown  has  darkened  her 
brow  these  three  weeks. 

As  for  Nero,  his  temper  is  at  all  tunes  that  of  an  angel. 
But  yesterday,  0  heavens!  I  made  my  first  experience 
of  the  strange,  suddenly-struck-solitary,  altogether-ruined 
feeling  of  having  lost  one's  dog!  and  also  of  the  phrensied 
feeling  of  recognising  him,  from  a  distance,  in  the  arms 
of  a  dog-stealer!  But  mercifully  it  was  near  home  that 
he  was  twitched  up.  I  missed  him  just  opposite  the 
Cooper's,  and  the  lads,  who  are  all  in  my  pay  for  odd  jobs, 
rushed  out  to  look  for  him,  and  stopt  the  man  who  had 
him  till  I  came  up  and  put  my  thumb  firmly  under  his 
collar, — not  the  man's  but  the  dog's.  He  said  he  had 
found  the  dog  who  was  losing  himself,  and  was  bringing 
him  after  me!!  and  I  would  surely  "give  him  a  trifle  for 
his  trouble!"  And  I  was  cowardly  enough  to  give  him 


Jane  Welsh  Cartyle  11 

twopence  to  rid  Nero  and  myself  of  his  dangerous  prox- 
imity. 

I  continue  free  of  cold,  and  able  to  go  out  of  doors; 
but  that  I  may  be  reminded  "I  am  but  a  woman,"  I 
have  never  a  day  free  from  the  sickness,  nor  a  night  of 
real  sleep.  This  way  of  it  however  is  much  less  trouble- 
some to  other  people,  than  colds  confining  me  to  my  room. 
Yours  ever  affectionately, 

JANE  W.  CARLYLE. 


LETTER  116 

To  T.  Carlyle,  Chelsea. 

Addiscombe,  Sunday,  7  April,  1850. 

All  well,  Dear  (superficially  speaking).  Lady  A. 
was  out  when  we  arrived,  had  been  out  the  whole  day; 
is  "quite  well"  again,  looking  beautiful  and  in  tearing 
spirits.  Lord  A.  was  here, — nobody  else  yesterday. 
He  was  put  on  reading  Mill's  Armand  Oarrel  aloud  after 
tea,  and  it  sent  us  all  off  to  bed  in  the  midst. 

This  morning  the  first  thing  I  heard  when  I  rose  was 
Miss  Farrar  "rising  into  the  region  of  song"  outside;  and 
looking  out  thro'  the  window  I  saw  her,  without  her 
bonnet,  in  active  flirtation  with  Bingham  Mildmay,  who 
had  just  come. 

They  are  all  gone  out  (Lady  A.  on  her  pony)  to  the 
Archbishop's  grounds.  I  went  a  little  way  with  them, 
but  dropt  off  at  the  first  bench  on  the  hill.  I  am  not 
worse  for  coming, — rather  better  indeed.  I  daresay  the 
ride  yesterday  and  the,  what  Helen  used  to  call,  "  grand 


12  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

change"  was  just  the  best  a  Doctor  could  have  prescribed 
for  me. — There  is  a  talk  of  going  to  Mortlake  one  day 
to  visit  the  Taylors — "Barkis  is  willing." 

But  if  you  come  to-morrow,  as  I  expect,  what  am 
I  writing  for?  I  wish  you  were  at  the  Archbishop's  now 
instead  of  wrestling  with  that  Pamphlet;  and  yet,  it  is 
not  in  sauntering  about  grounds  that  good  work  gets 
done  by  any  one,  I  fancy.  It  is  a  lovely  day  however, 
and  I  grudge  your  not  having  the  full  benefit  of  it  as  well 
as  I. 

A  kiss  to  my  dear  wee  dog,  and  what  he  will  perhaps 
like  still  better,  a  lump  of  sugar ! 

Yours  faithfully, 

JANE  W.  CAELYLE. 

LETTER  117 

To  Mrs.  Russellj  Thornhill. 

Chelsea,  Wednesday, '  Spring,  I860.' 
Dearest  Mrs.  Russell— I  am  sure  old  Mary's  money 
must  be  done  now!  When  you  told  me  what  remained 
of  it,  I  calculated  how  long  it  would  hold  out,  and  then- 
forgot  all  about  it!  as  I  do  about  everything  connected 
with  arithmetical  computations.  You  will  hardly  believe 
it  of  me,  but  it  is  a  positive  truth,  between  ourselves, 
that  I  never  could  say  the  Multiplication  Table  in  my 
life, — at  least  never  for  a  whole  day  together.*  I  learnt 
it  every  morning  for  a  while,  and  forgot  it  every  night. 

*  Miss  Jewsbury  says  that  Mrs.  Carlyle  was  dux  in  Algebra  at 
the  Haddington  School ;  and  Mr.  Froude,  going  one  better  than  his 
Egeria,  states  that  she  was  dux  in  Mathematics] 


HARRIET    LADY    ASHBURTON, 
From  an  Engraving  by 
Francis  Holl. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  13 

Nay,  I  cannot  for  the  life  of  me  recollect  the  numbers 
of  my  friends'  houses!  I  find  them  only  by  the  eye. 
One  day  I  went  to  dine  at  a  house  which  my  eye  had 
not  got  familiar  with;  and  found,  when  I  had  arrived  in 
the  quarter,  that  I  had  not  only  forgotten  the  number  of 
the  house  but  the  name  of  the  street!  I  spent  a  whole 
hour  in  seeking  it,  and  only  found  it  out  at  last  thro' 
interposition  of  providence  in  the  shape  of  a  Scotch  footman 
who  had  made  himself  acquainted  with  the  names  of 
his  neighbours, — a  good  Scotch  fashion  entirely  abstained 
from  here.  You  may  fancy  the  vinegar  looks  of  the 
Lady  of  the  House  and  the  visitors  whom  I  had  kept 
from  their  dinner  one  mortal  hour!  I  made  a  most  un- 
successful visit  of  it,  and  of  course  these  people  never 
asked  me  again. 

We  have  the  strangest  weather  here  that  ever  was 
seen;  and  even  I,  who  suffer  so  severely  from  frost,  begin 
to  feel  sick  of  this  unnatural  mildness.  For  the  last  two 
or  three  weeks  I  have  felt  as  languid  as  "a  serpent  trying 
to  stand  on  its  tail"  (to  use  the  figure  of  an  Irish  friend* 
in  speaking  of  his  sufferings  from  the  heat  of  Munich). 
If  I  were  within  reach  of  Dr.  Russell  I  would  give  my 
volition  entirely  up  to  him,  to  be  done  what  he  liked  to 
for  six  weeks, — the  longest  trial  I  ever  bring  myself  to 
make  of  a  Doctor's  prescriptions.  But  I  have  no  faith 
in  the  medical  people  here:  not  one  of  them  seems  honest 
to  begin  with.  To  get  patients  and  to  humour  them 
when  got,  seems  much  more  the  object  of  these  people 
than  to  cure  their  ailments.  In  fact  what  can  they  know 
*  George  Darley.— T.  C. 


14  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

about  one's  ailments,  allowing  only  some  three  minutes 
to  the  most  complicated  cases!  And  so  I  leave  my  case 
to  Nature;  and  Nature  seems  to  want  either  the  will  or 
the  power  to  remedy  it. 

This  is  a  bright  day  however,— not  sloppy  as  so  many 
preceding  ones, — and  I  must  go  out  for  a  long  walk, 
and  get  rid,  if  not  of  my  biliousness,  at  least  of  my  Hue 
devils.  And  so  God  bless  you.  Kind  regards  to  your 
Father  and  Husband. 

Ever  yours  affectionately, 

JANE  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  118 

To  John  Forster,  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields. 

Chelsea,  19  April,  1850. 

My  dear  Forster —  .  .  .  "With  my  soul  on  the 
pen,"  as  Mazzini  says,  I  declare  that  if  we  ever  look  to 
not  care  for  you,  it  is  a  pure  deceptio  visus.  My  Husband 
may  be  little — too  little — demonstrative  in  a  general  way; 
but  at  all  rates  he  is  very  steadfast  in  his  friendships; 
and  as  for  me,  I  am  a  little  model  of  constancy  and  all 
the  virtues!  including  the  rare  gift  of  knowing  the  value 
of  my  blessings  before  7  have  lost  them:  ergo,  if  you  be 
still  driving  out  for  exercise,  please  remember  your  promise 
to  come  again.  I  am  sure  I  must  have  accumulated 
an  immense  number  of  amusing  things  during  the  Winter, 
that  it  would  do  your  heart  good  to  hear.* 

Meanwhile  all  good  be  with  you;  and  pray  do  not 

*  Carlyle  says,  in  the  Reminiscences,  that  when  the  Latter-Day 
Pamphlets  began  to  appear,  "  Forster  soon  fell  away,  I  could  per- 
ceive, into  terror  and  surprise; — as  indeed  everybody  did." 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  15 

fail  to  observe  how  much  my  handwriting  is  improved 
in  point  of  legibility.  I  have  not  been  to  a  writing-school, 
nor  yet  gone  thro7  a  regular  course  of  Copy-lines  at  home. 
The  improvement  has  been  worked  in  a  manner  much 
more  suitable  to  my  impatient  temper:  by  the  short  and 
simple  means  of  investing  one  sovereign  of  my  private 
capital  in  a  gold  pen  with  a  platinum  point.  Upon  my 
honour  the  thing  writes  of  itself!  and  spells  too,  better 
or  worse.  And  then  the  maker  assures  me  that  it  will 
"last  forever."  Just  think  what  a  comfort:  I  shall 
henceforth  write  legibly  forever !  You  are  the  first  individ- 
ual privileged  with  a  sight  of  its  results.  I  have  in  fact 
hanselled  it  in  writing  to  you, — we  shall  see  with  what 
luck. 

Ever  affectionately  yours, 

JANE  W.  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  119 

To  Dr.  Carlyle,  Scotsbrig. 

Chelsea,  '13  May,  1850.' 

My  dear  John— It  was  full  time  you  should  write!  I 
had  just  settled  it  in  my  own  mind  that  you  were  falling 
ill,  and  could  not  write;  and  had  romantic  little  ideas 
about  setting  off  to  help  to  nurse  you!  It  is  "all  right/' 
however,  and  the  Tightest  part  of  it  is  that  you  are  coming 
back.  I  assure  you  your  absence  made  a  great  blank  in 
my  existence,  such  as  it  is,  and  I  have  never  even  tried  to 
fill  it  up,— expecting  from  month  to  month  that  you  would 
return  to  occupy  my  vacant  "first  floor77  (morally  under- 
stood). It  is  amazing  how  much  good  one  fancies  one, 


16  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

might  get  of  an  absent  friend  compared  with  the  good  one 
takes  of  him  when  he  is  there!  so  many  things  one  says  to 
him  mentally  at  a  distance  which  face  to  face  one  would 
never  utter  a  word  of! 

I  hope  you  will  find  Nero  all  you  could  wish  in  a  dog 
connected  with  the  Family.  I  shall  take  care  that  he  be 
well-washed  to  receive  you,  and  not  over-full,  when  he  is 
apt  to  be,  I  will  not  say  less  affectionate,  but  less  demon- 
strative than  one  likes — in  a  dog.  Mr.  C.  said  he  wrote 
that  the  up-stairs  room  was,  or  would  be,  in  great  beauty. 
I  have  indeed  been  doing  a  little  Martha-tidying  there, — 
the  results  of  which  promise  to  be  "  rather  exquisite." 
God  defend  me  from  ever  coming  to  a  fortune  (a  prayer 
more  likely  to  be  answered  than  most  of  my  prayers!);  for 
then  the  only  occupation  that  affords  me  the  slightest 
self-satisfaction  would  be  gone!  and  there  would  remain 
for  me  only  (as  Mr.  C.  said  of  the  Swiss  Giantess  who 
drowned  herself)  "to  summon  up  all  the  virtue  left  in  me, 
to  rid  the  world  of  such  a  beggarly  existence." 

Speaking  of  suicide,  a  woman  came  to  me  the  other 
morning  from  Helen — a  decent  enough  looking  person, 
respectably  dressed,  and  the  only  suspicious-looking 
feature  in  whose  appearance  was  the  character  she  gave 
herself  for  sobriety,  charity,  piety  and  all  the  virtues. 
Her  business  was  to  ask  me  to  give  the  said  Helen  a  char- 
acter that  she  might  seek  another  place,  otherwise  she 
(Helen)  "spoke  of  attempting  her  life."  "She  has  been 
long  speaking  of  that,"  I  said.  "Yes,  and  you  are  aware, 
Ma'am,  of  her  having  walked  into  the  Thames  after  she  left 
the  last  place  you  found  her?  Oh,  yes,  she  got  three 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  17 

months  of  Horsemonger  Lane  jail  for  the  attempt;  and  if 
a  waterman  had  not  been  looking  on  and  taken  the  first 
opportunity  of  saving  her,  she  would  have  probably  been 
drowned."  I  said  it  was  well  if  she  had  not  been  in  jail 
for  anything  worse.  Ever  since  coming  out  she  has  lodged 
with  this  woman, — her  Brothers  in  Dublin  sending  her 
money, — "but  very  little," — from  time  to  time.  But 
they  seem  tiring  of  that,  and  so  Helen  thinks  she  will  try 
service  again.  I  recommended  that  she  should,  as  a  more 
feasible  speculation,  go  into  the  Chelsea  Workhouse,  where 
they  would  take  care  to  keep  drink  from  her,  and  force  her 
to  work.  As  for  recommending  her  to  a  decent  service,  I 
scouted  the  notion.  And  the  woman  herself  said  she 
"seemed  to  have  no  faculties  left/7  and  was  always  want- 
ing "sixpence-worth  of  opium  to  put  an  end  to  herself." 
The  object  of  the  woman  coming  was  more  likely  to  get 
some  money  out  of  me.  .  .  .  But  the  sun  is  shining 
brightly  outside,  and  inside  my  stomach  is  very  dismal;  so 
I  must  go  out  and  walk.  You  will  write  when  you  have 
fixed  your  time.  Love  to  all. 

Your  affectionate 

JANE  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  120 

To  T.  Carlyle,  Boverton,  Cowbridge. 

Chelsea,  20  August,   1850. 
Only  a  little  Note  to-day,  Dear, 

"That  you  may  know  I  am  in  being, 
'Tis  intended  for  a  sign."* 

*  A  quotation  from  "Craw  Jean's'!  (Mrs.  Aitken's)  Child-Poem. 
VOL.  II  .-2 


New  Letters  and  Memorials  o) 

And  a  sign,  too,  that  I  am  grateful  for  your  long  Letters, — 
my  only  comfort  thro'  this  black  business,*  which  has  indeed 
"flurried  me  all  to  pieces."  To-day's  did  not  come  by  the 
morning  post;  not  till  twelve,  when  I  had  fallen  so  low  for 
want  of  it  that  I  might  have  had  no  news  for  a  week!  It 
is  sad  and  wrong  to  be  so  dependent  for  the  life  of  my  life 
on  any  human  being  as  I  am  on  you;  but  I  cannot  by  any 
force  of  logic  cure  myself  of  the  habit  at  this  date,  when  it 
has  become  a  second  nature.  If  I  have  to  lead  another 
life  in  any  of  the  planets,  I  shall  take  precious  good  care 
not  to  hang  myself  round  any  man's  neck,  either  as  a 
locket  or  a  millstone! 

.  .  .  I  am  now  going  to  lie  on  the  sofa  and  have 
Geraldine  read  a  Novel  to  me  all  the  rest  of  this  day, — 
writing  makes  me  "too  fluttery  for  anything."  I  had  a 
misgiving  that  the  corner  of  the  Leader  got  ruffled  Sunday 
gone  a  week,  in  pushing  it  into  that  narrow  slit  in  Church 
Street  [Letter-box].  I  tied  the  last  with  a  string. 

Give  my  kind  regards  to  poor  dear  Redwood,  whose 
feelings  I  can  well  understand. 

Ever  your  affectionate 

JANE  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  121 

To  T.  Carlyle,  Scotsbrig. 

Chelsea,  Friday  night,  '6  Sep.,  1850.' 

Here  is  a  Letter  from  Lady  Ashburton,  the  first  I  have 
had  during  your  absence;  neither  had  I  written  to  her  (till 
I  answered  this  to-day  by  return  of  post),  partly  because 

*  Housecleaning. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  19 

she  had  said  at  our  last  meeting  that  she  would  write  to  me 
first,  and  partly  because  in  the  puddle  I  have  been  in  I 
felt  little  up  to  addressing  Serene  Higher  Powers,  before 
whom  one  is  bound  to  present  oneself  in  "  Sunday  clothes/' 
whereas  I  have  been  all  this  while  like  a  little  sweep  on  a 
Saturday  night!  But  the  Letter  you  forwarded  to  me 
had  prepared  me  for  an  invitation  to  the  Grange  about  the 
end  of  this  month,  and  I  was  hoping  that  before  it  came, 
you  might  have  told  me  something  of  your  purposes, — 
whether  you  meant  to  go  there  after  Scotland;  whether 
you  meant  to  go  to  them  in  Paris; — that  you  might  have 
given  me,  in  short,  some  skeleton  of  a  program  by  which  I 
might  frame  my  answer.  In  my  uncertainty  as  to  all  that, 
I  have  written  a  stupid  neither  Yes-nor-no  sort  of  a  Letter, 
"leaving  the  thing  open"  (as  your  phrase  is).  But  I  said 
decidedly  enough  that  I  could  not  be  ready  to  go  so  soon  as 
the  23rd. 

What  chiefly  bothers  me  is  the  understanding  that  I 
" promised"  to  go  alone.  The  last  day  I  saw  Lady  A.  she 
told  me  that  she  could  not  get  you  to  say  whether  you 
were  coming  to  them  in  September  or  not;  that  you 
"  talked  so  darkly  and  mysteriously  on  the  subject,  that 
she  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  it";  that  you  referred 
her,  as  usual,  to  me;  and  then  she  said,  "I  want  you  both 
to  come,  Mrs.  Carlyle:  will  you  come?"  I  said,  "Oh,  if  he 
goes  I  should  be  very  glad."  "  But  if  he  never  comes  back, 
as  he  seems  to  meditate,  couldn't  you  come  by  yourself?" 
I  answered  to  that,  laughing  as  well  as  I  could,  "Oh,  he 
will  be  back  by  then,  and  I  daresay  we  shall  go  together; 
and  should  he  leave  me  too  long,  I  must  learn  to  go  about 


20  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

on  my  own  basis."  I  don't  think  that  was  a  promise  to  go 
to  the  Grange  alone  on  "the  23rd  of  this  month."  Do 
you  think  it  was?  Most  likely  you  will  decline  giving  an 
opinion.*  Well  in  this,  as  in  every  uncertainty,  one  has 
always  one's  "do  the  duty  nearest  hand,"  etc.,  to  fall  back 
upon;  and  my  duty  nearest  hand  is  plainly  to  get  done 
with  "my  house-cleaning"  before  all  else.  Once  more 
"all  straight"  here,  I  shall  see  what  tune  remains  before 
the  journey  to  Paris;  and  which  looks  easiest  to  do, 
whether  to  go  for  a  week  at  the  cost  of  some  unsettling,  or 
to  stay  away  at  the  risk  of  seeming  ungrateful  for  such 
kindness. 

To  descend  like  a  parachute;  who  think  you  waited  on 
me  the  night  before  last?  Elizabeth!  .  .  . 

I  shall  send  Alton  Locke  so  soon  as  I  have  waded  to  the 
end  of  it.  There  is  also  come  for  you  thro'  Chapman,  ad- 
dressed in  the  handwriting  of  Emerson,  a  Pamphlet  en- 
titled "Perforations  in  the  Latter-Day  Pamphlets,"  by 
"One  of  the  Eighteen  Millions  of  Bores,"  edited  by  Elizur 
Wright.— No.  1.  Shall  I  send  it?  I  vote  for  putting  it 
quietly  in  the  fire  here; — it  is  ill-natured,  of  course,  and 
dully  so.  But  I  must  go  and  tidy  myself  a  bit,  to  receive 

*On  the  9th  Carlyle  replied  (avoiding  his  Wife's  rather  ticklish 
question  as  to  whether  her  conversation  with  Lady  Harriet  con- 
stituted a  promise  to  go,  or  not),  "  Nor  can  I  advise  you  any  way 
certainly  as  to  accepting  the  Grange  invitation, — except  in  so  far 
as  this  consideration  will  go,  that  you  should  follow  your  own 
authentic  wish  in  regard  to  it.  As  to  me,  I  do  not  think  there  is 
any  sure  chance  of  my  being  at  Chelsea  before  the  '23d'  (I  am 
much  better  here  so  long  as  it  will  do  otherwise) :  and  if  I  were, 
my  'wishes'  would  not  point  to  travelling  thither.  .  .  .  So  do 
thy  own  way,  Goody, — what  more  can  I  counsel?  If  the  visit  is 
not  disagreeable,  perhaps  a  ten  days  or  week  of  it  might  stir  you 
up  and  do  you  good.  Consider  it,  thy  own  self;  and  do  what  seems 
best."  Mrs.  Carlyle,  following  her  own  authentic  wish,  went  to 
the  Grange,  and  staid  a  month. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  21 

the  farewell  visit  of  Fanny  Lewald,  who  has  written  with 
much  trust  that  she  would  "take  some  dinner  with  me  to- 
day at  two  o'clock."  I  have  not  seen  her  since  her  return 
to  London.  Kind  regards  at  discretion. 

Ever  yours  affectionately, 

JANE. 

LETTER  122 

To  T.  Carlyle,  Scotsbrigl 

Chelsea,  Sunday  night,  8  Sep.,  1850. 

That  toe,  Dear!  it  may  be  a  trifling  enough  matter  in 
itself;  but  anything  that  prevents  you  from  walking  must 
be  felt  by  you  as  a  serious  nuisance.  I  don't  believe  the 
least  in  the  world  that  it  has  been  "pricked";  if  it  had, 
you  would  have  felt  the  prick  at  the  time.  I  think  it  must 
be  a  little  case  of  rheumatism  in  one  particular  sinew,  and 
I  would  have  you  keep  it  warm  with  cotton,  and  rub  it  a 
great  deal,  and  all  up  the  foot,  with  a  bit  of  hot  flannel 
and  some  laudanum  on  it.  That  is  my  advice;  and  recol- 
lect that  at  Craigenputtock  I  was  considered  a  skilful 
Doctor, — to  the  extent  even  of  being  summoned  out  of 
bed  in  the  middle  of  the  night  to  prescribe  for  John  Carr, 
when  "scraiching  as  if  he  were  at  the  point  o'  daith!"  And 
didn't  I  cure  him  on  the  spot,  not  with  "eye-water" 
labelled  "poison,"  but  with  a  touch  of  paregoric?  Mean- 
while it  is  pleasant  to  know  you  have  a  gig  to  move  about 
in,  and  that  if  anything  go  wrong  with  it,  Jamie  will  "pey 
him  wi'  five'shillin'  "! 

To-morrow  I*  shall  lay  out  two  sixpences  in  forwarding 
Alton  Locke  (The  Devil  among  the  Tailors  would  have  been 


rew  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

the  best  name  for  it).  It  will  surely  be  gratifying  to  you, 
the  sight  of  your  own  name  in  almost  every  second  page! 
But  for  that,  I  am  ashamed  to  say  I  should  have  broken 
down  in  it  a  great  way  this  side  of  the  end!  It  seems 
to  me,  in  spite  of  Geraldine's  hallelujahs,  a  mere — not  very 
well-boiled — broth  of  Morning-chronicle-ism,  in  which 
you  play  the  part  of  the  tasting-bone  of  Poverty  Row.  An 
oppressive,  painful  Book!  I  don't  mean  painful  from  the 
miseries  it  delineates,  but  from  the  impression  it  gives  one 
that  "young  Kingsley,"  and  many  like  him,  are  "running 
to  the  Crystal"  as  hard  as  they  can;  and  that  "the  end  of 
all  that  agitation  will  be  the  tailors  and  needle-women 
eating  up  all  Maurice's  means"  (figuratively  speaking). 
And  then,  all  the  indignation  against  existing  things 
strikes  somehow  so  numbly!  like  your  Father  whipping 
the  bad  children  under  the  bedclothes!*  But  the  old 
Scotchman  [Saunders  Mackaye]  is  capital, — only  that 
there  never  was  nor  ever  will  be  such  an  old  Scotchman.  I 
wonder  what  will  come  of  Kingsley — go  mad,  perhaps. 

To-day,  Sunday,  has  been  without  incident  of  any  sort; 
not  a  single  knock  or  ring.  Emmaf  was  at  Church  in  the 
morning,  I  reading  the  Leader  and  writing  Letters— to  my 
Aunt  Elizabeth,  Geraldine,  Plattnauer; — and  for  the  rest, 
nursing  a  sort  of  Influenza  I  have  taken.  You  ask  about 

*  Carlyle's  Father,  being  occasionally  requested  by  his  Wife, 
to  quell  their  children  indulging  too  noisily  in  pillow-fights,  etc., 
after  retiring  to  bed,  would  make  only  a  pretence  of  whipping  them, 
bringing  down  his  heavy  hand  with  noise  and  din  enough,  but 
always  taking  care  that  there  was  a  sufficiency  of  bed-clothes  be- 
tween it  and  the  objects  of  his  apparent  wrath.  This  satisfied  the 
Mother;  and  the  children,  out  of  gratitude  for  their  Father's  kind- 
heartedness,  remained  quiet, — for  a  while.  Carlyle  often  referred 
to  this  kindly  trait  in  his  Father's  character. 

t  The  new  servant, — Elizabeth  having  left. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  23 

my  sleep.  It  is  not  good, — very  broken  and  unref reshing ; 
but  I  get  over  the  nights  with  less  lying  awake  than  in  the 
time  of  the  Elizabethan  rows.  My  health  does  not  im- 
prove with  the  quiet,  one  would  say  wholesome,  life  I  am 
leading;  but  it  is  beyond  the  power  of  outward  circum- 
stances, I  fancy,  to  improve  it  at  this  date.  And  it  is  a 
great  mercy  that  I  keep  on  foot.  I  might  easily  have  less 
inward  suffering  and  lie  far  more  heavy  on  myself  and 
those  who  have  to  do  with  me. 

.  .  .  But,  "Oh,  dear  me!"  (one  may  say  that,  now 
that  you  have  got  such  a  trick*  of  it  yourself)  I  ought  to 
be  in  bed,  with  plenty  of  flannel  about  my  head!  So 

good-night! 

Ever  your  affectionate 

JANE  W.  C. 

LETTER  123 

To  TJCarlyle,  Chelsea. 

The  Grange,  Tuesday,  '8  Oct.,  1850.' 

What  a  clever  Dear!  to  know  merino  from  the  other 
thing,  and  to  choose  the  right  gown  in  spite  of  Emma. 

*  Referring  to  Carlyle's  frequent  use  of  such  expletives  as 
"ay  de  mi,  eheu,"  etc.,  both  in  speaking  and  writing.  His  habitual 
use  of  these  phrases  has  led  many  to  believe  that  he  must  neces- 
sarily have  been,  every  time  he  employed  them,  in  the  depths  of 
despair  and  utter  misery!  My  own  observation,  during  the  three 
years  I  lived  beside  him,  taught  me  that  these  ejaculations  were 
not  wailing  cries  de  profundis,  but  merely  the  repetition  of  words 
and  phrases  which  had  struck  his  fancy.  The  most  trifling  cause 
imaginable  would  call  them  forth.  So  far  as  speaking  was  con- 
cerned, they  were  generally  accompanied  by  a  humourous  smile 
expressive  of  anything  but  sorrow  or  despair.  It  was  an  unfor- 
tunate "trick,"  for  it  has  led  some,  who  ought  to  have  known 
better,  to  speak  of  Carlyle  as  "moody,  agonised  and  melancholy." 
It  will  be  a  surprise  to  many  to  find  that  Mrs.  Carlyle  also  says  of 
her  Husband,  "He  has  so  much  more  hope  in  him  about  every- 
thing than  I  have!"  And  then  she  adds,  not  without  reason, 
"  Who  would  believe  that  to  hear  how  he  talks?"  (See  Letter  232) 


New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

Don't  trust  to  finding  your  horse-rug  here.  I  left  it  in 
iny  bedroom,  where  it  must  still  be,  lying  on  the  trunk 
behind  the  door  most  likely.  .  .  . 

I  have  a  vague  notion  that  I  am  not  somehow  to  get 
to  the  railway  station  to  meet  you.  .  .  .  The  Taylors 
are  to  be  dispatched  to-morrew,  as  well  as  you  sent  for, 
and  I  fancy  my  going  is  inconvenient  to  the  servants, 
who  would  rather  wait  at  the  station  than  return.  Henry 
Taylor  and  Thackeray  have  fraternized  finally,  not  "like 
the  carriage  horses  and  the  railway  steam-engine/'  as 
might  have  been  supposed,  but  like  men  and  brothers! 
I  lie  by,  and  observe  them  with  a  certain  interest;  it  is 
as  good  as  a  Play.  .  .  .  Rawlinson  is  here, — a  hum- 
bug to  my  mind.  I  don't  believe  the  half  of  what  he 
says,  and  have  doubts  of  the  other  half. — Adieu  till  to- 
morrow. 

Ever  your  J.  0. 

LETTER  124 

To  Mrs.  Russell,  Thornhill. 

Chelsea,  Monday,  'Nov.,  1850.' 

My  dear  Mrs.  Russell — Thanks  for  your  pleasant 
Letter.  I  enclose  a  cheque  (is  that  the  way  to  spell  it?) 
for  the  money.  Please  to  send  a  line  or  old  Newspaper 
that  I  may  know  it  has  arrived. 

I  returned  some  days  ago,  rather  unproved  by  my 
month  in  the  country*.  .  .  .  But  the  first  thing  I 
did  was  to  give  myself  a  wrench  and  a  crush,  all  in  one 
on  the  ribs  under  my  right  breast,  which  has  bothered 

*  At  the  Grange, 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  25 

me  ever  since;  and  I  am  afraid  is  a  more  serious  injury 
than  I  at  first  thought.  Two  days  of  mustard  plasters 
have  done  little  yet  towards  removing  the 'pain,  which 
I  neglected  for  the  first  three  days. 

I  found  the  mud  of  our  London  streets  abominable 
after  the  clean  gravelly  roads  in  Hampshire; — it  is  such 
a  fatigue  carrying  up  one's  heavy  Winter  petticoats. 
For  the  rest,  home  is  always  pleasantest  to  me  after  a 
long  sojourn  in  a  grand  House;  and  solitude,  never  so 
welcome  as  after  a  spell  of  brilliant  people.  One  brilliant 
person  at  a  time  and  a  little  of  him  is  a  charming  thing; 
but  a  whole  houseful  of  brilliant  people,  shining  all  day 
and  every  day,  makes  one  almost  of  George  Sand's  opinion, 
that  good  honest  stupidity  is  the  best  thing  to  associate 
with. 

I  send  you  a  little  Photograph  of  my  Mother's  Min- 
iature, which  I  have  had  done  on  purpose  for  you.  It  is 
not  quite  the  sort  of  thing  one  would  wish  to  have,  but 
at  least  it  is  as  like  as  the  Miniature. 

I  will  not  wait  till  next  year  to  write  again, — if  I 
live. 

Kind  regards  to  your  Father  and  Husband. 
Yours  affectionately, 

JANE  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  125 

To  John  Forster,  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields. 

Chelsea,  'December,  1850.' 
Dear  Mr.  Forster — Behold  a  turkey  which  requests 


26  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

that  you  will  do  it  the  honour  and  pleasure  of  eating 
it  at  your  convenience.  The  bearer  is  paid  for  taking 
it;  so  pray  do  not  corrupt  his  "soul  of  honour"  by  paying 
him  a  second  time. 

We  were  the  better  for  that  evening;  but  we  have 
been  to  a  dinner  since  that  has  floored  one  of  us  (not  me) 
completely.  A  dinner  "to  meet  Mary  Barton "(?).  And 
such  a  flight  of  "distinguished  females"  descended  on 
us  when  we  returned  to  the  drawing-room — ach  Gott! 
Miss  Muloch,  Madame  Pulszky,  Fanny  Martin  (the  Lecture- 
devourer),  Mrs.  Grey  (Self  Culture), — and  distinguished 
Males  ad  infinitum,  amongst  whom  we  noticed  Le  Chevalier 
Pulszky,  Chadwick,  Dr.  Gully,  Merivale. 

Mr.  Carlyle  has  all  but  died  of  it!  I  have  suffered 
much  less;— but  then  I  did  not  eat  three  crystallized  green 
things,  during  the  dessert. 

Nero  sends  his  kind  regards. 

Ever  affectionately  yours, 

JANE  CARLYLE. 
Monday. 

LETTER  126 

To  Mrs.  Russell. 

Chelsea,  12  July,  1851. 

My  dear  Mrs.  Russell — It  is  come  on  me  by  surprise 
this  morning  that  the  13th  is  no  post-day  here,  and  so, 
if  I  do  not  look  to  it  to-day  Margaret  and  Mary  will  be 
thinking  I  have  forgotten  them  on  my  birthday,  or  that 
I  have  forgotten  my  own  birthday,  which  would  indicate 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  27 

me  fallen  into  a  state  of  dotage! — far  from  the  case  I 
can  promise  you!  For  I  never  went  to  so  many  fine 
parties,  and  bothered  so  much  about  dresses,  etc.,  and 
seemed  so  much  like  just  coming  out!  as  this  Summer! 
Not  that  I  have,  like  the  eagle,  renewed  my  age  (does 
the  eagle  renew  its  age?),  or  got  any  influx  of  health  and 
gaiety  of  heart;  but  the  longer  one  lives  in  London  one 
gets,  of  course,  to  know  more  people,  and  to  be  more 
invited  about;  and  Mr.  C.  having  no  longer  such  a  dislike 
to  great  parties  as  he  once  had,  I  fall  naturally  into  the 
current  of  London  life — and  a  very  fast  one  it  is! 

Besides  I  have  just  had  my  Cousin  Helen  staying 
with  me  for  three  weeks,  and  have  had  a  good  deal  of 
racketing  to  go  thro'  on  her  account, — her  last  and  only 
visit  to  me  still  lying  on  my  conscience  as  a  dead  failure; 
for  instead  of  seeing  sights  and  enjoying  herself,  she  had 
to  fulfill  the  double  function  of  sick-nurse  to  me,  and 
maid-of -all-work!  .  .  . 

I  don't  know  yet  where  we  are  to  go  this  Autumn. 
Mr.  C.  has  so  many  plans;  and  until  he  decides  where 
he  is  going  and  for  how  long,  I  can  make  no  arrangement 
for  myself.  I  shall  be  quite  comfortable  in  leaving  my 
house  this  year,  however,  having  got  at  last  a  thoroughly 
trustworthy  sensible  servant. 

My  kind  regards  to  your  Father  and  Husband.  Some 
one  told  me  your  Father  was  coming  to  London;  he 
must  be  sure  not  to  pass  us  over,  if  he  comes. 

I  can  think  of  nothing  of  any  use  to  Mary,  sendable 
from  here;  so  I  enclose  five  shillings  that  you  may  buy 
her  what  she  most  needs,— a  pair  of  shoes?  a  bonnet? 


28  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

or  some  meat?    Give  her  my  kind  regards,  poor  old  soul. 
And  believe  me,  dear  Mrs.  Russell,  your  ever  affectionate 

JANE  CARLYLE. 

I  am  going  to  a  morning  concert  and  am  in  great  haste. 


LETTER  127 

To  T.  Carlyle,  Scotsbrigl 

Manchester,  12  September,  1851. 

.  .  .  I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  of  your  rushing 
down  into  coffee  and  castor  so  soon, — and  any  amount 
of  smoking  I  dare  say!  For  me,  I  can  tell  you  with  a 
little  proud  Pharisee  feeling,  that  I  have  not — what  shall 
I  say? — swallowed  a  pill  since  I  left  Malvern  !  !  !*  and  I 
am  alive,  and  rather  well.  But  then,  my  life  otherwise 
is  so  very  wholesome:  nice  little  railway  excursions  every 
day;  nice  country  dinners  at  two  o'clock, — everybody 
so  fond  of  me!  .  .  .  It  is  great  fun  too  visiting  these 
primeval  Cotton-spinners  with  "parlour-kitchens,"  and 
bare-headed  servant-maids,  so  overflowing  with  fervent 
hospitality,  and  in  the  profoundest  darkness  about  my 
Husband's  "Literary  reputation." — I  have  a  great  deal 
to  tell  about  these  people;  but  it  is  needless  to  waste 
tune  in  writing  that  sort  of  thing. 

But  one  thing  of  another  sort,  belonging  to  our  natural 
sphere,  I  must  tell  you  so  long  as  I  remember;  that  Es- 
pinasse  has — renounced  his  allegiance  to  you!  When  his 
Father  was  in  London  lately  he  (his  Father,  anything 

*The  Carlyles  had  spent  the  month  of  August  at  Malvern  as 
the  guests  of  Dr.  Gully. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  29 

but  an  admirer  of  yours)  was  greatly  charmed  to  hear 
his  Son  declare  that  he  had  "  quite  changed  his  views 
about  Carlyle;  and  was  no  longer  blind  to  his  great  and 
many  faults."  Whereon  the  Espinasse  Father,  in  a 
transport  of  gratitude  to  Heaven  for  a  saved  "insipid 
offspring,"  pulled  out — a  five-pound  note!  and  made 
Espinasse  a  present  of  it.  Espinasse,  thanking  his  Father, 
then  went  on  to  say  that,  "he  no  longer  liked  Mrs.  Carlyle 
either;  that  he  believed  her  an  excellent  woman  once, 
but  she  had  grown  more  and  more  into  Carlyle's  likeness, 
until  there  was  no  enduring  her!"  The  Father  however 
did  not  again  open  his  purse!  Stores  Smith,  who  was 
present,  is  the  authority  for  this  charming  little  history, 
which  had  amused  Espinasse's  enemies  here  very  much. 

Mrs.  Gaskell  took  Geratdine  and  me  a  beautiful  drive 
the  other  day  in  a  "friend's  carriage."  She  is  a  very 
kind  cheery  woman  in  her  own  house;  but  there  is  an 
atmosphere  of  moral  dulness  about  her,  as  about  all 
Socinian  women. — I  am  thinking  whether  it  would  not 
be  expedient,  however,  to  ask  her  to  give  you  a  bed  when 
you  come.  She  would  be  "proud  and  happy"  I  guess; 
and  you  do  not  wish  to  sleep  at  Geraldine's, — besides 
that,  mine  is  the  only  spare  room  furnished.  The  Gaskell 
house  is  very  large  and  in  the  midst  of  a  shrubbery  and 
quite  near  this. 

Kind  love  to  your  Mother  and  the  rest.    .    .    . 

Nero  is  the  happiest  of  dogs;  goes  all  the  journeys 
by  railway,  smuggled  with  the  utmost  ease;  and  has  run 
many  hundreds  of  miles  after  the  little  Lancashire  birds. — 
Oh  my!  your  old  gloves  have  come  home  with  their  tails 


30  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

behind  them!  I  found  something  bulky  in  my  great-coat 
pocket  the  other  night,  and  when  I  put  it  on  I  pulled  out 
the  gloves.  You  must  have  placed  them  there  yourself; 
for  there  was  also  a  mass  of  paper  rolled  up  for  tobacco- 
pipe  purposes. 

Ever  yours, 

JANE  W.  CARLYLE. 


LETTER  128 

To  Miss  Welsh,  Auchtertool  Manse,  Kirkcaldy] 

Chelsea,  Wednesday,  24  Sep.,  1851. 

Upon  my  honour,  Dearest  Helen,  you  grow  decidedly 
good.  Another  nice  long  Letter!  and  the  former  still  un- 
answered! This  is  a  sort  of  heaping  of  coals  of  fire  on  my 
head  which  I  should  like  to  have  continued.  .  .  . 

But  I  must  tell  you  my  news.  Well,  I  lived  very 
happily  at  Geraldine's  for  the  first  week,  in  spite  of  the 
horrid  dingy  atmosphere  and  substitution  of  cinder  roads 
for  the  green  Malvern  Hills.  We  made  a  great  many  ex- 
cursions by  railway  into  the  cotton  valleys.  Frank  [Jews- 
bury]  selected  some  cotton  spinner  in  some  picturesque 
locality,  and  wrote  or  said  that  he  would  dine  with  him  on 
such  a  day  at  two  o'clock,  and  bring  his  Sister  and  a  lady 
staying  with  them.  The  cotton  spinner  was  most  willing! 
And  so  we  started  after  breakfast  and  spent  the  day  in 
beautiful  places  amongst  strange  old-world,  highly  hos- 
pitable life, — eating,  I  really  think,  more  home-baked 
bread  and  other  dainties  than  was  good  for  us;  the  air  and 
exercise  made  us  so  ravenously  hungry.  It  was  returning 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  31 

from  the  last  of  these  country  visits,  rather  late  thro'  a 
dense  fog,  that  I  caught  my  cold;  and  then  came  the  old 
sleepless  nights  and  headaches  and  all  the  abominable 
etceteras.  I  was  still  stuffed  full  of  cold  when  I  had  to  start 
for  Alderley  Park,*  and  the  days  I  spent  there  were  in 
consequence  supremely  wretched,  tho'  the  place  is  lovely 
and  there  was  a  fine  rattling  houseful  of  people;  and  the 
Stanleys,  even  to  Lord  Stanley,  who  is  far  from  popular, 
as  kind  as  possible, — alas,  too  kind!  for  Lady  Stanley 
would  show  me  all  the  "  beautiful  views,"  and  that  sort  of 
thing,  out  of  doors;  and  Blanche  would  spend  half  the 
night  in  my  bedroom!  Lord  Airlie  was  there  and  his 
Sister  and  various  other  assistants  at  the  marriage.  I 
saw  a  trousseau  for  the  first  time  in  my  life;  about  as  won- 
derful a  piece  of  nonsense  as  the  Exhibition  of  all  Nations. 
Good  Heavens!  how  is  any  one  woman  to  use  up  all  those 
gowns  and  cloaks  and  fine  clothes  of  every  denomination? 
And  the  profusion  of  coronets!  every  stocking,  every 
pockethandkerchief,  every  thing  had  a  coronet  on  it!  .  .  . 
Poor  Blanche  doesn't  seem  to  know,  amidst  the  excite- 
ment and  rapture  of  the  trousseau,  whether  she  loves  the 
man  or  not; — she  hopes  well  enough  at  least  for  practical 
purposes.  I  liked  him  very  much  for  my  share;  and  wish 
little  Alice  had  the  fellow  of  him. 

But,  Oh!  how  thankful  I  was  to  get  away,  where  I 
might  lie  in  bed,  "well  let  alone,"  and  do  out  my  illness! 
We  found  Ann  very  neat  and  glad  to  see  us.  She  is  a 
thoroughly  good,  respectable  woman — the  best  character 
I  ever  had  in  the  house.  .  .  . 

*  Lord  Stanley's  residence  at  Congleton,  Cheshire. 


32  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

Kindest  love  to  my  dear  Uncle  and  the  rest.  I  have 
heard  nothing  of  the  Sketchleys  since  the  week  after  you 
left. 

Ever  your  affectionate 

J.  W.  C. 

A.  S.  [Sterling]  has  swapt  his  Yacht  for  another  which 
he  has  christened  the  Mazzini.  Mr.  C.  starts  for  Paris  to- 
morrow, for  a  ten  days  or  a  fortnight,  I  suppose. 

LETTER  129 

To  Dr.  Carlyle]  Scotsbrigl 

Chelsea,  Saturday,  'Nov.,  1851.' 

My  dear  John — Thanks  for  your  kind  attention  in 
sparing  me  as  much  as  possible  all  alarm  and  anxiety. 
Your  two  welcome  Notes  were  followed  by  one  from  Helen 
last  night,  representing  my  Uncle  as  in  the  most  prosperous 
state  after  his  long  journey.  It  was  not,  however,  the 
immediate  consequences  that  I  felt  most  apprehensive  of; 
and  I  shall  not  be  quite  at  ease  about  him  till  a  few  days 
are  well  over.  Every  time  I  myself  have  gone  a  long  way 
by  express,  the  frightful  headache  produced  in  me  comes 
on  gradually  after,  and  does  not  reach  its  ultimatum  till 
some  three  or  four  days.  They  all  seem  very  grateful  to 
you  for  your  kind  attention  to  my  Uncle;  and  so  am  I; 
and  it  is  a  real  pleasure  to  me  to  hear  them  speak  of  you  so 
warmly. 

For  the  rest,  if  the  Devil  had  not  broken  loose  on  me 
this  morning,  it  was  my  intention  to  have  written  you  a 
long  Letter, — in  spite  of  your  preference  for  short  ones. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  33 

But  there  are  so  many  things  requiring  to  be  done  that  I 
must  not  dawdle  over  any  of  them.  Mrs.  Piper  wants  me 
at  her  house  at  midday,  to  inspect  the  arrangements  she 
has  made  for  the  reception  of  Mazzini,  Saffi  and  Quadri,* 
to  whom  I  have  let  the  three  bedrooms  and  one  sitting- 
room,  left  empty  in  the  Piper  house  by  the  departure  of  an 
old  lady  and  Daughter  who  lived  with  them  (the  Mother 
and  Sister,  in  fact,  of  L.  E.  L.|) ;  and  the  Piper  economics 
were  in  danger  of  rushing  down  into  "cleanness  of  teeth/' 
in  consequence.  So,  as  Mazzini  applied  to  me  for  apart- 
ments, I  brought  the  two  wants  to  bear  on  each  other,  to 
the  great  contentment  of  both  parties.  I  have  also  lent 
the  Pipers  a  bedstead,  a  washstand,  and  two  extremely 
bad  chairs;  and  must  now  go  and  put  a  few  finishing 
touches  from  the  hand  of  Genius  to  her  arrangements; 
and,  above  all,  order  in  coals  and  candles,  or  the  poor  men 
will  have  a  wretched  home  to  come  to  this  cold  night. 

I  have  got  Saffi  Italian  lessons, — at  the  Sterlings  and 
Wedgwoods.  So  now,  to  use  Mazzini's  expression,  "he  is 
saved."  Carlyle  is  extremely  fond  of  Saffi:  I  have  not 
seen  him  take  so  much  to  any  one  this  long  while. 

Besides  that  piece  of  business,  there  are  three  answers 
to  sorts  of  business  Letters  that  must  be  written:  one 
requiring  my  active  exertions  in  the  placing  of  a — 
Lady's-maid!  (Good  Gracious,  what  things  people  do 
ask  of  one!);  one  from  Lady  Ashburton,  who  has  not 
taken  the  slightest  notice  of  me,  but  "quite  the  contrary/' 
ever  since  I  refused  her  invitation  to  the  Grange  on  her 

*  Italian  exiles. 

t  Letitia  E.  Landon,1 

VOL.  II.  -« 


34  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

return  from  Paris!  This  Letter  also,  is  an  invitation, — 
to  come  on  the  1st  of  December  and  stay  over  Christmas, 
put  on  the  touching  footing  of  requiring  my  assistance 
to  help  "in  amusing  Mama"  [Lady  Sandwich].  Heaven 
knows  what  is  to  be  said  from  me  individually.  If  I 
refuse  this  time  also,  she  will  quarrel  with  me  outright, — 
that  is  her  way;— and  as  quarrelling  with  her  would 
involve  quarrelling  with  Mr.  C.  also,  it  is  not  a  thing 
to  be  done  lightly. — I  wish  I  knew  what  to  answer  for 
the  best  * 

*From  "Heaven"  to  "best,"  is  printed  in  Life,  iv.,  87.  Mr. 
Froude  introduces  the  extract  thus :  "  Lady  Ashburton  invited 
Mrs.  Carlyle  to  spend  December  with  her  at  the  Grange,  to  help 
in  amusing  some  visitors  [sic].  She  did  not  wish  to  go,  and  yet 
hardly  dared  say  no.  She  consulted  John  Carlyle." 

To  show  the  absurdity  of  this  it  is  only  needful  to  mention 
that  in  October  Lady  Ashburton,  on  returning  from  the  Continent, 
invited  Mrs.  Carlyle  to  the  Grange.  Mrs.  Carlyle  had  just  returned 
home  after  an  absence  of  two  months;  and  preferred  not  to  leave 
Chelsea  again  just  then.  The  invitation  was  therefore  declined. 

A  little  after  this,  Lady  Ashburton  fell  ill,  as  appears  from 
her  Letters.  When  she  recovered  she  renewed  the  invitation, 
adding,  out  of  kindness  and  true  politeness,  that  Mrs.  Carlyle 
could  be  of  use  in  helping  to  "amuse  Mama." 

This  is  the  invitation  which  Mrs.  Carlyle  mentions  inci- 
dentally to  Dr.  Carlyle.  It  is  not  true  that  she  "consulted" 
him  as  to  whether  she  should  accept  it  or  not.  She  neither  ex- 
pected nor  received  advice  from  him.  She  accepted  the  invitation 
because  it  suited  her  to  do  so;  and  went  to  the  Grange  on  the 
1st  of  December,  by  herself,  leaving  Carlyle  alone,  working  at 
home.  She  induced  him  to  come  and  join  her  on  the  13th  of 
December;  detained  him  there  longer  than  he  wished  to  stay; 
and  returned  on  the  2nd  of  January,  much  improved  in  health. 

Why  then  did  she  write  to  Dr.  Carlyle  of  the  invitation  as 
if  it  were  unwelcome?  The  explanation  is  simple:  she  knew  that 
Dr.  Carlyle  felt  a  little  hurt  because  he  had  never  received  any 
invitation  from  the  Ashburtons;  she,  therefore,  in  writing  to  him, 
very  naturally  refers  to  her  own  invitation  as  a  thing  of  little 
or  no  account. 

Mrs.  Carlyle  was  probably,  by  nature  and  by  education, 
almost  the  least  likely  person  in  the  world  to  submit  meekly  to 
coercion  and  oppression.  She  would  have  resented  and  scorned 
Mr.  Froude's  calumnious  statement  that  she  "submitted"  to  an 
injustice, — relinquished  meekly  without  a  protest  her  "rights 
of  woman,"  and  became  the  puppet  of  an  imperious  Lady's  will! 
No.!  She  was  proud  and  imperious  herself;  and  had  a  will  of 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  35 

I  have  also  to  write  to  Mrs.  Macready  this  day  for  a 
copy  of  the  Sterling  which  I  lent  her  to  take  with  her  to 
Sherborne;  it  is  Mr.  C.'s  own  copy  and  has  pencil  cor- 
rections on  it,  and  is  now  wanted  for  the  new  Edition 
which  Chapman  is  here  at  this  moment  negotiating  for. 
None  of  Mr.  C.'s  Books  have  sold  with  such  rapidity  as 
this  one.  If  he  would  write  a  Novel  we  should  become  as 
rich  as — Dickens!  "  And  what  should  we  do  thenf"  "Dee 
and  do  nocht  ava!"  I  don't  think  it  would  be  any  gain  to 
be  rich.  I  should  then  have  to  keep  more  servants, — and 
one  is  bad  enough  to  manage.  Ann,  however,  goes  on  very 
peaceably,  except  that  in  these  foggy,  dispiriting  morn- 
ings she  is  often  dreadfully  low  about  her  wrist.  I  have 
given  her  a  pair  of  woollen  wristikins.  Can  I  do  anything 
more?  Young  Ann  I  have  got  to  be  housemaid  with  Lady 
Lytton,  who  has  taken  a  cottage  all  to  herself.  .  .  . 

Love  to  your  Mother  and  the  rest  of  you. 

Affectionately, 

J.  W.  C. 

LETTER  130 

To  Mrs.  Russell,  Thornhill. 

Chelsea,  Tuesday,  '  6  Jan'y,  1852.! 

My  dear  Mrs.  Russell — Here  I  am  at  home  again* — to 
the  unspeakable  joy  of — my  dog,  if  no  one  else's.  I  assure 
you  the  reception  he  gave  us  left  the  heart  nothing  to  wish. 

her  own  as  unyielding  as  steel.  She  boasts  of  "being  very  ob- 
stinate in  her  own  way";  of  " having  a  genius  for  not  being  ruled"; 
and  even  of  "being  very  unadvisable."  Having  declined  one 
invitation  from  Lady  Ashburton,  what  in  the  name  of  common  sense 
was  to  hinder  her  from  declining  another,  if  she  had  really  wished 
to  decline? 

*  From  a  visit  of  over  a  month  to  the  Grange. 


36  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

I  found  a  clean  house,  with  nothing  spoilt  or  broken.  My 
present  servant,  who  has  lasted  since  last  May,  is  a  punctual 
trustworthy  woman;  very  like  our  Haddington  Betty  in 
appearance.  I  hope  she  will  stay — forever, — if  that  were 
possible.  .  .  . 

I  hope  you  will  now  write  me  a  long  Letter  about  dear 
old  Thornhill,  and  all  the  people  I  know  there.  I  send  the 
Order  for  the  money,  which  I  need  not  doubt  but  you  ad- 
vanced for  me.  I  hoped  by  this  time  to  have  had  a  Book 
to  send  you,  Mr.  C.'s  Life  of  Sterling,  of  which  a  second 
edition  is  now  printing;  but  it  is  not  ready  yet,  so  you 
must  wait  a  little  longer. 

Only  imagine  my  three  Aunts  coming  up  to  the  Exhi- 
bition last  August!  I  should  have  thought  it  much  too 
worldly  a  subject  of  interest  for  them.  I  had  gone  to  Mal- 
vern  only  two  days  before  they  arrived, — so  missed  them 
altogether. 

Love  to  your  Husband  and  Father. 

Ever  affectionately  yours, 

JANE  W.  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  131 

To  Dr.  Carlyle,  Scotsbrig] 

Chelsea,  '27  July,  1852.' 

My  dear  John — You  will  like  to  hear  "what  I  am  think- 
ing of  Life"  in  the  present  confusion.  Well,  then,  I  am 
not  thinking  of  it  at  all  but  living  it  very  contentedly.  The 
tumult  has  been  even  greater  since  Mr.  C.*  went  than  it 

*  "About  the  middle  of  July,  Jane  sent  me  off  to  Scotland,  to  be 
out  of  the  way."  (From  a  Letter  of  Carlyle' s  to  his  Brother  Alexan- 
der, 6  Jan'y,  1853.) 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  37 

was  before;  for  new  floors  are  being  put  down  in  the  top 
story,  and  the  noise  of  that  is  something  terrific.  But  now 
that  I  feel  the  noise  and  dirt  and  disorder  with  my  own 
senses,  and  not  through  his  as  well,  it  is  amazing  how  little 
I  care  about  it.  Nay,  in  superintending  all  these  men  I 
begin  to  find  myself  "in  the  career  open  to  my  particular 
talents,"  and  am  infinitely  more  satisfied  than  I  was  in 
talking  "wits,"  in  my  white  silk  gown  with  white  feathers 
in  my  head,  and  soirees  at  Bath  House, "  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing."  It  is  a  consolation  to  be  of  some  use,  tho'  it  were 
only  in  helping  stupid  carpenters  and  bricklayers  out  of 
their  "impossibilities,"  and,  at  all  rates,  keeping  them  to 
their  work;  especially  when  the  ornamental  no  longer  suc- 
ceeds with  me  so  well  as  it  has  done!  The  fact  is,  I  am 
remarkably  indifferent  to  material  annoyances,  considering 
my  morbid  sensibility  to  moral  ones.  And  when  Mr.  C.  is 
not  here  recognising  it  with  his  overwhelming  eloquence,  I 
can  regard  the  present  earthquake  as  something  almost 
laughable. 

Another  house-wife  trial  of  temper  has  come  upon  me 
since  Mr.  C.  went,  of  which  he  yet  knows  nothing,  and 
which  has  been  borne  with  the  same  imperturbability:  He 
told  you,  perhaps,  that  I  had  got  a  new  servant  in  the 
midst  of  this  mess, — a  great  beauty,  whom  I  engaged  be- 
cause she  had  been  six  years  in  her  last  place,  and  because 
he  decidedly  liked  her  physiognomy.  She  came  home  the 
night  before  he  left.  It  was  a  rough  establishment  to 
come  into,  and  no  fair  field  for  shewing  at  once  her  capa- 
bilities; but  her  dispositions  were  perhaps  on  that  account 


38  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

the  more  quickly  ascertained.  The  first  night  I  came  upon 
her  listening  at  the  door;  and  the  second  morning  I  came 
upon  her  reading  one  of  my  Letters!  And  in  every  little 
box,  drawer  and  corner  I  found  traces  of  her  prying.  It 
was  going  to  be  like  living  under  an  Austrian  Spy.  Then, 
because  she  had  no  regular  work  possible  to  do,  she  did 
nothing  of  her  own  accord  that  was  required.  Little 
Martha,  who  was  here  in  Ann's  illness  and  whom  I  had 
taken  back  for  a  week  or  two,  was  worth  a  dozen  of  her  in 
serviceableness.  The  little  cooking  7  needed,  was  always 
"what  she  hadn't  been  used  to  where  she  lived  before/' 
and  for  that,  or  some  other  reason,  detestable.  I  saw  be- 
fore the  first  week  was  out,  that  I  had  got  a  helpless,  ill- 
trained,  low-minded  goose;  and  this  morning,  the  last 
day  of  the  week,  I  was  wishing  to  Heaven  I  had  brought 
no  regular  servant  into  the  house  at  all  just  now,  but  gone 
on  with  little  Martha,  As  there  was  not  work  enough  for 
half  a  one,  never  to  speak  of  two,  I  had  told  little  Martha 
she  must  go  home  to-night.  I  would  rather  have  sent 
away  the  other,  but  she  had  waited  three  weeks  for  the 
place,  and  couldn't  be  dispatched  without  a  week's  warn- 
ing; and  besides,  I  felt  hardly  justified  in  giving  her  no 
longer  trial.  Figure  my  satisfaction,  then,  when  on  my 
return  from  taking  Mazzini  to  call  for  the  Brownings,  the 
new  servant  came  to  me,  with  a  set  face,  and  said,  "she 
had  now  been  here  a  week  and  found  the  place  didn't  suit 
her;  if  it  had  been  all  straight,  perhaps  she  could  have  lived 
in  it;  but  it  was  such  a  muddle,  and  would  be  such  a 
muddle  for  months  to  come,  that  she  thought  it  best  to  get 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  39 

out  of  it."  I  told  her  I  was  quite  of  her  opinion,  and  re- 
ceived the  news  with  such  amiability  that  she  became  quite 
amiable,  too,  and  asked  "when  would  I  like  her  to  go." 
"To-night,"  I  said;  "Martha  was  to  have  gone  to-night, 
now  you  will  go  in  her  stead,  and  that  will  be  all  the  dif- 
ference!" And  she  is  gone,  bag  and  baggage!  We  parted 
with  mutual  civilities,  and  I  never  was  more  thankful  for  a 
small  mercy  in  my  life.  And  the  most  amusing  part  of  the 
business  is,  that  although  taken  thus  by  surprise  I  had  be- 
fore she  left  the  house, — engaged  another  servant!  By 
the  strangest  chance,  Irish  Fanny,  who  has  always  kept 
on  coming  to  see  me  from  time  to  time,  and  is  now  in  better 
health,  arrived  at  tea-time  to  tell  me  she  had  left  her  place. 
I  offered  her  mine,  which  she  had  already  made  trial  of,  and 
she  accepted  with  an  enthusiasm  which  did  one's  heart 
good  after  all  those  cold,  ungrateful  English  wretches.  I 
stipulated,  however,  that  she  should  not  come  for  a  month, 
little  Martha  being  the  suitablest  in  the  present  state  of  the 
family.  Little  Martha  is  gone  to  bed  the  happiest  child  in 
Chelsea,  at  the  honour  done  her.  "I  could  have  told  you, 
Ma'am,"  she  said,  "the  very  first  day  that  girl  was  here, 
that  she  wasn't  fit  for  a  genteel  place;  and  I'm  sure  she 
isn't  so  much  older  than  me  as  she  says  she  is!" 

Oh,  such  a  fuss  the  Brownings  made  over  Mazzini  this 
day!  My  private  opinion  of  Browning  is,  in  spite  of  Mr. 
C.'s  favour  for  him,  that  he  is  "nothing,"  or  very  little 
more,  "but  a  fluff  of  feathers!"*  She  is  true  and  good,  and 
the  most  womanly  creature. 

I  go  to  Sherborne  on  Friday  to  stay  till  Monday.    It  is 

*  See  Carlyle's  "Letters,  1826-36,".  ii.,  306n. 


rew  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

a  long,  fatiguing  journey  for  so  short  a  time,  and  will  be  a 
sad  visit;  but  she*  wishes  it.  And  now,  good-night. 
With  kind  regards  to  all. 

Affectionately  yours, 

JANE  W.  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  132 

To  T.  Carlyle]  Linlathen,  Dundee. 

Chelsea,  Tuesday,  3  August,  1852. 

Oh,  my  Dear,  if  I  had  but  a  pen  that  would  mark  freely 
— never  to  say  spell — and  if  I  might  be  dispensed  from 
news  of  the  house,  I  would  write  you  such  a  Lettre  d'une 
voyageuse  as  you  have  not  read  "these  seven  years!"  For 
it  was  not  a  commonplace  journey  this  at  all;  it  was  more 
like  the  journey  of  a  Belinda  or  Evelina  or  Cecilia:  your 
friends  "The  Destinies/7  "Immortal  gods,"  or  whatever 
one  should  call  them,  transported  me  into  the  Region  of 
mild  Romance  for  that  one  day.  But  with  this  cursed 
house  to  be  told  about,  and  so  little  leisure  for  telling  any- 
thing, my  Miss  Burney  faculty  cannot  spread  its  wings. 
So  I  will  leave  my  journey  to  Sherborne  for  a  more  favour- 
able moment, — telling  you  only  that  I  am  no  worse  for  it; 
rather  better,  if  indeed  I  needed  any  bettering,  which  it 
would  be  rather  ungrateful  to  Providence  to  say  I  did. 
Except  that  I  sleep  less  than  ordinary  mortals  do,  I  have 
nothing  earthly  to  complain  of — nor  have  had  since  you 
left  me.  Nor  will  I  even  tell  you  of  the  Macreadys  in  this 
Letter.  I  cannot  mix  up  the  image  of  that  dear  dying 
woman  with  details  about  bricklayers  and  carpenters. 

*  That  is  Mrs.  Macready. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  41 

You  ask  what  my  prophetic  gift  says  to  it,  which  is 
more  to  be  depended  on  than  Mr.  Morgan's  calculations. 
My  Dear,  my  prophetic  gift  says  very  decidedly  that  it 
will  be  two  months  at  least  before  we  get  these  fearful 
creatures  we  have  conjured  up  laid.  The  confusion  at 
this  moment  is  more  horrible  than  when  you  went  away. 
The  Library  is— exactly  as  you  left  it!  The  plasterers 
could  not  commence  there  on  account  of  the  moving  of 
the  floors  above;  and  the  front  bedroom  floor  could  not  be 
got  on  with  on  account  of  the  pulling  down  of  the  chimney; 
your  bedroom  is  floored,  and  has  got  its  window-shutters; 
and  the  painter  was  to  have  begun  there  on  Saturday,  and 
has  not  appeared  yet:  and  Mr.  Morgan  keeps  away,  and  I 
am  nearly  mad.  My  present  bedroom  is  as  you  left  it, — 
only  more  full  of  things.  The  chimney  above,  up-stairs, 
is  carried  back  and  finished;  the  floor  is  still  up  there  and 
the  ceiling  down;  it  will  be  a  week  before  they  get  the 
floor  laid  there;  and  till  then  plastering  can't  be  begun 
with  below! ! 

.  .  .  And  now  you  must  consider  and  decide. 
For  two  months  I  am  pretty  sure  there  will  be  no  living 
for  you  here.  /  can  do  quite  well;  and  seem  to  be  extreme- 
ly necessary  for  shifting  about  the  things,  and  looking 
after  the  men.  The  only  servant  in  the  house  is  little 
Martha.  Our  Beauty  was  as  perfect  a  fool  as  the  sun 
ever  shone  on,  and  at  the  end  of  a  week  left,  finding  it 
"quite  impossible  to  live  in  any  such  muddle."  I  have 
been  doing  very  well  with  Martha  for  the  last  week; 
and  Irish  Fanny  is  engaged  to  come  on  the  27th;  but  I 
did  not  want  a  regular  servant  at  present. 


42  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

My  idea  is  that  you  ought  to  go  to  Germany  by  yourself, 
leaving  me  here,  where  I  am  more  useful  at  present  than 
I  could  be  anywhere  else.  But  if  you  don't  like  that, 
there  will  be  the  Grange  open  for  September,  and  you 
could  go  by  yourself  there.  As  to  "cowering  into  some 
hole/'  you  are  "the  last  man  in  all  England"  that  can 
do  that  sort  of  thing  with  advantage;  so  there's  no  use 
speculating  about  it. 

If  you  could  make  up  your  mind  to  Germany  any 
easier  for  my  going  to  see  to  the  beds,  etc.,  of  course 
there  is  no  such  absolute  need  of  my  staying  here,  that 
I  should  not  delegate  my  superintendence  to  Chalmers 
or  somebody,  and  put  Fanny  into  the  kitchen,  and  go 
away; — but  I  don't  take  it  the  least  unkind  your  leaving 
me  behind;  and  with  Neuberg  to  attend  on  you,  I  really 
think  you  would  be  better  without  me.  .  . 

Ever  yours, 

J.  W.  C. 

Love  to  Mr.  Erskine,  and  thanks  for  his  Note. 
LETTER  133 

To  T.  Carlyle,  Linlathen,  Dundee. 

Chelsea,  Friday,  '6  Aug.,  1852.' 

.  .  .  As  to  Nero,  poor  darling,  it  is  not  forgetfulness 
of  him  that  has  kept  me  silent  on  his  subject,  but  rather 
that  he  is  part  and  parcel  of  myself:  when  I  say  I  arn 
well,  it  means  also  Nero  is  well!  Nero  c'est  moi;  moi 
c'est  Nero!  I  might  have  told  something  of  him,  however, 
rather  curious.  Going  down  in  the  kitchen  the  morning 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  43 

after  my  return  from  Sherborne  I  spoke  to  the  white 
cat,  in  common  politeness,  and  even  stroked  her;  whereon 
the  jealous)7  of  Nero  rose  to  a  pitch!  He  snapped  and 
barked  at  me,  then  flew  at  the  cat  quite  savage.  I  "felt 
it  my  duty"  to  box  his  ears.  He  stood  a  moment  as  if 
taking  his  resolution;  then  rushed  up  the  kitchen  stairs; 
and,  as  it  afterward  appeared,  out  of  the  house!  For, 
in  ten  minutes  or  so,  a  woman  came  to  the  front  door  with 
master  Nero  in  her  arms;  and  said  she  had  met  him  run- 
ning up  Cook's  Grounds,  and  was  afraid  he  "would  go 
and  lose  himself!"  He  would  take  no  notice  of  me  for 
several  hours  after!  And  yet  he  had  never  read  "George- 
Sand  Novels,"  that  dog,  or  any  sort  of  Novels! 

But  of  Germany:  I  really  would  advise  you  to  go, — 
not  so  much  for  the  good  of  doing  it,  but  for  the  good  of 
having  done  it.  Neuberg  is  as  suitable  a  guide  and  com- 
panion as  poor  humanity,  imperfect  at  best,  could  well 
afford  you.  And  I  also  vote  for  leaving  me  out  of  the 
question.  It  would  be  anything  but  a  pleasure  for  me 
to  be  there,  with  the  notion  of  a  house  all  at  sixes  and 
sevens  to  come  home  to.  .  .  .  You  will  take  me  there 
another  time  if  you  think  it  worth  my  seeing.  Or  I  could 
go  some  time  myself  and  visit  Bolte;  or  I  can  have  money 
to  make  any  little  journey  I  may  fancy, — some  time  when  I 
am  out  of  sorts, — which  I  am  not  now,  thanks  God,  the 
least  in  the  world.  If  it  were  not  for  the  thought  of  your 
bother  in  being  kept  out  of  your  own  house,  I  should 
not  even  fret  over  the  slowness  of  the  house-altering 
process.  I  can  see  that  there  is  an  immense  deal  of  that 
sort  of  invisible  work  expended  on  it  which  you  expended 


New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

on  Cromwell.  The  two  carpenters  are  not  quick,  certainly, 
but  they  are  very  conscientious  and  assiduous,  giving 
themselves  a  great  deal  of  work  that  makes  no  show, 
but  which  you  should  be  the  last  man  to  count  unnecessary. 
.  .  .  When  it  comes  to  putting  everything  in  order 
again,  it  will  be  a  much  greater  pleasure  than  going  to 
Germany,  I  can  tell  you. — I  had  plenty  of  other  things 
to  tell;  but  when  one  gets  on  that  house  there  is  no  end 
of  it.  ...  But  Oh,  heavens!  there  is  twelve  striking. 

Ever  yours, 

J.  W.  C. 

LETTER  134 

To  T.  Carlyle]  care  of  Joseph  Neuberg]  Bonn. 

Chelsea,  Thursday,  2  Sep.,  1852. 

.  .  .  I  have  a  new  invitation  to  go  to  Addiscombe 
to-morrow,  Friday,  and  stay  till  Monday  (Lord  Ashburton 
being  gone  to  Scotland  "quite  promiscuously,"  and 
her  Ladyship  in  consequence  going  a  second  time  to 
Addiscombe).  I  accepted;  being  very  anxious  to  have 
a  Christian  bed  for  a  night  or  two,  having  alternated 
for  a  week  betwixt  the  sofa  in  this  room,  and  the  bed 
at  2  Cheyne  Walk, — on  the  same  principle  that  Darwin 
frequents  two  clubs.  .  .  .  Last  night  Lady  A.  sent 
me  word  by  Fanny,  who  had  taken  her  up  the  cran- 
berry jam  promised  long  ago,  that  it  was  possible  she 
might  not  go  till  Saturday. 

I  dined  with  Forster  on  Tuesday,  "fish  and  pudding"; 
and  the  Talfours  and  Brownings  came  to  early  tea.  The 
Brownings  brought  me  in  their  cab  to  Piccadilly  and  put 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  45 

me  in  an  omnibus.  It  was  a  very  dull  thing  indeed; 
and  I  like  Browning  less  and  less;  and  even  she  does 
not  grow  on  me.  Mrs.  Sketchley,  after  reading  your 
Note  for  her,*  held  out  her  hand  to  me  and — burst  into 
tears!  and  Penelope  fell  a-crying  at  seeing  her  Mother 
crying, — without  knowing  why!  " Whatever  comes  of  it, 
— if  nothing  comes  of  it,"  said  the  old  lady,  "that  is  kind- 
ness never  to  be  forgotten."  .  .  . 

Ever  yours  affectionately, 

JANE  CARLYLE, 

P.  S. — I  hope  John's  love  affair  will  get  on. 
LETTER  135 

To  Dr.  Carlyle,  Scotsbrig; 

Chelsea,  Monday,  'Sep;,  1852.'. 

My  dear  John — .  .  .  Mrs.  Macready  is  at  Plymouth, 
Forster  told  me  yesterday;  stood  the  journey  better  than 
was  anticipated;  but  the  Doctor  there  gives  no  hopes 
of  her.  Oh  no!  one  has  only  to  look  at  her  to  feel  that 
there  is  no  hope. 

I  wonder  now  if  you  will  break  down  in  that  enterprise? 
Please  don't.  I  want  very  much  to  see  you  comfortably 
settled  in  life;  and  with  a  woman  of  that  age,  whom  you 
have  known  for  fifteen  years,  I  should  not  feel  any  appre- 
hensions about  your  doing  well  together.f  But  you  put 

*  Written  at  Mrs.  C.'s  suggestion,  introducing  Mrs.  S.  to  a 
Publisher. 

t  Mrs.  Carlyle  is  generally  claimed  as  an  advocate  against 
marriage.  This  is  a  mistake:  it  was  only  imprudent  marriages 
she  disapproved. 


46  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

so  little  emphasis  into  your  love-making,  that  it  won't 
surprise  me  if  this  one,  too,  get  out  of  patience  and  slip 
away  from  you! 

Your  affectionate 

J.  W.  C. 

LETTER  136 

To  Dr.  Carlyle,  Burnbraes,  Moffat. 

Chelsea,  15  September,  1852. 

My  dear  John — .  .  .  Thanks  God,  however,  the 
workmen  are  gradually  "  re  turning  from  the  Thirty-years' 
War."  My  plasterers  and  plumbers  are  gone;  and  my 
bricklayers  and  carpenters  going;  and  I  have  now  only 
painting  and  paperhanging  to  endure  for  a  week  or  two 
longer.  .  .  . 

Meantime  the  Duke  of  Wellington  is  dead.  I  shall 
not  meet  him  at  Balls  any  more,  nor  kiss  his  shoulder* 
poor  old  man.  All  the  news  I  have  had  from  the  outer 
world  this  week  is  sad.  .  .  . 

"Like  Mrs.  Newton"*— that  is  charming!  When  shall 
I  see  her?  It  is  really  very  pleasant  to  me,  the  idea  of  a 
new  Sister-in-law!  What  on  earth  puts  it  in  people's 
heads  to  call  me  formidable?  There  is  not  a  creature 
alive  that  is  more  unwilling  to  hurt  the  feelings  of  others, 
and  I  grow  more  compatible  every  year  that  I  live.  I 
can't  count  the  people  who  have  said  to  me  first  and  last, 
"I  was  so  afraid  of  you!  I  had  been  told  you  were  so 
sarcastic!"  And  really  I  am  perfectly  unconscious  of 
dealing  in  that  sort  of  thing  at  all.  .  .  .  So  depend 

*  Dr.  Carlyle  had  described  his  "  intended  "  as  like  Mrs.  Newton. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  47 

on  it  the  Ba-ing  will  be  agreeably  disappointed  when  we 
meet. 

But  now  I  should  be  in  bed.    Nero  is  already  loudly 
snoring  on  a  chair.    Good-night. 

Yours  affectionately, 

JANE  W.  CARLYLE. 


Mrs.  Carlyle's  Love  Story. 

In  November,  1852,  Mrs.  Carlyle  wrote  a  short  Story 
in  the  form  of  an  "Imaginary  Letter,"  in  a  little  Note- 
Book  which  Carlyle  has  labelled  "  Child  Love.'i  Mr. 
Froude  in  his  Life  of  Carlyle  (i.,  285),  has  printed  the  open- 
ing sentences  of  the  Preface  to  the  Story  thus: 

"  What  'the  greatest  Philosopher  of  our  day '  execrates 
loudest  in  Thackeray's  new  Novel — finds  indeed  'altogether 
false  and  damnable  in  it' — is  that  love  is  represented 
as  spreading  itself  over  our  whole  existence,  and  con- 
stituting one  of  the  grand  interests  of  it;  whereas  love — 
the  thing  people  call  love — is  confined  to  a  very  few  years 
of  man's  life;  to,  in  fact,  a  quite  insignificant  fraction 
of  it,  and  even  then  is  but  one  thing  to  be  attended  to 
among  many  infinitely  more  important  things.  Indeed, 
so  far  as  he  (Mr.  C.)  has  seen  into  it,  the  whole  concern 
of  love  is  such  a  beggarly  futility,  that  in  an  heroic  age  of 
the  world  nobody  would  be  at  the  pains  to  think  of  it, 
much  less  to  open  his  mouth  upon  it." 

Mr.  Froude's  deduction  from  this  is:  "A  person  who 
had  known  by  experience  the  thing  called  love,  would 
scarcely  have  addressed  such  a  vehemently  unfavourable 
opinion  of  its  nature  to  the  woman  who  had  been  the 
object  of  his  affection." 

What  Carlyle  meant  by  "the  thing  people  call  love" 
will  be  best  made  manifest  by  the  Story  itself.  Possibly 
Mr.  Froude's  reason  for  omitting  the  Story  may  have 


48  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

been  that  he  feared  it  might  suggest  to  shrewd  readers 
the  absurdity  of  the  Irving  Episode  in  his  account  of 
Carlyle's  life.  Irving  gave  lessons  to  Miss  Welsh  from 
October,  1811  to  August,  1812.  She  was  ten  years  and 
three  months  old  when  he  began  to  instruct  her;  and 
eleven  years,  one  month  and  some  few  days  old  when  he 
left  Haddington. 

After  the  citation  made  by  Mr.  Froude,  Mrs.  Carlyle 
gives  instances  amongst  her  own  acquaintances  of  people 
being  "in love"  at  all  ages  from  six  to  eighty-two;  and 
then  tells  in  the  following  graphic  and  amusing  way: 

"THE  SIMPLE  STORY  OF  MY  OWN  FIRST-LOVE." 

Well,  then,  I  was  somewhat  more  advanced  in  life 
than  the  child  in  the  aforesaid  Breach-of-promise  case, 
when  I  fell  in  love  for  the  first  time.  In  fact  I  had  com- 
pleted my  ninth  year;  or,  as  I  phrased  it,  was  "going 
ten."  One  night,  at  a  Dancing-school  Ball,  a  stranger 
Boy  put  a  slight  on  me  which  I  resented  to  my  finger 
ends;  and  out  of  that  tumult  of  hurt  vanity  sprang  my 
First-love  to  life,  like  Venus  out  of  the  froth  of  the  sea!! — 
So  that  my  First-love  resembled  my  Last,  in  that  it  began 
in  quasi-hatred. 

Curious,  that,  recalling  so  many  particulars,  of  this 
old  story,  as  vividly  as  if  I  had  it  under  my  opera-glass, 
I  should  have  nevertheless  quite  forgot  the  Boy's  first 
name!  His  surname,  or  as  the  Parson  of  St.  Mark's  would 
say,  "his  name  by  nature"  was  Scholey, — a  name  which, 
whether  bestowed  by  nature  or  art,  I  have  never  fallen 
in  with  since;  but  the  Charles,  or  Arthur,  or  whatever 
it  was  that  preceded  it,  couldn't  have  left  less  trace  of 
itself  had  it  been  written  in  the  "New  Permanent  Marking- 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  49 

ink ! "  He  was  an  only  child,  this  Boy,  of  an  Artillery  Officer 
at  the  Barracks,  and  was  seen  by  me  then  for  the  first 
time;  a  Boy  of  twelve,  or  perhaps  thirteen,  tall  for  his 
years  and  very  slight, —with  sunshiny  hair,  and  dark-blue 
eyes;  a  dark-blue  ribbon  about  his  neck;  and  grey  jacket 
with  silver  buttons.  Such  the  image  that  "stamped 
itself  on  my  soul  forever!" — And  I  have  gone  and  forgotten 
his  name! 

Nor  were  his  the  only  details  which  impressed  me  at 
that  Ball.  If  you  would  like  to  know  my  own  Ball-dress, 
I  can  tell  you  every  item  of  it:  a  white  Indian  muslin 
frock  open  behind,  and  trimmed  with  twelve  rows  of  satin 
ribbon;  a  broad  white  satin  sash  reaching  to  my  heels; 
little  white  kid  shoes,  and  embroidered  silk  stockings, — 
which  last  are  in  a  box  up-stairs  along  with  the  cap  I 
was  christened  in!  my  poor  Mother  having  preserved  both 
in  lavender  up  to  the  day  of  her  death. 

Thus  elegantly  attired,  and  with  my  "magnificent 
eye-lashes  "  (I  never  know  what  became  of  these  eye-lashes) 
and  my  dancing  "unsurpassed  in  private  life"  (so 
our  dancing-master  described  it), — with  all  that  and 
much  more  to  make  me  "one  and  somewhat"  in  my  own 
eyes,  what  did  I  not  feel  of  astonishment,  rage,  desire  of 
vengeance,  when  this  Boy,  whom  all  were  remarking  the 
beauty  of,  told  by  his  Mama  (I  heard  her  with  my  own 
ears)  to  ask  little  Miss  Welsh  for  a  quadrille,  declined 
kurt  und  gut,  and  led  up  another  girl,— a  girl  that  I  was 
"worth  a  million  of,"  if  you'll  believe  me,— a  fair,  fat, 
sheep-looking  thing,  with  next  to  no  sense;  and  her 
dancing!  you  should  have  seen  it!  Our  dancing-master 

VOL.  II.-4 


50  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

was  always  shaking  his  head  at  her,  and  saying  "heavy, 
heavy!" — But  her  wax-doll  face  took  the  fancy  of  Boys 
at  that  period,  as  afterwards  it  was  the  rage  with  men, 
till  her  head,  unsteady  from  the  first  discovery  of  her, 
got  fairly  turned  with  admiration,  and  she  ended  in  a 
mad-house,  that  girl!  Ah!  had  I  seen  by  Second-sight 
at  the  Ball  there,  the  ghastly  doom  ahead  of  her, — only 
some  dozen  years  ahead, — could  I  have  had  the  heart  to 
grudge  her  one  triumph  over  me,  or  any  partner  she  could 
get?  But  no  foreshadow  of  the  future  Madhouse  rested 
on  her  and  me  that  glancing  evening,  tho'  one  of  us, — 
and  I  don't  mean  her,  was  feeling  rather  mad.  No!  never 
had  I  been  so  outraged  in  my  short  life!  never  so  enraged 
at  a  Boy!  I  could  have  given  a  guinea,  if  I  had  had  one, 
that  he  would  yet  ask  me  to  dance,  that  I  might  have 
said  him  such  a  No!  But  he  didn't  ask  me;  neither  that 
night  nor  any  other  night;  indeed,  to  tell  the  plain  truth, 
if  my  "magnificent  eyelashes,"  my  dancing  "unsurpassed 
in  private  life,"  my  manifold  fascinations,  personal  and 
spititual,  were  ever  so  much  as  noticed  by  that  Boy,  he 
remained  from  first  to  last,  impracticable  to  them! 

For  six  or  eight  months,  I  was  constantly  meeting 
him  at  children's  Balls  and  Tea-parties;  we  danced  in 
the  same  dance,  played  in  the  same  games,  and  "knew 
each  other  to  speak  to";  but  the  fat  Girl  was  always 
present,  and  always  preferred.  They  followed  one  another 
about,  he  and  she,  "took  one  another's  parts,"  kissed  one 
another  at  forfeits,  and  so  on,  while  I,  slighted,  superflu- 
ous, incomprise,  stood  amazed  as  in  presence  of  the  in- 
finite! But  that  was  only  for  a  time  or  two  while  I  found 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  51 

myself  in  a  "new  position/'  a  little  used  to  the  position, 
I  made  the  best  of  it.  After  all,  wasn't  the  fat  Girl  two 
years  older  than  I?  and  that  made  such  a  difference! 
Had  I  been  eleven  "going  twelve/' — I  with  my  long 
eyelashes,  lovely  dancing,  etc.,  things  would  have  gone 
very  differently,  I  thought, — decidedly  they  would.  So 
"laying  the  flattering  unction  to  my  soul,"  I  gradually 
left  off  being  furious  at  the  Boy,  and  rejoiced  to  be  in 
his  company  on  any  footing. 

Next  to  seeing  the  Boy's  self,  I  liked  making  little 
calls  on  his  Mother;  but  how  the  first  call,  which  was  the 
difficulty,  got  made,  I  have  only  a  half  remembrance; 
or  rather  I  remember  it  two  different  ways! — a  form  of 
forgetfulness  not  uncommon  with  me.  I  should  say 
quite  confidently,  that  I  first  found  myself  in  Mrs. 
Scholey's  Barracks  at  her  own  urgent  solicitation,  once 
when  she  had  lighted  on  me  alone  at  "the  evening  Band/' 
if  it  were  not  for  my  clear  recollection  of  being  there  the 
first  time  with  my  governess,  who,  of  " military  extraction" 
herself  (she  boasted  her  Father  had  been  a  serjeant  in 
the  militia),  was  extensively  liee  at  the  Barracks.  At 
all  events  my  Mother  was  on  no  visiting  terms  with  this 
lady;  and  it  is  incredible  I  should  have  introduced  myself 
on  my  own  basis.  Very  likely  she  had  besieged  me  to 
visit  her;  for  the  ladies  at  the  Barracks  were  always 
manoeuvring  to  get  acquainted  in  the  Town.  And  just 
as  likely  my  governess  had  taken  me  to  her;  for  my  govern- 
ess had  a  natural  aptitude  for  false  steps.  In  either  case, 
the  ice  once  broken,  I  made  visits  enough  at  Mrs.  Scholey's 
Barracks,  where  I  was  treated  with  all  possible  respect. 


52  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

Still  as  a  woman  Mrs.  Scholey  didn't  please  me,  I  remember; 
inasmuch  as  she  was  both  forward  and  vulgar;  and  it 
wasn't  without  a  sense  of  demeaning  myself,  that  I  held 
these  charmed  sittings  in  her  Barracks.  But  then,  it 
wasn't  the  woman  that  I  visited  in  her;  it  was  the  Boy's 
Mother;  and  in  that  character  she  was  a  sort  of  military 
Holy  Mother  for  me,  and  her  Barracks  looked  a  sacred 
shrine!  Then,  so  often  as  she  spoke  to  me  of  her  Son, 
and  she  spoke  I  think  of  little  else,  it  was  in  a  way  to 
leave  no  doubt  in  my  mind,  that  the  first  wish  of  her 
(Mrs.  Scholey's)  heart  was  to  see  him  and  me  ultimately 
united;  and  there  is  no  expressing  how  it  soothed  me  under 
the  confirmed  indifference  of  the  Son  to  feel  myself  so 
appreciated  by  his  Mother.  Nor  was  Mrs.  Scholey  her- 
self my  sole  attraction  to  that  Barracks:  the  Boy,  be  it 
clearly  understood,  I  never  saw  there,  or  assuredly  I 
should  have  made  myself  scarce.  God  forbid  that  at 
even  nine  years  of  age  I  should  have  had  so  little  sense, — 
not  to  say  spirit. — as  to  be  throwing  myself  in  the  way  of  a 
Boy  who  wanted  nothing  with  me!  Oh  no,  the  Boy  was 
all  day  at  School  in  the  Town,  within  a  gun-shot  of  my 
own  door, — a  quarter  of  a  mile  at  least  nearer  me  than 
his  Mother.  For  the  other  attraction  the  Barrack  room 
possessed  for  me,  it  was  a  Portrait, — nothing  more  nor 
less,— a  dear  little  oval  Miniature  of  the  Boy  in  petticoats; 
done  for  him  in  his  second  or  third  year;  and  so  like,  I 
thought, — making  allowance  for  the  greater  chubbiness 
of  babyhood,  and  the  little  pink  frock,  of  no  sex.  At 
each  visit  I  drank  in  this  "Portrait  charmant"  with  my 
eyes,  and  wished  myself  artist  enough  to  copy  it.  Indeed 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  53 

had  one  of  the  Fairies  I  delighted  to  read  of  stept  out  of 
the  Book,  in  a  moment  of  enthusiasm,  to  grant  any  one 
thing  I  asked,  I  would  have  said,  I  am  sure  I  would, 
"the  Portrait  charmant,  then,  since  you  are  so  good,  all 
to  myself  for  altogether !" 

Still,  I  hadn't  as  yet,  to  the  best  of  my  remembrance, 
admitted  to  myself  (to  others  it  would  have  been  im- 
possible) that  I  was  head  and  ears  in  love.  Indeed  an 
admission  so  entirely  discreditable  to  me  couldn't  be 
too  long  suppressed.  Oh,  little  Miss  Welsh!  at  your  time 
of  age  and  with  your  advantages,  to  go  and  fall  in  love 
with  an  Artillery  Boy,  and  he  not  caring  a  pin  for  you! 
It  was  really  very  shocking,  very.  And  let  us  hope, 
I  should  have  felt  all  that  was  proper  on  the  discovery 
of  my  infatuation,  if  the  circumstances  under  which  it 
was  made  had  been  less  poignant!  The  Boy's  Regiment 
had  received  orders  to  march!  To  Ireland,  I  think  it 
was;  but  the  where  was  nothing.  For  me,  in  my  then 
geographical  blankness,  the  marching  beyond  my  own 
sphere  of  vision  was  a  marching  into  infinite  space!  Lo! 
Two  more  days  and  the  Boy,  his  Mother,  his  Regiment  and 
all  that  was  his,  would  be  in  infinite  space  for  me!  Here 
was  a  prospect  to  enlighten  one  on  the  state  of  one's 
heart,  if  anything  could!  Now  I  knew  all  I  had  felt  for 
him  and  all  I  felt;  and  I  forgave  him  all  about  the  fat 
Girl;  and  believed  in  the  " Progress  of  the  Species."* 

*A  young  lady,  once  weeping  on  my  shoulder  over  the  loss  of 
her  lover,  and  ah!  her  honour,  suddenly  gathered  herself  up,  and 
exclaimed  wildly,  "  But,  Oh !  Mrs.  Carlyle,  I  do,  I  do  believe  in  the 
Progress  of  the  Species!"  "Why  not?"  returned  I,  "I  for  my 
part  believe  in  the  Devil;  and  find  great  comfort  from  it  occa- 
sionally. With  a  Devil  to  lay  the  blame  on,  one  feels  so  irrespon- 
eibleJ'.i 


54  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

Had  I  stopt  there,  well  and  good;  but  a  sudden  thought 
struck  me,  a  project  of  consolation  so  subversive  of  "fe- 
male delicacy,"  that  I  almost  blush  to  write  it!  But  in 
these  moments  termed  "supreme,"  one  "swallows  all 
formulas"  as  fast  as  look  at  them, — at  least  I  do.  This 
project,  then?  Could  it  be  the  confession  of  my  love  to 
its  object,  you  may  be  thinking?  Almighty  Gracious! 
no,  not  that ! !  Though  with  no  knowledge  as  yet  of  what 
my  American  young  lady  called  "Life,"  instinct  divined 
all  the  helplessness  of  that  shift,  even  could  I  have  gulped 
the  indecency  of  it.  No!  My  project  was  flagrantly 
compromising,  and  something  might  be  gained  by  it. 
It  was  this  simply:  To  persuade  Mrs.  Scholey  to  leave 
the  little  oval  Miniature  with  me,  on  loan,  on  the  under- 
standing that  when  I  was  grown  up  and  should  have 
money,  I  would  return  it  to  her,  set  with  diamonds]  and 
as  an  immediate  tribute  of  gratitude,  or  pure  esteem, — 
whichever  she  liked, — I  would  present  her  with  my  gold 
filigree  needle-case,  the  only  really  valuable  thing  I  possessed, 
— and  sent  from  India  all  the  way!  But  it  might  go, 
without  a  sigh,  in  part  payment  of  such  a  favour!  Whether 
my  idea  was,  that  "grown  up"  and  "having  money,"  I 
should  procure  a  copy  of  the  Miniature  for  myself,  besides 
the  diamonds  for  Mrs.  Scholey,  or  whether  it  was  that 
I  should  have  another  attachment  by  then,  and  that 
Portrait  be  fallen  obsolete,  chi  sa  ?  One  can't  remember 
everything,  even  in  remembering  much.  Only  so  far  as 
the  actual  crisis  was  concerned,  my  project  and  its  results 
have  left  a  picture  in  my  mind  as  distinct  as  that  Descent 
from  the  Cross  hanging  on  the  opposite  wall. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  55 

It  was  not  without  misgivings  enough  that  I  entered 
on  this  questionable  enterprise.  I  felt  its  questionability 
in  every  fibre  of  my  small  frame.  But  what  then?  The 
day  after  to-morrow  the  Boy's  self  would  be  in  infinite 
space  for  me;  and  if  I  had  not  his  picture  to  comfort  me, 
how  on  earth  should  I  be  comforted?  So  I  took  a  great 
heart,  prayed  to  Minerva,  I  remember.  I  had  got  con- 
verted to  Paganism  in  the  course  of  learning  Latin,  and 
Minerva  was  my  chosen  goddess.  And  in  the  first  interval 
of  lessons,  I  ran  off  to  the  Artillery  Barracks,  taking  the 
gold  needle-case  in  my  hand;  and  never  had  it  looked 
so  pretty!  Mrs.  Scholey  was  at  home  packing  up  (ah 
me!),  and  the  Miniature  was  in  its  old  place.  I  had  been 
so  afraid  of  it  being  packed  up,  that  the  mere  seeing  it 
seemed  a  step  in  getting  it.  There  it  hung,  by  its  black 
ribbon,  from  a  nail  over  the  fireplace;  and,  "didn't  I 
wish  I  might  get  it?"  If  only  I  might  have  walked  off 
with  it  without  a  word!  But  I  was  come  to  beg,  not  steal, 
good  God;  and  "to  beg  I  was  ashamed!"  My  program 
had  been  to  throw  myself  on  Mrs.  Scholey's  generosity 
for  the  picture;  and  then  to  slip  my  needle-case  into  her 
hand.  But  face  to  face  with  the  lady,  something  warned 
me  to  offer  her  the  needle-case  firstj  and  throw  myself 
on  her  generosity  after.  Still  how  to  unfold  my  business 
even  in  that  order?  My  position  became  every  moment 
more  false;  I  sat  with  burning  cheeks  and  palpitating 
heart, — my  tongue  refusing  "its  office"  save  on  indifferent 
topics,  till  I  felt  that  in  common  decency  I  could  sit  no 
longer.  And  then  only, — in  the  supreme  moment  of 
bidding  Mrs.  Scholey  farewell, — did  I  find  courage  to 


56  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

present  my  needle-case, — with  what  words  I  know  not; 
but  certainly  without  one  word  about  the  picture.  For 
the  rapid  acceptance  of  my  really  handsome  gift,  as  a 
"good  the  gods  had  provided  her,"  and  no  more  about  it, 
quite  took  away  my  remaining  breath,  and  next  minute 
I  found  myself  in  the  open  air,  "a  sadder  and  a  wiser 
child!" 

At  three  o'clock  the  following  morning,  the  Boy's 
Regiment  marched,  with  Band  playing  gaily  "The  Girl 
I've  left  behind  me."  Soundly  as  I  slept  in  those  years, 
I  could  not  sleep  through  that]  and  sitting  up  in  my  little 
bed  to  catch  the  last  note,  it  struck  me  7  was  the  Girl 
left  behind,  little  as  people  suspected  it! — For  a  day  or 
two  I  felt  quite  lost,  and  was  "not  myself  again"  for 
weeks.  Still  at  nine  years  of  age,  so  many  consolations 
turn  up,  and  one  is  so  shamefully  willing  to  be  consoled! 

For  the  rest,  young  Scholey  (I  wish  I  could  have 
recollected  his  first  name!)  had  slipt  through  my  fingers 
like  a  knotless  thread:  he  never  came  back  to  learn  our 
fates  (the  fat  Girl's  and  mine),  nor  did  news  of  him  dead 
or  alive  ever  reach  me.  And  so,  in  no  great  length  of 
time, — before  I  had  given  him  a  successor  even, — he 
passed  for  me  into  a  sort  of  myth;  nor  for  a  quarter  of 
a  century  had  I  thought  as  much  of  him,  put  it  altogether, 
as  I  have  done  in  writing  these  few  sheets. 

It  would  have  made  a  more  " thrilling  narrative"  to 
read,  if  that  love  of  mine  had  been  returned;  for  "with 
the  reciprocity  all  on  one  side,"  as  the  Irish  say,  the  interest 
flags,  don't  you  find? — On  the  whole,  my  First-love  wasn't 
the  smart  piece  of  work  to  have  been  predicted  of  such 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  57 

a  smart  little  Girl; — a  Girl  so  renowned  for  her  eyelashes, 
her  Latin  and  her  wit.  But  nothing  is  so  baffling  for 
human  eyesight  as  to  predict  of  other  people's  loves; 
it  is  hard  enough  to  make  head  or  tail  of  them  in  com- 
pletion. Indeed,  logically  considered,  the  whole  "thing 
people  call  love,"  like  the  power  of  God,  "passeth  under- 
standing." 

For  one  condition  of  my  First-love,  however,  I  cannot 
be  too  thankful  to  the  "gods,"  the  "Destinies,"  or  what- 
ever singular  or  plural  power  presides  over  the  Love- 
department  "here  down";  for  this  namely,  that  it  had 
no  consequences  (the  loss  of  my  gold  filigree  needle-case 
was  not  a  consequence  to  "speak  of").  Many  a  poor 
girl  has  been  brought  to  marriage,  and  the  Devil  knows 
what  all,  by  her  First-love, — actually  got  married,  "for 
better  for  worse,  till  death  do  part,"  on  the  strength  of  it! 
About  as  sensible  and  promising  a  speculation  it  seems 
to  me,  as  getting  married  "for  better  for  worse  till  death 
do  part"  on  the  strength  of  measles  or  scarlatina!  But 
such  reflections,  did  I  let  myself  go  to  them,  might  lead 
me  too  far.  .  .  .  So  "I  add  no  more,  but  remain, 

my  dear  Sir, 

Your  obedient  servant/7*      J.  W.  C. 

*A  young  preacher  once  staying  over  night  at  a  great  House, 
was  asked  to  "conduct  worship,"  as  the  phrase  is.  He  went  to 
work  with  aplomb  enough,  and  proceeded  without  accident,  swim- 
mingly even,  till  all  the  usual  things  were  prayed  for,  and  it  came 
to  winding  up.  But  how  to  wind  up  to  his  own  and  his  audience's 
satisfaction?  There  lay  the  difficulty!  He  went  "about  it  and 
about  it,"  grew  hotter  and  hotter,  more  and  more  bothered,  till 
his  head  had  become  a  perfect  chaos.  And  figure  the  consterna- 
tion in  heaven  as  on  earth,  when  he  ended  "  quite  promiscuously, " 
with,  "  I  add  no  more,  but  remain,  my  dear  sir,  your  obedient 
servant!" 

This  is  a  literal  fact.  (Yes.— T.  C.)  I  have  seen  the  man  it 
happened  to. — J.  W.  C. 


58  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

LETTER  137 

To  Mrs.  Russell,  Thornhill 

Chelsea,  24th  February,  '  1853.'. 

Dearest  Mrs.  Russell — I  have  fallen  on  a  plan  for  recol- 
lecting old  Mary's  money  now:  can  you  divine  it  from  the 
date  of  this?* 

We  have  the  finest " storm"  here  I  ever  saw  in  London; 
it  is  seldom  that  snow  lies  here  at  all,  and  in  former  years 
when  we  had  any,  I  was  out  of  condition  to  see  it,  being 
confined  to  my  room.  This  time,  on  the  first  night  of  the 
snow,  I  walked  home  thro'  it  from  the  Theatre,  with  my 
bonnet  hanging  on  my  back  part  of  the  way,  one  minute 
taking  myself  a  "slide,"  and  the  next  lifting  a  handful  of 
snow  to  eat  it!  In  fact,  that  almost  forgotten  Scotch- 
looking  snow  had  made  me  perfectly  drunk,  or  I  should 
hardly  have  "tempted  Providence"  in  such  a  distracted 
manner!  But  Providence  being  proverbially  "kind  to 
women,  fools  and  drunk  people,"  I  had  three  claims  on  it 
that  night,  which  were  duly  acknowledged;  and  I  escaped 
safe  and  sound  from  my  snow  adventure.  A  few  days 
after,  however,  I  did  catch  cold, — not  in  having  my  own 
humour  out,  but  in  doing  a  piece  of  duty, — and  I  have  to 
stay  in-doors,  not  feeling,  however,  that  the  mischief  is 
likely  to  last  long.  Certainly  that  cold  bath  the  first  thing 
of  a  morning  is  a  blessed  invention!  I  am  sure  it  is  on  the 
strength  of  that,  under  Heaven,  that  I  am  so  much  hardier 
than  I  used  to  be,  and  less  bother  to  all  concerned  with  me. 

*  Meaning  the  anniversary  of  her  Mother's  death,  which  took 
place  on  the  25th  of  February. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  59 

A  friend*  of  mine  who  has  a  great  deal  of  money,  and 
a  great  deal  of  time,  and  a  great  deal  of  "superfluous 
activity,"  has  lately  provided  himself  with  a  photograph 
apparatus,  after  having  exhausted  the  resources  of  a 
turning  machine,  of  building  himself  an  iron  house  to  live 
in,  and  a  yacht  to  sail  in,  of  adopting  three  or  four  chil- 
dren, and  what  not,  he  now  kills  his  time  wholesale  in  a 
very  agreeable  manner,  making  photographs  of  all  his 
acquaintance  and  of  any  Portraits  which  he  chooses  to 
multiply.  He  possesses  a  very  like,  very  sour-looking 
Portrait  of  me,f  by  Laurence,  the  Painter  of  most  geniuses 
in  London,  tho'  not  having  the  gift  of  flattering  his  pictures 
he  has  not  all  the  employment  he  ought  to  have.  And  this 
Portrait  my  friend  makes  at  the  rate  of  two  copies  at 
least  per  day  for  weeks  and  weeks;  every  time  he  comes  he 
brings  me  a  handful  "to  give  to  my  friends!"  As  you  be- 
long, I  hope,  to  that  category,  you  will  not,  I  trust,  think 
me  silly  in  sending  you  a  Portrait  of  myself,  when  you 
were  not  wishing  for  it  the  least  in  the  world.  It  was  the 
thought,  "Ah,  how  pleasant  it  would  have  been  to  send 
this  to  Templand,"  which  put  it  in  my  head  to  send  it  as 
near  as  it  could  still  be  sent. 

I  have  some  thoughts  of  sending  Captain  Sterling  with 
his  apparatus  to  Scotland  to  do  all  my  friends  there!  He 
is  quite  capable  of  it.  I  told  him  the  other  day  that  he 
ought  to  go  to  a  great  House  in  Cheshire,!  where  was  an 
old  Spanish  Picture  in  which  three  people  that  knew  me 

*  Anthony  Sterling,  now  Captain ;  after  the  Crimean  War, 
Colonel. 

f  The  one  now  at  Cheyne  Row?     See  ante,  p.  258. 

i  Most  likely  this  great  House  was  Alderley  Park,  Lord  Stan- 
ley's residence,  near  Congleton. 


60  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

had  found  a  figure  "more  like  me  than  if  I  had  sat  for  it," 
and  bring  away  a  photograph  of  that!  And  he  answered 
with  perfect  gravity,  "Get  me  the  precise  address  and  a 
line  of  introduction  .  .  .  (The  rest  wanting.) 

LETTER  138 

To  Dr.  Carlyle,  Moffat. 

Chelsea,  Tuesday, '  May  or  June,  1853.' 
My  dear  John — The  inclosed  Note  will  tell  its  own 
story.  The  writer  is  the  Wife  of  James  Martineau  in 
Liverpool,  as  you  will  probably  perceive  by  the  light  of 
Nature.  As  you  and  your  Wife  are  both  kind-hearted 
and  courteous,  I  have  no  doubt  you  will  permit  this  young 
gentleman  to  make  your  acquaintance.  As  Miss  Benson 
phrased  it,  "too  soon  will  the  rude  hand  of  Time  sweep 
the  down  from  the  cheek  of  that  beautiful  enthu-si-asm ! " 
without  your  coming  over  it  with  the  razor  of  repulsion! 
Pray  send  the  young  man  notice  that  he  may  call  for  you, 
or  call  for  him,  or  do  something  to  justify  my  promise  to 
his  Mother  that  her  prayer  would  be  granted  her. 

All  is  going  on  here  much  as  usual,  except  that  cocks 
are  springing  up,  more  and  more,  till  it  seems  as  if  the 
Universe  were  growing  into  one  poultry-yard!  There  is 
also  a  parrot,  named  Lara,  at  next  door.  All  that  has 
waked  up  Mr.  C.  into  the  old  phrenzy  to  be  "off  into 
silence!"  But  the  £300  or  £400  laid  out  last  year*  give 
pause.  And  besides,  as  the  old  Servant  said  to  his  Master, 
when  threatened  with  dismissal,  "where  the  Deevil  wud 
ye  gang  tae?" 

*  On  repairs  to  the  house. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  61 

.  .  .  Meanwhile  the  Town  fills  fuller  every  day: 
and  more  and  more  carriages  call 

You  might  write  to  me  sometimes,  as  well  as  to  him. 
Love  to  your  Wife,  whom  everybody  that  sees  speaks  well 

of. 

Yours  affectionately, 

J.  W.  G. 

LETTER  139 

To  T.  Carlyle;  Chelsea. 

Maryland  St.,  Liverpool,  3  July,  1853. 

All  right,  Dear,  no  collisions,  no  nothink  of  a  disastrous 
nature  since  I  started  on  my  travels.  Did  you  hear  what 
my  male  fellow-passenger  said  when  I  appealed  to  him 
about  Nero?  "I  assure  you,  sir,  he  will  lie  quite  quiet; 
will  not  give  you  the  slightest  trouble."  "I  sincerely  hope 
lie  will  not!"  From  that  specimen  you  may  fancy  how 
courteous  he  was  likely  to  be.  It  was  by  the  strongest 
protest  I  succeeded  in  keeping  one-fourth  of  a  window 
down,  which,  there  being  four  of  us,  I  maintained  was  my 
right.  He  put  them  loth  up,  the  brute,  without  asking 
by  your  leave;  and  would  have  kept  them  so  all  the  way. 

Helen  was  waiting  for  me,  and  the  instant  the  door  was 
opened  at  Liverpool,  Nero  leapt  out,  tho'  he  had  never 
stirred  at  any  other  stopping!  The  sense  of  that  dog!! 
Nobody  asked  for  his  ticket,  and  I  rather  grudged  the 
four  shillings. 

They  were  all  very  glad  to  see  me  here, — especially  my 
dear  old  Uncle.  He  is  much  changed, — inconceivably 
changed,  in  fact— for  the  better.  A  more  beautiful  old 


62  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

man  I  never  set  eyes  on!  He  looks  eighty  in  age,  and  so 
frail  that  he  can  hardly  get  across  the  room;  but  his  face 
is  spiritualized  into  perfect  beauty.  With  his  blue  silk 
nightcap,  sitting  there,  you  would  take  him  for  an  old  Poet 
or  Divine,  never  for  a  man  who  had  passed  his  life  in  busi- 
ness. I  look  at  him  with  reverence,  and  think  how  few 
grow  old  like  that.  I  do  not  see  him  for  long  at  a  time; 
he  tries  to  speak  to  me,  and  speaking  is  extremely  difficult 
for  him.  But  he  looks  so  benevolent  on  me,  so  content, 
so  away  in  another  world,  while  yet  here,  that  the  tears 
rise  into  my  throat  when  I  look  at  him,  and  think  what 
good  must  have  lain  in  him  always,  that  he  can  look  thus 
under  his  infirmity  now.  Helen  seems  pretty  well  in 
health,  but  more  skeleton-like  and  more  misshapen  than 
ever.  Geraldine  Jewsbury  came  over  to  see  me  yester- 
day, and  is  to  stay  till  to-morrow.  Helen  took  a  bed  for 
her  in  this  street.  She  is  the  same,  outside  and  in;  she 
amuses  us  all  with  her  Manchester  stories,  and  her  con- 
fessions of  her  strange  feeling  in  seeing  her  new  Sister-in- 
law  in  her  place.  The  Sister-in-law  "behaves  very  much 
like  a  lady"  to  her  as  yet;  but  Geraldine  thinks  "her  own 
sinful  human  nature  won't  let  the  thing  go  on  long  well." 

I  wrote  to  Mrs.  John  [Carlyle]  yesterday  that  I  would 
be  with  them  on  Tuesday.  Helen  accompanies  me,  which 
will  make  the  journey  less  sad.  I  have  been  quit  of  my 
sickness,  which  neither  you  nor  any  one  knows  the  con- 
stant horror  of.  Ever  since  I  got  into  motion,  and  except 
during  last  night,  I  have  been  free  from  toothache  also. . . . 

I  brought  a  wedge  away  with  me  in  the  idea  my  friends 
might  also  have  rattling  windows;  and  it  has  done  me 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  63 

already  excellent  service.  For  the  rest:  " there  cocks 
crow;  here  also  crow  cocks!"  but  I  sleep  thro'  them,  and 
the  carts,  too;  and,  thanks  God,  there  are  no — "what 
shall  I  say" — bugs, — upon  my  honour! 

Ever  affectionately  yours, 
J.  W.  G. 

LETTER  140 

To  Mrs.  Russell,  Thornhill 

Moffat  House,  Moffat, '  10  July,  1853.' 
Dear  Mrs.  Russell — Just  look  at  the  date  of  this  Note! 
I  am  actually  so  near  you!  Ever  since  I  came  here,  on 
Tuesday  last,  I  have  been  wishing  to  write  to  you,  but 
unable  to  make  up  my  mind  what  to  say.  I  would  like 
much  to  see  you;  would  like  to  see  Thornhill  and  Craw- 
ford; but,  Oh,  dear  Mrs.  Russell,  it  needs  so  much  courage 
to  go  to  these  places;  and  I  have  so  little  courage  nowa- 
days, I  cannot  yet  decide  to  go.  And  at  the  same  time  I 
know  that  if  I  don't,  I  shall  blame  myself  when  I  am  back 
in  England,  as  I  did  formerly. 

At  all  events  write  me  a  few  lines  to  say  if  you  be  at 
home,  and  if  you  could  receive  me  for  a  day,  if  I  went;  or 
if  you  would  come  and  meet  me  at  Dumfries  if  I  found 
it  impossible  to  go  further. 

I  stay  here  till  Thursday  next,  when  I  go  to  Scotsbrig; 
and  I  shall  be  at  Scotsbrig  till  Monday.  After  that  I  am 
all  at  sea, — not  sure  whether  to  go  on  to  Haddington,  or  go 
right  back  to  London,  where  Mr.  C.  is  very  melancholy  by 
himself.  Write  by  return  of  post,  and  address  to  "Mrs. 


64  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

Thomas  Carlyle"  (my  new  Sister-in-law*  calls  herself 
Mrs.  Carlyle),  Moffat  House,  Moffat;  or  if  it  is  more  con- 
venient not  to  write  till  Wednesday,  address  to  me  at 
Scotsbrig,  Ecclefechan. 

Tell  old  Mary  that  if  she  get  no  remembrance  on  my 
birthday,  I  shall  be  bringing  it  myself,  or  sending  it  soon 
after. 

Oh,  dear  Mrs.  Russell,  I  wish  somebody  would  lift  me 
up  by  force  and  set  me  down  in  your  room. 

God  bless  you. 

Yours  affectionately, 

JANE  CAKLYLE. 

LETTER  141 

To  T.  Carlyle,  Chelsea. 

Moffat  House,  Thursday  night,  14  July,  1853. 

.  .  .  I  started  from  here  with  a  headache,  in  a 
pour  of  rain,  and  found  Jamie,  with  a  face  of  cordial 
welcome,  waiting  for  me  at  Ecclefechan  Station.  Before 
he  left  home  (Scotsbrig),  your  Mother  had  been  out  of 
bed  for  half  an  hour!  .  .  .  Her  eyes  had  a  quite 
natural  look,  and  her  colour  was  natural.  She  looked 
to  me  like  a  person  who  had  had  a  bilious  crisis  which 
was  pasty  and  had  left  her  cooler  and  calmer.  She  chewed 
some  nice  mutton  chop  while  I  was  there,  and  said  she 
hadn't  felt  so  hungry  for  long.  She  spoke  to  me  just  as 
she  used  to  do;  indeed  her  faculties  are  as  clear  as  yours 
or  mine.  The  fact  is,  as  you  need  not  be  told,  that  she  is 
very  frail,  and  any  little  accident,  such  as  a  pill  failing, 

*Dr.  Carlyle's  Wife. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  65 

shakes  her  to  pieces.  I  do  not  see  how  she  could  be  made 
more  comfortable.  Her  room  is  nicely  carpeted  and  warm, 
and  tidy;  and  every  attention  seems  to  be  paid  to  her. 
.  .  .  James  Aitken  left  at  the  same  time  as  John  and 
I.  Jean  was  to  remain  a  few  days,  so  that  I  shan't  get 
much  silence  I  guess. 

Jane  Howden  writes  that  the  Donaldsons  will  be  quite 
glad  to  have  me,  and  that  if  I  find  them  too  frail,  "my 
own  house  is  as  wide  open  to  me  as  ever  it  was!"  How 
would  that  do?  I  have  really  some  notion  to  go  and  try 
sleeping  in  the  bedroom  I  used  to  sleep  so  soundly  in! 

I  got  your  Letter  and  the  Books  from  Jamie  at  the 
Station.  Thank  you  for  all  you  have  done,  and  all  you 
intended.  .  .  . 

I  wrote  to  Lady  A.  for  her  Birthday;  happily  I  "took 
time  by  the  forelock"  and  wrote  on  the  12th,  tho'  I  dated 
my  Letter  the  13th, — otherwise  in  the  alarm  about  your 
Mother  and  the  intention  of  starting  immediately  for 
London/!  should  have  forgotten  the  memorable  occasion. 

Ever  yours, 

J.  C. 

LETTER  142 

To  T.  Carlyle,  Chelsea. 

Maryland  St.,  Liverpool,  Sunday, 
31  July,  1853. 

I  was  sure  of  it!  that  you  knew  nothing  about  the 
Cab-strike*  when  you  wrote  on  Thursday.  Here  it  has 
been  the  main  topic  of  conversation  since  Wednesday. 

*  In  London. 
VOL.  II.-5 


66  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

.  .  .  If  you  find  to-morrow  that  the  Cabs  are  at  work 
again,  you  need  not  mind  bringing  a  Fly;  if  the  strike 
continues,  the  Fly  will  be  very  welcome.  At  the  same 
time  it  is  possible  that  the  Fly-keepers  may  be  making 
hay  while  the  sun  shines  and  exacting  an  extortionful 
price  for  their  Fly's.  In  that  case,  just  come  yourself 
and  help  me  with  the  luggage  (I  don't  mean  in  carrying 
it),  and  I  can  walk.  But  I  hope  the  Cabs  will  be  all 
a-going  again.  In  any  case,  I  shall  look  out  for  the  brown 
wide-awake  and  remain  by  my  baggage  till  it  come  to  the 
rescue. 

I  have  been  this  morning  to  James  Martineau's  Church 
— close  by  here — and  heard  not  James  Martineau,  but  a 
perfect  blockhead  whom  I  could  hardly  help  ordering 
to  sit  down  and  hold  his  peace.  All  about  "  Virtue  being 
its  own  reward/'  "with  the  same  relish!"*  "Not  only 
God"  he  said,  but  (what  he  seemed  to  consider  infinitely 
more  important)  "all  people  were  merciful  towards  the 
merciful  man."  As  if  it  were  not  plain  to  me,  and  to 
everybody  of  common-sense,  that  the  merciful  man  gets 
himself  made  into  mince-meat  by  "all  people" — and 
serves  him  right  for  being  such  a  spoony  as  to  expect 
any  good  to  himself  or  "others"  out  of  following  the 
profession  of  mercy  at  this  time  of  day! 

There  never  was  such  a  stock  of  pens  as  this  house 
presents,  unless  at  Chatham  Streetf. 

Mercy!  I  had  as  near  as  possible  forgotten  the  one 
thing  that  needed  to  be  said:  I  intend  to  leave  by  the 

*  John  Jeffrey's  phrase. 
t  Her  Cousin  Alick  Welsh's. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  67 

eleven  o'clock  train,  which  reaches  Euston  Square  at  7 
of  the  evening.  Nero  bids  me  say,  not  to  feel  hurt 
should  he  show  little  joy  at  seeing  you,  as  his  digestion 
is  all  deranged  since  he  has  been  here,  with  the  constant 
crumbs  of  "suet  and  plums"  that  fall  to  his  share. 
When  I  came  in  from  Church  to-day,  tho'  it  had  been  the 
first  hour  he  had  been  separated  from  me  since  we  left 
home  together,  he  could  hardly  raise  a  jump. 

Have  some  tea  for  me, — nothing  else.  I  shall  eat 
at  Birmingham. 

Ever  your 

J.  W.  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  143 

To  Dr.  Carlyle,  Moffat. 

Chelsea,  'September,  1853.' 

Thanks  dear  John  for  your  news  of  my  people  and 
of  my  old  home, — God  bless  it!  If  I  had  known  before- 
hand, I  would  have  begged  you  to  call  at  Sunnybank, 
where  the  two  old  ladies  (the  Miss  Donaldsons)  would 
have  been  delighted  to  see  anybody  coming  from  me. 

.  .  .  Here  we  are  again  in  a  crisis  of  discomfort,*  as 
you  know.  For  the  last  week,  however,  Irish  labourers  have 
ceased  to  tumble  down  thro'  the  upstairs  ceilings,  bringing 
cartloads  of  dust  and  broken  laths  and  plaster  along 
with  them;— five  times  this  accident  occurred  ! ! — the  last 
time  within  a  yard  of  my  head  as  I  was  stooping  over  a 
drawer.  Had  he  dislocated  my  neck,  as  might  so  easily 

*  Building  the  "  sound-proof  "  study  on  the  roof. 


68  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

have  happened,  one  of  us  would  have  been  provided 
with  "a  silent  apartment"  enough,  without  further 
botheration.  It  is  a  fine  time  for  John  Chorley,  who  has 
constituted  himself  the  over-ruling  Providence  of  the 
whole  thing;  and  is  to  be  seen  running  up  and  down 
the  long  ladder  in  front  of  the  house  the  first  thing  of  a 
morning  when  one  looks  abroad.  How,  with  his  head, 
he  dare — surprises  me.  Meantime  neither  Mr.  C.  nor  I 
have  set  eyes  on  the  silent  apartment  which  is  progressing 
so  noisily  overhead.  For  the  rest,  the  cocks  are  kept  in 
the  house  by  the  washerman  till  about  9  in  the  morning, 
and  our  sufferings  thro7  them  are  rather  of  an  imaginative 
sort. 

London  is  as  empty  as  I  ever  saw  it;  one  was  thankful 
almost  for  the  return  of  Plattnauer.  He  made  the  most 
particular  inquiries  after  you  and  your  Lady, — is  less 
mad  than  last  year,  in  fact  shows  no  mad  symptoms  at 
present  but  spending  money  with  a  rashness! 

I  hear  often  from  Count  Reichenbach.  He  has  bought 
a  large  Farm  within  15  miles  of  Philadelphia,  and  asks 
me  questions  about  draining  and  "engines  for  making 
drain-tiles";  but  he  looks  forward,  I  think,  with  secret 
desire,  to  a  War,  in  which  he  may  take  part  and  get  himself 
handsomely  killed,  rather  than  drain  land  in  America. 

Mazzini  is  in  hopes  of  kicking  up  another  shine  almost 
immediately.  He  told  me  when  I  last  saw  him,  he  might 
go  off  again  within  ten  days.  I  am  out  of  all  patience  at 
his  reckless  folly.  If  one  did  not  hear  every  day  of  new 
arrests  and  executions,  one  might  let  him  scheme  and 
talk,  hoping  it  might  all  end  in  smoke;  but  it  ends  in 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  69 

blood,  and  that  is  horrible. — Thirteen   hundred  arrests 
made  in  the  Papal  States  within  a  week! 

I  am  glad  to  hear  of  the  Harp-playing;  it  will  be  a 
pleasure  as  well  as  an  amusement.  Pray  remember  me 
to  the  Artist. 

Ever  affectionately  yours, 
J.  W.  C. 

LETTER  144 

To  Mrs.  Russell,  Thornhill 

Chelsea,  'Oct.,  1853.', 

My  dear  Mrs.  Russell — Will  you  kindly  write  me  a  few 
lines  to  tell  me  how  it  is  going  on  with  you  all?  I  heard 
in  Liverpool  on  my  way  home,  thro'  the  young  man  who 
had  been  with  Dr.  Russell,  that  he  was  doing  very  well, 
out  of  all  danger;  and  on  my  return  I  was  most  happy 
to  see  his  own  handwriting  on  the  Newspaper, — tho'  still 
not  so  steady  as  it  used  to  be.  But  Mrs.  Aitken,  thro' 
whom  I  sometimes  hear  of  you,  having  been  absent  from 
Dumfries  almost  continually  since  I  left,  attending  her 
Mother  at  Scotsbrig,  I  have  no  news  of  Dr.  Russell  from 
her  further;  and  am  now  anxious  to  know  if  he  be  going 
about  again  as  usual. 

What  a  sad  piece  of  work  my  visit  to  Scotland  was ! 
...  At  Liverpool,  however,  I  staid  a  week;  and  would 
have  been  very  well  off  there,  but  for  horrible  toothache, 
which  had  tormented  me  off  and  on  from  the  time  I  left 
London.  The  night  I  came  home  I  did  not  sleep  one 
wink  with  it.  In  the  morning  before  Mr.  C.  was  up,  I 
went  off  alone  to  a  Dentist,  and  had  two  teeth  drawn; 


70  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

and  in  the  evening  it  was  found  one  of  them  had  been  a 
mistake:  my  toothache  raging  on  one  side  exactly  as  before. 
So  next  morning  I  went  again,  and  had  a  third  drawn. 
All  the  pain  brought  on  a  bilious  fit,  which  has  made  me 
good  for  nothing  ever  since. 

I  entrusted  Mrs.  Aitken  with  a  woollen  article  for 
old  Mary,  which  I  hope  was  duly  forwarded  to  you.  How 
unlucky  that  I  did  not  see  you,  dear  Mrs.  Russell,  when  I 
had  actually  made  up  my  mind  to  go  there!*  All  good 
be  with  you! 

Your  affectionate 

J.  W.  C. 

LETTER  145 

To  T.  Carlyle,  Scotsbrig. 

Chelsea,  26  December,  1853. 

No  Letter  from  you  to-day,  alas;  and  I  suppose  there 
is  not  even  a  chance  in  the  evening, — to-day  being  kept 
as  Christmas,  there  will  probably  be  no  evening  delivery. 
At  all  rates,  I  have  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  you 
found  your  Mother  alive,  and  that  she  knew  you.  That 
will  be  a  lasting  consolation  for  you,  however  it  may  be 
with  her  now.  I  daresay  you  thought  me  rather  cruel 
in  urging  you  onward  without  more  rest;  but  I  knew  how 
you  would  suffer,  better  than  you  did  yourself,  if  by  waiting 
till  Friday  you  had  missed  her  last  kind  look. 

Your  Note  came  on  Saturday  evening.  ...  No 
Letters  have  come  for  you  of  any  moment;  I  send  them 

*  Thornhill,  where  Mrs.  Carlyle  had  not  been  since  the  year 
before  her  Mother's  death. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  71 

such  as  they  are:  to  have  to  read  anything  may  be  a 
distraction  for  you  in  your  present  circumstances.  My 
Letters  continue  to  come  to  me  all  round  by  the  Grange, 
altho'  I  wrote  both  to  Auchtertoolj  and  Liverpool  that 
I  was  come  home. 

This  morning  I  had  a  Note  from  the  Grange  itself; 
Lady  A.  wrote  to  announce  a  "  little  bracelet  from  the 
Tree,"  which  Mrs.  Brookfield  was  bringing  up  for  me. 
I  laid  the  Note  carefully  by  (as  I  thought  when  I  was 
clearing  away  an  accumulation  of  papers  this  morning) 
in  the  intention  of  sending  it;  and  when  I  went  just  now 
to  the  basket  to  take  it  out,  I  found  only  the  envelope! 
The  Note  itself  must  have  gone  into  the  fire  with  the  rest. 
But  I  can  tell  you  all  that  was  in  it:  First  about  the 
bracelet;  then  that  she  would  be  "sorry  to  lose  the  three 
weeks  of  affectionate  greetings  morning  and  evening  that 
were  to  be  broken  up  to-day";  then  that  she  had  had  a 
Note  from  you  on  your  arrival  at  Scotsbrig,  but  did  not 
write  to  you,  for  you  might  be  returned  to  Chelsea  before 
her  Letter  could  reach;  lastly,  how  much  money  did  she 
owe  me?  and  that  the  turkey  was  sent  without  orders. 
And  there  you  have  the  whole,  I  think. 

Nothing  has  happened  since  the  poultry  was  all  re- 
moved— to  the  last  feather — on  Saturday  afternoon. 
Enough  of  happening  for  months  to  come!  I  have  written 
our  thanks  to  Martin;  also  to  Redwood,  whose  unfailing 
box  arrived  on  Saturday  afternoon.  Welsh  mutton, 
unusually  small,  which  Ann  and  I  are  quite  up  to  eating 
ourselves;  a  turkey,  given  immediately  to  Piper;  a  hare, 
sent  "with  grateful  compliments'7  to  Mrs.  Morse,  at  No.  8, 


New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

who  was  so  civil  about  her  poultry;  and  a  little  cheese, 
which  will  keep. 

A  nice  Haddington  cake  was  handed  in  at  the  door 
the  same  day,  in  a  bandbox  with  the  direction  in  dear 
Betty's  handwriting;  not  a  word  spoken,  not  a  penny  to 
pay!  How  does  Betty  manage  that? — I  see  nobody, 
having  not  told  anybody  as  yet  that  I  am  here. 

My  only  "putting  up  the  Christmas"  was  the  breaking 
the  seal  on  your  present,  and  hanging  it  about  my  neck. 
I  like  it  so  much!  and  it  suits  my  eyes  capitally.  I  ex- 
pected a  pretty  glass  (I  divined  of  course  it  was  a  glass) 
but  it  is  a  much  handsomer  one  than  I  should  have  been 
contented  with.  Catch  me  ever  wishing  for  any  expensive 
thing  before  you  again! 

...    Oh,  dear  me,  perhaps  you  are  too  ill  and 
miserable  to  care  about  this  long  Letter.    I  shall  be  so 
anxious  till  to-morrow.    My  love  to  them  all.    .    .    . 
Ever  yours  faithfully, 

JANE  W.  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  146 

To  T.  Carlyle,  Scotsbrig. 

Chelsea,  Thursday,  '  29  December,  1853.'. 

Thanks  for  two  Letters,  Dear;  and  excuse  a  short  one 
in  return.  .  .  . 

Do  you  know,  Dear,  I  don't  like  your  always  saying 
you  are  "well"  in  health.  Nobody  gets  really  well  in 
that  sudden  way;  and  so  you  can  only  be  feeling  bodily 
well,  either  because  your  mind  is  so  over-filled  with  sorrow 
that  you  have  not  a  minute  to  listen  to  your  sensations; 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  73 

or  because  you  are  in  a  fever  of  biliousness  which. passes 
with  one  for  wellness, — till  the  reaction  comes.  I  knew 
that  Isabella  would  make  you  more  comfortable  than  you 
are  ever  made  in  any  other  house.  She  is  indeed  the 
kindest  and  politest  hostess  I  ever  fell  in  with.  My  kindest 
regards  to  her  and  Jamie. 

Chapman  has  given  me  a  cheque  for  £20,  and  is  de- 
sirous of  printing  Burns  immediately.  "It  is  time  now 
to  spread  a  little  more  salt  of  Carlyle  over  the  thing." 
He  said  you  had  a  torn-up  copy.  Shall  I  send  him  Burns? 
And  where  shall  I  find  it? 

If  you  come  on  Saturday  night  you  will  find  the  painters 
cleared  out.  They  certainly  will  have  done  on  Saturday. 
The  new  room  is  much  better  painted  than  the  drawing- 
room. 

We  had  a  heavy  fall  of  snow  yesterday,  which  is  still 
lying.— Could  you  not  manage  to  sleep  at  Chatham  Street*, 
on  your  way  back?  I  am  sure  Sophy  would  be  most 
glad  to  see  you,  and  Alick  is  there  now.  You  might 
warn  her  of  your  coming. — (100  Chatham  St.). 

Ever  yours, 

J.  W.  C. 

LETTER  147 

To  John  Forsterj  Lincoln' 's  Inn  Fields. 

Chelsea,  Thursday,  January,  1854. 

My  dear  Mr.  Forster — Thanks  for  your  two  Notes.   Do 
pray  come  and  see  us.    We  are  settled  here  for  good  now, — 
our  visit  at  the  Grange  having  been  cut  short  by  more 
*Her  Cousin  Alick's  at  Liverpool. 


74  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

than  one  sorrow.  You  remember  my  poor  Cousin  Helen 
you  were  so  good  to?  She  died  the  week  before  Mrs.  Car- 
lyle,  quite  suddenly.  She  had  a  dropsy  which  must  have 
ended  her  life  in  a  few  years;  but  she  wrote  to  me  on  the 
Thursday  that  she  was  unusually  well;  and  on  the  Tues- 
day they  wrote  to  me  that  she  was  dead  of  a  two  days' 
cold. 

Mrs.  Carlyle  was  eighty- two;  had  been  for  months 
hanging  on  to  life  as  by  miracle.  There  was  preparation 
enough  for  that  loss,  if  any  preparation  can  make  the  loss 
of  a  Mother  less  felt. 

After  getting  your  first  Note,  I  was  thinking  to  go  and 
see  you, — your  devout  imaginations  about  coming  here  so 
often  turning  into  paving-stones  for  a  place  that  Dr.  Jelf* 
is  "filled  with  terror  and  amazement"  to  be  told  is  per- 
haps a  myth.  But  the  weather  had  stopt  wheeled  vehicles, 
and  it  was  too  far  to  walk.  So  do,  like  a  good  man  as  you 
are,  come  and  spend  a  few  hours. 

Affectionately  yours, 

JANE  W.  CARLYLE. 

I  don't  think  Mr.  C.  is  any  wise  hurt  by  his  hurried 
visit  to  Scotland;  and  the  recollection  of  having  seen  his 
Mother  at  the  last,  and  having  been  gladly  recognised  by 
her,  will  be  good  for  him  all  the  rest  of  his  life. 

LETTER  148 

To  Dr.  Carlyle,  Moffat  House,  Moffat. 

Chelsea,  9  May,  1854. 

.    .    .    I  have  got  the  Influenza  again, — caught  cold 
*  Richard  W.  Jelf,  D.D. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  75 

returning  from  a  dinner-party  at  the  Procters'  on  Satur- 
day night,  and  am  at  present  in  the  third  stage  of  the 
thing, — the  coughing  and  sneezing  stage. 

I  saw  the  "Noble  Lady"  that  night;  and  a  strange 
tragic  sight  she  was!  sitting  all  alone  in  a  low-ceilinged 
confined  room  at  the  top  of  Procter's  house;  a  French  bed 
in  a  corner,  some  relics  of  the  grand  Bedford-Square  Draw- 
ingroom  (small  pictures  and  the  like)  scattered  about. 
Herself  stately,  artistic  as  ever;  not  a  line  of  her  figure, 
not  a  fold  of  her  dress  changed  since  we  knew  her  first, 
20  years  ago  and  more !  *  She  made  me  sit  on  a  low  chair 
opposite  to  her  (she  had  sent  for  me  to  come  up),  and 
began  to  speak  of  Edward  Irving  and  long  ago  as  if  it  were 
last  year — last  month!  There  was  something  quite  over- 
powering in  the  whole  thing:  the  Pagan  grandeur  of  the 
old  woman,  retired  from  the  world,  awaiting  death,  as 
erect  and  unyielding  as  ever,  contrasted  so  strangely  with 
the  mean  bedroom  at  the  top  of  the  house,  and  the  uproar 
of  company  going  on  below.  And  the  Past  which  she 
seemed  to  live  and  move  in  felt  to  gather  round  me  too, 

*  Mrs.  Carlyle  had  seen  but  little  of  Mrs.  Montagu  (the  "  Noble 
Lady")  for  many  years  now.  The  reason  may  be  inferred  from 
the  following  passage  omitted  by  Mr.  Froude  from  Letter  2  (Letters 
and  Memorials,  i.,  11),  which  Carlyle  dates  Nov.,  1834: 

"  Mrs.  Montagu  has  quite  given  us  up,  but  we  still  find  it  pos- 
sible to  carry  on  existence.  I  offended  her  by  taking  in  Bessy 
Barnet  in  the  teeth  of  her  vehement  admonitions;  and  now  I  sup- 
pose she  is  again  offended  that  I  should  receive  a  discharged  servant 
of  her  Daughter-in-law's.  I  am  sorry  she  should  be  so  whimsical; 
for,  as  she  was  my  first  friend  in  London,  I  continue  to  feel  a  sort 
of  tenderness  for  her,  in  spite  of  many  faults  which  cleave  to  her. 
But  her  society  can  quite  readily  be  dispensed  with,  nevertheless. 
We  have  new  acquaintances  always  turning  up,  and  a  pretty 
handsome  stock  of  old  ones." — "Bessy  Barnet,"  who  was  the  Car- 
lyles'  servant  for  a  few  months,  afterwards  became  the  Wife  of  Dr. 
Blakiston,  and,  with  her  Husband,  was  very  kind  and  helpful  to 
Mrs.  Carlyle  in  her  serious  illness  in  the  early  part  of  1864. 


New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

till  I  fairly  laid  my  head  on  her  lap  and  burst  into  tears! 
She  stroked  my  hair  very  gently  and  said,  "I  think,  Jane, 
your  manner  never  changes  any  more  than  your  hair, 
which  is  still  black,  I  see."  "  But  you  too  are  not  changed," 
I  said.  "You  know,"  she  said,  "when  I  was  still  a  young 
woman,  I  dressed  and  felt  like  an  old  one,  and  so  age  has 
not  told  so  much  on  me  as  on  most  others."  When  I  had 
staid  with  her  an  hour,  or  so,  she  insisted  on  my  going 
back  to  the  company,  and  embraced  me  as  she  never  did 
before.  Her  embrace  used  to  be  so  freezing  always  to  my 
youthful  enthusiasm;  but  this  time  she  held  me  strongly 
to  her  heart,  and  kissed  my  cheeks  many  times  heartily, 
like  a  mother.  I  was  near  going  off  into  crying  again.  I 
felt  that  she  was  taking  eternal  farewell  of  me  in  her  own 
mind.  But  I  don't  mean  it  to  be  so :  I  will  go  again  to  see 
her  very  soon.  The  great  gentleness  was  indeed  the  chief 
change  in  her, — not  a  hard  word  did  she  say  about  anyone; 
and  her  voice,  tho'  clear  and  strong  as  of  old,  had  a  human 
modulation  in  it.  You  may  fancy  the  humour  in  which  I 
went  back  to  the  Party,  which  was  then  at  a  white  heat  of 
excitement — about  nothing! 

.  .  .  There  is  a  great  deal  of  talking  about  the  Bus- 
kins here  at  present.  Mrs.  Ruskin  has  been  taken  to  Scot- 
land by  her  Parents;  and  Ruskin  is  gone  to  Switzerland 
with  his;  and  the  separation  is  understood  to  be  permanent. 
There  is  even  a  rumour  that  Mrs.  Ruskin  is  to  sue  for  a 
divorce.  I  know  nothing  about  it,  except  that  I  have 
always  pitied  Mrs.  Ruskin,  while  people  generally  blame 
her, — for  love  of  dress  and  company  and  flirtation.  She 
was  too  young  and  pretty  to  be  so  left  to  her  own  devices 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  77 

as  she  was  by  her  Husband,  who  seemed  to  wish  nothing 
more  of  her  but  the  credit  of  having  a  pretty,  well-dressed 
Wife. 

With  kind  regards  to  your  Wife, 

Yours  ever, 

J.  W.  C. 

LETTER  149 

To  Mrs.  Russell,  Thornhill. 

Chelsea,  'Autumn,  1854.' 

On  getting  your  first  Letter,  dear  Mrs.  Russell,  before 
reading  a  word  of  it,  I  knew  it  was  about  poor  Mary;  that 
it  was  to  tell  me  she  was  dying  or  dead.  .  .  .  It  is 
well  the  poor  old  kind-hearted  creature  has  had  so  gentle 
an  end.  At  her  age  life  could  scarcely  be  a  blessing;  and 
yet  she  seemed  content  to  hold  to  it,  such  as  it  was,  and 
so  one  wished  her  to  live.  Besides,  I  have  always  felt  her 
a  sort  of  living  legacy  from  my  darling  Mother;  and  now 
even  that  poor  little  tie  i«  broken,  and  there  is  one  heart 
fewer  in  the  world  of  those  who  loved  my  Mother  and 
gratefully  revered  her  memory. 

I  have  not  a  doubt  that  all  was  done  for  her  that  could 
be  done  to  prolong  her  existence  and  to  make  her  end 
soft.  I  have  the  most  implicit  reliance  on  your  kindness 
of  heart  and  on  your  wish  also  to  supply  my  Mother's 
place  to  poor  Mary.  God  bless  you  for  all  the  trouble 
you  have  taken  about  her!  .  .  . 

We  have  staid  generally  here  this  whole  year,  in  spite 
of  the  cholera.  But,  indeed,  what  use  is  there  in  flying 
from  cholera  in  a  town,  when  it  finds  its  way  into  such 


78  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

fresh  green  places  as  about  Ecclefechan?  It  was  very 
sad  to  walk  out  here  for  many  weeks:  in  a  single  half- 
mile  of  street,  I  often  met  as  many  as  six  funerals. 

I  think  I  have  not  written  to  you  since  Mrs.  John  Car- 
lyle's  death?  That  was  a  horrid  business.  It  looked  such 
a  waste  of  a  woman  and  child.  Of  course  she  was  to  die; 
yet  humanly  viewed,  one  could  not  help  believing  that  if 
she  had  staid  at  home  and  taken  the  ordinary  care  of  her- 
self that  her  situation  required,  she  might  have  borne  a 
living  child  and  done  well.  But  her  constant  excursions 
on  railways,  and  sight-seeing  and  house-hunting,  seemed 
to  us  often,  even  before  the  accident  which  brought  on 
her  mortal  illness,  a  sheer  tempting  of  Providence. 

I  heard  from  my  Aunt  Elizabeth  the  other  day,  and 
she  sent  with  her  Letter,  a  small  Book  on  "Grace."  They 
are  indefatigable  in  their  efforts  at  conversion.  Except 
"to  convert"  me,  they  seem  to  have  no  interest  in  me 
whatever.  Mrs.  George  Welsh  is  coming  to  stay  at  Rich- 
mond with  her  Son,  thro'  the  Winter,  at  least.  He  is  a 
good  and  clever  lad,  and  a  kind  Son  as  ever  was.  I  only 
wish  he  had  more  salary  to  be  kind  with. 

My  kind  regards  to  your  Father  and  Husband.  Be- 
lieve me,  dear  Mrs.  Russell,  ever  affectionately  yours, 

JANE  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  150 

To  John  Forster,  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields] 

Chelsea,  Wednesday,  '  14  Feb.,  1855.'. 
Dear  Mr.  Forster — Since  you  will  ask  us  to  dine  with 
you  on  Monday,  it  is  a  clear  case  of  your  being  disen- 


MRS.    CARLYLE  AND    NERO. 
Fiom  a  Photograph 
By  Tait,  1854. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  79 

gaged  on  Monday,  and  at  leisure.  Ergo,  you  can,  if  you 
like,  come  and  dine  with  us  here.  And  won't  you  like? 
There's  a  good  man!  It  is  cold  weather  for  "a  delicate 
female"  to  front  the  night  air  in;  and  at  the  same  time  I 
am  wearying  to  see  you,  at  "some  reasonably  good  lei- 
sure." So  come  you  here  this  time;  and  we  will  go  to  you 
when  things  are  softer.  If  any  other  day  would  suit  you 
better  than  Monday,  name  it;  only  leaving  me  time  to 
ask  Darwin  to  meet  you,  as  I  know  he  would  thank  me  for 
the  opportunity. 

Oh,  Mr.  Forster,  isn't  it  cold? 

I  have  been  looking  over — to  read  it  is  impossible — 
that  confused  compilation  calling  itself  Memoirs  of  Lady 
Blessington.  Of  all  that  is  sad  to  think  of  in  that  poor 
kind-hearted  woman's  life,  this  last  fatality  of  falling  into 
the  hands  of  such  a  Biographer  seems  to  me  the  saddest  of 
all!  What  a  pity  but  Captain  Maclean's  black  cook  had 
"carried  out"  his  intention  of  "poisoning"  this  Madden! 

Yours  affectionately, 

JANE  W.  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  151 

To   T.    Carlyle,    Farlingay     Hall,     Woodbridge] 

Suffolk* 

Willesden,  Saturday,  11  Aug.,  1855. 
The  distance  I  have  travelled  (mentally)  on  that  ten 
poundsf  is  hardly  to  be  computed  in  British  miles!    But, 
materially,  I  am  got  only  so  far  as  — "what  shall  I  say? — 

*  Carlyle  is  now  visiting  Edward  Fitz Gerald,  translator  of 
Omar,  etc.,  etc. 

t  A  little  gift  from  Carlyle. 


80  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

Willesden,  upon  my  honour  !  !"  .  .  .  I  " did  design" 
then,  for  24  hours,  to  start  for  Scotland  in  the  Friday- 
night  train!  Travelling  all  night  thro'  the  open  air,  alone, 
had  been  my  dream  for  ever  so  long!  I  fancied  I  should 
fall  into  such  sound,  calm  sleep  in  these  circumstances. 
I  told  Darwin  on  Thursday,  and  he  brought  me  a  cake  of 
chocolate  to  eat  on  the  journey.  Neither  Geraldine  nor 
Ann  knew  what  was  in  my  head;  nor  did  Darwin  know 
I  meditated  going  by  third  class,  and  at  night.  After 
parting  from  Darwin  on  Thursday,  while  I  was  taking  my 
tea  at  half -after  five,  a  sudden  thought  struck  me:  would 
the  third-class  carriages  to  Edinburgh  really  be  open  ones, 
like  those  to  Brighton;  and  if  not,  what  would  they  be 
like?  Better  inform  myself  on  that  point  before-hand.  I 
put  on  my  bonnet  instantly,  and  walked  to  Sloane  Square, 
where  I  took  an  Islington  omnibus  and  reached  Euston 
Square  Station  in  time  to  see  the  train  start  at  eight.  Oh, 
Heavens!  the  third-class  was  a  Black  Hole  of  Calcutta  on 
wheels!  closely  roofed-in,  windows  like  pigeon-holes,  and 
no  partition  to  separate  the  twelve  breaths  of  one  com- 
partment from  all  the  breaths  of  all  the  third-class  car- 
riage! The  second-class  was  little  better;  and  the  ex- 
pense of  first-class,  tho'  I  could  have  perfectly  well  stood  it, 
would  have  been  far  greater  than  the  advantage  to  be  at- 
tained warranted  me  to  indulge  in.  So  that  project  was 
felled  on  the  spot.  .  .  . 

Meanwhile  Chalmer's  paint  was  killing  stiong;  and 
our  house  carpetless  and  comfortless,  and  Ann  in  not  the 
best  of  tempers  at  having  to  bestir  herself  instead  of  taking 
her  ease,  with  us  both  out  of  the  way.  So  when  Mr.  Neu- 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  81 

berg  came  to  ask  me  to  Willesden  for  a  day  or  two,  I  was 
glad  to  start  there  and  then,  and  sleep  one  night  at  least 
in  a  new  position. 

It  is  as  charmingly  fresh  here,  the  air,  as  anywhere,  I 
should  guess;  and  there  are  gooseberries;  and  when  the 
young  gentlemen  had  made  an  end  of  " hollering"  and 
banging  and  bumping  overhead,  reminding  one  severely 
of  the  Addiscombe  footmen,  the  house  was  sufficiently 
quiet,  and  my  bed  was  four-posted,  and  free  of  bugs.  But, 
as  there  is  always  a  something,  I  did  not  get  slept  a  quar- 
ter of  an  hour  together,  thro7  the  infatuation  of  Nero!  He 
had  been  struck  at  first  sight  with  a  grand  passion  for 
"Mrs.  Tott-iinter's"  [Todhunter's]  spaniel;  had  galloped 
about  after  it  all  the  evening,  and  couldn't  forget  it  a 
moment.  After  we  went  to  our  room,  instead  of  lying 
down,  and  going  off  to  sleep,  he  who  can  sleep!  he  sat  the 
whole  night  with  his  head  in  the  air;  and  as  often  as  I  fell 
asleep,  he  crept  up  and  impetuously  scratched  my  hand, 
or  flung  himself  over  the  high  bed,  into  which  he  could  not 
get  back  without  my  rising  to  lift  him.  "The  troubles 
that  afflict  the  just ! " 

I  am  going  home  before  post  time,  and  shall  send  any 
Letters;  but  I  write  here,  not  to  be  hurried.  To-night  I 
shall  sleep  at  home;  and  to-morrow  I  must  stay  at  home 
all  day,  having  promised  to  give  Ann  a  holiday,— to  en- 
courage her  to  get  thro'  her  work  cleverly.  But  on  Mon- 
day I  shall  go  to  Brighton,  that  is  all  the  program  I  have 
for  the  moment.  I  may  go  on  to  Bexhill  that  day,  or  may 
sleep  at  Brighton,  or  may  return  to  sleep  at  Chelsea  and 
start  fresh. 

VOL.  II.-6 


New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

You  are  getting  beautiful  weather  now  surely.  I  hope 
you  will  stay  longer  than  the  week;  for  I  am  sure  you 
can't  expect  to  find  anywhere  a  more  comfortable  host. 

Ever  yours, 

JANE  W.  CARLYLE. 

Cheyne  Row.  Neuberg  has  made  me  too  late;  I  have 
hardly  had  time  to  glance  over  your  Letter. — None  for 
you. 

LETTER  152 

To  T.  Carlyle,  Addiscombe.* 

Chelsea,  Wednesday,  12  Sep.,  1855. 

Such  a  row  of  bells  as  we  got  near  "London!  "Dost 
thou  know  why  the  bells  are  ringing?"  asked  a  Quaker 
beside  me  of  a  working  man  opposite.  "Well,  I  suppose, 

*  Addiscombe,  in  the  absence  of  its  owners,  being  placed  at 
the  service  of  Carlyle  and  his  Wife,  both  went  thither  on  the  30th 
of  August.  But  Mrs.  Carlyle  found  the  place  dull  and  tiresome 
in  the  absence  of  Lady  Ashburton  and  other  lively  and  entertaining 
company;  and,  sleeping  badly,  she  generally  went  home  for  the 
night,  returning  from  time  to  time  to  see  that  all  went  well  with 
her  Husband. 

Carlyle  gives  an  account  of  this  expedition  to  Addiscombe 
and  of  their  manner  of  life  there,  in  a  Letter  of  5th  September, 
addressed  to  Mrs.  Aitken :  "  I  think  I  told  you  it  was  on  Thursday 
evening  of  last  week  that  we  came  out  hither;  Jane  by  Rail,  I 
riding.  .  .  .  We  arrived  within  few  minutes  of  each  other; 
got  fire  raised,  lights  kindled,  excellent  tea  made;  and  the  business 
fairly  started.  Jane  had  several  arrangements  and  negotiations 
next  day, — idle  truck  of  Housemaids,  etc.,  'unable  altogether  to 
cook,' — but  she  settled  it  all  with  her  customary  glegness  [clever- 
ness] ;  and  seeing  the  thing  now  fairly  in  motion,  went  off  home 
again  on  the  Sunday  morning,  preferring  Chelsea  with  its  resources 
of  company  and  the  like  to  these  vacant  solitudes;  indeed,  she  had 
slept  very  ill,  poor  soul;  and  could  hardly  get  any  right  sleep  here 
at  all,  in  spite  of  the  dead  silence.  She  has  been  out  again  to  see 
how  my  affairs  were  going  on;  staid  only  a  night;  will  return 
when  my  provisions  threaten  to  run  low,  and  procure  more, — 
probably  about  Monday  next.  Poor  little  soul !  She  has  a  heavy- 
ish  burden  too,  in  this  world,  but  struggles  along  with  wonderful 
toughness,  and  does  not  in  general  make  complaint  about  it." 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  83 

there  is  something  up;  they  were  saying  at  the  Station 
Sebastopol  was  took  and  the  Russians  all  run  away!" 
Presently  I  had  the  pleasure  of  reading  on  a  placard, 
" Hurrah!  hurrah!  hurrah!  Glorious  news!  Sebastopol 
in  possession  of  the  Allies!"  Don't  they  wish  they  may 
keep  it? 

I  walked  home  by  Lincoln's  Inn,  and  got  Browning's 
address  from  Forster,  who  opened  the  door  himself,  and 
screamed  at  sight  of  me  almost  as  loud  as  I  screamed  at 
sight  of  him.  I  had  expected  only  Henry.*  Forster  was 
just  five  minutes  returned;  had  come  to  Town  to  receive 
Macready  for  a  day  or  two.  He  declared,  "By  Jove!  he 
would  beat  you  up  some  day,  and  get  you  to  dine  with  him 
at  some  tavern,  somewhere."  Browning's  address:  13 
Dorset  Street,  Baker  Street.  The  quickest  and  most 
certain  way  of  arranging  a  meeting,  will  be  for  me  to  go  and 
see  him  and  send  you  the  result  in  a  postscript  in  this  Note. 

Nero  was  awoke  out  of  a  sound  sleep  by  my  rap,  and 
came  to  the  door  yawning  and  stretching  himself,  and  did 
not  give  even  one  bark;  just  looked,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"Oh,  you  are  there  again,  are  you?  Well,  I  was  doing 
quite  nicely  with  Ann."  So  there  was  not  even  "a  dog 
glad  at  my  home-coming  ! " 

I  have  been  putting  the  roof  on  your  bed,  and  house- 
maiding  vigorously  all  morning.  The  evening  I  am  to 
spend  at  the  Pepoli's. 

Mrs.  Wedgwood  answers  my  Note  to  Charles  Darwin. 
She,  and  I  don't  know  who  else,  but  enough  to  make  "we," 
are  to  be  in  Town  for  to-day  and  to-morrow,  and  will  "try 
*Forster's  servant. 


84  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

to  see  me."    But  Mrs.  Wedgwood's  "try"  is  far  from 
being  like  Macready's,  synonomous  with  "do." 

I  hope  your  pigeons  proved  a  good  go,  and  that  you 
slept  till  breakfast  time  this  morning.  I  slept  pretty  well, 
but  dreamt  horrors. 

I  asked  Ann  yesterday  did  Mr.  Piper  leave  any  news 
this  morning.  "Well,  no,  none — nothing,  I  think — only 
that  that  place — that  Sebastopol — was  taken!" 

Ever  yours, 

JANE  W.  CARLYLE. 

Dorset  Street.  Mr.  Browning  engaged  on  Saturday. 
Will  come,  Mrs.  B.  thinks,  to  tea  on  Sunday.  Will  send 
word  to  you  at  Addiscombe  if  he  can't. 


LETTER  153 

To  Mrs.  Russell,  Thornhilll 

Chelsea,  Monday,  'Autumn,  1855.'  (?) 

My  dear  Mrs.  Russell — .  .  .  I  was  unusually  busy, 
or  perhaps  I  should  rather  say,  unusually  idle  all  last 
week, — a  succession  of  callers  every  day,  and  Plays  and 
Parties  in  the  evenings.  .  .  .  Last  week  I  was  at  two 
Plays  besides  a  Conjurer, — gaieties  never  coming  single 
any  more  than  misfortunes! 

.  .  .  Did  I  ever  tell  you  that  I  have  a  beautiful 
view  of  Drumlanrig  hanging  in  this  room?  It  was  done 
by  Lady  Ashburton,  who  shewed  it  to  me  one  day,  as  a 
mere  sketch,  and  I  wouldn't  give  it  her  again.  I  wish 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  85 

some  one  would  do  me  a  sketch  of  Templand.    Do  you 
know  any  accomplished  young  lady  -up  to  such  a  thing? 

And  now  good-bye.    I  have  a  sewing-woman  in  the 
house  to-day,  and  must  seek  her  work.    .    . 
Affectionately  yours, 

JANE  CARLYLE. 


LETTER  154 

To  Mrs.  Russell,  Thornhill! 

Chelsea,  Friday, '  8  Feb.,  1856.' 

My  dear  Mrs.  Russell — I  like  to  believe  myself  inter- 
esting to  you,  and  so  I  write  to  tell  you  about  my  side  or 
breast  (for  I  never  knew  which  to  call  it,  the  hurt  being 
just  where  the  ribs  join  the  breast  bone).  I  had  made  up 
my  own  mind,  that  after  mustard  blistering  at  it  for  four 
whole  days,  to  subdue  the  inflammation,  there  was  noth- 
ing more  to  be  done.  But  Countess  Pepoli  (Elizabeth 
Fergus)  and  my  chief  friend,  Geraldine  Jewsbury,  made 
such  long  faces  and  prayed  so  hard  I  would  "see  a  sur- 
geon," that  finally  I  saw  a  surgeon, — and  what  was  worse, 
a  surgeon  "saw  me/'*  for  I  had  to  shew  him  the  pretty 
state  into  which  I  had  reduced  my  skin  with  the  mustard! 
He  laughed  at  my  energetic  manner  of  carrying  out  a  pre- 
scription of  mustard;  and  for  the  rest,  recommended — 
patience!  which  I  "could  not  carry  too  far."  "These 
things  took  a  long  time"  (I  knew  that  as  well  as  he),  "and 
on  the  whole  they  were  best  let  alone' '  (I  thought  I  knew 

*I,  Johnny  Peep,  saw  three  sheep, 
And  then  three  sheep  saw  me,  etc. 


86  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

that  too).  .  .  .  Erasmus  Darwin  recommended  him 
in  preference  to  Brodie  or  Cuttle,  because  "he  wouldn't 
flurry  me,  and  wouldn't  do  anything  merely  for  the  sake 
of  doing"; — and  that  is  just  his  virtue;  for  any  complicated 
case,  I  would  never  "see"  him  again:  he  looks  so  soft!  So 
I  was  glad  to  have  got  off  without  leeches,  which  I  have  a 
wild  horror  of  being  touched  by!  and  also  that  I  was  not 
required  to  lay  up, — as  without  plenty  of  walking  I  can't 
sleep  a  bit — very  little  with  it!  The  pain  is  wearing  off 
gradually  and  rapidly  within  the  last  few  days;  so  that 
now  I  can  lie  in  any  position, — indeed  hardly  feel  it, — and 
believe  it  to  have  been  nothing  but  a  simple  sprain. 

Arn't  you  glad  we  are  to  have  peace?  At  least  people 
who  should  know  best  believe  in  the  peace.  My  own  only 
two  friends  in  the  Crimean  army,  Sir  Colin  Campbell  and 
Colonel  Sterling,  make  no  doubt  but  that  Autumn  will 
see  them  all  home.  The  people  in  the  City,  a  Cabinet 
Minister  told  me  yesterday,  are  getting  as  wild  for  war 
with  America  as  they  were  for  war  with  Russia ;  but  there 
will  be  more  words  to  that ! 

Your  account  of  the  Lann  Hall*  splendours  amuses  me 
very  much.  The  idea  of  that  quiet  little  sensible  woman 
having  to  pass  her  life  beside  a  fountain  in  a  conservatory! 
.  .  .  We  had  the  Daughter  of  the  Duke  of  Richmond 
at  the  Grange  when  I  was  there,  and  when  one  wet  day  I 
asked  her  if  she  was  going  to  walk  in  the  conservatory  (it 
is  the  36th-part  of  a  mile  long)  she  said,  "Oh,  dear,  no!  I 
put  on  strong  shoes  and  take  an  umbrella  when  it  rains, 
and  a  right  long  walk  over  the  Downs.  It  is  so  much 

*  Mrs.  Pringle's  residence,  near  Thornhill,  Dumfries. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  87 

pleasanter! !"  Mrs.  Pringle  would  have  been  much  the 
better  for  a  few  days  beside  that  real  Lady — to  learn  sim- 
plicity. 

Your  affectionate 

J.  W.  G. 


Mrs.  Carlyle's  Journal'. 

Mrs.  €arlyle's  Journal  was  written  in  two  little  Note- 
books, labelled  "No.  1'!  and  "No.  2'!  respectively;  the 
first  of  these  begins  on  the  21st  of  October,  1855,  and 
ends  with  the  entry  for  the  14th  of  April,  1856;  and  the 
second  extends  from  April  15th  to  the  5th  of  July,  1856. 
Only  the  latter  of  these  Note-books  had  been  discovered 
when  Carlyle  was  writing  (in  July,  1866)  that  part  of  the 
Reminiscences  called  "Jane  Welsh  Carlyle." 

Carlyle  removed  the  covers  from  this  Note-book, 
"  No.  2,"  and  introduced  the  leaves  bodily,  at  their  proper 
date,  into  the  larger  Note-book  in  which  he  was  writing 
the  "Jane  Welsh  Carlyle,"  his  intention  evidently  being 
that  this  part  of  his  Wife's  Journal  should  be  read  along 
with  his  own  Narrative.  The  pages  were  sewed  into 
the  MS.  of  the  Reminiscences,  and  follow  the  words,  "seek 
where  I  may.",  (See  Norton's  Edition,  i.,  203,  Froude's 
Edition,  ii.,  245.) 

When  Mr.  Froude  published  the  Reminiscences,  he 
omitted  Mrs.  Carlyle's  Journal,  without  making  any 
reference  to  it  at  all;  and  reserved  it  for  use,  apparently 
at  a  later  date  in  the  Letters  and  Memorials. 

At  some  date  subsequent  to  the  writing  of  the  Remin- 
iscences, Note-book  "No.  1".  (the  earlier  part  of  Mrs. 
Carlyle's  Journal)  was  found;  but  there  is  no  evidence 
to  show  that  Carlyle  intended  that  it  should  ever  be 
published.  It  bears  a  label  in  his  hand,  on  the  outer 
cover,  "Diary  of  Hers,  21  Oct.,  1855—14  April,  1856'!; 


88  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

but  he  has  not  annotated  it  or  prepared  it  in  any  way  for 
publication;  and  the  natural  inference  is  that  he  did  not 
wish  it  to  be  published. 

Mr.  Froude,  however,  has  taken  nearly  all  his  extracts 
from  Mrs.  Carlyle's  Journal  out  of  this  Note-book  "  No.  1 " 
(over  fifteen  pages  of  print  in  the  Letters  and  Memorials)  ; 
whilst  he  cites  less  than  half  a  page  from  the  part  of  the 
Journal  selected  by  Garlyle  and  prepared  by  him  for 
possible  publication. 

Under  these  circumstances,  I  have  thought  it  the 
better  plan  not  to  choose  extracts  from  both  Note-books, 
which  would  necessarily  be  inconclusive  and  more  or  less 
unsatisfactory,  as  all  "extracts'!  are,  however  fairly 
chosen,  but  to  give  one  of  the  Note-books  in  full, — since 
I  have  not  space  to  spare  for  both,  were  there  no  other 
objection.  For  this  purpose  I,  of  course,  choose  the 
Note-book  selected  by  Garlyle.  It  follows  here,  without 
suppression  of  more  than  a  proper  name  or  two,  exactly  as 
it  stands  and  stood  when  it  first  came  into  my  possession. 

Carlyle  calls  Note-book  "No.  2'!  a  "sad  record"; 
and  attributes  the  dispiritment  and  unhappiness  of  his 
Wife  "chiefly  to  the  deeper  downbreak  of  her  own  poor 
health,  which  from  this  time,  as  I  now  see  better,  con- 
tinued to  advance  upon  the  citadel,  or  nervous-system." 
The  opening  sentences  of  the  Note-book  fully  confirm 
the  correctness  of  this  view. 

15th  April,  1856.— I  am  very  feeble  and  ailing  at 
present;  and  my  ailment  is  of  a  sort  that  I  understand 
neither  the  ways  nor  outlooks  of;  so  that  the  positive 
suffering  is  complicated  with  dark  apprehensions.  Alas, 
alas,  and  there  is  nobody  I  care  to  tell  about  it, — not 
one,— poor  ex-spoilt  child  that  I  am! 

To  keep  up  the  appearance  of  being  alive  is  just  as 
much  as  I  can  manage.  Every  day  I  get  up  with  the  wish 
to  do  ever  so  many  things;  but  my  wishes  are  no  longer 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  89 

"presentiment  of  my  powers/'  if  they  ever  were  so!  At 
the  day's  end  I  find  I  have  merely  got  thro1  it,  better  or 
worse,  not  employed  it]  all  strength  for  work  of  any  sort 
being  used  up  in  bearing  the  bodily  pressure  without 
crying  out.  I  am  in  arrears  with  even  "the  needle-work 
of  the  Family."  In  fact,  look  at  it  which  way  I  will, 
I  don't  see  why,  if  I  did  die,  J  should  "regret  the  loss  of 
myself"  (as  Mr.  Davis's  beggarman  said). 

16th  April. — Geraldine  and  I  went  to-day  to  St.  Luke's 
to  witness  a  confirmation  performed  by  the  Bishop  of 
Oxford.  Heavens!  how  well  he  did  it!  Even  7  was 
almost  touched  by  the  tears  in  his  voice,  and  the  adorable 
tenderness  of  his  exhortation !  * 

17th  April.— Wrote  a  long  Letter  to  St.  Thomas}  in 
answer  to  one  received  from  him  the  other  day, — such 
a  darling  Letter!  (I  mean  his,  not  mine.) 

Went  with  Geraldine  to  look  at  the  Marlborough 
House  pictures;  but  was  too  tired  and  sick  to  do  anything 
but  sit  about  on  chairs.  Came  home  half-dead  and  lay 
on  the  sofa  till  Miss  Williams  Wynn  came  to  tea;  "very 
much  detached";  as  that  lady  generally  is  now;  hithering 
and  thithering  among  the  Stump-orators  of  every  denomi- 
nation, threatening  to  deteriorate  into  a  mere  dingle-doosief 
in  fact. 

*  Repeatedly  spoke  of  this, — with  such  humour  and  ingenuous 
grace;  descriptive,  too,  as  a  mirror! — T.  C. 
f  Erskine  of  Linlathen.— T.  C. 

J  "  Dingle-dingle-doosie, 
The  cat's  a'  loosie, 
The  dog's  i' the  well; 
And  Dad's  away  to  Edinbro' 
To  buy  the  Bairn  a  bell!" 

Nurse  takes  a  small  splint  or  quill  of  half-burnt  wood  from  the 


90  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

18th  April. — Baked!  Went  with  Geraldine  to  see  the 
Chelsea  Commission  at  work  on  Lord  Lucan.*  Could 
not  get  near  enough  to  hear.  The  Commissioners  looked 
very  sleepy  and  Lord  Lucan  very  weary.  No  wonder! 
Charles  Villiers  was  sitting  among  the  red-coats  looking 
like  Mephistopheles.  And  the  back  of  Lord  Lucan's 
head  is  bald;  hair  black.  These  are  all  the  particulars 
I  gleaned.  The  large  Hall  was  beautifully  carpeted  and 
fitted  up  for  the  occasion;  and  the  table  at  which  the 
Commissioners  sat,  was  covered  with  a  white  table-cloth, 
as  if  for  the  Lord's  Supper. — How  sick  I  have  been  all 
this  day! — "Be  thankful  you  are  not  in  Purgatory!"  (as 
the  Annandale  man  told  his  complaining  friend). 

19th  April. — Wrote  a  business  Letter  to  Mr.  Adamson.f 
Dragged  myself  to  Sloane  Street,  to  see  Mrs.  Hawkes. 
She  looked  more  suffering  than  myself;  and,  as  usual, 
made  melancholy  fun  of  her  sufferings.  She  told  me  that 
Mrs.  Hooper,  the  authoress  of  The  House  of  Raby,  is  going 
blind.  Poor  creature!  all  her  faculties  needed  to  make 
ends  meet;  and  going  blind! 

Read  Miss  X. 's  new  Novel, all  the 

evening.  They  call  it  her  best  book;  I  find  it  sickly  and 
rather  wearisome.  The  wonder  is  that  the  poor  young 
woman  can  write  at  all,  with  her  body  all  "gone 
to  smithers!" 

fire,  whirls  it  about,  so  that  the  red  end  of  it  makes  circles  or  mean- 
dering ribbons  (all  of  fire,  to  the  child's  eye),  singing  or  crooning  as 
above.  No  finer  metaphor  in  the  world  to  signify  an  aimless,  rest- 
less, uselessly  busy  person! — T.  C. 

*  This  was  the  "Crimean  (Board  of  Officers)  Inquiry  Com- 
mittee," held  at  Chelsea  Hospital. 

|The  Lawyer  at  Dumfries  who  managed  the  Craigenputtock 
business. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  91 

20th  April  (Sunday). — Plattnauer  in  the  morning.  I 
was  too  poorly  for  walking  with  him,  so  we  talked  intimately 
over  the  fire.  Except  Geraldine  no  other  callers.  I  fell 
asleep  while  Geraldine  was  here,  and  again  after  she  had 
gone!  This  weakness  is  incomprehensible;  if  I  had  any 
person  or  thing  to  take  hold  of  and  lean  my  weight  on! 

Mr.  Neuberg  at  tea.  But  Mr.  C.  fled  off  to  Bath 
House*  and  walked  him  out.  I  would  advise  no  man  to 
creep  into  another's  favour  by  making  himself  "generally 
useful":  he  is  sure  to  get  kicked  out  of  it  when  the  other 
has  got  blase  on  his  subserviency.  If  one  do  not  like  a  man 
for  what  he  is,  neither  will  one  ever  like  him  for  what  he 
does  for  one,  or  gives  one.  Neither  should  any  man  or 
woman  get  up  a  guasirlikmg  for  another  on  the  ground 
of  his  subserviency,  " obligingness,"  and  that  sort  of  thing; 
for  when  the  other  has  gained  the  end  of  his  subserviency, 
a  certain  favour  or  at  least  toleration,  he  tires  of  being 
obliging,  and  sets  up  for  himself,  and  complains  perhaps, 
like  the  Colonel,  f  that  he  is  "  made  a  convenience  of  !"f 

*  Mrs.  Carlyle  herself  was  clearly  not  averse  to  going  to  Bath 
House  any  more  than  "  Mr.  C."  During  the  few  weeks  covered  by 
this  part  of  her  Journal,  she  was  there,  according  to  her  own  shew- 
ing, no  less  than  four  times;  besides  a  visit  of  four  or  five  days' 
duration  to  Addiscombe.  And  the  last  entry  in  the  early  section 
of  her  Journal  reads  as  follows : 

14th  April,  1856. — Lay  on  the  sofa  most  of  the  day  feeling 
"too  ill  for  anything."  Nevertheless,  towards  seven  o'clock,  took 
myself  up-atairs  and  dressed  myself  very  fine,  and  was  driven  to 
Bath  House  to  a  dinner-party.  The  Twisletons,  Milnes,  "the 
Bear"  [Ellice],  Gold  win  Smith  and  Delane.  Came  home  with 
virtue's  own  reward  in  the  shape  of  a  sore  throat.  My  throat 
fairly  made  sore  by  telling  Lord  Ashburton  French  Criminal  Trials, 
all  the  evening,  out  of  a  Book  he  hadn't  seen.  He  was  so  unwell! 
And  since  he  was  there,  instead  of  where  he  should  have  been,  viz., 
in  his  bed,  I  "  felt  it  my  duty' '  to  amuse  him  without  letting  him 
talk. 

t  Sterling. 

j  Because  Carlyle  walked  Mr.  Neuberg  out,  it  does  not  follow 


92  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

21st  April. — I  feel  weaklier  every  day;  and  "my  soul 
is  also  sore  vexed."  " Oh  how  long?" 

I  put  myself  in  an  omnibus,  being  unable  to  walk, 
and  was  carried  to  Islington  and  back  again.  What 
a  good  shilling's  worth  of  exercise !  The  Angel  at  Islington ! 
It  was  there  I  was  set  down  on  my  first  arrival  in  London; 
and  Mr.  C.  with  Edward  Irving  was  waiting  to  receive 
me.*  "The  past  is  past,  and  gone  is  gone!" 

At  night  I  sewed  a  lace  border  on  the  Mexican  pocket- 
handkerchief  Mrs.  Arbuckle  gave  me,  in  the  view  of 
wearing  it  as  a  head-dress! 

22nd  April. — I  heard  a  man  explaining  to  another 
what  the  Chelsea  Commission  was  after.  "They  were 
trying  to  find  out,  and  can't,  you  see,  for  all  their  trying, 
find  out  what  they  have  gone  and  done!"  Ladies  take  their 
crochet  work  to  the  sittings  of  the  Committee! ! 

Not  up  to  even  a  ride  in  an  omnibus  to-day.  Mrs. 
Twisleton  came.  Speaking  of  a  complication  that  some 
people  had  said  should  have  been  righted  in  this  way, 
and  some  in  that  way;  "I  wonder,"  said  the  little  practical 
woman,  "that  it  never  occurs  to  anybody,  that  in  such 
cases  a  little  selfcontrol  and  a  little  selfdenial  would  keep 
all  straight." 

Miss  Farrar  dropt  in  before  tea,  and  meeting  Mr. 
Fergus,  staid  the  evening. 


that  he  was  tired  of  him!  On  the  contrary,  it  goes  to  show  that 
he  enjoyed  his  company  and  thought  him  a  sufficiently  entertaining 
companion  to  walk  with.  For  Carlyle's  more  charitable  and  just 
account  of  his  friendship  with  Mr.  Neuberg,  see  Reminiscences 
i.  Win. 

*  Irving  was  not  at  the  Angel.     Carlyle  and  Dr.  Carlyle  met 
her  there;  and  she  saw  Irving  in  the  evening.    (See  ante,  Letter  12.) 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  93 

23rd  April. — The  Countess*  sat  an  hour  with  me  in 
the  morning.  She  is  sure  I  "  don't  eat  enough."  I  could 
not  walk  further  than  half-way  to  Sloane  Square!  Oh 
dear,  Oh  dear!  this  living  merely  to  live  is  weary  work! 

24th  April. — Soon  after  breakfast  I  went  by  two 
omnibuses  to  Hampstead,  with  Nero  and  a  Book;  and 
spent  several  hours  sitting  on  the  Heath,  and  riding  in 
a  donkey-chair.  The  pleasantest  thing  I  have  tried  for 
some  time;  and  the  fresh  wind  up  there  has  revived  me 
a  little. 

Mr.  C.  told  me  at  dinner  that  the  unlikeliest  of  living 
men  to  be  met  in  the  streets  of  London  had  got  out  of 
a  carriage  to  speak  to  him  in  Piccadilly, — "an  iron-grey 
man  with  a  bitter  smile;  who  do  you  think?"  "George 
Rennie,"  I  answered  without  a  moment's  hesitation. 
Arid  it  was!  And,  how  on  earth  did  I  divine  him?  I 
had  not  a  shadow  of  reason  to  believe  he  was  not  still 
Governor  of  the  Falkland  Islands!  not  the  shadow  of  a 
shadow  of  reason!  And  he  was  not  "an  iron-grey  man" 
when  I  had  last  seen  him. 

25th  April. — While  talking  philosophy  with  Mr.  Barlow 
to-day,  there  drove  up  a  carriage,  and  I  heard  a  voice 
enquiring  if  I  were  at  home,  which  I  knew  tho'  I  had  not 
heard  it  for  ten  years! — Mr.  Barlow  I  can  see  is  trying 
to  "make  Mrs.  Carlyle  out"  (don't  he  wish  he  may  get 
it?).  What  he  witnessed  to-day  must  have  thrown  all 
his  previous  observations  into  the  wildest  confusion. 
"  The  fact  of  her  being  descended  from  Knox  had  explained 
much  in  Mrs.  Carlyle  he  (Mr.  Barlow)  hadn't  (he  said  to 
*  Pepoli,  once  Elizabeth  Fergus  of  Kirkcaldy. 


94  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

Geraldine)  been  able  to  make  out."  Did  it  explain  for 
him  my  sudden  change  to-day,  when  flinging  my  accustom- 
ed indifference  and  the  "three  thousand  punctualities" 
to  the  winds,  I  sprang  into  the  arms  of  George  Rennie 
and  kissed  him  a  great  many  times!  Oh,  what  a  happy 
meeting!  For  he  was  as  glad  to  see  me  as  I  was  to  see 
him.*  Oh,  it  has  done  me  so  much  good  this  meeting! 
My  bright,  whole  hearted,  impulsive  youth  seemed  conjured 
back  by  his  hearty  embrace.  For  certain,  my  late  deadly 
weakness  was  conjured  away!  A  spell  on  my  nerves  it 
had  been,  which  dissolved  in  the  unwonted  feeling  of 
gladness.  I  am  a  different  woman  this  evening.  I  am 
well!  I  am  in  an  atmosphere  of  home  and  long  ago! 
George  spoke  to  me  of  Shandyf  while  he  caressed  Nero! 
It  was  only  when  I  looked  at  his  tall  Son  he  brought  with 
him,  who  takes  after  his  Mother,  that  I  could  realise  the 
lifetime  that  lay  between  our  talks  in  the  drawingroom 
at  Haddington  and  our  talk  here  in  Cheyne  Row,  Chelsea. 
— Dear  me!  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  I  were  too  excited  to 
sleep,  however. 

26th  April.— All  right!  I  slept  all  the  better  for  my 
little  bit  of  happiness;  and  I  really  am  strengthened  body 
and  soul.  I  have  walked  more  to-day  than  any  day  these 
two  months.  George  said  his  Wife  would  call  to-day 
to  arrange  a  meeting  at  their  house;  but  she  hasn't  come. 

My  poor  man  of  the  wooden  legf  brought  to-night 

*  This  George  Rennie,  a  younger  Nephew  of  the  Engineer 
John  Rennie,  had  been  among  the  number  of  Miss  Welsh's  lovers. 
See  Reminiscences,  i.  70. 

t  Mrs.  Welsh's  little  dog  at  Haddington,  often  mentioned  in 
Carlyle's  Early  Letters,  etc. 

J  See  Letters  and  Memorials,  ii.  271. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  95 

his  "papers"  (a  copy  of  his  Grandfather's  Will  and  other 
documents)  to  be  examined  by  Mr.  Chalmers.  The  result 
was  hopeless:  not  a  shadow  of  claim  on  his  part  to 
dispute  the  present  disposition  of  the  property;  and 
moreover  the  property  is  like  a  Highlandman's  breeches. 
I  gave  him  a  shilling  and  advice  to  put  the  thing  out  of 
his  head,  which  of  course  he  won't  do. 

27th  April  (Sunday). — All  the  world  has  been  down 
at  Chelsea  to-day  hearing  Charles  Kingsley  preach.  Much 
good  may  it  do  them!  Kate  Sterling  came  from  him 
here,  and  then  Mrs.  Wedgwood. — Kate  came  to  bid  me 
farewell.  She  will  be  Mrs.  Ross  when  we  next  meet, 
D.  V.  (there  being  as  Venables  remarked  "two  D's").  She 
went  off  without  a  symptom  of  emotion.  Was  that  well? 
or  ill?  At  all  rates  it  is  well  that  if  she  have  no  "finer 
sensibilities"  she  does  not  pretend  to  any. 

28th  April. — Mrs.  George  Rennie  came  to  insist  on 
our  dining  with  them  on  the  seventh  of  May.  Would 
send  the  brougham  for  us,  and  it  should  take  us  after  to 
our  soiree  at  Bath  House.  In  short  it  was  dining  made 
easy;  and  Mr.  C.  said  finally,  with  inward  curses,  that 
"there  was  no  refusing  her."  She  looks  very  well,  and 
was  kind  in  her  cold  formal  way.  I  had  been  fretting 
over  the  need  of  a  new  dress  for  the  Bath  House  affair; 
but  now  I  went  after  it  with  alacrity.  George  should 
see  that  the  smart  girl  of  his  Province  wasn't  become  a 
dowdy  among  London  women  of  "a  certain  age." 

Dined  at  Forster's.  The  two  Mr.  Speddings  there.* 
A  slow  dinner. 

*  James  and  Thomas  Spedding. 


96  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

29th  April.— Walked  a  good  spell  to-day.  Called  at 
Bath  House. 

30th  April.— Walked  to  Alabaster's  and  bought  a 
bonnet;  and  took  some  things  to  be  framed  at  Watson's. — 
Dined  at  the  Wedgwood's.  Such  a  large  Party:  "Dis- 
tinguished females"  not  a  few!  Mrs.  G.  said,  "Mrs. 
Carlyle!  I  am  astonished  to  meet  you  here;  Miss  Jewsbury 
told  me  last  week  she  thought  you  were  dying."  "She 
was  right,"  I  said;  and  there  our  discourse  ended.  "I 
do  not  like  thee,  Dr.  Fell.  The  reason  why,  etc."  What 
is  that  quality  in  the  skins  of  some  women,  both  in  pictures 
and  real  life,  which  always  suggests  nakedness,  striptnessf 
Mrs.  G.,  for  instance,  reminds  me  always  of  a  servant  girl 
who  has  pulled  off  her  gown  to  scrub  her  neck  at  the 
pump! 

1st  May.— Such  a  first  of  May  for  bitter  cold!  All 
day  in  the  house,  shivering.  Lady  Stanley  and  her 
Mother  came;  and  we  engaged  to  go  to  Lady  Stanley's 
Party  on  Saturday  night.  When  I  had  sent  off  for  Mrs. 
Strachan  to  consult  about  new-trimming  my  white  silk 
gown,  I  reminded  myself  of  the  "Bairns"  of  the  "wee 
Wifie  that  lived  in  a  shoe." 

"She  went  to  the  butcher  to  buy  a  sheep's  head, 
When  she  came  back  they  were  all  lying  dead! 
She  went  to  the  Wright's  to  order  a  coffin, 
When  she  came  back  they  were  all  sitting  laughing!" 

Last  week  I  was  all  for  dying;    this  week,  all  for  Ball 
dresses. 

15th  May. — Alack!  hiatus  of  a  whole  fortnight!  for 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  97 

no  particular  reason;  only  a  general  indisposition  to  do 
anything  to-day  that  could  possibly  be  put  off  till  to- 
morrow. Perhaps  it  is  a  symptom  of  returning  health 
this  almighty  indolence;  or  is  it  a  premonitory  symptom 
of  apoplexy?  I'm  sure  I  don't  know;  and  sometimes 
don't  care. 

Our  dinner  at  the  Kennies'  was,  like  everything  looked 
forward  to  with  pleasure,  an  entire  failure !  The  Past  stood 
aloof,  looking  mournfully  down  on  me;  whilst  the  clatter 
of  knives  and  forks,  the  babble  of  the  guests,  and  the 
tramping  of  waiters  confused  my  soul  and  senses.  It  was 
a  London  dinner  Party,  voila  tout!  And  the  recollection, 
which  I  could  not  rid  myself  of,  that  the  gentlemanly 
"iron-grey"  man  who  as  Landlord  offered  me  "roast 
duck"  and  other  "  delicacies  of  the  season,"  had  been  my 
lover, — my  fiancS, — once  on  a  time,  served  only  to  make 
me  shy  and  in  consequence  stupid.  And  it  was  a  relief 
when  Ruskin  called  for  us,  to  go  to  a  great  soiree  at  Bath 
House.  There  I  found  my  tongue,  and  used  it  "  not  wisely 
but  too  well."  There,  too,  I  felt  myself  remarkably 
well-dressed.  At  the  Kennies'  I  was  always  pulling  my 
scarf  up  to  my  throat,  with  a  painful  consciousness  of 
being  over-smart. 

No  other  Party  since  except  a  little  early  tea-party 
at  Geraldine's,  where  I  met  for  the  first  time  Madame 
de  Winton,  authoress  of  Margaret  and  her  Bridesmaids. 
I  have  not  for  years  seen  a  woman  who  so  captivated  me 
at  first  sight,  or  indeed  at  any  number  of  sights.  There 
is  a  charm  of  perfect  naturalness  about  her  that  is  irresisti- 
ble. When  she  went  out  of  the  room,  I  felt  quite  lost, — 

VOL.  II.-7 


98  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

like  to  cry! — I  said  to  Geraldine  when  she  returned  from 
seeing  her  off,  "What  an  adorable  woman!"  Geraldine 
burst  out  laughing,  and  said  her  (Madame  de  Winton's) 
remark  on  me  had  been,  "I  could  adore  that  woman!" 
— I  might  well  tell  Mr.  Ross*  when  he  spoke  of  his  first 
"remarkably  disagreeable"  impression  of  myself:  "of 
course,  these  things  you  know  are  always  mutual!"  I 
must  see  her  again;  tho',  chi  saf  [who  knows?]. 

Thomas  Erskine  writes  to  me  that  poor  Betty  [Braid's] 
Son  is  dying, — her  only  Son!  Another  reason  why  I 
should  make  an  effort  to  get  to  Scotland  this  Autumn. 
The  sight  of  "her  Bairn"  might  comfort  her  a  little. 

Mr.  Knighton  told  us  last  night  that  when  Sir  Charles 
Napier  was  about  going  to  India,  a  person  was  dispatched 
to  his  house  late  one  evening  to  tell  him  it  was  of  the 
greatest  importance  he  should  start  soon.  "When  did 
he  think  he  could  be  ready?"  "Let  me  see,"  said  Sir 
Charles,  taking  out  his  watch,  "what  time  is  it  now? 
Well,  I  can  be  ready  in  half  an  hour.  Will  that  do?" 
And  he  spoke  in  perfect  good  faith.  The  messenger 
smiled  and  told  him  he  believed  a  fortnight  hence  was 
as  soon  as  he  was  expected  to  go.  What  a  capital  man ! 
It  reminded  me  of  my  Father,  who  was  just  as  prompt; 
nay,  would  probably  have  said,  "in  a  quarter  of  an  hour!" 

16th  May. — Remarkable  for  being  the  day  of  my 
second  Oratorio!  Oh,  goodness  me!  how  my  sensibility 
to  music  must  have  diminished,  or  how  my  sense  of  "  the 
fitness  of  things"  must  have  increased,  since  my  -first 
Oratorio  in  Edinburgh  old  Parliament  House!  Jeptha's 

*  Kate  Sterling's  fiancS  and  future  Husband. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  99 

Daughter,  in  the  Parliament  House,  carried  me  away, 
away  into  the  spheres!  At  the  first  crash  of  the  Chorus, 
I  recollect  a  sensation  as  of  cold  water  poured  down  my 
back,  which  grew  into  a  positive  physical  cramp!  The 
Messiah  at  Exeter  House,  tho'  perfectly  got  up, — "given" 
they  call  it, — left  me  calm  and  critical  on  my  rather  hard 
bench;  and  instead  of  imaginary  cold  water,  I  felt  stifled 
by  the  real  heat  of  the  place!  Geraldine  said  her  sister,  the 
"religious  Miss  Jewsbury,"  in  contradistinction  to  Geral- 
dine,— wouldn't  let  her  go  to  the  Messiah  when  a  girl, 
because  "people,"  she  thought,  "who  really  believed  in 
their  Saviour,  would  not  go  to  hear  singing  about  him." 
I  am  quite  of  the  religious  Miss  Jewsbury's  mind.  Singing 
about  him,  with  shakes  and  white  gloves  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing,  quite  shocked  my  religious  feelings, — tho'  I  have 
no  religion.  Geraldine  did  a  good  deal  of  emotional 
weeping  at  my  side;  and  it  was  all  I  could  do  to  keep 
myself  from  shaking  her  and  saying,  "come  out  of  that!'1 
For  my  share,  I  was  more  in  sympathy  with  the  piper's 
cow: 

"The  cow  considered  wi;  herseP  that  music  ne'er 

would  fill  her; 

Gie  me  a  lock  of  wheat  straw,  and  sell  yer  wind 
for  siller!" 

Such  a  set  of  ugly  creatures  as  the  Chorus  women  I 
never  did  see!  I  grew  so  sorry  for  them,  reflecting  that 
each  had  a  life  of  her  own;  that  perhaps  "somebody  loved 
that  pig";  that,  if  I  had  had  any  tears  in  me  at  the 
moment,  I  should  have  cried  for  them  all  packed  there  like 
herrings  in  a  barrel,  into  one  mass  of  sound! 


100  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

I  am  afraid  it  is  a  truth,  what  Madame  Malhere  the 
Milliner  said  of  me  to  Geraldine:  "Vraiment,  votre  ami[e] 
Madame  Carlyle,  est  trop  dif  [/]  idle!  "* 

17th  May. — Kate  Sterling's  marriage-day,  poor  girl, 
and  it  has  thundered,  and  it  has  hailed,  and  it  has  poured ! 

My  most  interesting  occupation  reading  Palmer's 
Trial.f 

18th  May  (Sunday ).— Mme.  de  Winton  came  to  lunch 
here  by  invitation.  Mr.  C.  being  to  spend  the  day  at 
Addiscombe,  I  had  "taken  the  liberty "  of  inviting  her. 
Perhaps  I  shall  go  this  Summer  to  visit  her  at  her  castle 
in  Wales.  She  has  asked  Geraldine  and  me  for  a  long 
visit.  Geraldine  came  with  her  and  staid  all  day;  and 
we  had  Mrs.  Munro,  Mr.  Tait,  Edward  Sterling  and  George 
Cooke  here  all  at  once.  Now  there  is  not  a  sound  in  the 
house  but  the  ticking  of  the  clock:  Ann  out,  and  Mr.  C. 
not  to  be  home  till  to-morrow. 

29th  May. — Day  of  the  celebration  of  the  Peace. 
Nothing  written  here,  then,  since  the  18th!  And  yet  there 
has  been  "  nothing  particular  to  prevent  me,"  only  general 
debility  and  despair!  only! 

I  went  to  Richmond  one  day,  and  caught  a  fresh  cold 
which  has  made  an  inroad  on  the  poor  strength  I  had  left; 
so  that  I  have  been,  and  still  am,  little  up  to  "  distracting 
myself"  with  walking  and  visiting.  Old  Mrs.  Dermot 
said  to  me  the  other  day,  when  I  encountered  her  after 
two  years:  "  Yes,  Ma'am,  my  Daughter  is  dead;  only  Child, 
house  and  everything  gone  from  me;  and  I  assure  you 

*  Truly,  your  friend  Mrs.  Carlyle  is  too  hard  to  pleasel 
t  Wife  poisoner.— T.  C. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  101 

I  stand  up  in  the  world  as  if  it  wasn't  the  world  at  all 
any  more!"  I  understand  that  odd  expression  so  well! 

Palmer  is  convicted  after  a  horridly  interesting  Trial 
lasting  twelve  days.  From  first  to  last  he  has  preserved 
the  most  wonderful  coolness,  forcing  a  certain  admiration 
from  one,  murderer  tho'  he  be  !*  Mr.  Barlow  says  "  nine- 
tenths  of  the  misery  of  human  life  proceeds,  according  to 
his  observation,  from  the  Institution  of  Marriage!"  He 
should  say  from  the  demoralization,  the  desecration,  of 
the  Institution  of  Marriage,  and  then  I  should  cordially 
agree  with  him. 

Colonel  Sterling  is  returned  for  good.  May  he  be 
happy  with  his  friends  and  they  with  him!  For  me,  I 
am  no  longer  his  friend;  and  alas,  for  him,  neither  am  I 
his  enemy :  I  am  simply  and  honestly  indifferent  to  him. 

Went,  well  muffled  up  in  a  cab,  to  Bath  House  to  see 
the  Fireworks;  and  saw  them  as  well  as  they  could  be 
seen.  But  of  all  spectacles  Fireworks  are  the  most  un- 
satisfactory to  me;  the  uppermost  feeling  is  always  "what 
a  waste!"  of  money,  of  time,  of  human  ingenuity  and 
labour,  and  of  — means  of  destruction!  The  spectacle  while 
it  lasts,  gratifies  no  sense  but  the  eyesight;  and  then  it  is 
so  transitory;  and  there  remains  of  it  Nothing!  Francis 
Baring  said,  every  rocket  that  went  up,  the  only  reflection 


*  From  this  point  to  the  end  of  the  paragraph,  is  printed  in 
Letters  and  Memorials,  ii.,  273.  It  forms  a  good  example  of  how 
unfair  and  misleading  it  often  is  to  quote  a  passage  without  its  con- 
text. For,  standing  by  itself,  the  extract  will  convey  to  the  reader 
the  impression  that  Mrs.  Carlyle  is  referring  to  her  own  experience 
of  Marriage ;  but  the  context  clearly  shows  that  she  and  Mr.  Bar- 
low are  discussing  the  Institution  of  Marriage  with  reference  to 
Palmer,  who  had  just  been  found  guilty  of  poisoning  his  Wife  to 
secure  possession  of  her  life-insurance  policy] 


102  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

he  made  to  himself  was,  " there  goes  half  a  crown!  "  Mr. 
Carlyle  compared  the  Fireworks  to  "  Parliamentary  El- 
oquence." The  thing  that  pleased  me  most  in  the  whole 
business  was  a  clear  broad  light  that  from  time  to  tune 
spread  over  the  street  underneath,  and  the  swarm  of 
people  in  it  and  the  neighbouring  buildings,  and  the 
demon-like  little  figures  moving  about  in  the  Park,  kind- 
ling the  Fireworks.  It  was  a  thing  to  paint,  if  one  had 
been  a  Cuyp. 

30th  May.— Too  cold  "for  anything."  Mrs.  George 
(Welsh)  here  in  the  forenoon;  and  Mr.  Gaskell  later. 
Dr.  Carlyle  presented  himself  at  tea-time.— A  most  useless 
tiresome  day. 

31st  May. — Countess  Pepoli  came  at  twelve,  "with  a 
fly"  and  her  Sister's  footman  to  boot;  and  invited  me 
to  a  drive  about  the  streets.  I  went  and  waited  at  various 
shop-doors  while  she  did  her  shoping. 

1st  June  (Sunday).— Mr.  A staid  a  long  while 

telling  me  all  about  himself.  But  that  is  a  sort  of  thing 
I  am  getting  used  to,  and  which  every  woman  must  get 
used  to,  I  suppose,  when  she  has  become  elderly  decidedly. 
When  I  was  young  and  charming,  men  asked  me  about 
myself,  rnd  listened  with  interest  real  or  pretended  to 
whatever  I  pleased  to  tell  them.  Now  they  compensate 
to  themselves  for  the  want  of  charm  in  my  company  by 
using  me  up  as  a  listener  to  their  egotism.  A  woman 
who  will  accept  and  exploit  that  role  may  still  exercise  an 
influence, — of  a  sort.  And  if  she  cannot  do  without  in- 
fluence with  men,  she  had  better  accept  it.  For  myself 
I  think  the  game  isn't  worth  the  candle.  At  least,  that 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  103 

is  my  profound  belief  to-night  after  my  dose  of  Mr.  A 's 

early  difficulties  with  an  unpoetical  Father  and  an  ill- 
tempered  Step-mother,  and  an  unsympathising  public. 

The  man  whom  everybody  calls  "  George  Cooke" 

came  as  Mr.  A went;  and  he,  to  do  him  justice,  talked 

very  pleasantly  on  " things  in  general";  but  then,  it  was 
only  his  second  visit,  and  he  had  still  to  make  his  place 
good.  He  staid  two  hours  and  a  half!  not  busy  it  would 
seem! — 

6th  June. — Lunched  at  Darwin's,  who  drove  me  to 
call  at  Mrs.  Rennie's  and  Lady  Broke's.* 

18th  June. — Another  break!  On  the  7th  we  went  to 
Addiscombe  and  staid  till  the  llth.  The  place  in  full 
bloom  and  her  Ladyship  affable.  Why?  What  is  in  the 
wind  now?  As  usual  at  that  beautiful  place,  I  couldn't 
sleep. 

Last  Sunday  George  Rennie  called.  We  talked  about 
prayer  (the  " impertinence"  of  it  according  to  George); 
about  Palmer,  finally  "launched  into  eternity,"  as  the 
phrase  is;  and  about  the  prospects  of  War  with  America! 
Nice  topics  for  dear  friends  meeting  after  a  dozen  years! 

This  morning  (the  18th)  I  got  up  with  a  determination 
to  "make  an  effort/'  at  least;  and  achieved  a  short  walk 
before  breakfast.  Sorted  about  in  drawers  and  presses. 
I  am  like  the  old  Manchester  woman  who  "could  never 


*  Don't  know  her.— T.  C.  In  the  entry  for  Oct.  31,  Mrs.  Car- 
lyle says  that  she  had  had  an  invitation  from  this  Lady ;  and  adds, 
"  I  had  to  write  a  refusal,  however.  Mr.  C.  is  '  neither  to  hold  nor 
bind'  when  I  make  new  acquaintances  on  my  own  basis,  however 
unexceptionable  the  person  may  be;  and  there  were  other  rea- 
sons '  which  it  may  be  interesting  not  to  state.' "  Mr.  Froude  prints 
part  of  the  sentence,  but  omits  all  about  the  "  other  reasons." 


104  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

kneel  down  comfortable  to  say  her  prayers  till  she  had 
swept  the  floor  and  whitened  the  hearth,  and  given  herself 
a  good  wash."  The  first  thing  with  me  always,  when  I 
take  a  notion  of  living  a  more  purpose-like  life,  is  to  make 
a  general  redding  up  of  my  drawers  and  presses,  etc. ! 

Dined  at  the  Pepolis',—  a  Mr.  Hughes  and  Mr.  Fergus 
the  only  company. 

19th  June. — Baked, — with  interruptions.  First  dear 
little  diamond-eyed  Mrs.  Twisleton  came  to  say  good-bye 
for  the  season.  Then  Mr.  Barlow.  Both  these  said 
beautiful  things  to  me— things  equally  "flattering  to  my 
head  and  hort";  but  no  flatteries  stick  just  now.  It  is 
as  much  as  I  can  do  to  let  alone  answering  like  Mr.  C/s 
Father,  short  and  grim,  "7  don't  believe  ihee!"* 

Dined  at  old  Mr.  Richardson's, — a  pleasant  Party  as 
Parties  go.  The  Milmans,  Aldersons,  Lord  Minto  (eyes 
much  too  close),  Dr.  Lushington,  and  a  good  many  in- 
telligent-looking men  dropt  in  after  dinner;  besides  Mary 
Stanley  of  Crimean  notoriety  (a  very  considerable  of  a 
goose,  I  think);  and  a  Miss  Lushington,  whom  I  asked, 
"who  is  that  old  gentleman  who  talks  in  such  pathetical 
tones,  they  call  him  Judge  of  the  Ecclesiastical  Court; 
but  what  is  his  name?"  "Oh,  that  is  my  Father!"  Ah! 

20th  June. — A  thunder-showery  day.  Did  some  trifle 
of  needlework;  and  finished  Laporte's  "Memoirs  of  his 
Valetship."  A  short  walk  with  Geraldine.  A  call  from 
Darwin. — Oh,  I  had  nearly  forgotten  the  one  bit  of  ami- 
ability I  have  done  for  weeks:  I  wrote  a  little  complimen- 
tary Letter  to  Miss  Kelty,  the  unseen  old  governess  who 

*  See  Reminiscences,  i.  8. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  105 

sends  me  from  time  to  time  a  little  Book  "all  out  of  her 
own  head."  Poor  lonely  old  soul!  This  time  she  has 
burst  out  into  Poems!  "  Waters  of  Comfort,"  so  called. 
For  the  "Comfort"  it  may  be  strongly  doubted;  tho' 
nobody  can  deny  the  "Water."  But  the  fact  of  a  lonely 
old  Ex-governess  pouring  herself  out  in  Waters  even  only 
meant  to  be  "of  Comfort,"  at  an  age  when  most  of  us 
harden  into  flint,  or  crumble  into  dry  dust,  is  of  itself 
beautiful  and  touching.  And  I  wrote  to  tell  her  this, 
as  I  know  she  is  very  sensible  to  sympathy. 

21st  June. — The  Countess  (Pepoli)  made  me  a  very 
morning  call,  and  a  very  kind  one.  She  is  a  true-hearted 
woman,  Elizabeth  Pepoli,  and  I  am  very  wrong  not  to 
cultivate  her  more. 

As  she  took  her  departure  a  message  came  that  "Miss 
Jewsbury  and  the  Bishop  were  waiting  for  me."  Oh, 
my  stars!  how  boring  is  this  intrigue  with  nothing  in  it 
of  anything  that  constitutes  an  intrigue  but  the  mystery! 
boring  and  ridiculous!  If  Mr.  C.  had  let  the  poor  old 
ugly  man  come  here  in  peace,*  I  might  have  sewed  while 
he  staid,  or  otherwise  enlivened  our  talk.  We  went  all 
three  for  what  the  people  here  call  "a  ride  on  the  water 
in  a  steamboat."  Landing  at  Paul's  Wharf,  we  were 
caught  in  the  rain,  and  I  returned  by  myself  in  the  cabin 
of  the  next  boat, — preferring  being  stifled  to  being  soaked, 
under  the  circumstances.  Dished  for  the  rest  of  the  day. 

22nd  June  (Sunday). — Saffi,  George  Rennie  and  his 

*Alas,  I  didn't  hinder  him  to  come;  but  he  was  (and  still  is) 
unbeautiful  to  me  considerably,  in  body  and  mind !  Is  in  paralysis 
or  semi-paralysis  now  (1866),  after  re-marrying  (rich,  rather  ques- 
tionable widow  of  three  Husbands),  which  sank  him  here,  without 
aid  of  mine.— T.  C. 


106  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

Son,  Geraldine,  George  Cooke  and  Edward  Sterling  in  the 
forenoon.  Dr.  Carlyle,  W.  Allingham,  Tom  Taylor  and 
his  Wife,  and  Geraldine  (again)  in  the  evening.  If  that 
isn't  society  enough  for  one  day! 

To-day  is  the  first  time  I  have  felt  natural  with  George 
Rennie ;  the  presence  of  Geraldine  helped  to  give  me  posses- 
sion of  my  present  self.  He  looked  at  me  once  as  if  he  were 
thinking  I  talked  rather  well.  In  the  old  times,  we  never 
thought  about  how  one  another  talked  nor  about  how  one- 
self talked!  One  had  things  to  say,  and  said  them,  just. 

23rd  June.— Did  a  little  mending.  Called  at  Bath 
House;  Ladyship  "gone  in  the  carriage  to  Addiscombe." 
Called  at  Grosvenor  Street;  Ladyship  "gone  in  the  car- 
riage to  Norwood."  Came  thro7  Wardour  Street  and 
flung  away  eighteen  shillings  on  a  piece  of  nonsense! 
Mr.  Barlow  left  me  a  pretty  German  Bible  in  my  absence. 
Miss  Farrar  told  Geraldine  to-day  that  whenever  she 
mentioned  my  name  to  the  Colonel  [Sterling],  his  ex- 
clamation was,  "If  she  would  only  leave  me  in  peace! 
I  desire  nothing  but  that  she  would  leave  me  in  peace!" 
Can  there  be  a  phantom  of  me  haunting  the  poor  man?  For 
as  for  my  living  self,  I  have  left  him  in  the  most  unmiti- 
gated peace  these  three  months!  Taken  no  more  notice 
of  him  than  if  he  were  dead  and  buried!  He  has  dropt 
into  the  place  in  my  mind  appropriated  to  "shot  rubbish"; 
and  may  lie  quite  undisturbed  there  for  any  chance  there 
is  of  my  raking  him  up!* — 

*  Continued  so  to  the  end ;  a  very  abstruse,  abrupt  sort  of 
man;  worthy  at  heart,  but  not  without  snobbisms,  etc.;  had 
given  some  offence  or  other,  which  proved  final.  John  Sterling's 
Brother;  grown  very  rich  and  fat. — T.  C. 


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A  Page  of  Mrs.  Carlyle's  Journal. 


('4/j 


d-riA^t^f. 


3  ^  • 


Inscription  on  "Sartor  Resartus. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  107 

24th  June. — At  Kensington  Palace  to  see  the  old 
German  Picture.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Barlow  had  assembled 
quite  a  Party.  We  had  tea  after,  some  of  us,  in  Mr.  Bar- 
low's apartments.  Mrs.  Grove,  whom  I  there  met  for  the 
first  time,  drove  Geraldine  and  me  home.  At  night  Mr. 
C.  and  I  went  to  a  small  very  Family  Party  at  Lady 
Charlotte  Portal's.  I  like  that  Lady  better  than  any 
aristocratic  young  lady  I  have  yet  seen.  She  has  a  sort 
of  look  of  what  I  remember  of  my  Mother  in  my  childhood; 
complexion  like  a  rose-leaf;  but  her  eyes  are  poor  in 
comparison  with  my  Mother's.  She  is  a  decidedly  human 
woman.  She  said,  "I  can't  speak  to  Lady  Q.;  it  isn't 
that  I  am  afraid  of  her  cleverness.  I  have  known  cleverer 
people  that  did  not  produce  that  impression  on  me;  but 
if  I  were  merely  wishing  to  say  to  her,  '  I  have  enjoyed  my 
visit/  or,  'thank  you  for  your  kindness,'  it  would  stick  in 
my  throat." 

27th  June. — Went  with  Geraldine  to  Hampstead,  pre- 
ferring to  be  broiled  on  a  Heath  to  being  broiled  in  Cheyne 
Row.  Dinner  at  The  Spaniards,  and  came  home  to  tea, 
dead  weary  and  a  good  many  shillings  out  of  pocket. 

28th  June. — Dined  at  Lord  Goderich's  with  Sir  Colin 
Campbell,  whom  I  hadn't  seen  for  some  fifteen  years. 
He  is  not  much  of  a  hero  that.  In  fact  heroes  are  very 
scarce. 

29th  June  (Sunday). — Nobody  but  Geraldine  this 
afternoon.  In  the  evening  I  was  surprised  by  the  ap- 
parition of  Mrs.  Newton,  just  arrived  from  the  East. 
Nobody  need  complain  now  that  she  looks  "too  handsome 
and  lady-like"  for  her  calling.  She  is  as  like  a  "monthly 


108          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

nurse"  as  if  she  had  been  born  and  bred  to  it!  Stout, 
coarse,  active-looking,  and  with  an  eye  that  struck  fire 
when  speaking  of  her  "enemies/' 

30th  June. — Lunched  with  Miss  Williams  Wynn;  and 
then  to  Stokes  to  get  a  tooth  filled.  He  spoke  to  me 
of  Mrs.  T/s  marriage,  on  which  Annie  Farrar  had  been 
strangely  communicative  to  him.  I  expressed  my  disgust 
at  selling  oneself  so  cheap.  "Ah,  yes,  Mrs.  Carlyle,"  said 
the  Dentist,  "but  you  are  a  lady  of  such  exquisite  feeling!" 
At  the  moment,  he  was  probing  the  nerve  of  my  tooth! 
I  wanted  to  say,  "Oh,  yes;  my  feeling  is  exquisite  enough 
just  now  indeed!"  And  my  mouth  was  gagged  with  his 
fingers! 

1st  July. — Went  in  an  omnibus  to  Coutts's  Bank  to 
pay  my  rent.  Returned  on  foot,  stopping  in  Pall  Mall 
to  pay  the  Fire  Insurance.  "How  provoking  it  is,"  I 
said  to  the  man,  "to  be  paying  all  this  money  every  year, 
when  one  never  has  anything  burnt."  "Well,  Ma'am," 
said  the  man,  "you  can  set  fire  to  your  house,  and  see  how 
you  like  it!" 

Called  at  Mrs.  Farrar's  and  heard  a  good  deal  of  insin- 
cere speech, — about  the  Colonel  (Sterling),  etc. 

At  two  Parties  this  evening. 

4th  July. — Called  for  Mrs.  Montagu,  who  is  "breaking 
up"  they  say;  but  her  figure  is  erect  and  her  bearing 
indomitable  as  ever, — "the  noble  lady"  to  the  last! 
Browning  came  while  I  was  there,  and  dropt  on  one  knee 
and  kissed  her  hand,  with  a  fervour!  And  I  have  heard 
Browning  speak  slightingly  of  Mrs.  Montagu.  To  my 
mind  Browning  is  a  considerable  of  a  "fluff -of  feathers," 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  109 

in  spite  of  his  cleverness,  which  is  undeniable.  He  kissed 
my  hand  too  with  a  fervour;  and  I  wouldn't  give  sixpence 
for  his  regard  for  me.  Heigho,  what  a  world  of  vain  show 
one  walks  in!  How  cold  and  hard  I  get  to  feel  in  it! 
Sir  Colin  Campbell  came  in  the  evening;  and  even  he, 
great  Crimean  hero,  left  me  cold.  " Simple"  they  call 
him.  I  don't  believe  it.  He  is  full  of  soft  souder  as 
an  egg  is  full  of  meat! 

5th  July. — Spent  the  forenoon  reading  in  Battersea 
Fields.  In  the  evening  alone,  as  usual;  a  very  sick  and 
sad  day  with  me,  like  many  that  have  gone  before,  and 
many  that  will  come  after,  if  I  live  to  the  age  that  the 
Prophetess  foretold  for  me,  seventy-two. 

Mrs.  Carlyle's  Note-Book] 

The  following  is  a  selection  of  passages  from  a  little 
Note-book  kept  by  Mrs.  Carlyle,  during  her  residence  in 
London,  for  jotting  down  addresses,  phrases,  witty  say- 
ings, excerpts  from  books  she  was  reading,  and  memorabilia 
of  various  kinds. 

It  is  better  living  on  a  little  than  out-living  a  great 
deal. 

To  endeavour  all  one's  days  to  fortify  our  minds  with 
learning  and  philosophy,  is  to  spend  so  much  on  armour 
that  one  has  nothing  left  to  defend. 

The  worst  of  crosses  is  never  to  have  had  any. 

Woe  to  the  house  where  there  is  no  chiding. 

If  the  brain  sows  not  corn  it  plants  thistles. 

God  help  the  rich,  the  poor  can  beg. 

The  Devil  tempts  others;  an  idle  man  tempts  the  Devil. 


110  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

He  who  will  stop  every  man's  mouth  must  have  a  great 
deal  of  meal. 

When  Orpheus  went  down  to  the  regions  below, 

Which  men  are  forbidden  to  see, 
He  tuned  up  his  lyre,  as  old  Histories  shew, 

To  set  his  Eurydice  free. 

All  Hell  stood  amazed;  that  a  mortal  so  wise 

Should  rashly  endanger  his  life, 
And  venture  so  far;  but  how  vast  their  surprise, 

When  they  found  that  he  came  for  his  Wife. 

To  find  out  a  punishment  due  to  his  fault 

Old  Pluto  long  puzzled  his  brain, 
But  Hell  had  no  torment  sufficient,  he  thought, 

So  he  gave  him  his  Wife  back  again. 

But  pity  returning  soon  melted  his  heart, 

And  pleased  at  his  playing  so  well, 
He  took  back  his  Wife  in  reward  of  his  Art, — 

Such  charms  has  music  in  Hell! 

Hunting  happiness  is  like  chasing  sparrows  to  lay  salt 
on  their  tails. 

Ears  are  given  to  men  as  to  pitchers  that  they  may  be 
carried  about  by  them. 

No,  never  confirmed;  but  I  have  been  vaccinated. 

Did  you  understand  the  sermon?  Wad  I  hae  the  pre- 
sumption !  answered  the  old  Scotchwoman. 

A  labourer's  enjoyment  at  Church:  "I  sits  me  down, 
and  lays  my  legs  up,  and  thinks  o'  nothing." 

Paddy's  rule :  Keep  never  minding. 

He  that  hath  friends  has  no  friend. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  111 

I  trust  to  no  Creed  but  the  Compass,  and  I  do  unto 
every  man  as  I  would  be  done  by. 

I  scorched  my  intellect  into  a  cinder  of  stolidity. 

No.  4  says,  "  That  her  only  comfort  is  in  knowing  of 
three  or  four  young  women  who  are  in  worse  affliction  than 
even  hers." 

Our  Deptford  Housemaid  said:  "One  thing  the  English 
are  admirable  for:  they  shew  great  respect  for  their  dead, 
as  long  as  they  have  them,  at  least.  I  mean  in  the  way  of 
burying  them.  They  really  do  them  neat !  even  poor  folks. 
And  I  think  there  is  nothing  nicer  than  to  see  people  neatly 
buried!" 

"And  I  can  assure  you,  mem,  she  got  justice  done  her; 
no  cost  was  spared;  he  buried  her  beautiful!" 

Helen  Mitchell  (Servant):  "I  would  rather  live  single 
all  my  life  than  be  married  to  a  saft  taty  (Anglice,  soft 
potato),  as  sae  mony  men  are,  and  women,  too, — nothing 
in  the  worF  in  them  but  what  the  spoon  puts  in!" 

Helen,  again:  "And  for  a  Letter-writer,  there  was  no- 
body like  her;  her  Letters  were  so  beautifully  worded  that 
one  wondered  how  human  hand  could  have  done  it!  they 
might  just  have  been  copied!" 

Curious  distinctions.  I:  "Are  you  better  this  morn- 
ing, Helen?"  Helen:  "Oh,  yes;  that  is,  my  head's  better, 
but  I'm  awfully  ill  mysel'!" 

One  may  see  day  at  a  little  hole. 

It's  a  sin  to  belie  the  Devil. 

Tell  me  with  whom  thou  goest,  and  I'll  tell  thee  what 
thou  doest. 

He  cannot  say  shoo  to  a  goose. 


112          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

As  lazy  as  Ludlam's  dog  that  leaned  his  head  against  a 
wall  to  bark. 

As  busy  as  a  hen  with  one  chicken. 
y  A  man  hath  no  more  goods  than  he  gets  good  of. 

"We  are  neither  Christian  nor  heathen;  I  and  my 
comrades  have  no  faith  but  in  ourselves,  our  strength  and 
the  luck  of  victory;  and  with  this  faith  we  slip  through 
sufficiently  well." 

One  Paisley  weaver  to  another,  on  looking  round  him 
on  the  top  of  Ben  Lomond:  "Eh,  Geordie  man,  the  works 
o'  Natur  is  deevilish!" 

Breaker  of  the  Portland  Vase  to  the  Judge:  "What- 
ever punishment  is  inflicted  on  me,  I  shall  have  the  conso- 
lation of  feeling  that  it  has  been  richly  deserved." 

Helen  on  the  Letter-opening  question:  "They're  surely 
no  sae  particular  now  as  they  used  to  be;  it  is  a  most 
awfully  debauched  thing  to  open  Letters." 

"As  late  I  came  thro'  Lewis'  woods 

A  Possum  passed  me  by; 
He  curled  his  tail  and  feared  the  Lord, 
Butfcowhegirn'datl!" 

"Do  you  remember  any  instance  in  the  Bible  of  a  beast 
having  spoken?"  "Yes;  Jonah  said  unto  the  whale, 
'thou  art  the  man'!"  "Oh,  no, — it  was  the  whale  said 
unto  Jonah/  almost  thou  persuadest  me  to  be  a  Christian.' " 

"I  assure  you  I  sometimes  think  that  had  I  the  wings 
of  a  dove,  I  would  spread  them  and  fly  away  to  some  place 
where  I  should  get  leave  to  eat  like  a  Christian!"  (Poor 
Mrs. ,  while  on  diet;  actually  said. — T.  C.) 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  113 

"Aye,  aye,  it's  weel  to  be  seen  that  the  black  coo  never 
stampit  on  her  foot  yet." 

"At  the  marriage  of  Abdallah  and  Anima  (Mahomet's 
parents),  two  hundred  virgins  of  the  tribe  of  Koreish  died 
of  broken  hearts." 

Helen:  "I  am  sure  it  must  have  been  quite  a  treat  to 
the  flannels  to  get  one  day  of  drought." 

"Horrible  to  have  one's  cat  come  home  with  one's 
neighbour's  parrot  in  its  mouth!" 

Englishman  and  Lablache  (the  gigantic  Opera-singer). 
Englishman:  "  Beg  pardon,  Monsieur,  I  thought  Tom 
Thumb  lived  here"  (had  been  hoaxed  to  call  there  for 
Tom).  "Oui,  Monsieur,  c'est  moi."  "Vous,  Monsieur? 
Non:  Tom  Thumb  be  a  very  small  man."  "Que  voulez- 
vous,  Monsieur?  Quand  on  est  chez  soi  on  ne  se  gene  pas!" 

"Politics  have  made  a  great  change  on  Mr.  Disraeli; 
formerly  he  used  to  take  much  pleasure  in  the  society  of 
virtuous  females,  and  now  he  talks  to  nobody  but  we." 
(Reported  saying  of  Mrs.  Dizzy. — T.  C.) 

All  sensible  men  that  I  have  ever  heard  of  take  their 
meals  with  their  wives,  and  then  retire  to  their  own  rooms 
to  read,  write,  or  do  what  they  have  to  do,  or  what  best 
pleases  them.  If  a  man  is  a  foxhunter,  he  goes  and  talks 
with  his  huntsmen  or  grooms,  and  very  good  company 
they  are;  if  he  is  a  tradesman,  he  goes  into  his  shop;  if  a 
Doctor,  to  his  patients;  but  nobody  is  such  a  fool  as  to 
morder  away  his  time  in  the  slip-slop  conversation  of  a 
pack  of  women. 

"It's  no  an  easy  thing,  mem,  to  go  through  the  world 
without  a  head"  (i.  e.  husband), 

VOL.  II.-8 


114  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

"  Before  other  people,  never  flatter  your  wife,  nor  slight 
her." — Cardan. 

"A  woman  left  by  herself,  thinks;  too  much  caressed, 
suspects;  therefore  take  heed." — (The  same.) 
J  "Deeds  are  masculine,  and  words  are  feminine.  Letters 
are  of  the  neuter  gender. " 

"If  you  hate  a  man,  though  only  in  secret,  never  trust 
him,  because  hate  is  hardly  to  be  hidden." 

"Delay  is  the  handle  to  denial." 

"I  was  going  to  have  been  scarce  of  fodder  when  by 
great  good  luck  one  of  my  cows  died." — James  Yorstoun. 
(Revd.  of  Hoddam;  excellent  chess-player,  excellent,  sim- 
ple and  ingenious  man. — T.  C.) 

Butcher:  "Is  it  an  old  cow?"  Mr.  Yorstoun:  "Yes, 
Sir,  the  cow  is  old,  very  old." 

,     "I  see  na  how  he  could  insult  thy  Wullie  sae  lang  as  he 
keepit  his  hands  off  him."  (Mr.  C.'s  Father.) 

"Bad  luck  to  the  day  that  I  bore  ye,  and  I  wish  that  I 
had  never  rared  ye!  Ye'er  little  like  Katie  MacGrah's  son 
that  came  home  wid  the  time  o'  day  [a  watch]  in  his  pocket!" 
(Dumfries  Irishwoman  to  her  son,  on  his  returning  from  an 
unsuccessful  tramp  in  England. — T.  C.) 

,  "Him  never  will  return  again  to  we, 
But  us  will  surely  sometime  go  to  he!" 

"Here  lies  the  body  of  Martha  Glyn 
Who  was  so  very  pure  within 
She  quite  broke  thro'  the  egg  of  sin, 
And  hatched  herself  a  Cherubim!" 

What  fabric  of  lady's  wear  describes  Lord  Palmerston's 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  115 

Parties?  Ans. — Muslin  de  lain  (Muzzling  Delane,  Editor 
of  the  Times). 

When  does  a  man  really  ill-use  his  wife?  Ans. — When 
he  plays  the  Dickens  with  her. 

What  is  the  shortest  way  of  fattening  a  lean  baby? 
Ans. — Thro  wit  out  of  an  up-st  airs  window,  and  it  will  come 
down  plump. 

Alexander  M'Craw,  who  maintained  that  punctuality 
was  the  thief  of  time,  as  procrastination  was  the  soul  of 
business. 

LETTER  155 

To  Mrs.  Russellj  Thornhill. 

Auchtertool  Manse,  Kirkcaldy, 
Wednesday,  '30  July,  1856.'. 

My  dearest  Mrs.  Russell — I  am  quite  sure  of  being  in 
Scotland  now;  for  lo,  and  behold!  I  am  here  at  Auchter- 
tool! And  if  ever  a  poor  woman  was  thankful  to  see  her 
own  Land  and  her  own  people  again,  after  long  and  weary 
exile,  it  is  // 

We  left  London,  as  I  predicted  we  should,  "  quite 
promiscuously"  at  the  last.  Lady  Ashburton  was  going 
to  her  Highland  Shooting-quarters,  and  engaged  the  great 
big  Railway-carriage  called  "the  Queen's  Saloon7'  to  take 
her  to  Edinburgh.  So  having  lots  of  room  to  spare,  she 
offered  one  day  to  carry  both  Mr.  C.  and  me  along  with 
her  free  of  all  trouble  and  expense;  and  the  offer  was  both 
too  kind  and  too  convenient  to  be  refused.  Only  we  had 
"terribly"  short  time  for  packing  and  preparing. 


116          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

We  staid  over  night  at  a  hotel  [in  Edinburgh]  with  the 
Ashburtons;  and  then  they  went  north,  and  I  came  over 
the  water  to  Auchtertool, — Mr.  C.  accompanying  me,  for 
a  twenty-four  hours'  stay. 

Oh,  mercy!  into  what  freshness  and  cleanness  and 
kindness  I  have  plumped  here!  out  of  the  smoulder  and  din 
and  artificiality  of  London!  It  has  been  like  plumping 
down  into  a  bed  of  rose-leaves  with  the  dew  on  them!  My 
Cousins  are  so  kind!  and  the  only  thought  that  conies  to 
spoil  my  enjoyment  is,  that  I  must  go  back  to  London 
some  time, — cannot  get  staid  here  forever! 

This  Note  is  only  to  tell  you  I  am  in  Scotland,  dear 
Mrs.  Russell, — not  to  tell  you  when  I  shall  be  at  Thornhill, 
according  to  your  kind  invitation  which  came  so  oppor- 
tunely when  I  first  thought  of  coming  north.  They  ex- 
pect me  to  make  a  long  visit  here,  and  I  am  so  glad  to  rest 
quietly  awhile  to  recover  from  the  fatigues,  not  of  my 
journey,*  which  were  inconsiderable,  but  of  the  London 

*Mr.  Froude  (Life,  iv.,  181)  makes  a  most  doleful  and  harrow- 
ing story  of  Mrs.  Carlyle's  hardships  and  ill-usage  on  this  journey 
to  Scotland.  He  even  charges  Lady  Ashburton  with  want  of 
etiquette  in  allowing  Mrs.  Carlyle  to  ride  in  the  compartment  off 
the  Saloon  along  with  Carlyle  and  the  Family  Doctor!  But  Mr. 
Froude  admits  that  possibly  Mrs.  Carlyle  "chose  to  have  it  so." 
If  this  was  the  case  (and  it  is  more  than  likely  that  it  was,  con- 
sidering Mrs.  Carlyle's  well-known  preference  for  gentlemen's 
society),  then  what  need  was  there  for  commiserating  her  sad  case 
and  blaming  Lady  Ashburton  for  breach  of  etiquette?  It  was 
surely  more  polite  to  allow  Mrs.  Carlyle  to  have  her  choice  of 
where  she  should  ride  than  to  have  insisted  on  her  riding  in  the 
Saloon  against  her  wishes. 

Mr.  Froude  derived  his  information  about  this  journey  solely 
from  Carlyle's  Reminiscences  (i.,  205);  but  in  citing  from  Carlyle's 
description,  he  suppresses  the  all-important  statement  that  Lady 
Ashburton  was,  at  the  time,  in  very  poor  health, — "much  un- 
well," "sat  or  lay  in  the  Saloon,"  are  Carlyle's  words;  and  she 
died  in  May  following.  Under  these  circumstances,  Mrs.  Carlyle 
would  naturally  prefer  to  ride  in  the  Gentlemen's  compartment, 
where  she  would  at  least  be  out  of  sight  of  suffering  and  able  to 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  117 

Summer.  Then  I  have  to  visit  the  dear  old  Miss  Donald- 
sons at  Haddington;  and  finish  all  off  I  have  to  do  and  see 
in  and  about  Edinburgh,  before  going  into  Dumfriesshire, 
as  I  shall  return  to  London  by  the  Carlisle  Road. 

Oh,  my  Dear,  my  courage  fails  me  when  I  think  of 
finding  myself  at  Thornhill — at  Crawford — but  I  will 
make  myself  go;  and  once  there  I  shall  be  glad  I  did  not 
reject  a  pleasure  (tho;  a  sad  one)  for  fear  of  the  pain  ac- 
companying it.  And  it  will  be  good  to  think  of  after. 

Are  you  going  from  home  anywhere?  for  I  could,  of 
course,  arrange  my  movements  otherwise,  if  it  did  not 
suit  you  to  receive  me  for  a  few  days  some  three  or  four 
or  five  weeks  hence,  and  would  suit  you  better  sooner.  .  .  . 

take  part  in  lively  conversation,  rather  than  in  the  Saloon  with  an 
ailing  Lady;  and  Lady  Ashburton,  instead  of  being  blamed  for 
want  of  etiquette,  deserves  the  highest  credit  for  her  kindness  and 
generosity  in  allowing  Mrs.  Carlyle  to  have  her  own  way;  she 
might  very  naturally  have  expected  from  her  guest  some  little 
attentions  during  the  journey,  which  must  have  been  a  trying  one 
for  an  invalid.  At  any  rate  the  arrangement  seems  to  have  suited 
both  ladies;  and  Mr.  Froude  might  well  have  spared  his  condo- 
lences with  Mrs.  Carlyle,  and  especially  his  unmerited  abuse  of 
Lady  Ashburton.  The  above  Letter  shows,  at  least,  that  Mrs. 
Carlyle  had  no  complaints  to  make  about  the  journey.  There  is 
evidence  to  shew  that  she  had  thanked  Lady  Ashburton  with 
more  than  the  ordinary  terms  of  polite  compliment  for  the  very 
treatment  which  Mr.  Froude  so  deeply  deplores.  For,  on  the 
3rd  of  August,  Lady  Ashburton  writes  in  a  Note  (mentioned  in 
Letters  and  Memorials,  ii.,  287):  "I  am  glad  to  hear  such  pros- 
perous accounts  of  yourself  and  him  [Carlyle].  I  had  only  so 
much  share  in  the  bettering  transaction  as  comes  from  some  neces- 
sary decision."  A  most  friendly  little  Note,  and  signed  "Your 
affectionate  H.  M.  A."  It  is  pretty  safe  to  say  that  Mrs.  Carlyle 
rarely,  if  ever,  performed  so  long  a  journey  with  more  ease  and  com- 
fort. 

As  to  the  homeward  journey,  Mr.  Froude  says:  "One  is  not 
surprised  to  find  that  when  Lady  A.  offered  to  take  her  home  in 
the  same  way  she  refused  to  go."  But  Lady  Ashburton's  kind 
offer  was  not  made  till  Mrs.  Carlyle  had  left  Edinburgh  and  gone 
to  Thornhill.  There  is  absolutely  no  reason  to  suppose  that  she 
had  any  other  motive  for  her  refusal  than  the  obviously  sufficient 
one,  that  she  was  already  far  South,  and  could  return  home  much 
more  conveniently  by  the  direct  route,  via  Carlisle,  than  by  the 
long  and  complicated  route,  via  Edinburgh. 


8  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

I  was  very  poorly  indeed,  when  I  left  home;  but  I  am 
quite  another  creature  on  the  top  of  this  Hill,  with  the 
sharp  Fife  breezes  about  me.  Kindest  regards  to  your 
Husband  and  Father. 

Ever,  dear  Mrs.  Russell,  Yours  affectionately 

JANE  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  156 

To  T.  Carlyle]  The  Gill,  Annan1. 

Auchtertool,  Saturday,  30  Aug.,  1856. 

As  I  wrote  a  long  Letter  yesterday,  and  am  still  full  of 
coughing  and  sneezing,  and  up  to  little,  this  is  merely  a 
line  to  clear  your  program  from  any  tagragery  of  uncer- 
tainties* depending  on  me. 

If  I  get  well  enough  for  it,  I  shall  go  to  Miss  Jessief  for 
two  or  at  most  three  days  this  incoming  week;  and  next 
week  set  out  on  my  other  visits:  a  day  or  two  at  my 
Aunts'  again,  in  passing  thro'  Edinburgh  (that  I  engaged 
for  chiefly  on  Betty's  account):  then  to  Jeannie  (Mrs. 
Crystal)  at  Glasgow:  then  to  Mrs.  Russell  at  Thornhill; 
then  to  Scotsbrig;  and  then  south,  either  with  you,  or 
alone,  as  is  found  most  suitable. 

Yours  always,  J.  W.  C. 

*  By  "  uncertainties "  Mrs.  Carlyle  is  referring  to  various  invita- 
tions she  had  received,  especially  to  one  from  Lady  Ashburton  to 
come  to  Kinloch  Luichart  (the  Ashburtons'  summer  quarters  in 
the  Highlands).  "There  is,"  wrote  Lady  Ashburton,  "a  com- 
fortable, quiet  room  for  you  here,  if  you  like  to  come  any  time  be- 
fore the  end  of  September.  The  Ness  and  Canal  to  Inverness, 
which  is  no  trouble;  and  from  Inverness  here,  the  Skye  Mail, — 
thirty  miles  of  road;  days  of  Mail  passing  by  our  door,  Monday, 
Wednesday  and  Friday." — A  bad  cold,  caught  in  Dr.  Guthrie's 
over-heated  Church,  made  Mrs.  Carlyle  uncertain  for  a  while 
whether  to  accept  or  refuse;  but  the  cold  not  leaving  her,  and  her 
time  slipping  away,  she  has  now  decided  not  to  go  further  North, 
and  writes  accordingly  to  set  Carlyle  free  to  arrange  his  own  plans 
independently  of  her. 

f  Fergus,  of  Kirkcaldy. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  119 

LETTER  157 

To  Major  Davidson]  Edinburgh. 

Auchtertool  Manse,  Kirkcaldy, 
1  September,  1856. 

My  dear  Major  Davidson— I  had  not  forgotten  my 
promise  to  tell  you  when  I  came  to  Scotland.  .  .  .  But 
on  my  first  coming  I  did  not  know  your  actual  address, 
nor  could  dear  Betty  tell  me,  tho'  she  spoke  about  you  till 
your  ear  might  have  tingled  (the  right  one) !  So  I  waited 
till  I  should  see  your  Sister  at  Haddington,  whither  I  was 
bound.  Though  I  was  there  ten  days,  being  kissed  and 
cried  over  by  my  dear  old  Ladies  at  Sunny  Bank,  and  cry- 
ing myself  pretty  continuously  out  of  sheer  gratitude  to 
everybody  for  being  so  good  to  me,  I  did  not  see  Mrs. 
Cook.  .  .  .  We  return  to  London  at  the  end  of  the 
present  month,  and  I  have  six  visits  to  pay  still,  among 
relations  and  old  friends,  chiefly  in  Dumfriesshire,  whence 
I  proceed  to  London  via  Carlisle  without  returning  to 
Edinburgh;  but  when  I  leave  this  place,  in  the  middle  of 
next  week,  I  could  go  to  you  for  two  or  three  days,  if  your 
Wife  were  really  well  enough  and  good  enough  to  receive 
me.  Write  with  perfect  frankness,  Would  that  suit?  Mr. 
Carlyle  has  been  with  his  own  Family  in  Annandale  all 
this  while,  and  is  just  now  starting  off  on  a  visit  to  some 
London  friends  near  Dingwall.  Perhaps  he  will  sail  to 
London;  at  all  events  he  will  not  rejoin  me  till  we  are 
starting  for  home.  But  I  am  not  unaccompanied:  I 
have  with  me,  bound  for  Chelsea,  two — Canaries,  bred  at 
Haddington,  and  adopted  for  its  old  dear  sake!  and  you 


20  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

will  have  to  extend  your  hospitality  to  these  blessed  birds 
to  the  extent  of  furnishing  them  with  a  nail  to  hang  on 
out  of  reach  of  any  possible  cat  or  dog. 

Yours  affectionately, 

JANB  W.  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  158 

To  Tl  Carlylel  Post-office'  Edinburgh! 

Kirkcaldy,  5  September,  1856.' 

Oh,  my!    There's  a  kid!    Well,  I  never! 

I  had  appointed  with  Miss  Jessie  to  be  sent  for  to-day ; 
and  was  all  ready  to  start  on  the  visit,  when  behold  your 
Letter!  But  for  the  appointment  made,  and  the  carriage 
under  way,  and  my  portmanteau  in  the  hall,  I  should 
have  awaited  you  at  Auchtertool, — the  party  there  being 
considerably  reduced;  and  Miss  Jessie's  dispositions  "to 
be  strongly  doubted."  That,  however,  was  not  to  be 
thought  of  now.  So  here  I  am  just  arrived,  and  unpacked 
in  what  Miss  Jessie  calls  "a  sweet  little  room."  The 
littleness  I  perceive  plainly,  but  not  the  sweetness.  .  .  . 
So  you  may  descend  from  your  carrozza  in  all  confidence 
that  we  will  be  near  at  hand.  You  can  either  go  on  the 
same  evening,  or  stay  till  Monday  as  you  like, — once  here, 
you  are  sure  of  a  welcome.  And  you  and  I  might  go  out 
to  Auchtertool  on  Sunday.  Settle  it  as  is  most  agreeable 
to  yourself,  as  you  come  across. 

My  cold  is  still  hanging  about  me,  and  making  me 
wretched;  this  move  was  a  desperate  attempt  at  carrying 
it  off  by  "change  of  air." 

Yours,  J.  W.  C. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  121 

LETTER  159 

To  Mrs.  Russell.     , 

Kirkcaldy,  Tuesday,  '9  Sep.,  1856.! 

Dearest  Mrs.  Russell — I  have  waited  till  I  could  fix  a 
time  for  my  long  intended  visit;  but  my  program  hav- 
ing to  adapt  itself  in  some  measure  to  my  Husband's,  it 
has  been  longer  than  I  expected  that  I  have  myself  been 
kept  in  uncertainty. 

Now  it  is  all  right,  however!  Mr.  Carlyle  is  off  to  the 
Highlands  without  my  needing  to  accompany  him  part 
of  the  way,  as  was  at  first  proposed;  and  I  may  dispose  of 
my  two  or  three  remaining  weeks  in  Scotland,  according 
to  my  "own  sweet  will." 

A  great  cold,  which  I  caught  in  an  over-heated  church, 
just  when  I  was  thinking  how  wonderfully  well  I  had  been 
since  my  departure  from  London,  has  curtailed  my  travels; 
and  curtailed  my  wishes  too.  ...  I  hope  to  be  at 
Thornhill  about  Monday  or  Tuesday  week.  If  there  be 
any  hindrance  arisen  on  your  side,  send  a  line  for  me  to  Mr. 
James  Carlyle,  Scotsbrig,  Ecclefechan,  about  the  end  of 
next  week.  If  I  hear  of  nothing  to  the  contrary,  I  will 
write  from  there,  fixing  the  particular  day  when,  God 
willing,  I  shall  give  you  a  good  kiss.  I  try  not  to  think  of 
anything  but  your  own  house,  where  all  are  still  alive  and 
have  a  welcome  for  me  still,  after  so  many,  many  years. 

I  hope  in  Heaven,  I  shall  be  better  before  the  time 
come  for  setting  out  on  my  travels  again.  I  could  have 
gone  to  Dumfries  this  week  but  for  that  horrid  cold  which 
has  kept  me  wretched  this  fortnight  past.  .  .  .  Oh, 
my  Dear,  whatever  tempted  me  when  I  was  so  well,  to  go 


122  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

and  "hear"  Dr.  Guthrie,  whose  church  is  just  like  one  of 
Soyer's  patent  stew-pans! 

I  wonder  if  my  Aunt  Anne  be  still  in  Thornhill.  My 
love  to  her  if  she  is. 

Yours  affectionately, 

JANE  W.  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  160 

To  T.  Carlyle,  The  Lord  Ashburton's,  Dingwall. 

Scotsbrig,  Thursday,  18  Sep.,  1856. 

Well,  I  am  safe  here,  tho'  not  without  a  struggle  for 
it.  In  spite  of  Miss  Jessie's  continued  celebration  of  the 
"  wholesomeness"  of  their  life,  I  was  up  to  the  last "  ashamed 
to  say  I'se  no  better."  On  the  Saturday  I  went  to  Auchter- 
tool  to  see  Alick,  and  bid  them  all  farewell,  and  fetch  away 
the  blessed  Birds.  And  I  staid  there  lying  on  a  sofa 
mostly,  till  the  Sunday  afternoon,  when  the  Ferguses7 
carriage  came  for  me. — On  Monday  morning  I  started 
to  "cross,"  accompanied  by  Mr.  Lyon  (Sir  Adam  Fer- 
guson's Stepson  who  married  Phoebe  Johnston  of  Cowhill) ; 
and  first  we  were  kept  waiting  for  the  train  an  hour  and 
ten  minutes  ("run  aground  in  Loch  Tay"  the  telegraph 
informed  us  for  our  consolation).  And  then!  Oh  then! 
I  was  to  solve  that  question,  Was  I  still  liable  to  seasickness? 
So  as  to  leave  no  shadow  of  doubt,  the  boat  went  like 
a  swing,  and  I  became  sick  at  once, — in  the  old,  inward, 
inexplosive  fashion!  The  Birdcage  was  caught  out  of 
my  arms  by  a  stranger  lady,  and  Mr.  Lyon  half  carried 
me  out  of  the  Saloon,  and  deposited  me  on  a  coil  of  dripping 
wet  rope,  the  only  vacant  spot  outside.  And  a  horrible 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  123 

hour  I  spent  there!  But  all  hours  come  to  an  end;  and 
I  was  able  to  walk  to  the  train,  tho'  the  sickness  continued 
for  24  hours,  and  I  was  all  trembling  from  head  to  foot. 
.  .  .  All  the  visits  and  shopping  I  "did  intend"  to 
do,  had  to  be  thrown  over;  and  I  went  straight  to  my 
Aunts'  who  received  me  most  kindly — really  looked 
waeer  for  me  than  could  have  been  expected  of  them, 
gave  me  whisky,  then  tea,  and  hurried  "Prayers,"  that 
I  might  be  put  to  bed  at  eight  o'clock. 

As  I  had  written  to  Jamie,  I  insisted  on  going  on  next 
day,  tho'  pressed  most  earnestly  to  stay  till  I  had  re- 
covered myself;  and  I  think  the  railway  journey  did  me 
good  rather  than  harm.  I  missed  the  forenoon  train, 
however,  having  mistaken  the  hour  of  starting,  and  did 
not  reach  Ecclefechan  till  thirteen  minutes  after  nine, — 
not  at  all  sure  that  anybody  would  be  there  to  meet  me! 
and  the  night  quite  dark!  But  it  was  all  right.  Jamie 
had  seen  my  mistake  in  the  Letter  I  wrote,  and  calculated 
that  I  would  come  by  that  train. 

Isabella  had  a  bright  fire  and  tea-things  ready;  but 
I  "took  a  notion"  of  porridge.  Yesterday  I  breakfasted 
in  bed,  but  I  got  up  at  eleven,  and  am  much  better  than 
could  have  been  expected.* 

LETTER  161 

To  Mrs.  Russell,  Thornhill. 

Chelsea,  Friday,  'Oct.,  1856.! 

Darling — This  isn't  going  to  be  much  of  a  Letter; 
only  a  few  lines  to  say  you  shall  have  the  good  long  Letter 

*  The  remainder  of  this  Letter  may  be  found  in  Letters  and 
Memorials  (ii.,  298.)  where  it  appears  as  a  complete  Letter. 


124  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

I  owe  you,  so  soon  as  I  am  up  to  writing;  and  that  mean- 
time I  think  of  you  every  hour  of  the  day,  and  wish  you 
were  sitting  on  the  side  of  my  bed  to  make  of  me!  I  do  so 
want  to  be  made  of  just  now. 

.  .  .  Just  this  day  week,  I  took  what  Lady  Ash- 
burton  is  always  taking,  "a chill,"  which  developed  itself 
into  a  violent  cold  "with  tetanic  complications "  (I  haven't 
read  Palmer 's  Trial  for  nothing!).  .  For  five  nights  I 
couldn't  get  a  wink  of  sleep, — only  one  night  of  the  five 
I  passed  in  as  near  an  approach  to  the  blessed  state  of 
Nirwana  as  any  one  not  a  worshipper  of  Buddha  need 
aspire  to:  that  was  from  a  dose  of  morphia  I  had  given 
myself,  and  to  which  I  ascribe  the  "  tetanic  complications." 
Served  me  right  for  being  so  cowardly  as  to  take  it.  I 
didn't  mean  to  take  any  more  morphia  after  what  Dr. 
Russell  said  about  it;  and  perhaps,  too,  morphia  had 
nothing  to  do  with  the  fearful  pain  in  my  left  side,  which 
threw  myself  and  even  the  wooden  Ann, — and  Mr.  C. 
too, — into  a  panic,  two  days  after  it  was  taken.  Please 
ask  the  Doctor,  if  morphia  could  give  me  a  cramp  in  my 
left  side  two  days  after  taking  it?  Also  please  tell  him 
that  he  said  I  "  would  have  sent  for  a  doctor  if  I  had  ever 
been  very  ill";  and  that  when  Mr.  C.  said  that  day,  "who 
shall  I  send  for?  what  shall  I  do?,"  I  said  in  the  midst 
of  my  screaming,  "nobody,  nobody,  only  put  me  in  hot 
water."  And  I  can  assure  Dr.  Russell  I  am  "very  ill" 
when  I  scream — not  to  say  scream  without  intermission 
for  half  an  hour  together!  !  Don't  let  him  fancy  I  make 
a  practice  of  taking  morphia  whenever  I  can't  sleep:  I 
hadn't  taken  any  for  four  months. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  125 

Ann  has  been  very  attentive  to  me;  and  Mr.  C.  declares 
(tho'  I  can't  believe  it)  that  she  "ran"  the  day  I  was  so 
ill,  and  "cried,"  after  a  fashion! 

Such  odd  freaks  come  into  one's  head  when  one  is 
in  critical  situations!  I  remember  once  being  galloped 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  by  a  mad  horse,  with  my  head  within 
two  or  three  inches  of  the  ground.  I  was  sure  I  should 
be  killed,  and  I  thought,  "How  lucky  that  Macleay  took 
a  notion  to  do  that  Miniature  of  me,  that  my  Mother  may 
have  it!  !"  The  other  day,  in  the  midst  of  my  spasms 
I  thought,  "If  I  die  they  won't  know  to  send  those  pins 
to  Mrs.  Russell!" — It  was  two  German  brooches  I  had 
thought  would  just  suit  you  to  wear  with  that  pretty 
open  black-silk  gown,  and  had  brought  down  stairs  the 
first  day  of  my  illness  to  put  them  in  a  Letter  and  hadn't 
been  able  to  write  it;  and  for  all  such  a  trifle  as  that  was, 
it  bothered  me  like  a  great  thing!  So  to-day,  now  that 
I  am  really  much  better  and  can  attend  to  my  affairs 
a  little,  I  send  the  brooches. 

Thank  you  for  the  Paper.  I  wouldn't  let  it  be  sent 
away;  I  have  it  laid  by, — if  it  were  only  for  that  compli- 
ment to  you,  Dear,  and  the  Doctor's  nice,  clever,  good- 
humoured  answer  to  it.  My  love  to  him  and  to  your 
Father. — I  am  writing  lying  on  my  back,  in  bed,  with 
your  plaid  so  soft  (soft  it  feels  morally  as  well  as  materially) 
on  my  shoulders,  and  my  blot-book  set  against  my  drawn-up 
knees.  That  is  why  I  write  so  badly. — I  kiss  you  twenty 
times. 

Your  affectionate 

JANE  W.  CARLYLE. 


126  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

LETTER  162 

To  Mrs.  Russell,  Thornhili: 

Chelsea,  28  November,  1850. 

My  Darling — You  can't  think  what  difficulty  I  have 
had  to  keep  Geraldine  [Jewsbury]  from  firing  off  Letters 
at  you  every  two  or  three  days,  with  the  most  alarming 
accounts  of  my  bodily  state !  It  is  her  besetting  weakness 
by  nature,  and  her  trade  of  Novelist  has  aggravated  it,— 
the  desire  of  feeling  and  producing  violent  emotions.  When 
I  am  well  I  can  laugh  down  this  sort  of  thing  in  her; 
but  when  I  am  ill  it  fatigues  me  dreadfully,  and  irritates 
my  moral  sense  as  well  as  my  nerves.  In  illness,  as  in 
Madame  Genlis'  Castle  of  Truth,  people  and  things  are 
stript  of  all  illusion  for  one,  and  one  sees,  thro'  all  affecta- 
tions and  exaggerations  and  got  up  feelings,  to  simple 
fact. — It  seems  as  if  disorder  in  one's  nervous-system 
were  needed  to  develop  in  the  brain  all  the  insight  that 
lies  in  it  inert.  However  that  may  be,  when  I  am  very 
ill  I  can't  endure  to  be  "made  a  phrase"  over,  and  used 
up  for  purposes  of  emotion !  And  so  in  these  weeks,  my 
hard,  practical  Ann,  who  never  utters  a  sympathising 
word,  but  does  everything  I  need,  punctually,  has  been 
a  far  more  agreeable  nurse  for  me  than  poor  Geraldine, 
who,  if  I  asked  for  a  glass  of  water,  would  spill  the  half 
of  it  by  the  way,  and  in  compensation  would  drop  tears 
on  my  hand,  and  assure  me  that  I  was  "  sure  to  die ! " 
and  then  fall  to  kissing  me  wildly  (when  I  was  perhaps 
in  an  interval  of  retching  perfectly  hating  to  be  kissed  !) 
and  bursting  out  into  passionate  sobs!  (which  of  course 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  127 

did  not  prevent  her  from  going  out  into  company  half 
an  hour  after,  and  being  the  life  of  it!).  These  scenes 
wore  me  out  so,  that  I  was  obliged  to  restrict  her  visits 
to  one  half-hour  in  the  day;  and  then,  to  be  doing  some- 
thingj  she  would  write  Letters  to  you,  to  my  Cousins, 
and  any  one  she  thought  anxious  about  me.  I  said  she 
might  write  to  Maggie  one  day,  on  condition  that  I  saw 
the  Letter  before  it  went.  My  Dear!  they  would  have 
believed  at  Auchtertool  I  hadn't  a  week  to  live!  I  burnt 
the  Letter, — and  two  other  Letters, — and  as  I  believed 
you  really  cared  for  me,  and  would  be  distressed  at  the 
thought  of  losing  me,  I  prohibited  her  over  and  over  again 
from  writing  to  you  at  all.*  At  last  I  gave  in  to  her 
fixed  notion  to  write,  only  on  the  understanding  that  if 
there  were  any  exaggeration  in  the  Letter  I  should  have 
the  burning  of  it  too! — I  found  it  a  nice  Letter,  and  pretty 
near  the  truth. 

I  am  much  better:  my  cough  is  quite  gone;  and  I  am 
sleeping  better, — get  to  sleep  between  two  and  three  in- 
stead of  at  six  or  not  at  all,  as  was  the  case  for  a  month. 
Great  weakness  is  all  that  remains  to  be  cured;  and  I 
do  take  the  most  nourishing  things;  and  only  the  weather 

*  This  is  the  lady  in  whose  stories  about  Mrs.  Carlyle  ("Mythic 
jottings"  Carlyle  rightly  called  what  of  them  he  had  seen)  Mr. 
Froude  has  placed  such  implicit  faith.  She  appears  to  have  been 
his  Gloriana,  as  Lady  Ashburton  was  Carlyle's  (according  to  Mr. 
Froude).  Whenever  he  finds  a  mystery  or  difficulty  in  the  lives 
of  Carlyle  and  his  Wife,  which  appears  to  him  insoluble,  it  is  in- 
variably to  Geraldine  Jewsbury  that  he  flies  for  enlightenment, 
and  her  word  is  always  accepted  as  true  and  final,  notwithstanding 
that  it  is  often — generally  indeed — flatly  contradicted  by  both 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Carlyle.  One  is  not  surprised  that  he  suppressed 
the  above  Letter!  Nevertheless,  it  is  only  fair  that  it  should  be 
generally  known  how  little  credence  Mrs.  Carlyle  herself  would 
have  placed  in  any  of  the  Jewsbury  Myths.  See  also  Letter  201 
post. 


128          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

has  prevented  me  taking  a  drive  every  day  this  week. 
I  have  been  out  once  in  a  Fly,  besides  into  the  Garden  to 
see  my  poor  little  plants,  who  don't  know  whether  to  live 
or  die.  The  canaries  are  well,  but  in  spite  of  their  expen- 
sive mahogany  bath,  they  are  as  black  with  the  fog  as 
the  sheep  in  Hyde  Park.  The  other  night  I  was  alarmed 
by  their  having  a  bad  dream,  or  one  of  them,  I  suppose, 
had  the  bad  dream,  and  the  other  was  frightened  by  its 
fright.  They  dashed  about  and  flapped  against  the  wires 
of  the  cage  like  mad  canaries  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

Mr.  Carlyle,  after  having  several  horses  on  trial,  bought 
a  beautiful  one*  ten  days  ago,  and  the  first  day  he  rode 
it,  he  brought  it  home  some  five  miles  with  two  shoes  lost! 
Then  the  smith  shod  it,  with  a  broken  nail  in  its  hoof 
under  the  new  shoe!  Of  course  it  became  dead  lame, 
and  had  to  be  sent  to  a  veterinary  surgeon,  where  it  is, 
and  is  likely  to  be  for  some  fortnight  yet.  "No  wonder/' 
my  Ann  says,  "there  is  nothing  so  bad  for  festering  as  a 
rancid  (rusty?)  nail!"  Mr.  Fairie  goes  and  sees  the  horse 
daily,  and  sends  bulletins  of  its  health.  Every  time  Mr. 
Fairie  comes,  he  asks,  have  I  heard  from  Mrs.  Russell? 
and  tells  me  how  much  his  friends  the  Gladstones  admire 
both  you  and  your  Husband.  I  bless  the  chance  which 
sent  him  into  your  drawingroom  that  wet  day;  that  gives 
me  somebody  who  has  seen  you,  to  speak  of  you  to. 

Oh,  such  a  fright  I  got  last  Friday  morning!  Thursday 
night  was  my  second  night  of  something  like  human  sleep. 
I  had  fallen  asleep  about  three,  and  was  still  sleeping  off 
and  on  between  six  and  seven,  when  I  was  startled  wide 

*  Fritz. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  129 

awake  by  a  heavy  fall  in  the  room  directly  over  mine 
(Mr.  C.'s  bedroom);  I  knew  in  the  very  act  of  waking, 
that  it  was  no  table  or  inanimate  thing  that  made  the 
sound,  but  a  human  body, — Mr.  C.'s  of  course — the  only 
human  body  there!  What  could  I  think  but  that  he  had 
got  up  ill,  and  fallen  down  in  a  fit?  I  threw  myself  out 
of  bed,  tore  open  my  door  and  began  to  run  upstairs. 
But  my  legs  got  paralysed;  I  leant  against  the  wall  and 
screamed.  In  answer  to  my  scream,  came  Mr.  C.'s  voice, 
calling  out  quite  jolly,  "It's  nothing,  my  Dear!  Go  back 
to  your  bed;  it  is  a  mistake:  I  will  be  there  presently !" 
Back  to  bed  I  crept;  and  then  if  it  had  been  in  my  con- 
stitution to  take  a  fit  of  hysterics  I  should  have  taken 
it!  As  it  was  I  lay  and  trembled  and  my  teeth  chattered, 
and  when  Mr.  C.  came  and  tried  me  with  some  water,  I 
could  no  more  swallow  it  than  if  I  had  taken  hydrophobia. 
He  had  awoke  too  early,  and  got  up  to  go  down  stairs 
and  smoke;*  his  way  of  invoking  sleep.  His  room  being 
quite  dark,  and  thinking  to  put  on  his  stockings  and  shoes 
before  getting  himself  a  light,  he  had  gone  to  sit  down 
on  a  chair  at  the  bottom  of  his  bed,  where  these  articles 
are  kept;  but  mistaking  the  locality,  he  had  sat  down 
on  nothing  at  all!  and  fell  smack  his  whole  length  on  the 
floor, — not  hurting  himself  in  the  least,  for  a  wonder. 
This  adventure  has  pretty  well  taken  the  conceit  out  of 
me  on  the  score  of  courage,  presence  of  mind,  and  all  that! 
Mercy!  what  would  have  become  of  Dr.  Russell  if  he  had 
had  a  Wife  who  stood  still  and  screamed,  that  time  when 
he  was  so  dangerously  ill?  .  .  . 

*  Carlyle  was  not  permitted  to  smoke  in  his  own  bedroom. 
VOL.  II.-O 


130  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

Do  be  so  good  as  give  Mr.  Bobbie*  an  emphatic  kiss 
for  me;  for  if  Mr.  C.  become  unendurable  with  his  eternal 
"Frederick"  I  intend  running  away  with  Mr.  Dobbie! — 
to  the  backwoods,  or  wherever  he  likes. — God  bless  you, 
my  dear,  kind,  true  woman.  Give  my  love  to  your 
Husband. 

Yours  ever  affectionately, 

JANE  CARLYLE. 

Have  you  got  the  new  little  dog?  I  have  a  whistle 
for  him. 

LETTER  163 

To  Mrs.  Russell,  Thorrihill. 

Chelsea,  Monday, '  7  Dec.,  1856.' 

"A  feverish  cold  and  headache,"  Oh,  my  Dear!  I 
am  sorry  for  you  and  angry  at  you  for  putting  it  on  your- 
self to  write  in  these  conditions.  Please  don't  ever  "feel 
it  your  duty"  to  write  to  me.  There  are  few  greater 
pleasures  for  me  in  the  world  than  getting  a  Letter  from 
you:  the  place  you  write  from, — more  interesting  to  me 
than  all  other  places  on  the  great  round  globe  except  only 
Haddington, — the  association  with  my  Mother  that  always 
attaches  to  you  in  my  mind;  your  own  lovely,  womanly 
character;  and  your  affection  for  myself,  for  my  Mother's 
sake,  and  for  my  own  too  I  feel,  since  that  week  of  such 
mixed  suffering  and  blessing  I  passed  beside  you: — all 
that  together  makes  a  Letter  from  you  like  a  drop  of 

*The  Rev.  Mr.  Dobbie  (Mrs.  Russell's  Father),  then  in  his 
80th  year. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  131 

manna  in  this  wilderness  of  artificialities  and  trivialities, 
where  my  heart  is  not.  Still  I  would  have  you  write  to 
me  just  when  the  spirit  moves  you — as  I  write  to  you 
when  the  spirit  moves  me, — when  I  feel  to  need  to  pay 
you  a  little  visit,  as  it  were,  and  give  you  a  kiss,  you  dear 
kind  woman! 

I  sent  your  Book  on  Friday.  The  Secretary  packed 
it  (Mr.  C.  is  so  enchanted  when  any  use  can  be  found  for 
that  Famulus  of  his!),  so  I  hope  it  would  go  safe.  Yester- 
day I  sent  the  Book*  to  Dr.  Russell. 

A  German  friend  of  mine,  to  whom  I  had  written  of 
the  phrenzy  Mr.  C.  had  been  in  at  his  Secretary's  habit 
of  "  sniffing  through  his  nose,"  answered  that  he  hoped 
he  (the  Secretary)  was  going  to  prove  of  great  use  to  me — 
as  "a  lightning  conductor!"  When  I  told  Mr.  C.  this,  he 
said  " faith,  Plattnauer  is  pretty  right:  I  do  think  the 
poor  little  fellow  keeps  a  good  deal  off  you!" — The  horse 
is  back  to  his  stable  free  of  lameness,  but  mustn't  be  ridden 
for  a  week  yet,  till  the  hoof  that  had  to  be  pared  has 
grown. 

We  have  suddenly  passed  from  Winter  to  Summer — 
a  difference  of  twenty  degrees  between  one  day  and  an- 
other. These  sudden  extreme  changes  make  the  climate 
here  very  trying  to  delicate  people.  First  the  cruel  frost, 
and  then  an  atmosphere  only  fit  for  fishes  to  live  in,  have 
kept  me  in  the  house  ever  since  I  wrote  to  you,  till  to-day, 
that  I  took  a  drive  of  ten  miles, — my  first  reasonable 
exercise  for  seven  weeks.  Oh  dear,  one  gets  to  feel  so 
musty  and  moth-eaten,  stuck  up  in  a  house  so  long!  Of 

*  Sir  B.  Brodie's  Psychological  Inquiries. 


132  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

course  I  went  out  in  your  Plaid :  surely  it  was  in  the  spirit 
of  prophecy  you  gave  me  that  Plaid!  It  never  leaves 
me,  more  than  my  skin.  .  .  . 

Your  true  friend, 

JANE  W.  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  164 

To  Mrs.  Russell. 

Chelsea,  'March,   1857.' 

My  dearest  Mary — .  .  .  If  only  you  could  get  back 
your  sleep,  Darling!  It  is  dreadful  when  sorrow  cannot 
have  the  relief  which  nature  has  appointed  it  in  sleep, 
in  forgetfulness,  but  must  be  endured  by  night  as  well 
as  by  day!  and  every  sad  image  that  presents  itself  is 
thrown  out  in  such  gigantic  relief  on  the  darkness,  and 
made  so  haggard  by  bodily  weariness!  .  .  .  There  is 
nothing  I  feel  so  much  sympathy  with  as  sleeplessness; 
for  there  is  nothing  I  have  suffered  so  much  from  myself. 
However  kindly  disposed  one  may  be,  it  needs  always 
that  one  should  understand  another's  trouble  before  one 
can  rightly  sympathise  with  it.  My  comfort  about  you 
is,  that  your  Husband,  besides  being  a  kind  Husband, 
is  a  skilful  Doctor;  and  whatever  can  be  done  to  overcome 
your  wakefulness  will  assuredly  be  done.  Do  you  know 
he  has  helped  me  to  get  better  sleep,  by  what  he  said  when 
I  was  at  Thornhill,  about  the  injuriousness  of  Morphia, 
and  such  things.  ...  I  have  also  abstained  from 
something  else  Dr.  Russell  did  not  prohibit,  nay  rather  by 
example  inculcated;  I  take  no  tea, — only  what  they  call 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  133 

in  Scotland  "content"— not  even  that  quite,  for  I  take 
milk  and  water  without  sugar.  For  the  rest,  I  am  decided- 
ly recovering  now.  And  even  while  your  mind  must 
needs  be  full  of  your  own  sad  loss,*  I  know  you  are  unselfish 
enough  and  love  me  enough  to  be  interested  in  what  I 
write  of  myself,  and  glad  that  it  is  so  favourable.  I  have 
been  out  four  times  in  a  carriage;  and  I  feel  stronger 
body  and  mind.  The  cough  is  not  gone  yet,  but  there 
is  no  pain  connected  with  it  now;  and  it  will  need  warmer 
weather  to  break  the  habit  of  coughing.  I  was  beginning 
to  think  with  Dr.  Russell  that  I  had  taken  a  too  serious 
responsibility  on  myself  in  doctoring  myself  thro'  this 
last  illness;  but  now  I  am  glad,  for  any  of  these  slapdash 
medical  eminences  who  had  seen  me  a  few  weeks  ago 
not  knowing  how  many  of  the  same  sort  of  seizures  I 
had  weathered,  would  for  certain  have  ordered  me  to 
Madeira,  or  the  south  of  Italy, — to  the  complete  upsetting 
of  one's  domestic  convenience,  and  the  progress  of  Fred- 
erick the  Great!  It  is  seventeen  years  now,  since  a  Doctor 
Morrah,  who  attended  me  here,  in  such  another  illness, 
told  me  I  "should  never  live  through  another  Winter  in 
England  ! !"  He  was  a  man  of  high  reputation,  whom  I 
shouldn't  have  disliked  having  again,  but  he  died  soon 
after.  Well,  I  resolved  when  the  next  Winter  came,  to 
stay  and  take  my  chance!  and  I  have  lived  19  Winters  in 
England;  and  ten  of  them  I  have  walked  about  in  the 
coldest  frosts,  at  the  rate  of  six  or  ten  miles  a  day!  To 
be  sure  the  Pitcher  goes  often  to  the  well  and  gets  broken 
at  last.  This  time  again,  however,  the  poor  little  brittle 
*  Her  Father  had  lately  died. 


134  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

Pitcher  will  come  back  from  the  well  whole,  I  think;  or 
with  only  a  little  crack  in  it.  And  cracked  things  often 
hold  out  as  long  as  whole  things, — one  takes  so  much 
better  care  of  them. 

The  last  two  or  three  days,  I  have  been  more  anxious 
about  my  maid  than  about  myself;  she  has  excellent 
health;  has  not  been  an  hour  unable  for  her  work  since 
she  came  to  us  three  and  a  half  years  ago!  But  the  other 
day  she  cut  her  finger  severely;  did  not  come  to  tell  me, 
but  fussed  on  with  it  herself;  and  it  bled  half  a  pint, 
and  was  badly  wrapped  up;  and  kept  her  awake  all  the 
night  after,  with  the  pain  of  it.  To  which  I  impute  the 
bilious  attack  she  had  next  day.  She  is  going  about 
again  now  quite  well,  only  a  little  weak;  but  for  three 
days  I  had  two  strangers, — that  is  to  say,  new  hands, 
in  the  house  (I  have  one  of  them  still),  to  fill  her  one 
place — and  so  inadequately!  And  I  had  to  wait  on  her 
myself,  instead  of  being  waited  on. 

I  must  tell  you  an  instance  of  Ann's  gentility:  It  was 
in  shaving  a  bath-brick  that  she  cut  her  finger.  To-day 
when  she  opened  the  door  to  the  Lady  Alice  Hill  (a  lovely 
girl  whom  Ann  respects  very  much  as  the  Daughter  of  a 
real  live  Marchioness),  Lady  Alice,  who  is  the  most  be- 
witching little  monkey  in  the  world,  said,  "Oh  Ann, 
what  ails  your  hand?"  (the  finger  was  wrapped  in  a  bit 
of  scarlet  cloth!  !)  "  I  have  cut  it,  my  Lady."  "  How  did 
you  cut  it?"  "Well,  I  did  it  in  cutting  up  a,—fawl!!" 
She  told  me  this  substitution  herself.  "You  know  Ma'am/' 
said  she,  in  telling  of  Lady  Alice's  kind  enquiries,  "I 
couldn't  go  and  say  to  a  real  young  Lady  that  I  did  it 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  135 

cutting  a  bath-brick!  that  sounded  so  common!    I  thought 
a  jowl  was  more  the  thing!  I" 

.    .    .    I  will  write  soon  again. 

Your  affectionate 

JANE  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  165 

To  Mrs.  Russell,  Thornhill 

Chelsea,  '  May,  1857.' 

Dearest  Mary — I  have  been  long  in  answering  your 
dear  Letter.  If  you  saw  Lady  Ashburton's  death*  in 
the  Newspapers  you  would  partly  guess  why;  that  I  was 
shocked,  and  dispirited,  and  feeling  silence  best.  But 
you  could  not  guess  the  outward  disturbance  consequent 
on  this  event!  The  Letters  and  calls  of  inquiry  and  con- 
dolence that  have  been  eating  up  my  days  for  the  last 
two  weeks!  distressingly  and  irritatingly.  .  .  .  At  no 
moment  since  the  time  she  was  first  declared  in  danger 
could  her  death  have  come  with  more  shock.  Lord  Ash- 
burton  had  just  been  here  for  a  week,  making  preparations 
for  her  immediate  return  to  England;  and  he  represented 
her  as  "  progressing  most  favourably."  Sir  James  Clarke, 
who  had  been  to  Paris  to  see  her,  said  the  same.  Lord 
A.  was  to  have  gone  back  to  Paris  on  the  Sunday,  but 
on  Saturday  he  got  a  Letter  from  her,  telling  him  to  go 
to  St.  Leonards  and  take  a  House  there;  "that  she  might 
be  at  the  seaside,  if  she  liked,  during  September!"  He 
went  and  took  the  House,  and  so  did  not  go  to  Paris  till 

*  Lady  Harriet  Ashburton  died  on  the  4th  of  May,  1857. 


136  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

the  Monday,  when  she  had  been  dead  two  hours!  I  never 
heard  of  so  easy  a  death.  She  was  dressing  about  four 
o'clock;  felt  faint,  and  called  for  Dr.  Rous  (her  private 
Doctor);  he  told  her,  in  answer  to  her  question,  "what 
is  this?"  "  you  are  going  to  faint,  it  is  nothing;  you  mustn't 
mind  these  faintnesses!"  He  put  his  arm  round  her  to 
support  her;  she  clasped  her  hands  over  his  other  arm, 
leant  her  forehead  on  his  shoulder,  gave  a  sigh,  and  was 
dead! 

Last  Tuesday  Mr.  C.  went  to  the  Grange  to  be  present 
at  her  funeral.  It  was  conducted  with  a  kind  of  royal 
state;  and  all  the  men,  who  used  to  compose  a  sort  of 
Court  for  her,  were  there,  in  tears!  I  never  heard  of  a 
gloomier  funeral. 

All  this  has  kept  me  from  getting  the  good  I  expected 
from  the  change  of  weather.  My  cough  is  entirely  gone; 
but  I  am  weak  and  nervous  to  a  degree!  And  driving 
out  thro'  these  stifling  streets,  puts  no  strength  into  me. 
I  long  to  be  far  away.  I  feel  as  if  one  long  breath  of  pure 
Scotch  air  would  cure  me! — The  German  scheme  is  fallen 
entirely  into  abeyance.  Mr.  C.  has  commenced  printing 
the  first  two  volumes  of  his  Book;  and  it  will  be  a  year  he 
says,  before  they  are  ready.  "  How  was  it  then,"  I  asked 
last  night,  "that  you  spoke  of  being  done  with  them  in 
two  months,  telling  me  I  must  make  haste  and  get  well 
to  go  to  Germany?"  "Oh,"  said  he,  "one  talks  all  sorts 
of  things!"  "But,"  said  I,  "that  was  a  talk  that  cost 
me  three  nights  sleep,  and  ever  so  many  days  of  anxious 
uneasy  thought!"  "Bless  me!"  said  he,  quite  astonished, 
"I  said  all  that  chiefly  by  way  of  cheering  you  up! ! !" 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  137 

Oh,  men!  men!  how  stupid  you  are  in  your  dealings 
with  us  poor  egg-shell  wretches!  There  is  no  great  fear 
of  Germany,  then,  for  a  year  anyhow!  He  will  be  too 
busy  for  going  from  home  at  all,  if  he  can  possibly  stand 
the  heat  in  Town.  So  that  I  fancy  I  shall  be  at  liberty 
to  regulate  my  own  goings  according  to  my  own  will, 
which  however  is  hampered  enough  by  many  consider- 
ations.; chiefly  that  of  his  solitude  and  tendency  to  over- 
work himself  when  left  in  the  house  alone.  For  his 
material  comforts,  Ann  can  care  as  well  as  I,  now;  the 
only  difference  being  in  the  scales  of  expenditure, — and 
even  that  is  not  exorbitant.  It  will  be  no  hindrance  to 
him  however,  in  the  long  run,  not  to  leave  untried  any 
feasible  means  of  strengthening  myself  before  the  Winter 
returns  to  take  me  by  the  lungs;  and  certainly  getting 
out  of  this  and  breathing  fresh  air  awhile,  under  favourable 
moral  circumstances,  would  be  the  most  feasible  means 
of  all!  Nowhere  could  I  be  so  well  and  content,  I  think, 
as  with  you;  and  if  I  could  go  to  you  for  a  fortnight  or 
so,  without  travelling  farther  and  making  more  visits, 
I  would  say  at  once  your  kind  invitation  is  believed  in 
and  accepted!  But  there  are  so  many  in  Scotland  who 
have  always  been  kind  to  me,  and  whose  kindness  I  would 
not  for  the  world  seem  insensible  to,  who  would  be  grieved 
and  angered  if  I  be  in  Scotland  without  going  to  see  them; 
and  that  sort  of  brashing  about  which  I  experienced  last 
year,  is  more  than  I  have  either  strength  or  spirits  for 
in  my  normal  state.  After  this  long  illness  and  confine- 
ment to  one  spot  and  one  circle  of  ideas,  I  shudder  at 
the  bare  notion  of  going  over  the  ground,  both  material 


138  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

and  emotional,  that  I  went  over  last  year!  But  it  is  time 
enough  to  be  making  up  one's  plans. 

In  the  meantime  I  am  going  for  a  week  to  Easthamp- 
stead  Park  (the  Marquis  of  Downshire's),  almost  immediate- 
ly. But  these  great  grand  Country  Houses  are  not  the 
places  Nature  prompts  me  to  take  my  sick  nerves  and 
bad  spirits  to!  Especially  when  I  am  not  going  as  a 
sort  of  animated,  still  wholly  irresponsible  carpet-bag, 
with  Mr.  Carlyle's  name  on  it,  but  on  my  own  basis !  .  .  . 

I  have  not  made  a  single  call  yet;  but  when  I  have 
finished  this  Letter,  I  am  going  off  in  a  cab  to  call  for  the 
old  Countess  of  Sandwich  (Lady  A.'s  Mother).  She  said 
yesterday  she  would  like  to  see  me.  .  .  . 

I  send  you  some  Poems,  amongst  which  you  will  find 
some  to  like. — God  bless  you,  my  Darling!  Kindest  love 
to  your  Husband.  I  was  so  very  thankful  to  hear  of 
your  improved  sleep. 

Affectionately  yours, 

JANE  W.  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  166 

To  Mrs.  Braid,  Edinburgh. 

Addiscombe,  Saturday,  'May,  1857.' 

Dearest  Betty* — I  have  so  many  things  to  tell  you, 

*  "  Betty  "  (afterwards  Mrs.  Braid, — her  maiden  name  is  un- 
known to  me)  had  been,  at  a  very  early  age,  the  Welshes'  general 
servant  at  Haddington.  She  entered  their  service  at  the  May 
Term,  1815.  Her  name  occurs,  for  the  first  time,  in  Dr.  Welsh's 
"Book  of  Receipts  and  Expenditure,"  in  the  following  entry: 

"  17th  Nov.,  1815.  Paid  Betty  her  wages £3  3  0." 

Her  wages  (six  guineas  a  year),  were  raised  next  year  to  £7;  and 
the  next  again,  to  £8,  but  never  beyond  this  sum,  at  least  during 
Dr.  Welsh's  lifetime.  She  is  last  mentioned  in  Dr.  Welsh's  Book 
thus: 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  139 

and  leisure  just  now  for  telling  them,  if  I  only  were  sure 
of  your  address.  .  .  . 

I  have  been  a  week  on  a  visit  (at  Lord  Ashburton's), 
to  try  and  pick  up  a  little  strength  after  my  four  months' 
confinement.  It  is  the  first  visit  I  have  made  at  any  of 
Lord  A.'s  places  since  Lady  Ashbur ton's  death;  and  the 
first  coming  was  very  miserable;  everything  exactly  as 
she  had  left  it;  and  yet  such  a  difference!  But  I  am 
getting  accustomed  to  missing  her.  And  her  Mother, 
who  is  here,  and  Lord  A.  himself,  do  all  they  can  to  make 
me  comfortable  in  the  house. 

I  can't  say  I  feel  much  stronger,  but  the  change  of 
air  and  daily  carriage  exercise  make  me  sleep  better  than 
I  had  done  for  many  months;  and  that  must  benefit  me 
surely  in  the  long  run, — besides  being  much  pleasanter 
for  the  time  than  lying  tossing  about  awake. 

Mr.  Erskine  wrote  me  strong  regrets  about  your  going 
so  far  away  from  his  rubber*,  who  he  thinks  was  certainly 
doing  George  good.  Mr.  Erskine  has  always  seemed  to 
me,  for  a  clever  man,  surprisingly  credulous  about  new 
cures!  I  should  think  the  fresh  country  air  more  likely 
to  mend  George  than  the  rubbing!  What  I  am  anxious 
about  is  how  your  Husband  is  going  to  employ  his  time 

"  29th  May,  1818.  Paid  maid  Betty's  half-year's  wage,  £4  0  0." 
Betty  by  and  by  became  Mrs.  Braid,  and  lived  with  her  Hus- 
band in  Edinburgh.  Her  only  child  was  the  "George"  mentioned 
in  the  above  Letter,  who  died  of  paralysis  soon  after  this  date. 
Mrs.  Braid  was  an  excellent  woman,  and  was  held  in  high  esteem 
and  affection  by  Mrs.  Carlyle,  Tho'  only  a  year,  or  perhaps  tw.o, 
older  than  Mrs.  Carlyle,  she  survived  her  several  years.  The  un- 
signed note  at  the  foot  of  p.  281,  Letters  and  Memorials,  ii.,  to  the 
effect  that  Betty  was  "  Old  Haddington  nurse,"  i-s  a  mistake.  The 
note  should  have  been  initialed  J.  A.  F. 
*  Masseur. 


New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

out  there,  and  how  you  are  to  keep  the  pot  boiling?    Do 
you  know,  Dear?    If  you  do,  I  wish  you  would  tell  me. 
Your  own  Bairn, 

JE ANNIE  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  167 

To  T.  Carlyle,  Chelsea. 

Sunny  Bank,  Sunday,  12  July,  1857. 

I  had  fairly  torn  myself  out  of  the  arms  of  Miss  Jess 
yesterday,  and  was  running  up  stairs  "to  write  to  him" 
when  she  called  after  me,  "but,  my  dear,  he  won't  get 
your  Letter  to-morrow,  it's  Sunday!"  So  I  had  just  to 
come  back  "with  my  finger  in  my  mouth."  That  night 
on  the  road  has  set  my  mental  clock  all  wrong.  Otherwise, 
it  has  had  no  bad  consequence;  and  I  am  certainly  better 
already  for  my  change  of  air;  am  stronger,  hungrier  and 
sleepier.  And  it  is  not  the  sudden,  miraculous  betterness 
of  last  year,  beginning  and  ending  in  the  excitement  of 
the  thing!  This  time  there  has  been  no  excitement  to 
speak  of.  Repetition  and  the  sobering  effects  of  long  illness 
have  quite  taken  off  the  edge  of  my  "feelings";  and  I  can 
look  round  me — in  the  church-yard  itself — with  the  dead 
calm  of  a  ghost. 

I  have  not  been  in  any  house  of  the  Town  yet,  except 
Miss  Welsh's,*  who,  I  was  told  by  Miss  Donaldson,  was 
dangerously  ill,  proving  the  authenticity  of  her  relation- 
ship by  appearance  of  consumption.  .  .  . 

I  drive  generally  seaward;  and  yesterday  I  went  to 

*  "  Jackie "  Welsh,  natural  Daughter  of  Dr.  Welsh's  Brother 
William.  See  Letters  and  Mems.  ii.,  315. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  141 

Aberlady  and  investigated  its  capacities  as  a  seabathing 
place,  in  case  you  should  be  on  the  lookout  for  one  again. 
I  have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  it  would  suit  you — 
suit  us — better  than  any  other  seaside  place  I  ever  saw. 
.  .  .  I  am  sure  I  could  make  you  comfortable  there; 
and  should  feel  heimlich  myself.  Together,  I  should  not 
mind  trying  the  cheap  train  again;  and  after  a  sound 
sleep,  one  feels  no  consequences.  So  we  could  have  sea- 
bathing at  Aberlady  on  as  cheap  terms  as  at  Eastbourne, 
— and  infinitely  more  agreeable  ones.  .  .  . 

My  life  here  is  as  good  for  me  as  any  life  could  be, 
tho'  most  people  would  wonder  where  the  charm  lay 
which  makes  me  all  day  long  as  content  as  I  can  ever  hope 
to  be  in  this  world.  Every  night  I  go  to  bed  as  hoarse 
as  a  crow  with  talking  and  reading  at  the  top  of  my  lungs 
to  these  dear,  almost  stone-deaf,  old  women.  And  I  like  that ! 
They  love  me  so  very  much,  and  are  so  happy  over  me. 

I  saw  and  knew  your  Letter  thro'  the  window,  on  the 
diningroom  table,  when  I  was  getting  out  of  the  carriage. 
I  was  very  glad  of  it.  Geraldine  writes  that  Ann  told 
her  "Mr.  Carlyle  was  quite  happy  and  comfortable. " — 
"Maybe's  ye're  nae  great  judge  I" — A  kiss  to  Nero, 
two  chirps  to  the  canaries. 

Your  affectionate 

JANE  W.  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  168 

To  T.  Carlyle,  Chelsea. 

Sunny  Bank,  Saturday,  18  July,  1857. 

Ach!    My  Dear!    Let  him,  especially  her,  who  standeth 


142          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

on  the  housetop,  etc.,  etc.  Since  writing  to  you  how 
well  I  was,  I  have  demonstrated  the  truth  of  Miss  Jess7 
observation  that  I  was  "as  easy  as  possible  to  overset." 
Returning  from  putting  that  Letter  in  the  Post-office, 
I  was  caught  in  the  rain,  and  rather  damped, — that  was 
all!  for  it  was  just  a  few  drops  to  save  the  honour  of  St. 
Swithin.  .  .  .  How  "overset"  I  was  all  yesterday 
by  the  fierce  pain  I  had  suffered,  and  the  want  of  sleep, 
and  worst  of  all,  I  think,  the  chloroform  I  had  swalloived, 
I  cannot  describe.  I  was  not  even  up  to  my  usual  drive. 
Last  night  I  was  quite  free  from  pain,  and  slept  by  snatches; 
but  I  am  very  weak  in  body  and  mind; — would  rather 
be  in  my  own  bed  at  Chelsea!  Not  that  I  lack  any  com- 
fort here  I  could  have  there;  and  certainly  I  am  more 
made  of  here  than  I  should  be  anywhere  else  in  the  world! 
but  that  very  making  of  worries,  when  one  has  got  disused 
to  it.  .  .  . 

Eliza  [Donaldson]  does  not  arrive  till  next  Wednesday, 
which  is  certainly  very  good  of  her.  And  I  don't  think 
I  shall  leave  here  till  the  week  following.  At  the  least 
allusion  to  my  departure,  my  dear  old  friends  fall  to 
fluttering  on  their  chairs  like  birds  frightened  in  their 
nests;  and  utter  such  plaintive,  almost  sobbing  protests, 
that  I  haven't  the  heart  to  pursue  the  subject.  So  it 
still  rests  in  the  vague,  the  day  of  my  departure. 

While  I  was  feeling  to  be  gaining  strength,  I  was  easy 
in  my  mind  about  leaving  you  alone.  It  was  more  im- 
portant to  you  to  avoid  a  repetition  of  my  last  winter's 
illness,  or  worse,  than  to  be  a  little  solitary  and  even  a 
little  put  about  by  my  absence  at  present;  but  these  two 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  143 

last  days  I  am  always  thinking,  "If  I  have  taken  this  long 
expensive  journey,  and  left  things  at  home  to  Providence, 
for  no  permanent  benefit  to  my  health,  which  would 
reflect  itself  on  '  others  V  If — !"  and  then  I  assure  you 
I  am  tempted  to  "drop  a  tear  over  myself"  like  Peesweep.* 

Yours  affectionately, 

J.  W.  C. 

LETTER  169 

To  T.  Carlyle,  Chelsea. 

Craigenvilla,  Wednesday,  29  July,  1857. 

Oh,  my  Dear,  my  Dear!  "Ye  maun  just  excuse  us 
the  day";  for  with  all  the  good  will  in  the  world  I  cannot 
make  you  a  "  suitable  return."  Just  "  to  let  you  know 
I  am  in  being,  This  is  intended  for  a  sign."f  - 

On  arriving  in  Edinburgh,  the  first  thing  I  did,  before 
setting  foot  in  any  house,  was  to  rush  off  in  search  of  a 
pocket  combj  for  you  (observe  I  had  not  then  got  your 
Letter);  and  you  can't  think  how  many  shops  I  was  in 
before  I  could  find  one  that  I  thought  you  would  like. 
I  took  it  into  a  Bookshop,  bought  a  slip  of  writing  paper 
to  entitle  me  to  ask  for  pen  and  wax,  and  made  it  up 
(I  couldn't  write,  I  was  all  so  shaky),  then  carried  it  to 
the  general  Post-office,  where  I  met  John  Stodart,  who 
walked  with  me  to  near  Betty's.  I  took  curds  and  cream 
at  Betty's.  Then  on  per  cab  to  Morningside,  where  I 
was  most  warmly  welcomed,  and  found  your  Letter. 

*" Peesweep"  ( Peewit =Lap wing),  appropriate  nickname  of 
my  imbecile  Clerk  (now,  1866.  a  flourishing  Literary  character!) 
— T.  C. 

fSee  ante,  p.  17 n. 

jl  have  it  still.— T.  C.  (1869.) 


144  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

I  was  so  provoked  that  you  there  told  me  to  get  a  comb! 
For  my  packet  would  then  arrive  as  the  mere  fulfilment 
of  a  commission  instead  of  a  spontaneous  "  delicate  atten- 
tion," which  it  was. 

I  am  exceedingly  vexed  about  your  "feverishness"; 
for  I  know  it  is  just  that  you  are  taking  the  opportunity 
of  being  your  own  entire  master  to  sit  up  at  nights  and 
work  at  odd  hours  and  play  the  devil  with  yourself.  I 
must  come  back  if  I  don't  get  better  accounts  of  you. 

I  am  to  start  at  half-past  eleven  to  catch  the  midday 
boat  to  Burntisland;  and  the  morning  is  already  gone 
in  breakfast,  "  prayers,"  etc. — I  write  this  on  a  hard  table 
in  my  bedroom,  with  my  head  in  a  whirl  of  anticipation 
of  seasickness,  etc. 

The  hedgehog*  ran  away!  Oh  please,  do  take  care 
of  yourself  and  write  me  another  as  long  nice  Letter. 
I  will  speak  of  the  Proofs  next  time. 

Yours  in  haste, 

JANE  W.  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  170 

To  T.  Carlyle,  Chelsea^ 

Auchtertool,  Monday,  '3  August,  1857.' 

.    .    .    The  Post  Office  arrangements  are  like  all  the 

other  arrangements  here,  enough  to  make  one  stamp  and 

foam    at    the    mouth.     .     .     .    One    day    I    persuaded 

Mary  to  go  as  far  as  the  post-office,  when  she  was  out  on 

*  Which  she  had  bought  at  Haddington  from  a  boy.  See 
Letters  and  Memorials,  ii.  316. 

t  The  first  half  of  tnis  Letter  is  in  Letters  and  Memorials,  ii.. 
322-5. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  145 

her  pony,  and  the  result  was  a  Punch!  I  could  have 
thrown  it  at  your  head.  Neither  was  I  inordinately 
grateful  for  the  Photographs.  The  Letter  came  yesterday 
(Sunday)  at  midday  with  the  Precentor.  I  wrote  to 
Lady  Sandwich,  and  was  going  to  write  to  you,  when  I 
was  told  the  Precentor  took  back  the  Letters  on  Sunday 
as  well  as  brought  them,  and  was  ready  to  start. 

A  thousand  thanks  for  your  attentions  to  these  blessed 
animals.  I  had  thought  how  disagreeable  Tait  must  be 
making  himself  to  the  canaries,  and  was  very  pleased  it 
had  struck  you  also.  My  compliments  to  Ann,  and  thanks 
for  the  care  of  the  "  children." — 

I  have  not  announced  myself  to  Fergusdom — don't 
intend  to,  until  I  am  on  the  eve  of  departure.  I  had  a 
kind  Letter  from  Isabella*  yesterday,  expressing  her  regret 
that  they  could  never  have  you  and  me  there  a  Summer 
now.  "We  think  it  a  great  hardship"  she  says,  "that 
we  cannot  ask  you  here;  but  the  Doctor  continues  to  do 
as  he  likes."  And  will  as  long  as  he  is  let,  I  reckon. 

I  have  an  invitation  to  a  strawberry-play  this  evening 
at  the  James  Prentices';  but  I  won't  risk  catching  cold  in 
the  open  dog-cart. 

By  all  means  send  me  the  German  Book.  I  was 
obliged  to  fall  back  on  a  stray  volume  of  Shakespeare, 
during  the  night,  and  found  it  very — what  shall  I  say? — 
dull  upon  my  honour!  Love's  Labour  Lost,  it  was. 

A  kiss  to  Nero. 

Yours  affectionately, 

JANE  W.  CARLYLE. 

*  Mrs.  James  Carlyle,  Scotsbrig. 
VOL.  II.-10 


146  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

What  would  Varnhagen  say  to  this  penmanship? 
Heavens!  a  man  who  writes  like  that  at  his  age  doesn't 
deserve  to  live! 

LETTER  171 

To  T.  Carlyle,  Chelsea. 

Auchtertool,  Friday,  7  August,  1857. 
Oh  my  Dear!  I  am  going  to  put  you  off  with  another 
scrap;  tho'  besides  my  promise  of  a  deliberate  Letter 
to-day,  there  is  come  a  nice  good  Letter  from  you  to  be 
answered.  It  is  not  physical  inability,  however,  that 
hinders  at  present.  I  slept  last  night  after  my  "dreadful 
gripe,"  and  feel  better  for  the  moment.  But  just  before 
your  Letter  came,  Walter  offered  me  a  drive  to  Kirkcaldy, 
and  as  I  can't  take  walking  exercise  just  now,  I  thought 
a  drive  would  be  a  "  great  advantage."  Besides  that  it 
would  give  an  opportunity  to  the  Post-office  after  the 
London  mail  came  in.  So  I  welcomed  the  proposal  "in 
my  choicest  mood,"  and  went  up  stairs  to  write  to  you 
why  I  wasn't  writing,  in  case  you  should  fancy  me  worse; 
and  to  put  my  things  on;  when  what  should  follow  me 
but  your  Letter!  Most  unexpected  blessing.  For  a  girl 
who  was  sent  to  Kirkcaldy  last  night  to  bring  "suet  and 
plums"  for  an  improvised  dinner-party  here  to-day,  was 
told  by  me  to  ask  at  the  Post-office,  and  brought  the 
parcel  of  photographs,  etc. ;  but  no  Letter.  How  a  Letter 
can  have  arrived  since,  I  don't  understand  the  least  in 
the  world.  I  was  very  glad  of  even  the  Photographs 
last  night,  tho'  the  Study  is  horrible  to  see!  So  black 
that  it  gives  one  the  idea  of  a  dungeon  more  than  anything 
else;  and  Oh  my!  so  disorderly  that  I  felt  a  wild  impatience 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  147 

to  be  there  redding  it  up  a  bit.  Tait  gives  me  the  idea 
of  a  man  going  mad  rather  than  gathering  sense.  The 
little  figures  under  the  awning  however  are  charming; 
and  one  won't  grudge  him  a  little  "fame"  for  these  "a 
hundred  years  hence." 

I  am  better  situated  in  material  respects  than  I  was  at 
first  here:  Maggie  having  seen  with  her  eyes  the  bad  effects 
produced  on  me  by  their  distracted  way  of  living,  now 
makes  a  point  of  giving  me  my  meals  early  and  regularly, 
which  is  not  hard  to  do,  since  I  "want  but  little  here 
below," — in  the  shape  of  food.  Also  I  myself  have  been 
driven  by  pressure  of  circumstances,  from  my  usual 
modesty,  and  actually  express  my  likings  and  dislikings, 
with  a  certain  Oliver  Twist  boldness.  So  I  shall  do  very 
well  till  the  "insipid  offspring"  with  two  nurses  arrives  on 
the  scene,  and  then,  having  given  it  due  lyrical  recognition 
and  congratulated  the  Mother  on  having  done  what 
England  expected  of  her,  and  more,  I  may  be  off  to  Morn- 
ingside,  with  at  least  no  harm  done. — I  had  been  thinking 
of  Portobello  myself, — or  rather  Anne  Welsh  had  suggested 
that  expedient  for  combining  comfort  with  seabathing. 
I  shall  see  (as  the  blind  man  said).  .  .  . 

God  keep  you.    Excuse  this  hurried  scrawl. 
Yours  affectionately, 

JANE  W.  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  172 

To  Mrs.  Aitken,  Dumfries. 

Morningside,  Saturday,  '22  Aug.,  1857.' 
My  dear  Jean — Thanks  a  thousand  for  your  kind  in- 


148  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

vitation.  Certainly  if  I  could  be  persuaded  into  changing 
my  mind,  and  doing  what  I  had  settled  not  to  do,  you 
would  have  persuaded  me,  by  the  warmth  and  urgency 
of  your  words.  But  I  am,  as  you  can  hardly  need 
to  be  told,  "vera  obstinate  in  my  own  way!" — might 
challenge  the  world,  I  think,  to  produce  an  instance  of 
my  ever  doing  a  thing  I  had  once  positively  refused  to  do! 
And,  my  Dear,  I  positively  refused  to  go  to  Dumfriesshire 
this  season,  weeks  ago.  You  may  be  sure  it  was  not  from 
want  of  asking  that  I  have  not  been  to  Thornhill  and 
am  not  meaning  to  go.  ...  Thornhill  where  I  had 
never  been  till  last  year  since  my  Mother's  death,  and 
then  for  only  a  few  days,  still  looks  too  emotional  by  far 
for  weak  nerves  and  worn-out  spirits.  If  I  got  strong 
and  courageous  and  all  that  at  Sunny  Bank,  I  might 
perhaps  go  home  by  Thornhill,  I  thought;  I  would  wait 
and  see.  So  I  waited  and  saw — that  it  was  "no  go." 
Not  that  I  am  not  stronger  since  I  left  London.  For 
the  first  week  or  two,  I  improved  very  decidedly;  and 
tho'  I  have  fallen  back  since,  especially  during  my  fortnight 
at  Auchtertool  (where  I  couldn't  avoid  going,  being  so 
near),  still  I  have  not  fallen  back  to  the  London  point  of 
inability;  and  hope  that  my  travels  in  search  of  health 
won't  be  trouble  and  money  wasted  after  all. 

But  I  am  far  from  feeling  up  to  any  superfluous  knock- 
ing about,  or  superfluous  excitement;  am,  as  dear  Betty 
says,  "ower  wake  for  toiling  myself."  So  I  wrote  to  Mrs. 
Russell  a  fortnight  ago,  that  I  had  quite  decided  to  go 
back  to  London  the  way  I  came.  (Rest  of  the  Letter 
a-wanting.) 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  149 

LETTER  173 

To  T.  Carlyle,  Chelsea. 

Craigenvilla,  Morningside,  25  Aug.,  1857. 

Perhaps  a  Letter  from  you  may  just  be  at  hand,  Dear. 
Indeed  I  am  sure  there  is!  But  if  I  wait  for  its  coming, 
there  mayn't  be  leisure  to  write  after,  as  I  have  engaged 
to  make  to-day  a  series  of  calls  in  this  quarter.  Mrs. 
Thomas  Graham  (Agnes  Veitch),  Major  Davidson,  the  Miss 
Dunlops  (Nieces  of  Mrs.  Rennie  of  Phantasy),  Augusta 
Stodart, — are  all  planted  in  "TPillas"  within  sight  of  this 
one.  Besides,  Mrs.  Paterson,  for  whom  I  will  leave  a 
card,  if  she  is  as  is  most  likely  at  Linlathen;  and  poor 
Mrs.  Samuel  Brown  whom  I  will  call  for,  tho'  I  never 
saw  her,  because  these  Browns  and  Littlejohns  have  such 
a  reverence  for  both  you  and  my  Father. 

As  I  was  driving  out  here  the  night  of  my  arrival, 
my  cab  was  met  by  an  open  carriage  with  two  ladies  in 
it;  one  of  them  had  her  face  turned  full  on  me, — a  tiny 
face,  sharp  as  a  razor,  with  large  dark  eyes,  set  off  by  hair 
as  white  as  snow,  and  plenty  of  it.  The  thought  passed 
thro'  my  mind  "can  that  possibly  be  Agnes  Veitch?  she 
lives  hereabouts,  and  they  said  her  hair  was  quite  white." 
At  the  same  instant  the  thought  was  passing  through  the 
other's  mind,  "can  that  possibly  be  Jeannie  Welsh? 
there  was  luggage  on  the  cab,  and  they  said  she  was  grown 
so  thin."  Next  day  she  asked  her  Brother,  Colonel 
Hamilton,  to  come  with  her  to  the  address  I  had  given 
him  a  fortnight  before,  to  see  if  I  was  come,  and  if  that 
was  me.  Both  of  us  at  meeting  exclaimed  the  same 


150  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

words:  "and  it  really  was  you  I  saw!"  "I  can't  under- 
stand it,"  she  said,  "you  seem  to  me  grown  so  tall!"  It 
was  she  who  was  crined  into  a  little  fairy!  Dear,  dear! 
"Forty  years  makes  a  great  odds  on  a  girl!"  I  observe 
the  only  people  who  recognise  one  readily,  are  the  men 
who  were  in  love  with  one.  John  Stodart  looks  always 
as  if  he  not  only  knew  me  at  any  distance,  but  was  meeting 
me  by  appointment!  Yesterday  James  Seaton,  who  had 
not  seen  me  since  I  was  Miss  Welsh,  after  one  hesitating 
glance,  came  up  to  me  in  Princes  Street  and  spoke.  He 
seemed  so  pleased  that  I  on  my  side  recognised  him; 
and  I  did  not  tell  him  it  was  because  he  had  grown  into 
his  own  Father!  whom  I  knew  to  be  dead.* 

I  had  a  Letter  from  Geraldine  [Jewsbury]  yesterday 
morning,  doing  her  best  to  undo  your  considerate  kindness, 
and  make  me  uncomfortable.  Ann  was  "still  so  weak 
and  far  from  well!"  Even  "Nero,  poor  dear,  was  looking 
so  thin!"  You,  indeed,  she  represented  as  well,  and  in 
the  best  humour  and  spirits, — dwelling  on  it,  as  if  she 
wished  to  "make  me  sensible"  how  much  happier  you 
were  for  having  me  out  of  your  way!  Her  Letter  rasped 
me  all  over  like  a  file;  and  I  told  her  so,  and  begged  her 
not  to  write  about  my  home  affairs  in  future.  She  said 
she  had  prescribed  camomile  tea  for  Ann;  will  you  tell 
Ann,  with  my  kind  regards,  that  I  particularly  desire 
she  will  not  take  anything  Miss  Jewsbury  prescribes; 
for  she>  knows  nothing  whatever  of  Medicine,  and  would 

*  Mrs.  Carlyle,  as  she  became  older,  grew  more  and  more  into 
the  likeness  of  her  Mother.  In  another  unpublished  Letter  of 
about  this  date,  I  think,  she  tells  Carlyle  that  more  than  one  old 
friend  exclaimed  on  meeting  her  after  long  absence :  "  Bless  me, 
how  like  her  Mother  Jane  has  grown." 


Qrh, 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  151 

poison  a  cat  if  she  had  her  way.    But  I  daresay  Ann's 
good  sense  will  make  this  caution  needless. 

I  mean  to  go  to  Sunny  Bank  on  Saturday.  Not  that 
I  am  not  doing  better  here;  but  I  begin  to  weary  of  seeing 
"how  they  ak  in  the  various  places";  and  to  long  for 
home; — if  only  I  could  do  any  good  when  there!  I  never 
thought  of  staying  longer  here  than  into  next  week,  and 
my  experience  of  last  Sunday  shows  me  it  will  be  better 
to  escape  another.  They  did  not  urge,  or  indeed  ask, 
me  to  go  to  Church;  for  I  was  evidently  weakly,  and  it 
was  a  wet  day  (by  good  luck).  But  on  Sundays  it  is 
the  rule  of  the  house  to  have  no  dinner!  only  tea  two 
hours  earlier  than  usual;  along  with  which  7,  as  a  stranger 
still  in  the  bonds  of  the  flesh,  was  permitted  to  have  one 
egg.  Then,  to  compensate  to  the  soul  for  the  exigence 
of  the  body,  five  sermons  were  read  to  me  in  the  course  of 
the  day!  No  evading  them  without  getting  into  hostile 
discussion.  And  the  quantity  of  sermons  with  the  no 
dinner  gave  me  an  indigestion  during  the  night.  My 
other  nights  here  have  been  pretty  fairish. — So  I  think 
it  will  be  best  not  to  incur  all  that  again,  when  I  was 
meaning  to  go  in  another  day  or  two  in  any  case. 

No  Letter  come  yet; — only  one  by  the  first  delivery, 
from  poor  little  Mary  at  Auchtertool,  deploring  my  ab- 
sence as  "the  only  charitable  individual  who  did  not 
worry  and  bother  her  about  making  efforts,  etc."  Yes, 
"fellow-feeling  makes  us  wond'rous  kind."  No  more 
Proofs  for  me  yet?  I  should  like  the  Novel  sent  to  Sunny 
Bank;  I  could  read  it  aloud  to  them. 

Yours  ever,  JANE  W.  CARLYLE. 


152  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

Just  as  I  had  put  my  Letter  in  the  envelope,  yours 
is  come.  Many  thanks.  For  Godsake,  when  lightning 
comes,  don't  take  shelter  under  trees  ! ! 

LETTER  174 

To  T.  Carlyle,  Chelsea. 

Sunny  Bank,  Sunday,  30  Aug.,  1857. 

Thanks!  You  are  really  a  good  correspondent, — con- 
sidering. Wherever  I  have  been,  praises  have  been  show- 
ered on  your  " punctuality  in  writing";  your  " attention 
to  me,"  etc.,  etc.  But  it  isn't  "with  the  reciprocity  all  on 
one  side!"  tho'  nobody  praises  my  punctuality  in  writing; 
my  attention  to  you! 

Oh,  my  Dear!  I  was  prettily  frightened  in  finishing  up 
my  last  Letter.  I  had  reason  to  believe  I  was  taking  a 
"cold"  (in  my  emphatic  sense  of  the  word!)  and  what  was 
to  become  of  me?  How  was  I  to  get  home?  Worse  and 
worse  I  grew  all  the  evening;  my  skin  burning,  and  violent 
pains  hi  my  face  and  back!  By  a  decided  inspiration  of 
Nature,  I  asked  Miss  Jess  to  give  me  a  stiff  little  tumbler 
of  Hollands  Toddy!  I  drank  it  and  retired  to  bed  while 
the  intoxication  lasted;  fell  into  the  soundest,  longest 
sleep  I  have  had  for  some  years;  and  got  up  next  morning 
as  well  as  ever! 

But  how  I  wish  now  I  had  my  long  journey  safely  over! 
If  I  could  only,  like  the  "Princess  of  China  "  (in  the  Arabian 
Nights) j  be  carried  thro7  the  air,  asleep  in  my  bed,  and  set 
down  on  the  roof  of  my  own  house!  I  fear  far  more  the 
journey  back  than  I  did  the  journey  hither.  I  seemed 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  153 

then  to  have  nothing  to  lose;  now  I  am  so  desirous  (God 
knows  for  your  sake  as  well  as  my  own)  to  take  back  my 
little  gains  of  strength  and  sleep,  and  cheerfulness,  un- 
broken upon  by  exposure  or  fatigue.  Oh  dear!  that 
one  should  ever  live  to  have  to  bother  so  much  about 
oneself!  I  had  been  considering  about  making  two  days 
of  the  journey;  and  would  do  it,  if  I  could  find  a  travelling 
companion,  or  had  any  known  house  to  put  up  at  on  the 
road.  But  all  alone  in  a  Railway  Hotel,  no  amount  of 
Hollands,  I  fancy,  could  put  me  to  sleep  in  that  circum- 
stance! 

Well,  no  more  about  it  just  now:  for  I  haven't  yet 
fixed  my  day;  haven't  been  up  to  speaking  of  it;  It  takes 
more  courage  than  I  have  always  at  hand  nowadays,  to 
answer  the  pleadings  of  these  dear  old  women  with  "I 
must,"  "I  will." 

Meanwhile  I  am  reading  the  sheets  to  them.  .  .  . 
[The  greater  part  of  the  remainder  of  this  Letter  is  printed 
in  Letters  and  MemorialSj  ii.,  338-9.] 

LETTER  175 

To  T.  Carlyle,  Chelsea. 

Sunny  Bank,  Friday,  '4  Sep.,  1857.' 

Oh,  my  Dear!  When  one  is  living  for  one's  body  as  I 
have  been  during  this  Summer, — exercising  it,  feeding  it, 
changing  its  air,  keeping  it  "always  happy  and  tranquil" 
(as  old  Dr.  Morrah  ordered), — to  the  best  of  one's  human 
knowledge  and  ability;  and  then  lies  down  some  night  in 
the  most  perfect  of  beds,  in  the  profoundest  silence,  and 


154          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

can't  get  one  wink  of  sleep,  no  how, — then  you  see,  "one  is 
vaixed!" 

This  morning  especially,  I  have  got  up  very  "vaixed" 
indeed.  I  can  ill  afford  a  whole  night's  sleep,  with  that 
long,  dubious  journey  so  near!  You  would  have  pitied 
me,  had  you  seen  me,  between  four  and  five  this  morning, 
"sitting  cocking  up  in  bed"  (as  you  call  it),  my  candle 
lighted,  my  spectacles  on,  and  studying  Brydone's  Rail- 
way Directory,  a  sort  of  Bradshaw-made-easy ! !  As  hour 
after  hour  of  the  night  dragged  on,  my  thoughts  had 
become  more  and  more  fluttery  and  locomotive,  till  they 
seemed  like  young  swallows,  sweeping  circles  "in  my  own 
inside,"  preparatory  to  taking  flight  thro'  infinite  space! 
Pleasant! 

"  Send  your  Son  to  Ayr, 

If  he's  a  fool  here, 

He'll  be  a  fool  there  I" 

(I  got  that  from  Miss  Donaldson  last  night.)  Also,  here 
is  a  Chinese  proverb  I  found  in  last  Quarterly,  "The  dog  in 
the  kennel  barks  at  his  fleas;  the  dog  who  hunts  does  not 
feel  them." 

What  an  example  of  noble  patience  I  have  before  me 
here!  I  admire  that  old  blind,  deaf  Miss  Donaldson  al- 
most to  tears;  and  go  fretting  on  at  everything  that  does 
not  quite  suit  me!  Just  once  in  all  the  time  I  have  been 
beside  her,  has  a  word  of  regret  about  herself  escaped  her 
lips.  She  had  been  speaking  of  the  morning  of  my  Fa- 
ther's death,  when  she  came  to  us  like  a  helpful  angel. 
"Never  shall  I  forget  that  morning,"  she  said;  her  voice 
broke  down,  and  she  added,  with  tears  rolling  over  her 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  155 

dear  wrinkled  face:  "Oh,  when  I  recall  the  many  sorrow- 
ful scenes  I  have  passed  through,  and  think  of  myself  as 
I  am,  blind,  deaf,  useless  to  myself  and  others,  I  think  I 
could  just  cry  the  whole  night  through;  but  we  mustn't 
give  way!  No!  as  David  said, 'be  dumb!"  .  .  . 

Along  with  the  sheets*  yesterday,  came  a  disagreeable 
Letter  from  Geraldine;  all  her  Letters  since  I  came  here 
have  been  most  disagreeable.  I  think  she  is  growing  into 
what  is  called  an  "ill-natured  old  maid,"  only  that  so  long 
as  Mr. is  to  the  fore,  she  has  no  idea  of  old-maid- 
hood!  In  her  last,  she  gives  me  to  understand  that  Ann 
would  much  prefer  me  to  stay  away!  In  fact,  all  along 
she  has  been  impressing  on  me  in  sly  terms,  that  my  ab- 
sence was  felt  to  be  good  company  at  Cheyne  Row;  and 
that  if  I  ever  came  back  it  would  be  at  the  risk  of  spoiling 
everybody's  good  humour! ! 

Nevertheless,  I  may  be  looked  for  on  Wednesday  night, 
if  you  hear  nothing  to  the  contrary.  ...  I  must  to 
the  Station  here  and  ask  questions. 

In  my  next  you  will  have  the  final  decision. 
Yours  affectionately, 

JANE  W.  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  176 

To  T.  Carlyle,  Chelsea. 

Sunny  Bank,  Sunday,  6  Sep.,  1857. 

A  last  brief  Letter!  Very  brief  it  must  be;  for  I  have 
not  free  use  of  my  right  hand,  for  the  moment;  and  never 

*  Proofsheets  of  Frederick. 


156  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

could  do  anything  with  my  left;  and  cannot,  like  Miss 
Biffin,  manage  the  pen  with  my  tongue. 

I  "happened  a  misfortune"  yesterday  morning;  such 
an  innocent,  idyllic  misfortune!  I  was  stung  by  a  wasp  in 
the  forefinger  of  my  right  hand.  My  sponge  was  in  the 
basin  of  water,  I  took  hold  of  it  to  squeeze  it  out,  and 
sprang  as  if  I  had  taken  hold  of  a  torpedo!  Such  a  shock 
of  pain  shot  up  to  the  very  roots  of  my  hair.  Gazing 
amazed  at  the  dropt  sponge  as  in  the  presence  of  the  In- 
finite, I  saw  walking  fiercely  over  it  a  discomposed  wasp! 
Then  I  knew  what  had  happened  to  me,  and  ran  for  honey. 
Of  course  my  finger  is  all  swelled  up  like  a  little  black 
pudding;  but  the  pain  is  abating;  and  I  dare  say  itj  will 
be  all  right  by  Wednesday.  The  absurdest  part  of  it  is 
that  just  the  night  before,  I  happened  another  misfortune 
to  my  left  hand!  poured  some  fierce  acid  over  it,  under 
the  name  of  aromatic  vinegar,  with  which  I  was  filling 
Miss  Jess's  Vinaigrette;  and  that  hand  had  to  be  wrapped 
up  in  cotton  wool  for  twelve  hours!  It  is  now  merely  red.* 

Under  these  adverse  circumstances,  I  will  confine  my- 
self to  the  strictly  practical.  I  keep  to  my  purpose  of 
going  on  Wednesday  morning  by  the  North  British.  I 
think  I  have  discovered  a  system  of  trains  by  which  I  can 
get  from  here  to  London  in  the  daytime  without  the  long 
carriage  drive  at  the  outset.  I  expect  to  arrive  at  King's 
Cross  at  half-past  nine;  but  don't  come  to  meet  me,  as  we 
should  not  find  each  other  in  the  dark,  and  I  always  manage 

*This  shows  well  the  extraordinary  sensitiveness  of  Mrs. 
Carlyle's  nature;  and  also  how  she  could  make  a  thrilling  story, 
almost  a  tragedy,  out  of  a  very  trifling  accident.  How  many  of 
the  "tragedies,"  of  which  she  is  the  much  pitied  heroine,  have 
a  like  slender  basis  of  reality? 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  157 

well  enough  with  my  luggage.    It  will  be  best  you  wait 
for  me  at  home. 

The  Book  goes  on  like  an  old  Romance  without  the 
fiction.  What  better  kind  of  History  could  one  wish?  If 
there  were  plenty  such,  you  would  have  the  consolation 
of  seeing  me  abjure  Novels. 

On  Wednesday  then,  please  God. 

Yours  affectionately, 

JANE  W.  CARLYLE. 
,  Tell  Nero. 

LETTER  177 

To  Mrs.  Russellj  Thornhill. 

Chelsea,  '15  September,  1857.' 

Oh,  Mary,  Mary!  Does  it  ever  enter  your  head  to 
calculate  how  long  it  is  since  you  received  my  last  Letter? 
What  are  you  doing,  my  Dear,  that  justifies  you  in  your 
own  eyes  for  not  writing  to  me?  Don't  you  love  me?  and 
don't  I  love  you — as  a  Sister?  And  are  people  to  love, 
and  be  loved  by,  as  plenty  as  blackberries,  that  nothing 
should  be  done  with  them  but  wishing  them  well,  at  a 
distance?  If  there  were  nothing  else  in  it,  have  you  no 
curiosity  about  my  how  and  where?  The  date  of  this 
Letter  will  show  you  where  I  am;  but  I  have  a  good  mind 
not  to  tell  you  how  I  am,  since  you  don't  ask!  Only  this,  I 
am  home  at  Cheyne  Row  again,  with  my  time  more  at  my 
own  disposal  than  when  living  in  other  people's  houses*; 
and  if  you  expect  to  be  "well  let  alone"  in  your  silence, 
you  will  find  yourself  mistaken;  for  I  will  write  you  Letter 
on  the  back  of  Letter,  till  I  shame  you  into  being  a  better 
correspondent. 


158  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

I  repined  a  good  deal  at  not  seeing  you,  when  within 
such  a  manageable  distance.  But  if  restricting  myself  to 
one  part  of  the  country  deprived  me  of  some  pleasure,  it 
spared  me  a  good  deal  of  a  thing  I  cannot  take  too  little  of 
at  present,  viz.,  emotion;  and  was  best  for  the  end  I  had 
in  view, — to  get  back  some  strength  before  Winter.  Had 
my  time  in  the  Country  been  spent  as  the  year  before,  in 
hurrying  from  place  to  place,  I  shouldn't  have  come  back 
as  well  as  I  am.  I  went  nowhere  but  to  my  Cousins  and 
Aunts  and  my  dear  old  Friends  at  Haddington.  I  was 
only  a  fortnight  at  Auchtertool, — the  bustle  of  dinner- 
parties and  all  that  did  not  suit  me.  With  my  Aunts  I 
staid  also  a  fortnight,  and  got  on  well  there.  They  were 
as  kind  as  possible,  and  could  see  what  I  needed,  above  all 
things  not  to  be  fussed!  Then  I  returned  to  Haddington 
for  another  fortnight  on  my  way  to  London, — coming  home 
by  Berwick  and  York,  as  I  went.  I  had  an  old  school- 
fellow (a  man)  to  take  care  of  me  on  the  journey,  and 
came  to  no  harm. 

Mr.  C.  says  I  look  much  better,  and  never  ceases  to 
pay  me  compliments  on  my — appetite !  He  seems  to  havff 
got  on  better  without  me  than  my  vanity  led  me  to  ex- 
pect. Ann  was  very  attentive  to  him,  and  I  have  no  doubt 
would  have  liked  me  to  take  a  great  deal  more  "fresh  air" 
than  I  thought  enough.  However,  if  she  mourned  in 
secret  at  having  to  abdicate  the  Mistress-ship,  she  had  the 
grace  to  put  a  good  face  on  it,  and  received  me  very  affably! 
But  Nero!  I  am  shocked  to  have  to  confess  that  Nero 
was  far  from  showing  the  enthusiasm  "  England  expected  " 
of  him!  He  knew  me  quite  well,  but  took  me  very  coolly 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  159 

indeed.  Ann  said  he  had  just  been  sleeping.  Let  us 
hope  he  was  in  a  state  of  indigestion,  in  which  dogs 
are  not  capable  of  being  amiable  any  more  than  their 
owners! 

How  are  your  servants  going  on?    How  do  you  sleep, 
poor  Dear?    How  is  your  Husband,  God  bless  him? 
Tell  me  everything. 

Your  affectionate 

JANE  W.  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  178 

To  Mrs.  Russell,  Thornhill. 

Chelsea,  '2  October,  1857.' 

Dearest  Mary — I  could  not  for  shame  write  to  you  last 
week;  for  I  couldn't  in  writing  have  withheld  the  fact  that 
I  had — got  a  shocking  bad  cold!  (again).  Really  I  found 
myself  making  apologies,  and  explaining  the  cause,  to 
everybody  who  came  in,  as  if  it  had  been  a  punishable 
offence  against  society  I  was  committing.  Harriet 
Martineau  used  to  say  of  me,  with  that  show  of  accuracy 
never  accurate,  which  distinguishes  her,  "Jane  Carlyle 
has  eight  Influenzas  annually;  I  wonder  how  she  survives 
it!"  Now  it  is  getting  to  be  one  Influenza  lasting  all  the 
year  round.  However,  I  must  not  lose  heart;  tho'  it  was 
disappointing  to  fall  ill  just  when  I  had  been  taking  all 
that  trouble  to  strengthen  myself,  and  with  tolerable  suc- 
cess, apparently.  But  really  I  should  have  needed  the 
thick  skin  of  a  horse,  instead  of  being  "born  without  skin! 
as  the  Germans  call  those  born,  as  I  was,  in  the  seventh 


160  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

month,  to  resist  the  masked  batteries  of  cold  air  Mr.  C. 
brought  to  bear  on  me  during  the  East  wind  ten  days  ago. 
He  has  a  mania  about  "  fresh  air,"  this  man,  and  is  never 
happy  unless  all  the  doors  and  windows  are  open.  .  .  . 
However,  I  have  had  the  weather  in  my  favour  and  seem 
to  be  getting  over  the  attack,  which  was  sharp  enough 
while  it  lasted.  .  .  . 

Poor  Mrs.  Scott!  what  horrid  anxiety  she  must  be 
kept  in!  I  thank  God  I  have  nobody  belonging  to  me  in 
India  just  now.  It  is  miserable  enough  to  think  of  the 
wretchedness  of  those  who  have.  I  fear  it  will  be  long 
enough  before  there  is  any  safety  for  those  who  are  there; 
or  any  peace  for  their  friends  at  home.  All  the  Indian 
Officers  I  have  seen,  who  have  any  sense,  and  experience 
of  India,  think  very  badly  of  our  chances  of  reducing  it 
back  to  tranquility;  and  if  Madras  and  Bombay  join  the 
Revolt,  they  think  we  shall  lose  India  altogether.  I  wait 
anxiously  to  see  what  Sir  Colin  Campbell  will  do.  The 
one  sensible  thing  one  has  seen  done  by  the  Home  Gov- 
ernment was  sending  him. 

My  London  friends  are  almost  all  gone  into  the  Coun- 
try, and  the  Town  looks  strangely  dull — the  more  so  from 
our  having  been  used  to  spend  this  part  of  the  year  at  the 
Grange.  Lord  Ashburton  has  been  in  the  Highlands, 
deer-stalking  as  usual,  and  is  going  to  Ireland  with  some 
friends, — not  being  able  to  face  the  Grange.  He  thought 
of  going  to  India,  for  a  resource,  but  was  advised  off  that 
scheme.  It  is  not  so  much  sorrow  that  troubles  him,  one 
would  say,  as  bewilderment.  He  looks  like  a  child  who 
had  lost  his  nurse  in  a  wood. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  161 

Ann  goes  on  well.  I  was  afraid  her  temper  might 
suffer  under  the  loss  of  absolute  Mistress-ship;  but  she 
has  stood  it  pretty  well,  and  her  qualities  and  capabilities 
as  a  servant  come  out  very  strong  in  comparison  with  the 
servants  at  Auchtertool,  where  it  is  "toil  and  trouble" 
from  morning  till  night,  with  three  regular  servants  and 
two  supernumeraries,  and  nothing  able  to  go  on  without 
Maggie  fussing  and  fuming  like  a  little  steam-engine!  I 
wouldn't  lead  such  a  life;  but  Maggie  seems  to  like  it! 
and  as  Walter  seems  to  think  dinner-parties  the  chief  end 
of  life,  it  is  well  for  her  she  does  like  it.  But  it  made  me 
both  sad  and  angry  to  see  such  waste  of  everything, 
— time  and  strength  and  human  faculty,  as  well  as  money. 
Mary  was  fast  falling  into  her  old  bad  way*  when  I  was 
there, — which  I  did  not  wonder  at,  considering  the  late 
and  perfectly  irregular  hours  they  kept,  and  the  stew  of 
hot,  overcrowded  rooms.  But  Dr.  Dewar  put  her  on 
milk  diet  again,  and  under  orders;  and  I  hear  she  is  im- 
proving. But,  Oh  dear,  it  is  a  precarious  life,  hers,  and  its 
precariousness  not  sufficiently  recognised,  by  either  her- 
self or  others.  As  for  Mrs. ,  with  her  infant  and  its 

two  six-feet-high  nurses  attending  her  about  thro'  a  series 
of  visits;  such  an  affected,  bedizened,  caricature  of  a  fine- 
lady  I  never  came  across.  I  could  hardly  keep  my  hands 
off  her.  My  Mother  always  predicted  what  she  would 
grow  to. 

Yours  affectionately, 

J.  W.  C. 

Love  to  the  Doctor. 

*  Of  health. 

VOL.  II. -11 


162  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

LETTER  179* 

To  Miss  Agnes  Howden,  Maitlandfield,  Haddington. 

Chelsea,  24  Oct.,  1857. 

Simpleton! — Not  you,  my  Dear;  but  me! — There  was 
I  all  a-gog  at  having  found  quite  a  jewel  of  a  correspondent ! 
a  correspondent,  actually,  who  would  go  on  with  not 
exactly  "all  the  reciprocity  on  one  side"  (as  the  dear  Irish 
say)  but  pretty  nearly  so!  The  very  sort  of  correspondent 
I  had  been  wishing  for  all  my  life.  Ach!  and  "don't  I 
wish  I  may  get  it?" — You,  like  the  rest,  it  would  seem, 
write  only  on  the  Letter-for-letter  principle;  and,  bless 
your  sweet  face,  no  thanks  to  you  then! — Plenty  of  men, 
women  and  children  will  write  me  Letters  on  the  simple 
condition  of  my  answering  them.  Nay  plenty  of  men, 
to  do  them  justice,  will  write  me  one,  two,  three  Letters 
on  condition  of  my  answering  the  third.  But  even  that 
does  not  suit  my  humour  always.  I  like  to  be  left  to  the 
free,  spontaneous  use  of  both  my  pen  and  my  tongue; 
and  any  one  who  stands  on  "the  three  thousand  punctu- 
alities" with  me,  doesn't  know  his  or  her  own 
interest. 

Well,  in  consideration  of  the  ivy-leaf  in  your  last, 
I  forgive  your  silence  this  time.  But  look  sharp!  and 
don't  disappoint  the  romantic  faith  I  felt  in  you.  At 
my  age,  and  with  my  experience  of  the  world,  it  costs 
one  such  a  wild  effort  to  believe  in  youthful  enthusiasm, 

*  I  have  to  thank  Mr.  Geo.  A.  Lumsden,  secretary  of  the  Car- 
lyle  House  Memorial  Trust,  for  permission  kindly  given  me  to  take 
a  copy  of  Letters  179  and  181,  the  originals  of  which  were  gener- 
ously presented  to  the  Trust  by  Miss  Agnes  Howden. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  163 

that  when  one  has  believed  and  finds  oneself  cheated,  the 
reaction  is  formidable. 

What  a  mercy  your  Father  has  no  crop  on  the  ground 
to-day!  if  there  is  like  here.  It  has  rained  what  a  Scotch 
servant  of  mine  used  to  call  "hale  water ,"  ever  since  I 
got  out  of  bed:  and  to  complete  my  discomfort,  I  am 
lamed  in  the  two  first  fingers  of  my  right  hand:  burnt 
them  very  bad — "with  sealing-wax }  of  course?"  a  lady 
asked  me.  The  "of  course"  was  a  piece  of  fine-lady 
logic,  which  I  met  by  the  startling  avowal:  "No,  with 
the  handle  of  a  brass  pan,  in  preserving  cranberries." 
And  now  I  shall  be  regarded  by  that  lady  with  a  sort  of 
sacred  horror,  as  a  woman  who  has  handled  a  brass  pan. 
For,  being  Grandchild  of  a  mechanic,  she  shudders  "of 
course"  at  any  one  who  has  the  use  of  his  (or  her)  hands, 
or  at  least  uses  them.  The  cranberry  jam  has  turned  out 
excellent,  anyhow;  and  for  the  rest,  it  was  worth  while 
almost,  burning  oneself,  to  ascertain  the  superiority  of 
cotton-wool  beyond  all  other  applications  for  burns  I  ever 
tried  before! — That  reminds  me  to  ask,  does  your  Father 
prescribe  Pepsien  [sic]  in  stomach  complaints?  Has  he 
ever  seen  the  blessed  thing?  Ever  heard  of  it?  If  he 
haven't,  no  more  shame  to  him  than  had  he  missed  to 
hear  of  the  pretty  little  French  Empress's  very  latest 
caprice  in  dress!  This  Pepsien  (I  don't  know  if  I  spell  it 
right;  but  as  the  word  is  made  out  of  dispepsia  without 
the  dis,  I  can't  be  very  far  wrong)  is  just  the  very  latest 
caprice  in  Medicine;  that's  all!  It  is  something  scraped 
off  the  inside  of  people's  stomachs  (dead  the  people  must 
be  before  one  can  conveniently  scrape  their  stomachs!), 


164  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

or  the  stomachs  of  beasts  for  that  matter  (the  Bear-stomach 
is  understood  to  supply  most  of  this  something),  and  being 
scraped  off,  it  is  boiled  and  distilled,  and  bottled  and  sold 
and  taken  in  drops;  and  the  patient  thus  furnished  with 
a  fictitious  gastric  juice,  which  enables  him  to  eat  and 
digest  like  a  Bear!  The  Doctors  here  are  prescribing 
it  at  no  allowance;  and  the  Druggists  say  they  can't  get 
enough  for  the  demand.  And  one  hears  of  emaciated 
wretches  with  one  foot  in  the  grave,  plumped  out  like  par- 
tridges on  the  strength  of  it,  and  taking  a  new  lease 
of  their  lives!  Pleasant,  isn't  it,  the  idea  of  swallow- 
ing the  scrapings  of,  say,  a  malefactor's  stomach,  in  drops! 
What  next? — I  have  been  wondering  if  the  whole  calf's- 
stomach  I  brought  salted  from  Scotland  to  make  rennet 
for  curds  (alas  that  the  cream  is  not  included!)  mightn't 
serve  all  the  purposes  of  Pepsien  at  a  cheap  rate?  I  shall 
try,  some  day.  I  should  greatly  prefer  that  to  Palmer's, 
or  Miss  Madeleine  Smith's  (if  she  had  been  hanged),  for 
my  own  use. 

Your  Sister-in-law  told  me  a  sad  little  bit  of  Haddington 
news;  that  Mrs.  David  Davidson's  good  old  Mary  was 
dangerously  ill.  I  am  very  anxious  to  know  the  sequel. 
Many  a  Peeress  could  be  better  spared  than  that  maid- 
of-all-work.  I  can  see  no  life  for  her  poor  Mistress  without 
her. 

Has  your  Brother  "seen  the  grave-digger"  yet?  and 
got  little  Ann  Cameron's  poor  little  Tombstone  set 
up  in  his  Garden,  as  he  promised  me?  "Of  course/7 
not!  And  yet  it  would  have  been  a  pious  deed  to  do! 

My  writing  is  such  as  a  right  hand  minus  its  two 


Jane   Welsh  Carlyle  165 

principal  fingers  can  produce, — so  pray  be  content  with 
it. — Do    you    want    any    more    autographs? — Remember 
me  to  everybody  that  cares  for  my  remembrance. — 
Yours  affectionately, 

JANE  W.  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  180 

To  Mrs.  Russell,  Thornhill. 

Chelsea,  20  November,  1857. 

My  dearest  Mary — I  had  actually  miscounted  about 
whose  turn  it  was  to  write;  and  am  almost  glad  I  did, 
since  it  has  been  the  occasion  for  your  writing  to  me  such 
a  dear  kind  Letter  on  the  " voluntary  principle!"  Don't 
suppose,  however,  I  should  have  kept  silence  much  longer 
even  in  the  mistaken  idea  you  owed  me  a  Letter.  It 
had  been  in  my  head  to  write  for  many  days  back;  but 
what  Mr.  Carlyle  calls  "a  pressure  of  things"  had  made 
it  difficult  for  me  to  carry  out  my  own  inclinations. 

Thank  God,  I  have  not  to  enumerate  among  the  things 
pressing  a  cold, — that  being  my  bug-a-boo  now.  I  have 
been  ill  with  that  thing  which,  for  want  of  a  better  name, 
I  call  "my  sickness"  and  for  which  I  know  only  one  cure, 
to  "pack  my  carpet-bag"  (as  Dr.  Russell  advised)  and 
rush  out  into  space!  But  it  does  not  confine  me  to  the 
house,  that  sickness;  and  does  not  plague  anyone  but 
myself.  I  am  used  to  it  (as  the  pigs  to  killing).  Neither 
does  it  prevent  me  writing  Letters, — only  makes  my 
Letters,  like  everything  else  I  do,  spiritless.— 

My  chief  impediment  has  been  that  weary  Artist  who 


166  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

took  the  bright  idea  last  Spring  that  he  would  make  a 
Picture  of  our  sittingroom*, — to  be  "  amazingly  interesting 
to  Posterity  a  hundred  years  hence."  I  little  knew  what 
I  was  committing  myself  to  when  I  let  him  begin. — For 
the  three  months  before  I  went  to  Scotland,  he  came  and 
painted  twice  a  week;  while  I  was  in  Scotland  he  came 
four  times  a  week;  and  for  the  last  six  weeks  he  has  been 
over-standing  me  like  a  nightmare  every  day!!  except  when, 
please  God,  the  fog  is  so  black  that  he  can't  see.  These 
lower  rooms  are  where  I  have  been  always  used  to  live 
at  this  season;  and  to  keep  up  fire  there,  and  in  the  drawing- 
room  as  well — besides  in  Mr.  C.'s  study  at  the  top  of  the 
house,  is  a  great  expense,  when  coals  are  seven  and  twenty 
shillings  a  cart-load;  and  is  also  a  great  trouble  to  one 
servant.  So  I  have  kept  my  ground  hitherto;  always 
hoping  he  would  get  done.  But,  my  Heavens!  he  will 
make  this  great  "Work  of  Art"  last  him  into  1860,  I 
begin  to  think.  A  whole  day  painting  at  my  portfolio! 
Another  whole  day  over  my  workbox,  and  so  on.  Not 
the  minutest  object  in  these  three  rooms,  opening  into 
one  another,  but  what  is  getting  itself  represented  with 
Vandyke  fidelity!  And  all  the  while  the  floor  won't  be 
•fiat  for  the  life  of  him.  I  suspect  he  aims  at  more  than 
posthumous  fame  from  this  Picture:  hopes,  perhaps,  some 
admirer  of  Mr.  C.'s,  with  more  money  than  wit  to  guide 
it,  may  give  him  a  thousand  pounds  for  Mr.  C.'s  "  Interior, " 
—the  Portrait  of  Mr.  C.  himself,  and  Mr.  C.'s  Wife,  and 
Mrs.  C.'s  dog  included!  The  dog  is  the  only  member  of 
the  family  who  has  reason  to  be  pleased  with  his  likeness 
*"A  Chelsea  Interior,"  by  R.  Tait. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  167 

as  yet. — This  will  be  the  second  time  my  dog  has  appeared 
in  the  Exhibition! — Meanwhile,  I  can't  settle  to  write 
when  that  man  is  in  the  way.  I  rush  out  and  ride  in 
omnibuses;  I  go  about  the  house  sorting  up,  or  as  the 
American  Ladies  say,  "  reconciling  things."  A  good  deal 
of  that  has  been  needed,  in  prospect  of  my  two  Cousins 
Maggie  and  Mary  coming  to  stay  here  on  their  road  to 
the  Isle  of  Wight,  where  they  mean  to  pass  the  Winter, 
— Auchtertool  being  "too  cold"  (or  too  dull).  I  think 
with  astonishment  of  Mary,  who  can  never  get  up  till 
midday,  undertaking  such  a  journey  at  this  season  and 
paying  visits  all  the  way, — at  Glasgow,  at  Liverpool — 
arid  here! 

I  should  have  greatly  preferred  one  at  a  time:  Mr.  C. 
is  so  dreadfully  busy  just  now,  and  so  easily  disturbed 
that  my  life  is  spent  in  standing  between  him  and  the 
outer  world;  and  how  I  am  to  breast  this  inundation  of 
it  into  the  very  house, — how  I  am  to  make  myself  into 
a  human  partition  between  all  the  interruption  and  fuss 
that  two  young  Ladies  who  have  no  comprehension  of, 
or  sympathy  with  hard  wrork  and  love  of  quiet,  is  more 
than  I  know!  Then  it  suddenly  flashed  on  me  that  I 
had  torn  down  the  head  and  roof  of  the  spare  bed  this 
Summer  (which  had  been  spoiled  by  a  cistern  overflowing 
above  and  pouring  down  into  the  bed  in  the  room  beneath). 
The  room  had  stood  vacant,  and  I  had  forgotten  all  about 
its  desolate  state.  This  flashed  on  me  in  the  night  and 
I  couldn't  sleep  another  wink,  for  haste  to  be  on  foot  and 
out  buying  chintz;  lest  I  should  be  caught,  like  a  foolish 
housewife,  with  my  spare  bed  standing  naked!  Then  I 


168          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

had  to  seek  a  seamstress — almost  as  difficult  to  get  as 
the  philosopher's  stone,  for  all  the  "thirty-thousand 
distressed  needle- women"  who  can't  sew! — and  then  a 
carpenter  who  would  not  keep  me  waiting  a  month; 
and  to  shape  and  do  a  good  deal  of  hammering  myself 
after  all!  Finally,  to-day,  I  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
the  bed  rehabilitated.  But  I  am  so  tired!  for  the  least 
fuss  or  hurry  plays  the  deuce  with  me!  I  wouldn't  go 
to  bed  however  till  I  had  thanked  you  for  your  Letter. — 
I  hope  to  write  to  you  to  better  purpose  soon. 

My  best  love  to  your  Husband.  Ask  him  if  the  fame 
of  pepsine  has  reached  him?  If  not,  I  will  tell  him  about 
it. 

Your  affectionate 

JANE  CARLYLE. 

Every  Letter  I  have  forgotten  to  speak  of  the  sweet- 
briar — I  should  like  you  to  keep  it  over  the  Winter,  and 
send  it  in  Spring. — It  will  surely  grow  with  me  then. 

LETTER  181 

To  Miss  Agnes  Howden,  Maitlandfield,  Haddington. 

Chelsea,  23  Nov.,  1857. 

There's  a  good  Girl!  And  thank  you! — I  choose  the 
present  moment  for  answering,  as  it  is  the  most  improbable 
I  am  likely  to  find!  For  I  have  the  same  sort  of  defiant 
pleasure  in  going  in  the  teeth  of  probability,  that  I  used 
to  have  in  going  in  the  teeth  of  a  high  wind.  I  am  pressed 
for  time,  having  an  appointment  two  miles  off  at  one 
o'clock;  my  attention  is  distracted  by  a  man  painting 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  169 

beside  me,  and  talking;  my  nerves  are  all  in  a  flurry 
from  a  recent  fright;  and  Mr.  Carlyle  has  just  brought  me 
an  impossible  glove  to  mend!  What  more  would  I  have? 
But  the  fright  f  Gracious  Goodness,  the  fright  is  worth 
telling  about! — I  have  a  servant  whom,  during  the  five 
years  that  she  has  been  with  me,  I  had  never  seen  in  a 
hurry,  or  excited,  or  deprived  of  her  presence  of  mind. 
What  then,  was  my  astonishment  when  she  rushed  into 
the  drawingroom  last  night,  with  her  head  tumbled  off 
(as  at  first  it  looked  to  me)  and  carrying  it  in  her  hands ! ! 
and  crying  wildly,  "Oh  Ma'am!  I  must  go  to  a  Doctor! 
(scream).  My  ear,  my  ear!  (scream).  An  animal  has 
run  into  my  ear ! !"  She  was  holding  down  her  head  as 
low  as  her  waist,  her  cap  off,  her  hair  flying,  and  her  hand 
pressed  to  her  right  ear.  I  sprang  forward  and  pulled 
her  fingers  from  her  ear  which  was  full  of  blood.  "What 
animal?"  I  gasped.  "Oh,  I  think  it  is  a  black-beetle ! !" 
— And  the  screams  went  on,  and  she  declared  the  beetle 
was  "running  up  into  her  brain. "  Her  ignorance  of 
anatomy  was  very  unfortunate  at  the  moment!  I  called 
up  Mr.  Carlyle;  for  I  had  lost  all  presence  of  mind,  as 
well  as  herself.  He  took  it  coolly,  as  he  takes  most  things. 
"Syringe  it"  he  said;  "syringing  will  bring  out  any 
amount  of  black-beetles."  There  is  an  Apothecary  at 
the  bottom  of  our  street;  I  threw  a  table-cover  about  her, 
and  told  her  to  run  to  him;  and  I  begged  Mr.  C.  to  go 
with  her,  as  it  was  a  dangerous  thing  for  me  to  go  out  in 
the  night  air.  "Go  with  her?"  he  said.  "What  good 
could  it  do  my  seeing  the  beetle  taken  out  of  her  ear?" — 
But  I  had  read  in  a  newspaper,  not  long  ago,  of  a  man 


170          New  Letters  and  Memoru 

killed  by  some  insect  creeping  into  his  ear;  and  how  did 
I  know  the  Apothecary  was  not  an  ass,  and  might  spoil 
her  hearing  for  life,  with  probes  and  things, — if  indeed 
she  did  not  die  of  it,  or  go  raving  mad,  as  I  should  do  in 
her  place,  I  thought? — I  paced  up  and  down  the  room 
for  some  ten  minutes  like  a  wild  animal  in  its  cage;  then 
put  on  a  cloak  and  bonnet  and  rushed  after  her,  Mr.  C. 
running  after  me  to  pull  me  back. 

When  I  arrived  in  the  man's  little  surgery,  I  found 
poor  Ann  covered  with  soap-suds,  and  comparatively 
calm;  and  the  beetle  (it  actually  was  a  black-beetle) 
extracted  piece-meal  with  a  probe). — " There  might  be 
a  leg  or  so  left,"  he  said;  but  he  would  syringe  the  ear 
again  in  the  morning.  She  would  not  go  back  to  him 
this  morning  however, — the  rushing  sound  being  gone, 
and  the  deafness  remaining  being  owing  she  thinks  to 
the  ear  being  swelled  from  the  rough  treatment  it  got. 
I  was  better  pleased  that  this  man  should  not  probe 
any  more.  If  she  does  not  hear  with  it  to-morrow,  I 
will  send  her  to  a  regular  Surgeon.  Meanwhile  I  feel 
as  if  I  had  been  pounded  in  a  mortar,  with  the  fright  of 
the  thing;  and  have  narrowly  missed  a  cold,  for  I  coughed 
half  the  night.  But  that  is  passed  off,  thank  God.  I 
am  so  afraid  of  another  seven  months'  confinement! 

I  liked  to  hear  of  your  Halloween.  My  ideas  of  Hallow- 
een are  all  connected  with  Maitlandfield :  I  always  spent 
it  there  as  far  back  as  I  recollect.  Have  ducked  for  apples, 
and  burnt  nuts  in  that  very  kitchen  of  yours! 

If  Mrs.  Skirving  wants  to  escape  money  disaster  and 
all  sorts  of  disaster,  she  should  replace  little  Ann  Cameron's 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  171 

poor  little  white  marble  tablet  in  the  Churchyard!  I 
could  not  have  confidence  in  my  Fortunes,  with  such  a 
thing  in  my  cellar.  Could  you? — I  should  like  ill  to  be 
the  Wife  of  a  speculator  just  now!  Mr.  C.  has  or  had 
some  money  in  America.  He  doesn't  recollect  how  much ! 
arid  doesn't  feel  even  a  natural  curiosity  what  is  become 
of  it!  ! — I  have  never  heard  a  word  out  of  his  head  about 
it,  except  to  say  once,  "I  suppose  my  money  will  have 
gone  in  the  crash,  and  poor  Butler  (the  gentleman  who 
invested  it  for  him)  will  be  very  sorry !" — Being  a  Philoso- 
pher's Wife  has  some  advantages! — I  never  think  about 
money  myself;  beyond  what  serves  my  daily  needs; 
but  if  he  weren't  of  the  same  mind,  I  might  be  made 
sufficiently  uncomfortable  about  it. 

And  now,  good  luck  to  you.  Remember  me  to  them 
all.  I  owe  your  Sister-in-law  a  Letter,  which  she  shall 
get  some  day. 

Yours  affectionately, 

JANE  W.  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  182 

To  Mrs.  Russellj  Thornhill. 

Chelsea,  Saturday  night, 
16  January,  1858. 

Dearest  Maiy — There  never  was  woman  had  better 
chance  at  writing  (except  that  my  head  is  far  from  clear) 
than  I  have  this  Winter  evening.  For  I  am  alone  in 
the  house, — as  utterly  alone  as  I  ever  felt  at  Craigen- 
puttock  with  Mr.  C.  gone  over  into  Annandale!  The 
difference  is,  that  Mr.  C.  is  gone  not  to  Annandale,  but 


172          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

to  the  Grange;  and  that  my  servant  instead  of  being 
too  uncouth  to  talk  with,  is  too  ill-tempered.  The  very 
dog  had  a  bilious  attack  overnight,  and  has  lain  all  day 
in  a  stupor!  I  think  I  told  you  in  my  last,  that  both 
of  us  (I  mean  Mr.  C.  and  I)  were  going  to  the  Grange 
for  a  short  time.  And  very  little  pleasure  was  I  taking 
in  the  prospect.  The  same  houseful  of  visitors;  the  same 
elaborate  apparatus  for  living;  and  the  life  of  the  whole 
thing  gone  out  of  it!  acting  a  sort  of  Play  of  the  Past, 
with  the  principal  Part  suppressed,  obliterated  by  the 
stern  hand  of  Death!*  I  didn't  see  at  all  how  I  was  going 
to  get  through  with  the  visit!  when,  lo!  my  Husband's 
friends  "the  Destinies"  cut  me  out  of  all  that  difficulty, 
by  laying  me  down  in  Influenza.  When  the  day  came, 
Mr.  C.  had  to  write  that,  not  only  I  was  unable  to  come, 
but  that  he  could  not  leave  me!  .  .  . 

Geraldine  [Jewsbury]  is  all  but  as  good  as  gone  out 
of  my  life!  She  went  into  Essex  the  day  before  I  returned 
from  Scotland.  Thence,  after  two  months,  she  went  to 
Manchester, — seeing  me  for  just  half  an  hour  in  passing 
thro'  London,  and  is  not  yet  returned.  So  except  for 
that  one  glimpse,  I  have  not  seen  her  since  I  left  for  Scot- 
land in  the  beginning  of  July.  Latterly  she  has  quite 
ceased  to  write  to  me! — She  has  been  making  a  considerable 
of  a  fool  of  herself,  to  speak  plainly;  and  has  got  estranged 
from  me  utterly,  for  the  time  being;  partly  because  her 
head  has  been  pack-full  of  nonsense,  and  partly  because 
I  made  no  secret  of  that  opinion.  You  have  several 

*The  "First  Lady  Ashburton"  (Lady  Harriet)  had  died  OB 
the  4th  of  May,  1857. 


Jane  Welsh  Carhjle  173 

times  asked  about  her,  and  I  always  forgot  to  tell  you, 
or  it  was  too  unpleasant  to  tell.  Geraldine  has  one  be- 
setting weakness:  she  is  never  happy  unless  she  has  a 
grande  passion  on  hand;  and,  as  unmarried  men  take 
fright  at  her  impulsive,  demonstrative  ways,  her  grandes 
passions  for  these  thirty  years  have  been  all  expended  on 
married  men,  who  felt  themselves  safe.  And  she  too, 
always  went  quite  safe  thro'  these  romantic  affairs,  mean- . 
ing  really  nothing  but  whirlwinds  of  sentiment,  and  the 
men  too,  meaning  as  little, — or  less!  But  when  I  was 
in  Scotland  with  you,  she  made  an  intimacy  with  a  Mr. 

who  had  been  ten  years  in  Australia,  unhappily 

not  married,  only  engaged, or  "as  good  as  engaged,"  to 
a  young  Cousin  of  his  own.  For  a  long  time,  it  was  an 
intimacy  "with  the  reciprocity  all  on  one  side."  But 
she  went  on  writing  him  Letters,  inviting  him  to  her 
House,  flattering  him  (he  is  a  proud  shy  man),  doing  him 
all  sorts  of  kindnesses,  till  he  declared  to  his  friends  "he 
couldn't  help  liking  Miss  Jewsbury,  she  was  so  extraordi- 
narily kind  to  him ! !"  He  relied,  I  suppose,  on  his  being 
some  ten  or  twelve  years  younger  than  herself  for  security 
in  accepting  her  kindness.  I  could  not  see  her  committing 
herself,  as  she  did,  and  hear  all  her  acquaintances  chatter- 
ing about  her  "assiduities  for  Mr. ,"  without  testify- 
ing my  displeasure;  and  in  proportion  as  she  attached 
herself  to  him,  she  drew  away  from  me,  got  pettish,  sus- 
picious, and  mysterious.  .  .  .  But  all  that  makes  me 
so  angry  and  what  is  worse  disgusts  me!  It  is  making 
herself  so  small!  openly  making  the  craziest  love  to  a 
man  who,  having  £800  a  year,  may  marry  her  at  any 


174          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

moment  (unless  he  is  going  to  marry  another,  which 
doesn't  make  the  case  better!),  and  doesn't  give  any  sign 
of  intending  to  marry  her!  Gracious!  what  a  luck  I  had 
no  Daughters  to  guide! 

.    .    .    Kind  love  to  the  Doctor.    And,  if  you  please, 
how  came  you  to  assume  the  Photographs  were  wholly 
yours?    I  addressed  them  to  him. — 
Your  affectionate 

JANE  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  183 

To  Mrs.  Russell,  Thornhill. 

Chelsea,  Friday  night,  'Feb'y,  1858.' 
"All  right/'  my  Darling!  that  is  to  say  all  wrong!  but 
nothing  new  wrong.  When  I  caught  that  cold,  first  thing 
I  did  in  the  new  year,  I  accepted  resignedly  the  prospect 
of  being  confined  to  my  drawingroom  till  the  March  winds 
were  over,  and  thus  spared  myself  a  deal  of  useless  strug- 
gling against  Providence.  Since  then,  I  have  been  feeling, 
up  to  the  present  time,  too  sensitive  to  the  weather  (which 
has  continued  to  get  colder  and  colder),  for  venturing  out 
of  doors.  At  the  same  time,  by  taking  better  care  of 
myself  than  I  used  to  do,  I  was  longer  in  falling  ill  this 
Winter  than  last,  and  have  never,  except  the  first  two 
days,  needed  to  keep  my  bed.  I  have  been  up  to  break- 
fast (in  the  drawingroom,  at  the  fire  of  which  I  dress 
myself!)  all  thro'  the  Winter;  and  that  in  itself,  for  a 
woman  who  has  no  natural  turn  for  laziness,  is  an  immense 
gain  on  last  year! 

If  it  hadn't  been  for  that  unblessed  Ann,  who  has 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  175 

caused  me  more  irritation  than  she  is  all  worth,  I  should 
positively  have  rather  enjoyed  my  confinement.  Our 
people  came  earlier  to  Town  than  usual  on  account  of 
the  early  meeting  of  Parliament;  and  they  make  much 
less  of  the  long  drive  to  Chelsea  when  it  is  no  longer  on 
a  chance  of  finding  me  "out."  I  have  quite  as  much  of 
the  outer  world  as  I  want  to  keep  me  from  stagnating. 
I  have  a  great  rug  of  raccoon  fur  to  lie  under  on  the  sofa 
when  I  am  "too  cold  for  anything!"  And  my  friends 
supply  me  with  nice  Novels,  English  and  French!  which 
I  own  to  a  weakness  for,  and  make  no  conscience  of  in- 
dulging in,  when  I  am  not  up  to  serious  study.  Wasn't 
it  permitted  me  to  read  the  Arabian  Nights  instead  of 
Rollings  Ancient  History  when  I  had  the  measles?  And 
so  I  rather  liked  having  the  measles,  I  remember! 

My  delay  in  writing  has  been  owing  chiefly  to  a  fixed- 
idea  in  the  head  of  a  certain  charming  Mrs.  Hawkes. 
This  lady  is  an  Artist.  In  her  days  of  prosperity  she 
painted  pictures  in  oil  for  her  pleasure;  now  .  .  . 
she  has  taken  seriously  to  painting  as  a  profession,  partly 
to  escape  from  her  vexations,  partly  to  eke  out  her  means. 
She  has  been  recommended  to  send  a  Picture  to  the  Ex- 
hibition this  year,  and  my  face,  such  as  it  is,  being  familiar 
to  Ruskin,  Tom  Taylor  and  the  other  Exhibition  critics, 
she  has  decided  her  Picture  shall  be  a  Portrait  of  me! 
who  had  already  nearly  left  my  life  in  Mr.  Tait's  "In- 
terior" which  also  is  for  the  next  Exhibition.  I  "might 
sit  in  my  usual  corner  of  the  sofa,"  or  I  "might  lie,"  I 
"might  read,"  or  I  "might  go  to  sleep,"  but  paint  me 
she  would,  whether  she  could  or  not,  and  whether  I  liked 


176          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

or  not.  And  so,  for  the  last  fortnight,  she  has  been  com- 
ing every  morning  at  eleven,  and  staying  till  two; — just 
the  time  I  used  to  have  all  by  myself  to  write  in,  or  to 
do  what  other  thing  needed  privacy, — darn  Mr.  C.'s  socks, 
perhaps.  I  dine  between  two  and  three;  and  from  three 
till  six  I  am  seldom  without  callers.  Then  comes  Mr. 
C.'s  dinner,  at  which  I  look  on,  and  tell  him  the  news  of 
the  day;  and  thus  the  only  time  I  have  had  to  write 
Letters  in  is  at  night,  with  Mr.  C.  sitting  opposite  me  at 
the  same  table  (as  at  this  moment),— an  arrangement 
which  feels  to  rather  tie  my  moral  legs  together!  Ac- 
cordingly, I  have  waited  for  a  morning  all  to  myself. 
And  besides  my  affairs  with  Ann  have  become  critical; 
and  I  waited  to  be  delivered  from  the  worry  of  that.  We 
are  at  a  clear  understanding  at  last,  Ann  and  I;  and  never 
was  a  relation  of  five-and-a-half  years  duration  broken  off 
more— what  shall  I  say? — politely!  The  married  woman 
who  for  many  years  has  come  in  to  help  in  any  ceremony, 
or  press  of  work,  had  "thought  it  but  fair"  I  should  know 
Ann  was  meaning  to  leave  at  the  end  of  March,  when  her 
Niece  was  to  go  into  business  as  a  Milliner.  Ann  was 
going  to  stay  three  months  with  her  to  teach  her  house- 
keeping! and  would  then  find  "a  situation  with  a  single 
gentleman  who  kept  an  under  servant  to  do  all  the  rough 
work."  Don't  she  wish  she  may  get  it? — "That  is  the 
reason,"  said  Mrs.  Newnham,  "  that  she  doesn't  care  a  bit 
now  whether  she  pleases  you  or  not." — As  this  woman 
never  said  a  word  to  me  of  any  servant  of  mine  before, 
I  took  her  information  as  authentic,  and  thanked  her  for 
it,  Ann  was  at  her  Mother's  that  Sunday  night  and  came 


Jane   Welsh  Carlyle  177 

home  quite  gracious  and  continued  gracious  for  a  week! 
Had  the  Niece's  scheme  been  visited  by  the  "pigs"  which 
"run  thro'?  "  I  took  no  more  notice  of  her  good  temper 
than  I  had  done  of  her  bad.  One  day  Geraldine  was  here 
(she  came  back  the  very  day  I  last  wrote  to  you) ;  she  fell 
a-talking  about  Ann;  how  her  face  "looked  less  diabolic." 
"It  may  look  as  it  likes/'  I  said;  "if  she  does  not  give  me 
warning  on  the  29th  of  February,  I  shall  give  her  warning 
and  be  done  with  it."  Geraldine  has  a  way,  when  amused, 
of  raising  her  voice  to  a  scream;  and  she  screamed  out 
"you  cannot  give  her  warning  on  the  29th,  my  Dear,  for 
it  isn't  Leap-year!"  I  had  just  heard  Ann  sweeping  in 
my  bedroom  and  any  loud  speaking  may  be  heard  thro' 
the  door  between  the  two  rooms.  I  said  "speak  low," 
but  the  shot  had  clearly  told,  I  fancy.  Ann  came  up  so 
soon  as  Geraldine  was  gone,  and  while  arranging  the  fire- 
place said  carelessly,  "The  coals  will  not  last  out  another 
week,  Ma'am;  I  should  say  they  will  be  done  by  Saturday." 
"Very  well,  more  must  be  had  in  on  Saturday";  and  I 
went  on  reading.  "And,"  continued  Ann,  "if  you  could 

by  any  means  suit  yourself,  I  should  like  to  leave  on " 

"The  29th  of  March,"  I  interrupted  her.  "Yes,  you  will 
leave  then  whether  I  am  suited  or  not;  if  I  had  not  been 
so  helpless  these  two  months  back,  I  should  not  have 
troubled  you  to  stay  even  till  then."  Neither  of  us  said 
another  word;  and  both  had  spoken  in  the  most  natural 
tone!  I  went  on  with  my  reading  and  she  swept  up  the 
hearth,  and  I  call  that  quite  a  dramatic  ending,  for  all  so 
quiet  as  it  was! 

Geraldine  comes  every  day  for  longer  or  shorter  time; 

VOL.  II.-12 


178          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

but  she  is  no  use  to  me  in  this  matter  or  any  other.    She 
is  so  unsettled — "carried"  as  we  call  it.    I  won't  hear  a 

word  about  Mr. out  of  her  head;  and  there  is  nothing 

else  she  has  care  to  talk  about  or  think  about. 

Love  to  the  Doctor. — Poor  Mrs.  Pringle  indeed!  I 
have  not  written  to  her  yet. 

Your  ever  affectionate 

JANE  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  184 

To  Mrs.  Russell,  Thornhill 

Chelsea,  29  March,  1858. 

Dearest  Mary — Considering  how  often  one  makes  ex- 
perience that  evils  are  worse  in  the  expectation  than  in  the 
reality,  it  is  wonderful  perverseness  that  one  lets  the 
expectation  always  do  its  worst,  without  drawing  com- 
fort from  that  well-known  law  of  things.  Here  have  I 
looked  forward  for  weeks  back  to  the  29th  of  March  as  a 
day  of  horrors!  and  now  it  is  come,  and  I  find  myself  pre- 
paring to  pass  my  evening  very  composedly  in  writing  a 
Letter  to  you!  the  most  of  the  forenoon  having  gone  in 
— "sitting"  to  Mr.  Tait  for  the  finishing  touches  to  my 
Portrait  in  that  immortal  Picture  of  his!!  And  yet  Ann 
left  at  midday,  and  I  heard  the  new  servant  come  in  about 
half  an  hour  ago!  Had  I  "trusted  in  Providence"  (as 
your  dear  Father  would  have  advised)  ever  so  much,  I 
could  not  indeed  have  foreseen  how  Ann's  exodus  would  be 
smoothed  for  me;  but  I  might  have  foreseen  that  some 
way  or  other  it  would  be  smoothed,  so  as  to  try  my  sick 
nerves  less  than  it  threatened  to  do  in  prospect. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  179 

But  first  I  must  tell  you  the  adventure  of  my  new 
servant;  for  it  is  of  the  nature  of  an  adventure,  my  last 
choice  of  a  servant!  How  it  will  turn  out,  Heaven  only 
knows.  Either  it  will  be  a  grand  success,  or  an  absurd 
mistake.  It  cannot  turn  out  in  a  medium  way.  Oh,  my 
Dear,  only  fancy!  I  have  hired  a  "Miss  Cameron"  (from 
Inverness), "Daughter  of  a  half -pay  Lieutenant"  (swamped 
in  numerous  progeny,  as  in  the  case  of  the  "  wee  Wifie 
that  lived  in  a  shoe,  who  had  so  many  Bairnies  she  didn't 
know  what  to  do!").  Miss  Cameron  is  31  years  old;  has 
an  intelligent,  affectionate  face,  a  low,  pleasant  voice,  a 
manner  at  once  modest  and  self-possessed;  and  "has 
known  enough  of  life"  she  says,  "to  desire  above  all  things 
a  quiet  home."  Imagine  a  servant  coming  to  one  in  Lon- 
don for  a  quiet  home!  and  knowing  anything  of  life  be- 
yond "  beer,"  "  wages"  and  "  holidays " !  So  far  excellent; 
but  now  for  the  drawbacks.  Miss  Cameron,  having  never 
filled  but  one  "  situation,"  that  of  Lady's  maid  and  Com- 
panion at  General  Osborne's  for  eight  years,  does  not 
know,  naturally,  whether  she  can  clean  a  house,  and  cook 
a  dinner,  till  she  have  tried! !  Hopes  that  she  will  soon 
learn,  if  I  will  "have  patience"  and  tell  her,  or  get  her  told 
how !  And  I  hope  so,  too,  most  sincerely.*  .  .  . 

Mr.  C.  was  mercifully  persuaded  by  Lord  Ashburton 
to  go  this  very  day  to  Addiscombe,  where  I  flatter  myself 
he  will  remain  till  my  "Lieutenant's  Daughter"  has  learnt 
at  least  the  elements  of  "All-work"!  So  had  Providence 

*  In  a  later  letter  Mrs.  Carlyle  says  that  "  Miss  Cameron " 
turned  out  to  be  an  "Irish  Imposter;  was  convicted  of  lying  and 
theft";  and  after  "lasting  just  a  fortnight  and  three  days,"  ran 
away  between  10  and  11  at  night! 


180          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

pre-arranged  for  me!  They  wanted  me  to  go,  too;  and  so 
great  is  my  faith  in  this  new  woman's  trustworthiness 
that  I  should  have  left  her  in  charge  of  the  house  the  same 
day  she  entered  it,  but  that  I  dreaded  risking  myself  in  a 
house  which  has  been  all  Winter  uninhabited.  I  have  only 
been  twice  out  of  doors,  and  only  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
each  time.  And  the  result  of  my  last  turn  in  the  street 
was  a  new  dose  of  cold  which  kept  me  thoroughly  miserable 
most  of  last  week,  and  has  not  yet  quite  passed  over. 
Lady  Sandwich  will  be  three  weeks  at  Addiscombe,  how- 
ever, and  perhaps  I  may  go  by  and  by  for  a  few  days 
before  she  and  Lord  A.  return  to  Town.  I  know  a  little 
change  of  air  would  do  me  good,  if  I  could  have  it  without 
exposing  myself  to  a  fresh  attack. 
.  .  .  Love  to  your  Husband. 

Yours  affectionately, 

JANE  W.  C. 

LETTER  185 

To  T.  Carlyle,  The  Gill,  Annan. 

Chelsea,  Sunday,  27  June,  1858. 

Oh,  my!  how  slow!  Only  from  Wednesday  night  till 
Sunday  morning  that  I  have  been  "let  alone"!  It  looks 
three  weeks  at  the  least!  Not  that  I  have  either  done  or 
seen  much  to  lengthen  out  the  time.  The  field  of  new-cut 
hay,  the  only  thing  I  can  be  said  to  have  seen,  was  nothing 
to  speak  of.  And  I  have  not  done  yet  so  much  as  the  one 
thing  wherewith  I  was  privately  minded  to  celebrate  your 
departure, — have  not  gone  yet  to  Stokes  to  get  one  of  my 
few  remaining  back  teeth  wrenched  out!  It  is  the  two 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  181 

Letters  from  you,  out  of  Scotland,  I  think,  that,  con- 
founding the  ideas  of  time  and  space,  give  such  preternat- 
ural length  to  these  three  days! 

Mrs.  Welsh*  called  yesterday  .  .  .  John  [Welsh] 
came  to  take  his  Mother  home,  and  bid  me  good-bye.  His 
cough  was  worse  than  I  ever  heard  it,  and  his  spirits  at  the 
lowest.  .  .  .  It  is  the  same  cough,  the  same  haggard, 
exhausted  look,  that  I  never  knew  in  any  of  the  Family 
(and  I  have  known  it  often  enough!)  end  otherwise  than 
fatally.  Well,  our  Family  is  destined  to  vanish  from  the 
face  of  the  earth,  it  would  seem!  And  yet  it  was  a  Family 
with  some  high  quality  in  it!  Health  superadded,  it 
might  have  gone  far!  And  what  then? 

.    .    .    Mr.  S called  the  night  we  were  going  to 

the  Station;  and  called  again  yesterday  for  your  address 
and  Dr.  Carlyle's.  Something  else  wanted!  They  gave 
me  tea  at  Hampstead,  and  strawberries  without  cream; 
the  tea  was  like  the  washings  with  soda  of  a  dirty  old 
metal  teapot;  but  the  cups  and  saucers  were  of  the  finest 
French  china;  and  the  cake  was  served  up  on  silver,  and 
the  butter  was  in  a  lordly  dish.  .  .  . 

Ever  yours, 

J.  W.  CAKLYLE. 

LETTER  186 

To  T.  Carlyle,  The  Gill,  Annan. 

Chelsea,  Friday,  9  July,  1858. 

Oh,  my  Dear,  I  am  very  sorry!  But  indeed  I  wrote 
on  Wednesday,  and  I  hope  you  have  by  this  time  got  my 

*  Mrs.  George  Welsh. 


182          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

Letter.  There  is  evidently  some  carelessness  somewhere; 
for  the  Westminster  and  the  Herald  were  sent  off  by  the 
same  post.  Again,  this  morning,  you  will  have  been  dis- 
appointed; for  yesterday  I  failed  to  write,  being  in  the 
valley  of  the  shadow  of  castor,  and  too  spiritless  for  any- 
thing! The  cold  had  got  into  my  chest  " eventually ";  I 
was  coughing  myself  sick  and  sore;  so  I  went  and  wildly 
took  an  ounce  of  castor  at  noon! 

Mrs.  Hawkes  came  to  ask  for  me, — the  only  person  let 
in.  "Oh,  I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  myself  to-day," 
I  said  to  her.  "Yes/7  said  she,  "I  don't  like  the  looks  of 
you  at  all;  I  have  seldom  seen  a  more  seedy  party !" 

I  don't  think  it  was  Mrs.  Forster  who  had  made  me 
worse.  .  .  .  Nothing  had  made  me  worse,  so  far  as  I 
know;  worse  "by  the  visitation  of  God,"  that  was  all! 
What  would  make  me  better  was  the  question;  so  I  tried 
a  dose  of  castor  oil,  as  I  said,  and  I  think,  with  advantage. 
I  slept  last  night  some  five  hours;  and  tho'  my  cough  is 
still  tearing,  my  aches  and  pains  are  greatly  abated.  It  is 
not  weather  at  present  to  get  rid  of  a  cold  in;  to-day,  for 
example,  is  sharp  and  blowy  like  October. 

Meanwhile,  I  must  not  worry  myself  with  projects!  I 
believe  to  travel  to  Scotland  just  now  or  to  take  any 
long  journey  whatever  would  be  as  much  as  my 
life  is  worth.  When  I  am  out  of  this,  we  can  "consider''! 
The  objection  to  going  to  Scotland  is  the  having  to  come 
back;  one  scatters  all  one's  little  gain  of  health  in  the  long, 
rapid  journey.  Even  if  I  felt  equal  to  the  journey,  I  should 
hardly  like  going  to  the  Russells'  at  once.  Mrs.  Russell  is 
"counting  on  me,"  but  that  is  because  Mrs.  Aitken  met  her 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  183 

in  Dumfries  and  told  her  I  was  coming, — without  knowing 
anything  about  it.  Mrs.  Russell  then  wrote  to  me  express- 
ing her  gladness  at  the  news;  but  I  could  see  through  her 
words  that  the  depression  of  spirits  and  nervous  trepida- 
tion still  continuing  since  Mr.  Bobbie's  death,  made  the 
prospect  of  a  visit  from  me  as  alarming  as  pleasing.  Then, 
I  confess,  I  myself  am  alarmed  at  the  idea  of  Thornhill,  in 
my  present  perfectly  cowardly  frame  of  mind; — the  dread- 
ful need  I  feel  of  my  Mother  would  make  it  almost  insup- 
portable, all  that!  As  for  Dr.  Russell,  I  would  rather 
consult  him  than  any  Doctor  here;  but  what  good?  What 
could  any  Doctor  do,  but  tell  me  to  take  care  of  myself? 
My  constitution  is  completely  worn  out;  my  nerves,  my 
spirits  worn  out.  Can  all  the  Doctors  on  earth  renew 
nerves  and  spirits?  You  are  indeed  sanguine  if  you 
imagine  any  "air,"  any  Doctor,  any  anything,  can  ever 
make  me  into  a  healthy,  or  even  approximately  healthy 
woman  again!  You  will  have  to  just  put  up  with  me  as  I 
am;  even  as  I  put  up  with  myself  as  I  am, — for  the  rest  of 
my  appointed  time. 

I  don't  mean  that,  if  this  explosion  of  cold  were  over,  I 
should  be  wholly  disinclined  to  stir;  but  I  should  like  to  do 
it  on  very  easy  terms.  Miss  Baring*  has  invited  me  to  Bay 
House,  with  leave  to  wear  high  dresses  and  caps.  If  she 
had  said  for  how  long,  and  the  term  of  the  visit  made  it 
worth  the  trouble  of  packing  up,  etc.,  I  would  have  voted 
positively  to  go,  as  soon  as  I  was  up  to  travelling.  As  it  is, 
the  matter  remains  hanging  in  the  air,  like  so  much  else 
with  me!  Perhaps  I  may  get  up  a  little  fit  of  strength  and 

*  Lord  Ashburton's  sister. 


184          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

courage  by  the  end  of  the  month;  and  when  Dr.  Carlyle 
and  his  "poor  boys"  vacate  Scotsbrig  for  that  sacred 
fortnight,  actually  join  you  there,  and  go  afterwards  to 
Mrs.  Pringle,  and  to  Mrs.  Russell  in  passing.  Who  can 
say  what  I  may  not  do?  It  does  not  strike  me  as  probable 
that  I  shall  be  strong  enough  for  going  all  that  way;  still 
I  have  many  a  time  outgone  the  probable. 

I  have  a  great  many  curious  things  to  tell  you,  but  my 
shoulders  do  ache  so  when  I  sit  up!  Have  you  heard  of 
B putting  his  Wife  into  confinement?  All  the  aristoc- 
racy are  coming  to — Cremorne  (!)  to-night, — public  ex- 
cluded. 

Don't  fret  about  my  being  alone  here;  Charlotte  is  a 
good,  biddable,  clever  little  creature.  Even  my  food  is 
much  better  than  Ann  made  it.  Nero  is  wonderfully  well, 
tho'  getting  no  exercise  beyond  what  he  gets  in  the  Garden. 
The  canary  continues  to  tumble  off  its  perch,  and  I  to  lift 
it  up!  What  a  blessing  to  have  somebody  to  always  lift 
one  up  when  one  falls  off  the  perch!  Good-bye,  Dear! 
Don't  let  the  Dromedary*  shake  you  too  much! 

Yours  ever, 

JANE  W.  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  187 

To  T.  Carlyle,  The  Gill,  Annan! 

Chelsea,  Thursday,  22  July,  1858. 
.    .    .    It  was  very  kind  of  you  to  say,  "Don't 

trouble  yourself  about  B ,  I  will  pay  him."    But  it  is 

not  in  my  nature  to  submit  to  imposition.      Paying  the 
*A  big  awkward  farm-horse  Carlyle  was  riding. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  185 

money,  tho'  £576  was  "a  great  deal  for  a  wee  fallow 
like  me,"  did  not  trouble  me  at  all  in  comparison  with 
letting  myself  be  cheated.  So  while  you  were  saying 
"never  mind,"  I  was  "  taking  steps."  The  Letter  which  I 
wrote  on  receiving  the  Account*  got  suppressed  on  its 
way  to  the  Post-office,  as  too  angry  for  practical  purposes. 
Instead,  I  sent  for  Hacking,!  showed  him  the  work  done, 
and  got  him  to  estimate  the  cost.  He  said  he  should  have 
considered  himself  well  paid  with  30s;  but  B.  being  farther 
off  and  more  expensive,  he  thought  I  might  offer  £2  15  0, — 
not  more.  I  then  sent  Larkin  to  B.'s  with  three  pro- 
posals, of  which  B.  might  take  his  choice:  I  would  pay 
£2  15  0;  or  I  would  let  the  matter  be  settled  by  arbitra- 
tion; or  he  might  prosecute  me  for  the  whole  amount  in 
the  County  Court.  After  much  discussion  with  the  fat, 
winking  old  man,  who  always  smells  of  beer,  this  much 
was  wrung  from  him  by  Larkin:  that  " he  would  send  the 
—Foreman  (!)  to  look  at  the  job!"  So  yesterday  morning 
the  Foreman  came,  prepared  to  threap  that  the  one  man 
was  never  drunk,  never  left  the  work,  "and  that  the  other 
was  quite  competent;  and  that  the  job  required  all  the 
time  that  was  charged  on  it ! ! " 

To  reduce  such  brazen  impudence  as  this  to  go  away 
content  with  £3  10  0  was  no  slight  triumph  of  female 
eloquence;  but  "I  did  it,  Sir!"  However,  the  two  hours' 
talking,  the  wrath  I  had  to  swallow  down,  not  to  put  my- 
self at  a  disadvantage,  the  force  of  will  and  of  logic  to  be 
called  up,  left  me  not  worth  picking  up  after  the  man  was 

*  For  putting  a  new  grate  in  the  Study. 

t  Ironmonger,  in  the  King's  Road,  Chelsea. 


New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

gone!  For  hours  I  seemed  to  have  got  St.  Vitus's  dance 
in  all  my  veins, — and  to  fix  my  attention  was  impossible. 
Even  my  weekly  Letter  to  Sunny  Bank,  that  had  not 
missed  a  single  Wednesday  since  I  came  from  there  last 
year,  could  not  get  itself  written  yesterday!  I  was  so 
sorry  after! 

£3  10  0  was  15s.  more  than  I  had  decided  to  pay;  but 
Hacking,  whom  I  sent  for  in  the  course  of  the  dispute, 
failed  me  in  his  apprehensions  of  Law,  and  proposed  before 
the  man  that  I  should  give  that  much. 

.  .  .  I  have  been  and  shall  be  in  many  humours 
about  Bay  House  before  I  get  there;  but  I  have  bound 
myself  positively  to  go.  I  know  I  ought  to  give  myself 
any  chance  there  is  of  getting  rid  of  this  wearing  cough 
and  that  a  Doctor  would  order  me  "  change  of  air."  If  I 
find  myself  the  better  for  being  in  the  Country,  and  that  I 
can't  properly  stay  there  as  long  as  I  should  be  benefited 
by  it,  I  should  then  be  more  disposed  and  perhaps  a  little 
fitter  to  take  a  longer  journey.  The  worst  is  that  I,  too, 
must  plunge  a  little  into  "the  cares  of  cloth,"  preparatory 
to  an  aristocratic  visit.  My  wardrobe  has  been  the  very 
least  of  my  cares  latterly.  ... 

I  have  such  a  life  with  that  sparrow  gape-gaping  for 
crowdy*  whenever  I  come  within  three  yards  of  it !  And  it 
don't  make  the  least  progress  in  learning  to  feed  itself; 
and  it  don't  die,  as  was  confidently  predicted.  .  .  . 

Ever  yours,  J.  W.  C. 

*  Crowdy  (or  crowdie)  is  meal  and  water  stirred  together. 

"  Crowdie  ance,  crowdie  twice, 
Crowdie  three  times  in  a  day ! 
An  ye  crowdie  ony  mair, 
Ye'll  crowdie  a'  my  meal  away ! " 

— Old  Scotch  Ballad. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  187 

LETTER  188 

To  T.  Carlyle,  The  Gill,  Annan. 

Chelsea,  Tuesday,  27  July,  1858. 

Just  a  line  to-day,  Dear,  for  I  have  been  interrupted 
by  one  thing  after  another  till  I  have  no  time  left.  First 
there  was  a  Letter  from  Macready  to  be  answered, — one 
of  those  Letters  that  one  cannot  get  off  one's  heart  till  the 
answer  is  written  and  sent.  Then  came  the — sweeps! 
and  tho'  I  was  not  needed  to  help  them,  I  was  needed  to 
watch  them  that  they  mightn't  put  any  of  the  Books  into 
their  sooty  pockets.  That  job  over,  Lord  Ashburton 
came  and  sat  a  long  while.  And  then  Mr.  Larkin  "to 
take  my  orders."  Lord  A.  did  not  know  I  was  here,  till 
he  got  your  Letter  this  morning:— would  have  come  sooner 
if  he  had  known,  etc.,  etc.  Would  see  all  the  Yacht  men 
to-day,  and  find  out  something  for  you.  Thought  you 
should  go  with  Lord  Dufferin  up  the  Mediterranean,  and 
then  be  put  out  at  Trieste.  I  vote  for  the  Mediterranean, 
too.  It  is  the  only  chance  you  will  have  of  seeing  what 
everybody  has  seen. 

.  .  .  Lord  Ashburton  said  he  would  certainly  send 
me  the  Friedrich  Picture  !* 

I  took  a  notion  of  mince  collops  to-day,  and  described 
to  Charlotte  how  to  make  it.  She  was  to  chop  the  meat 
very  small.  "Don't  you  think,  Ma'am,"  said  she,  "if  I 
scraped  it, — made  it  for  you  as  I  used  to  do  for  my  black- 
bird, it  would  be  better  than  chopping?" 

*  A  copy  of  "The  Little  Drummer"  (Friedrich  and  Wilhelm- 
ina),  by  Antoine  Pesne,  an  engraving  of  which  forms  the  frontis- 
piece to  the  First  Vol.  of  Carlyle's  Friedrich. 


188          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

The  sparrow  waxeth  strong; — is  likely  to  "take  the 
hale  yearth  to  itsel' !" 

.  .  .  Mrs.  Pringle  writes  anew  about  my  coming  to 
Lann  Hall.  If  I  find  myself  better  for  being  in  the  Coun- 
try, and  if  I  can't  stay  at  Bay  House,  there  is  that  to  fall 
back  on,  if  I  get  strong  enough  for  the  long  journey. 

Ever  yours, 

J.  W.  C. 

LETTER  189 

To  T.  Carlyk,  The  Gill,  Annan. 

Chelsea,  Friday,  30  July,  1858. 

.  .  .  Lann  Hall  would  suit  me  well,  I  think.  I 
should  have  no  fear  of  being  a  trouble  there,  and  no  mis- 
givings about  my  welcome.  It  is  a  beautiful  place,  with 
associations  to  make  it  more  beautiful.  I  should  have  a 
close  carriage  to  drive  out  in  every  day;  and  Mrs.  Pringle 
is  very  quiet,  and  kind  and  sensible.  I  should  like  that 
better  than  Cressfield*  under  the  present  circumstances. 
At  Cressfield  I  should  have  "cares  of  bread,  under  diffi- 
culties/' and  I  am  hardly  up  to  them  in  their  simplest, 
most  familiar  form.  Besides,  you  should  go  to  Germany, 
and  Cressfield  all  to  myself  is  not  conceivable, — as  good  as 
non-extant!  Mrs.  Pringle  says  in  her  Letter  (which  I 
don't  send  because  you  would  not  dream  of  attempting  to 
decipher  its  "angles"),  "I  don't  want  to  plague  [you] 
with  suggestions;  but  do  understand  this,  Mr.  Carlyle 
may  have  a  whole  suite  of  rooms  at  Lann.  And  with  no 

*  A  large  house  near  Ecclefechan. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  189 

master  in  the  house,  any  other  arrangement  for  his  com- 
fort would  be  painfully  easy  to  make!'7 

I  have  written  to  her  that  I  will  send  her  a  positive 
answer  on  the  6th.  By  that  time  I  shall  understand 
"what  I  wanted  and  what  I  want."  The  Bay  House 
visit  does  not  promise  much  as  yet.  ...  If  Miss 
Baring  had  wished  a  longer  visit,  I  think  she  would  have 
bid  me  lay  my  account  with  it  in  leaving  home.  Nero! 
Oh,  dear,  no!  Nero  must  "keep  up  his  dignity"  like  his 
Mistress — must  not  go  where  he  is  de  trop.  He  will  do 
very  well  at  home;  Charlotte  is  good  to  him;  and  Mr. 
Piper  will  take  him  out.  The  dog  has  really  kept  wonder- 
fully well,  in  spite  of  your  absence.  About  Charlotte? 
She  will  take  care  of  the  house,  and  go  on  with  the  chimney- 
sweeping,  and  "thorough-cleaning"  that  is  begun.  Not  a 
carpet  left  on,  but  in  the  parlour  and  my  bedroom;  and 
these  to  be  up,  too,  so  soon  as  I  am  gone!  Charlotte  is 
more  to  be  trusted  with  the  house  than  Ann  was;  she  has 
quite  as  much  sense  and  infinitely  more  principle.  I  can 
depend  on  her  that  the  thing  I  bid  her  do  she  will  do, — 
when  my  back  is  turned,  the  same  as  before  my  face.  Her 
Mother  will  come  and  sleep  with  her.  I  have  no  wish  to 
change  Charlotte  for  an  older  woman;  as  she  has  strength 
and  sense  enough  for  the  place,  I  don't  see  what  I  should 
gain  by  changing  her.  She  is  a  very  good  housemaid,  and 
is  already  a  better  cook  than  Ann  was.  Above  all,  she  is 
my  servant, — does  what  I  order,  at  the  first  word, — and 
not  my  Mistress!  For  the  satisfaction  of  your  imagination 
you  will  find  her  much  bigger  and  older-looking  when  you 
return.  A  Scotch  servant, — above  all,  one  out  of  a  large 


190          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

house,— would  be  a  risk  I  would  only  run  in  case  of  neces- 
sity. You  would  hardly  find  in  Scotland  a  servant  of  good 
"  character  "  who  is  not  of  the  Free  Church  or  some  Church, 
and  such  persons  judge  us!  and  are  ill  to  manage  accord- 
ingly. Here,  morality  is  not  inseparable  from  religion  (so- 
called).  Mrs.  Pringle  offered  me,  some  time  ago,  any  one 
of  her  five  women,  "all  good,"  that  I  liked  to  "come  and 
take";  and  I  declined  for  the  above  and  other  reasons. 
Best  to  "let  well  alone."  .  .  .  Why,  our  old  Betty 
was  just  Charlotte's  age*  when  she  came  to  my  Mother, 
and  had  not  a  third  part  of  Charlotte's  experience.  .  .  . 
Now  this  is  a  long  Letter  for  my  last  day!  I  should  not 
have  had  the  time  to  spare  if  I  had  not  done  most  of  my 
packing  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  for  want  of  better  to 
do 

Yours  ever, 

JANE  W.  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  190 

To  T.  Carlyle,  The  Gill,  Annan. 

Bay  House,  Alverstoke,  4  Aug.,  1858. 
All  right,  Dear!  I  get  along  very  nicely,  only  the 
Letter  at  breakfast  is  missing!  What  should  have  come, 
in  London  at  9  o'clock,  comes  here  at  5  p.  m.,  an  hour,  too, 
when  one  is  generally  out  driving.  But  for  the  rest,  I 
have  not  a  single  thing  to  complain  of;  and  I  agree  with 
the  place  famously.  I  get  a  fair  amount  of  sleep;  am 
much  less  sensitive  about  the  throat  and  breast;  much 

*  In  her  fifteenth  year,  Mrs.  Carlyle  says  in  another  Letter. 


Jane  Welsh   Carlyle  191 

less  shivery  in  mind;  and  unless  the  glass  here  is  made  to 
flatter,  my  face  is  much  less  haggard  and  ghastly.  I 
could  not  but  think  this  morning  when  I  took  a  last  look 
at  myself  in  my  new  grey  gown  and  smart  lilac  cap,  that  I 
looked  a  decidedly  presentable  woman, — for  my  years! 
Not  at  all  the  " seedy  party"  that  Fairie  was  lyrically 
recognising  only  a  week  ago,  as  "the  most  decided  case  of 
needing-to-go-out-of-Town,  that  was  ever  seen!"  To  be 
sure,  the  Howell  &  James'  Dressmaker,  seeing  the  neces- 
sities of  the  case,  had  padded  the  new  gown  in  a  very 
artistic  manner — " chiefly  wadding,  Mr.  Carlyle!"  But 
she  it  wasn't  who  added  the  touch  of  human  colour  to  my 
face.  Besides  the  benefit  to  my  health,  I  am  very  well 
situated  in  moral  respects;  the  only  visitors  besides  my- 
self, Mrs.  Mildmay  and  her  Son  (whom  she  calls  "Light  of 
our  Soul")  are  good-humoured,  lively  people.  And  the 
Miss  Barings,  without  seeming  to  take  any  pains  to  be 
kind  to  me,  contrive  to  make  me  feel  quite  at  home.  They 
are  not  at  all  dull  in  their  own  house,  only  rational,  occu- 
pying themselves  in  some  work  or  some  reading,  and  ex- 
pecting the  visitors  to  do  likewise.  In  fact,  I  feel  as  if  I 
had  sat  down  to  rest  a  while  in  a  little  green  clearing, 
after  struggling  till  I  was  exhausted,  thro'  a  tangled  wood, 
getting  myself  scratched  and  torn! 

As  you  did  write  to  Miss  Baring  before  (she  has  never 
spoken  of  that,  nor  have  I),  perhaps  it  might  be  well  to  send 
her  now  a  few  lines  of  thanks  for  making  me  so  comfortable. 

I  went  yesterday  with  the  Mildmays  on  board  the 
Urgent  in  Portsmouth  Harbour.  Mrs.  M.  wished  to  see  the 
cabin  in  which  "Light  of  our  Soul"  is  about  to  sail  to 


192          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

Malta.  The  sky  was  so  blue!  and  the  sea  was  so  green! 
and  I  was  not  sick;  "and  it  was  a  good  joy!"  Only  I  got 
a  touch  or  two  of  brown  paint  on  the  new  gown! 

Miss  Baring  is  hoping  that  if  you  don't  sail  "beyond 
the  sunset"  in  that  "Yacht,"  you  may  come  to  Loch 
Luichart.  One  of  the  young  Princes  (Alfred)  lives  in 
Croker's  House;  where  a  white  flag  flies  to  tell  when  he  is 
at  home.  And  he  has  a  little  skiff  in  the  bay,  and  a  crew 
and  a  staff  of  Officers.  The  Queen  comes  sometimes  to 
breakfast,  or  to  take  tea  with  him, — at  Croker's! 

Yours  ever, 

J.  W.  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  191 

To  Mrs.  Russell,  Thornhill. 

Bay  House,  Alverstoke,  8  Aug.,  1858. 

There  then!  I  have  gone  and  done  it!  And  if  you 
find  it  strange  or  unnatural  of  me,  blame  yourself,  young 
woman!  It  is  "all  along"  of  your  stinginess  in  writing 
to  me,  while  I  was  so  many  weeks  ill  and  alone,  and  your 
not  seeming  the  least  curious  whether  I  was  coming  or 
not, — the  Summer  meantime  passing  away.  All  along 
of  this  unnaturalness  on  your  part,  that  I  had  gone  and 
been  so  unnatural  as  to  tell  Mrs.  Pringle  first,  that  I  was 
coming,  and  to  engage  to  go  straight  to  her!!  Now,  what 
do  you  think,  my  Dear  ?  I  have  no  purpose,  however, 
to  be  "  off  with  the  old  love  before  I  am  on  with  the  new." 
I  don't  see  that  the  one  need  interfere  with  the  other. 
So  I  seriously  intend  calling  upon  you,  altho'  upon  my 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  193 

honour,  with  your  long  silences  when  I  was  so  needing 
to  be  written  to,  you  have  made  me  doubt  whether  you 
care  for  seeing  me  in  reality  or  not!  We  shall  see! 
I  can  swear  to  it  that  /  care  very  much  for  seeing  you,  at 
all  rates;  and  that  I  should  be  hard  to  persuade,  and  very 
sorry  to  be  persuaded,  that  Mrs.  Pringle's  new  friendship 
for  me  is  warmer  than  your  old  friendship,  altho'  she 
has  shown  more  interest  about  my  coming,  and  indeed 
supplied  the  courage  that  was  wanting  to  me,  by  all  sorts 
of  promises  held  out,— even  the  promise  of  "Dr.  Russell 
to  bring  me  round,"  if  I  should  be  knocked  up  by  the 
journey. 

I  have  been  here  with  the  Miss  Barings  (Lord  Ash- 
burton's  Sisters)  for  the  last  ten  days,  and  remain  till 
the  24th.  As  soon  as  I  can  manage  it,  I  mean  to  start 
for  Dumfriesshire.  I  had  no  such  thought,  at  least  only 
in  the  form  of  a  "devout  imagination,"  when  I  came 
away.  But  the  journey  did  me  so  much  good,  and  I 
have  been  such  an  improved  woman  ever  since, — so 
unrecognisable  as  the  "seedy  party"  (so  a  lady  described 
me)  that  I  was,  for  a  long  time  back,  in  London,  that  I 
think  it  would  be  stupid  not  to  take  more  of  the  Country, 
and  spend  my  time  as  pleasantly  as  I  can  while  Mr.  C. 
is  still  out  of  harness.  I  don't  think  he  will  be  returning 
to  London  till  the  end  of  September.  And  September 
is  often  a  fine  month  in  Scotland.  So,  since  I  have  got 
up  my  strength  enough  for  a  journey  to  Scotland  (taking 
it  at  two  halves),  I  see  no  reason  why  I  should  remain 
"like  owl  in  desert"  on  the  banks  of  that  horrible  Thames, 
waiting  Mr.  O.'s  return. 

VOL.  II.-13 


194          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

I  had  some  idea  of  going  fram  here  on  the  24th  to 
Sherborne  House  in  Dorsetshire,  where  I  had  a  pressing 
invitation  from  Macready  (the  actor),  a  family  I  have 
long  been  much  attached  to.  But  in  that  case  I  should 
have  made  myself  quite  too  late  for  Scotland;  and  while 
I  was  wavering  between  the  two  directions,  exactly  at 
the  right  moment,  came  Mrs.  Pringle's  last  Letter,  giving 
me  the  push  I  needed  towards  the  North.  So  I  shall  go 
straight  to  London  on  the  24th, — and  then! 

Meanwhile  I  am  in  no  haste  to  be  gone  from  here. 
It  is  the  place  of  all  others  to  get  strong  at.  Close  by 
the  sea, — nothing  between  me  and  the  sea  but  a  lawn, 
a  terrace  walk,  and  a  little  fringe  of  Scotch  firs;  then  such 
a  lofty  airy  House,  with  such  beautiful  grounds;  long 
drives  in  an  open  carriage  every  day;  sails  too  in  the  Bay 
when  I  like;  quiet,  kind  clever  people  to  live  with!  What 
more  could  one  wish  to  have?  But  one  likes  and  feels 
grateful  to  any  place  where  one  sleeps  better  and  eats 
better,  and  feels  less  weak  and  miserable.  I  have  not 
been  so  well  for  ten  months  as  since  I  came  here;  and 
tho'  I  don't  expect  I  have  got  over  my  tendency  to  catch 
cold,  and  to  spend  my  life — nine- tenths  of  it — in  having 
cold,  I  am  unspeakably  thankful  for  the  present  respite; 
and  am  as  anxious  to  prolong  it  a  few  weeks  as  if 
it  were  a  question  of  good  health  for  all  the  rest  of 
my  life! 

Mr.  Carlyle  is  still  at  The  Gill, — beginning  to  weary 
of  it  I  think;  for  Lord  Ashburton  told  me  he  had 
written  to  him  to  find  "a  man  with  a  Yacht"  to  take  him 
to  the  Baltic  Sea,  on  his  way  to  Germany!  Perhaps 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  195 

Lord  A.,  who  was  to  have  a  meeting  with  Mr.  C.  this  morn- 
ing at  Dumfries,  may  persuade  him,  in  default  of  the 
Yacht,  to  follow  him  to  the  Highlands. 

I  have  written  to  tell  him  not  to  trammel  himself  in 
the  least  with  me,  and  that  is  all  I  have  to  do  with  it. 
He  tells  me  he  saw  my  Aunt  Anne  in  Dumfries.  If  she 
is  at  Thornhill  by  now,  give  her  my  love,  and  say  I  hope 
to  come  across  her. — 

Kindest  regards  to  Dr.  Russell.  Yours,  dearest  Mary, 
ever  most  affectionately, 

JANE  W.  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  192 

To  T.  Carlyle]  Poste  Restanle]  Dresden. 
(Forwarded  to  Prag.) 

Lann  Hall,  Tynron,  Dumfriesshire, 
Sunday,  '29  August,  1858.' 

I  hope,  Dear,  that  you  have  stood  it  as  well  as  I  have! 
and  that  I  shall  hear  to  that  effect  to-morrow.  There 
may  be  a  Letter  now  lying  for  me  perhaps;  but  none  are 
delivered  here  on  Sundays. 

I  left  London  at  nine  on  Friday  morning,  in  a  quiet 
and  cheerful  frame  of  mind,  having  arrived  at  the  Station 
without  hurry,  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before  the  time, 
accompanied  by  Charlotte  and  Nero  (who  would  come  and 
see  me  off);  and  met,  on  descending  from  my  cab,  by 
first  George  Cooke,  and  then  Larkin  with  a  fresh-gathered 
bouquet!  The  former  had  offered  his  services  before  I 
left  Bay  House;  but  Larkin  was  quite  unexpected.  Dr. 


196          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

Carl  vie,  likewise,  had  offered  to  see  me  off,  "if  I  had  no- 
body"; but  I  was  charmed  to  say  I  had  somebody,  for 
he  was  very  much  "detached."  .  .  . 

Mrs.  Pringle  did  not  miss  me  at  Carlisle  Station:  be- 
fore I  was  well  out  of  the  carriage  an  arm  was  put  quietly 
around  my  neck,  and  my  face  brought  close  to  her  kindly 
smiling  one.  A  waiter  stood  behind  her  to  take  immediate 
charge  of  my  luggage;  and  in  two  minutes  I  was  in  a 
beautiful  quiet  sitting-room  of  the  County  Hotel;  and 
she  was  putting  tea  in  the  tea-pot.  And  when  I  had  put 
off  my  bonnet  and  shawl  in  the  adjoining  bedroom,  there 
was  brandered  chicken  and  ham,  etc.,  etc.,  all  ready  for 
me.  My  bed  had  been  so  aired 'that  the  sheets  w^re 
actually  warm.  I  slept  wonderfully,  considering  the 
squealing  of  trains, — hardly  awoke  with  them!  I  had 
been  sleeping  very  ill  at  Cheyne  Row,  and  was  very  thank- 
ful I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  be  off  again.  Next  morn- 
ing, when  I  was  thinking  about  getting  up,  a  white  child- 
looking  figure  glided  in  thro'  the  door  opening  into  Mrs. 
Pringle's  bedroom,  and  sat  down  on  her  knees  at  my 
bedside,  in  night  clothes,  and  fell  to  kissing  me!  She 
is  a  very  curious  woman,  this  Mrs.  Pringle ;  so  enthusiastic 
and  so  calm,  almost  to  outward  chilliness;  so  cultivated 
in  mind  and  so  deficient  in  all  accomplishment;  so  devout 
and  so  liberal.  She  will  serve  me  to  study  for  all  the 
time  I  stay.  We  went  after  breakfast  to  see  the  Cathedral, 
and  heard  some  beautiful  music, — service  being  going  on. 
It  was  Market-day,  and  I  looked  all  about  to  see  if  Jamie 
[Carlyle]  might  perchance  turn  up;  but  without  result. 
We  then  drove  to  a  place  in  the  neighbourhood,  where  a 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  197 

Dr.  Lonsdale  lives,  retired  from  Practice,  having  married 
a  woman  of  "  large  fortune/7  He  is  a  very  old  friend  of 
Mrs.  P/s,  and  a  most  enthusiastic  admirer  of  yours;  but 
I  think  it  is  your  early  revolutionary  phase  that  he  has 
sworn  himself  to.  He  told  me  of  a  wealthy  Paper-maker 
who  had  read  two  "Papers  on  you"  at  the  Mechanics 
Institute,  which  were  "really  clever,  and  were  extremely 
well  received."  They  would  have  given  us  lunch  there, 
but  were  restricted  to  wine  and  grapes, — Mrs.  P.  choosing 
to  lunch  at  the  Hotel  rather.  At  3,  after  a  modest  dinner, 
we  took  the  train  for  Thornhill.  (It  goes  without  telling 
that  I  was  not  allowed  to  expend  a  sixpence  in  Carlisle.) 
I  looked  out  with  interest  at  Cummertress;*  but  absolutely 
not  a  living  being  was  to  be  seen.  Again  at  Dumfries  I 
looked  out;  but  knew  only  Lauderdale  Maitland,  who 
came  into  our  carriage.  Every  step  of  the  road  after 
was  miserable  to  me;  and  in  spite  of  having  been  there 
two  years  ago,  I  was  like  to  choke  when  I  got  out  at  the 
Thornhill  Station  and  drove  off  in  another  direction  than 
Templand.  Mrs.  Pringle  kindly  refrained  from  speaking 
a  word  to  me,  till  we  got  home,  where  a  good  fire  in  my 
beautiful  bedroom  and  a  comfortable  "nip  o'  tea"  cheered 
me  up.  I  slept  very  well  and  feel  not  worse  but  better 
for  my  journey;  tho'  it  is  raining  to-day,  and  cold  enough 
to  be  glad  of  the  fire  in  the  Library.  No  bother  about 
Church:  Mrs.  P.  has  not  gone  herself. 

I  must  send  this  unpaid,  as  I  am  not  sure  of  its  reaching 
you,  and  don't  know  what  stamps  to  put  on  it;  and  in 
fact  have  only  a  few  penny  ones. 

*  Station  (on  the  Glasgow  &  S.  W.  Ry.)  for  the  Gill. 


198  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

I  sent  to  Chapman  to  send  me  the  Book*  so  soon  as 
he  had  the  maps  and  index  ready.  John  had  got  himself 
a  copy  without  [maps,  etc.].  Surely  I  shall  get  a  Letter 
to-morrow.  By  the  way  it  is  not  Land  but  Lann  this 
place. 

Yours  affectionately, 

J.  W.  C. 

LEETTR  193 
On  my  getting  home  from  Germany  in  Autumn,  1858. 

— T.  e. 

To  T.  Carlyle,  Chelsea. 

Thornhill,  Wednesday,  '22  Sep.,  1858.' 

Oh  my  Dear!  I  hope  that  Nero  will  know  you  and 
welcome  you  "in  his  choicest  mood";  and  I  hope  that 
Charlotte  will  "not  fall  but  rise  with  the  emergency" 
(as  Miss  Anderton  says  she  does);  and  I  hope  that  in 
practical  things  at  least  you  will  not  miss  me — much! 
for  the  few  days  you  will  be  left  to  your  own  shifts.  I 
shall  be  back  to  you  in  the  early  days  of  next  week.  Noth- 
ing can  go  materially  wrong,  one  would  say,  till  then. 
Nay,  it  is  probable  that  for  that  long,  you  may  even 
prefer  being  "well  let  alone."  Still  I  am  wae  to  think 
of  your  arriving  from  your  long  wanderings,  in  my  absence; 
and  when  I  got  your  Letter  telling  me  you  were  positively 
not  to  return  by  Scotland,  and  not  to  be  at  Cheyne  Row 
till  to-morrow,  I  should  have  wound  up  my  affairs  here 
in  a  hurry  and  dashed  off  home  in  time  to  receive  you, — 
had  I  been  up  to  any  dashing.  But  alack,  my  Dear, 

*  First  two  volumes  of  Friedrich. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  199 

your  Letter  found  me  just  recovering  from  an  attack 
of  something  extremely  like — cholera!  when  any  impru- 
dence might  have  cost  me  my  life.  Besides  Dr.  Russell 
was  here  to  take  good  care  I  committed  none!  Can  you 
figure  anything  more  fortunate  than  my  taking  this  illness, 
— since  it  was  to  be  taken, — in  his  house!  Such  a  Doctor 
and  such  a  nurse  "all  to  myself"  (as  the  children  say)! 
Had  these  cramps  taken  me  two  days  sooner,  at  Lann, 
I  would  have  gone  on  bearing  them  as  long  as  possible 
without  sending  for  help;  and  I  had  no  morphia  with 
me  to  have  taken  at  my  own  hand;  and  (as  Basil  Mon- 
tagu says  of  the  powder  found  wet  when  the  battle  should 
begin)  "  what  then  would  not  have  been  the  consequences?" 
I  declare  it  was  almost  worth  while  to  fall  ill  here,  just 
for  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  once  more  a  real  live  Doctor! 
What  a  blessing  to  society  is  such  a  phenomenon!  It 
reminded  me  of  the  good  old  time  when  my  childish 
mind  could  conceive  of  no  higher  mission  than  to  "ride 
about  and  see  the  folk!"  Not  one  useless  question  did 
that  man  bother  me  with,  and  not  one  necessary  question 
did  he  omit  to  ask;  his  quiet  clear  decisive  manner  inspired 
me  with  such  faith  in  him  that  I  would  have  swallowed 
prussic  acid  or  strychnine  at  his  bidding.  And  so  he 
gives  me  the  character  of  "a  perfectly  excellent  patient." 
C'est  selon !  As  for  Mrs.  Russell's  nursing,  it  was  as  anxious 
and  devoted  as  my  own  Mother's. 

The  practical  deduction  from  all  which  is  that  you 
must  send  Dr.  Russell  a  copy  of  the  Friedrich  as  soon 
as  possible,  and  be  sure  to  write  his  name  on  it  with  your 
own  hand.  God  knows  if  you  don't  owe  him  my  life! 


200          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

.  .  .  I  mean  to  leave  here  by  the  early  train  on 
Monday;  stop  at  Dumfries  to  see  Jean;  get  on  to  Mary's 
before  dark;  stay  over  Tuesday  at  the  Gill  (in  expectation 
that  Jamie  can  come  there) ;  and  then  straight  to  Chelsea 
next  day  (Wednesday).  .  .  .  Meanwhile  what  are 
you  to  do  about  finding  things?  Charlotte  is  rather  good 
at  finding!  Take  her  up  gently,  tell  her  what  you  want, 
in  plain  English,  and  I  have  no  doubt  you  will  find  her 
very  docile  and  "quick  at  the  uptak."  .  .  . 

LETTER  194 

To  Mrs.  Aitken,  Dumfries] 

Chelsea,  16  January,  1859. 

My  dear  Jean — To  do  Mr.  C.  justice,  he  didn't  forget  to 
give  your  message:  .  .  . 

I  asked  him  just  now  when  he  came  to  light  his 
pipe  at  my  fire  (his  own  "  declining  to  take  up  the  tobacco 
smoke")  if  he  had  any  message  to  you  to-day.  "  No  thing, 
except  that  I  am  very  happy  with — my  gloves  and — all 
that!"  His  horse  gives  more  satisfaction  than  I  ever 
saw  horse,  or  person  or  thing  give  him  in  the  world  before! 
Every  time  when  he  comes  in  from  riding,  he  breaks  out 
into  lyrical  recognition  of  its  virtues  and  good  sense. 
"Never  did  he  see  in  all  his  life  a  more  remarkable  com- 
bination of  courage  and  sensibility."  I  expect  he  will  be 
much  the  better  for  his  riding  when  the  weather  gets  a 
little  warmer  and  more  settled.  At  present  it  is  too  cold 
at  the  late  part  of  the  day  he  goes  out  in,  and  he  has 
to  ride  too  fast  to  keep  life  in  him,  and  that  just  immediate- 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  201 

ly  before  eating  his  dinner.  And  then  he  lies  on  the  sofa 
after,  and  sleeps  the  sleep  of  the  just  for  an  hour  and 
half,  or  two  hours!  and  then  he  wonders  that  he  wakes 
too  early  in  the  morning!  I  wish  to  Heaven  this  Book 
were  off  his  hands, — in  any  way.*  He  has  never  taken 
heartily  to  the  subject;  ought  never  to  have  tried  to  make 
a  silk  purse  out  of  a  sow's  ear;  for  it  needs  all  possible 
love  for  the  subject  to  carry  Mm  along  thro'  such  severe 
labour  as  he  puts  into  everything  he  writes.  .  .  . 

Yours  very  truly, 

JANE  W.  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  195 

To  Mrs.  Russell,  Thornhill. 

Chelsea,  Jan.  or  Feb.,  1859? 

Dearest  Mary— If  I  don't  take  care  I  shall  be  falling 
into  the  self-same  evil  course  I  warned  you  against  in 
my  last.f  "Let  him  that  standeth  on  the  house-top 
take  heed/'  etc.  I  don't  think  my  brain  is  so  active  when 
I  sleep  (as  I  still  continue  to  do  with  that  whisky) !  as 
it  used  to  be  when  I  spent  the  greater  part  of  my  nights 
in  reading  in  my  bed,  to  stave  off  insane  thoughts!  The  fact 
is,  anyhow,  that  my  stupidity  in  these  weeks  approaches 
the  sublime!  and  yet  I  don't  get  fat  upon  it;  so  I  doubt 
if  it  be  good,  genuine,  healthy  stupidity,  and  not  rather 
some  physical  torpor.  Perhaps  the  explanation  were 
comprised  in  the  few  frank  words  which  Dr.  Jeffson  ad- 

*Friedrich,  alas!— T.  C. 

f  Letter  204,  Letters  and  Memorials. 


202          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

dressed  to  the  would-be  Dandy  who  consulted  him:  "You 
are  old — yes,  damned  old,  that's  all!!" 

Did  you  ever  see  such  a  Winter?  I  suppose  it  is 
good  for  weak  things,  but  the  Doctors  here  say  there 
never  was  more  sickness, — only  the  Doctors  say  that} 
every  Winter,  whether  it  be  mild  or  severe!  My  poor 
Cousin*  at  Falmouth  fancies  the  climate  there  equal  to 
that  of  Madeira.  I  question  if  it  be  Falmouth  that  makes 
the  difference.  Of  course  he  is  no  better.  His  Mother 
writes  such  flourishing  Letters  about  the  comforts  he 
has,  and  the  attentions  he  receives  at  Falmouth,  that  it 
is  difficult  to  not  let  oneself  be  distracted  from  the  fact  of 
the  case, — that  her  only  son  is  dying.  Bence  Jones  for- 
warded to  me  a  Letter  from  the  Falmouth  Doctor,  to 
destroy  every  hope,  had  I  still  entertained  any.  I  have 
never  seen  so  unintelligible  a  woman  as  Mrs.  George 
Welsh. 

I  have  another  sorrow  in  the  constant  expectation 
of  hearing  from  Haddington  that  the  eldest  of  my  two 
dear  old  ladies  is  dead.  She  has  continued  to  live  and 
keep  all  her  intellect  and  feelings  as  alive  as  ever, — nobody 
knows  how, — for  weeks  back.  For  she  has  lost  the  faculty 
of  taking  nourishment,  by  which  alone  she  was  kept  in 
life,  the  Doctor  said.  The  other  can't  survive  her  long; 
and  then  Haddington  will  be  turned  all  into  a  church-yard 
for  me!  What  a  strange  reflection  it  must  be  for  Miss 
Douglas  (if  she  ever  reflects),  that  she  has  outlived  oil 
she  began  Me  beside!  Even  a  distant  approximation  to 
that  state  of  being  left  behind  all  one's  contemporaries, 

*  John  Welsh,  son  of  Dr.  Welsh's  Brother  George. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  203 

makes  one  so  wae  and  dreary  at  times!  But  also  it  makes 
the  early  friends  we  still  possess  doubly  dear;  every  year 
they  become  more  precious.  Think  of  that,  you,  when 
you  are  tempted  into  faithless  speculations  about  any 
Mrs.  Pringle  I  may  take  up  with! 

I  heard,  curiously  enough,  of  Mrs.  Dunbar,  the  other 
day.  She  was  visiting  a  Mrs.  Borthwick  (7  don't  know 
the  lady),  a  friend  of  the  Artist  who  did  that  Picture  of 
our  "Interior."  Mrs.  Borthwick  was  showing  her  some 
Italian  views,  and  among  them  was  a  photograph  of  the 
Picture,  which  the  Artist  had  given  this  Mrs.  Borthwick. 
Mrs.  Dunbar  went  into  raptures  over  its  distinctness,  and 
suddenly,  not  knowing  what  Interior  it  was,  exclaimed, 
"Good  Gracious!  there  is  Mrs.  Carlyle  sitting  in  it!" 
Tait  was  enchanted  when  Mrs.  Borthwick  repeated  to  him 
this  tribute  to  his  talent. 

How  are  your  maids  going  on?  And  the  Bread? 
Have  you  put  "sand  in  the  oven,"  as  Mrs.  Blacklock 
advised? 

My  little  Charlotte  continues  to  behave  like  the  good 
girl  of  a  Fairy  Tale !  The  only  drawback  to  my  satisfaction 
with  her  is,  that  it  seems  too  great  to  last, — in  a  world  of 
imperfections! 

Do  you  still  wake  up  your  patient  Husband  two  or 
three  times  a  night  to  talk  to  you?  You  should  have 
seen  Mr.  Carlyle's  stare  of  astonishment  and  horror, 
when  I  told  him  you  had  that  practice! 

.  .  .  My  kindest  regards  to  the  Doctor.  Did  I 
tell  you  I  had  put  Nipp*  into  a  little  frame,  and  hung 

*  Mrs.  Russell's  little  dog. 


204          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

him  in  my  Dressing-room?  When  Mr.  C.  first  noticed 
it,  he  said,  "May  I  ask,  my  Dear,  who  is  the  interesting 
quadruped  you  have  been  at  the  pains  to  frame 
there?  " 

Your  affectionate 

JANE  W.  CARLYLK. 

LETTER  196 

To  Major  Davidson,  Edinburgh} 

Chelsea,  14th  Feb.,  1859. 

My  dear  friend — It  is  not  to  you  that  I  should  write 
this  evening,  if  I  were  animated  with  a  due  sense  of  "the 
duty  nearest  hand!"  Putting  aside  all  questions  of  a 
cap  to  be  "done  up"  (alas  that  England  should  expect 
of  one  to  wear  caps  at  "a  certain  age"  for  all  that  one's 
hair  don't  turn  gray!),  and  all  questions  about  three  pairs 
of  socks  in  my  workbasket  in  immediate  need  of  darning; 
then  Katie  Macready  in  breathless  expectation  of  a  Letter 
from  me  to  tell  her  what  I  think  of  a  bulky  MS.,  on  which, 
after  the  fashion  of  young  ladies  of  the  present  day,  she 
has  been  employing  her  leisure,  instead  of  on  a  sampler; 
and  there  is  Miss  Anderton  (a  young  Actress  and  a  good 
girl  as  can  be)  expecting  "a  few  lines"  about  a  sensible 
little  "Article"  of  hers,  entitled  "Thoughts  on  Actresses" 
in  the  Englishwoman's  Journal,  which  she  sent  me  yester- 
day. (What  a  mercy  you  were  married  a  good  many  years 
ago!  You  could  hardly  have  succeeded  in  finding  a  Wife 
now  who  had  not  published  a  Book  or  contributed  to  a 
Journal,  or  at  least  had  a  MS.  in  progress!)  And  there  is  an 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  205 

unknown  Entity,*  who  is  pleased  to  pass  by  the  name  of 
George  Eliot,  to  whom  I  have  owed  acknowledgement  a 
week  back  for  the  present  of  her  new  Novel  Adam  Bede, 
a  really  charming  Book,  which,  Novel  tho'  it  be,  I  advise 
you  to  read;  and  I  engage  that  you  will  not  find  the  time 
miss-spent,  under  penalty  of  reading  the  dreariest  Book 
of  Sermons  you  like  to  impose  on  me,  if  you  do!  All 
that  I  don't  feel  equal  to  breaking  ground  on  to-night. 
.  .  .  That  Little  picture  of  your  visit  to  Grant's 
Braes!  How  pretty,  how  dreamlike!  awakening  so  many 
recollections  of  my  own  young  visitings  there : — the  dinners 
of  rice  and  milk,  with  currants — a  very  few  currants — 
kind,  thrifty  Mrs.  Gilbert  Burns  used  to  give  me,  with 
such  a  welcome!  of  play-fellows,  boys  and  girls, — all 
I  fancy  dead  now, — who  made  my  Saturdays  at  Grant's 
Braes  white  days  for  me! — I  went  to  see  the  dear  old  house, 
when  I  was  last  at  Sunny  Bank,  and  found  the  new  prosaic 
farmhouse  in  its  stead;  and  it  was  as  if  my  heart  had 
knocked  up  against  it!  A  sort  of  (moral)  blow  in  the 
breast  is  what  I  feel  always  at  these  sudden  revelations 
of  the  new  uncared-for  thing  usurping  the  place  of  the 
thing  one  knew  as  well  as  oneself,  and  had  all  sorts  of 
associations  with,  and  had  hung  the  fondest  memories 
on!  When  I  first  saw  Mrs.  Somerville  (of  mathematical 
celebrity),  I  was  much  struck  with  her  exact  likeness  to 
Mrs.  G.  Burns — minus  the  geniality — and  plus  the  feathers 
in  her  head!  and  I  remember  remarking  to  my  Husband, 
that  after  all  Mrs.  Burns  was  far  the  cleverer  woman  of 

*  Carlyle  told  his  Wife  that  A  dam  Bede  was  written  by  a 
woman.  He  instantly  came  to  this  conclusion  from  the  author's 
description  of  the  making  of  a  panelled  door. 


206          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

the  two,  inasmuch  as  to  bring  up  twelve  children,  as  these 
young  Burnses  were  brought  up,  and  keep  up  such  a 
comfortable  house  as  Grant's  Braes,  all  on  eighty  pounds 
a  year,  was  a  much  more  intricate  problem  than  the 
Reconcilement  of  the  Physical  Sciences!  and  Mr.  C.  cor- 
dially agreed  with  me.  I  am  glad  however,  the  Centenary 
is  over!  for  Mr.  C.  was  pestered  out  of  his  wits  with  Letters 
from  all  the  braying  Jackasses  in  creation  about  it.  If 
he  had  cut  himself  up  into  square  inches,  he  could  not 
have  been  present  at  all  the  "occasions"  where  he  was 
summoned.  He,  Mr.  C.,  is  as  busy  as  ever  tearing  away 
at  his  new  Volumes.  Meanwhile  I  am  spending  my  life 
with  the  two  Royal  Children  (of  his  Title  page),  as  large 
as  life!  Lord  Ashburton  having  made  me  a  present  of 
the  Picture  from  which  the  engraving  was  made.  It 
quite  makes  the  fortune  of  my  Drawing-room.  For  one 
thing,  it  serves  the  end  our  pretty  little  Shandy*  used 
to  serve  at  Haddington,  and  is  something  for  the  stupid 
callers  to  chatter  about.  .  .  .  Kind  regards  to  your  Wife. 
Affectionately  yours, 

JANE  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  197 

To  Mrs.  Braid,  Green  End,  Edinburgh. 

Chelsea,  Friday,  'Spring,    1859.' 

My  dearest  Betty — I  shouldn't  wonder  if  you  were 

wearying  to  hear  from  me!    I  know  that  I  am  wearying 

to  hear  from  you;  and  there  isn't  much  hope  of  that 

till  I  have  first  put  you  in  my  debt.    The  fact  is  I  have 

*  See  ante,  p.  94n. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  207 

a  far  wider  correspondence  on  my  hands  than  is  either 
profitable  or  pleasant;  and  there  are  so  few  hours  in  the 
day  that  I  can  give  to  writing,  being  subject  to  continuous 
interruptions  in  the  forenoons,  and  in  the  afternoons  too 
wearied  for  anything  but  lying  on  a  sofa,  betwixt  sleeping 
and  waking.  Ach!  I  remember  "Tom  Dodds"  telling 
Mr.  Brown*  (you  remember  Mr.  Brown?)  that  it  was 

*  James  Brown,  who  in  1812,  succeeded  Edward  Irving  as 
Teacher  of  the  Public  School  at  Haddington.  Miss  Welsh  had 
private  tuition  from  both  Irving  and  Brown,  and  also  attended 
the  School  under  each  successively.  The  following  excerpts  from 
Dr.  Welsh's  Account  Book  ("  Book  of  Receipts  and  Expenditure" 
he  calls  it)  give  the  dates  and  other  items  of  considerable  interest : 

21  Nov.,       1811.     Paid  Mr.  Irving  up  to  the  16th £2       20 

17  Dec.,       1811.     Paid  Mr.  Irving  up  to  the  17th 2       20 

20  Feb.,       1812.     Paid  Mr.  Irving  up  to  the  17th  for 

Private  Teaching  to  Jeany 2       2     0 

Paid  him  also  for  School  wages ....      1       6     1* 
17  March,    1812.     Paid  Mr.  Irving  for  teaching  Jeany 

one  hour  a-day  from  17  ult 1     11     6 

17  June,  1812.  Paid  Mr.  Irving  to  this  date,  for 
three  months  teaching  of  Latin,  one 

hour  a-day  @  £1.11.6 4     14     6 

27  Aug.,  1812.  Paid  Mr.  Irving  to  account  of  teach- 
ing Jeany  from  last  payment  to  this 
date 2  10  6 

(This  is  the  last   payment   to  Irving  mentioned  in  the  Account 
Book.) 

9  Feb.,       1813.     Paid  Mr.  Brown  for  teaching  Jeany 

from  9  Nov.  last  to  9  March  next . .     6       60 

In  April,  1813,  Miss  Welsh  was  sent  to  the  Boarding  School 
mentioned  in  the  Reminiscenses,  as  the  following  entry  shows : 

19  April,  1813.  Paid  Mrs.  Henning  a  quarter  in  ad- 
vance, from  the  14th  inst.,  of  Jeany's 
Board 15  15  0 

27  Oct.,        1813.     Paid  Mrs.  Henning  in  part  of  another 

quarter's  Board  for  Jeany 8       8     0 

5  Jany.,  1814.  Paid  Mr.  James  Brown,  Teacher  for 
Jeany,  Latin  and  Geography,  up  to 
Dec.,  28,  1813,  when  she  went  to  his 
Public  School 8  12  9 

Presumably  Edward  Irving  gave  up  the  Haddington  School 
at  the  beginning  of  the  Summer-holidays,  1812.  On  the  14th  of 
July  of  this  year,  Miss  Welsh  would  be  eleven  years  old;  yet  by 
this  time  she  had  fallen  "passionately  in  love  with  Irving!"  This 
would  probably  be  her  second  case  of  "  Child-love."  See  ante,  p.  47. 


208          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

impossible  to  learn  the  whole  of  some  task  he  had  marked 
out  to  us,  that  he  "hadn't  time  for  so  much."  "Then," 
said  Mr^Brown,  "make  time,  sir!  Miss  Welsh  can  always 
make  time  for  as  much  as  I  like  to  give  her ! "  He  wouldn't 
compliment  me  on  my  talent  for  making  time  now,  poor 
fellow!  if  he  were  alive  to  pay  compliments,  seeing  how 
I  go  on!  It  isn't  that  I  am  grown  idle  or  lazy  at  heart, 
but  I  am  grown  physically  incapable  of  exertion.  It's 
no  good  trying  to  "gar  myself"  do  things  now.  If  I 
overdo  my  strength  one  hour,  I  have  to  pay  for  it  the 
next  with  utter  impossibility  to  do  anything!  .  .  .  Be- 
sides this  bodily  languor  and  weariness,  I  really  have  now 
little  to  complain  of.  I  keep  free  of  colds;  have  not 
coughed  since  November;  and  I  get  some  reasonably 
good  sleep  ever  since  I  returned  from  Scotland  and  took 
to  drinking — whisky-toddy!  Don't  be  alarmed!  I  never 
increase  my  dose,  and  it  is  but  one  tablespoonful  (of 
whisky,  that  is)  before  going  to  bed. 

For  the  rest,  Mr.  Carlyle  is  hard  at  work  as  usual; 
and  the  house  would  be  dull  enough,  if  it  were  not  for 
the  plenty  of  people, — often  more  than  enough, — who 
come  to  see  me  in  the  forenoons,  and  for  Charlotte's 
dancing  spirits  and  face  radiant  with  good  humour  and 
kindliness  all  day  long.  And  the  strange  little  being 
has  so  much  good  sense  and  reflection  in  her,  that  she  is 
quite  as  good  to  talk  with  as  most  of  the  fine  ladies  that 
come  about  me.  Sometimes  I  go  out  for  a  drive,  and 
stay  to  luncheon  (which  is  my  dinner)  with  some  friend 
or  other,  to  shake  the  cobwebs  off  my  brain,  which  are 
apt  to  gather  there  when  I  sit  too  much  at  home!  Last 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  209 

Tuesday  I  spent  two  or  three  hours  at  George  Rennie's! 
Oh!  you  can't  fancy  what  an  old  worn-looking  man  he 
is  grown!  He  has  a  grand  house;  and  his  Cousin  Jane 
whom  he  married  (instead  of  me)  seems  to  make  him  a 
devoted  Wife;  but  his  life  is  not  a  happy  one,  I  think. 
Great  ambition  and  small  perseverance  have  brought  him 
a  succession  of  disappointments  and  mortifications  which 
have  embittered  a  temper  naturally  none  of  the  best! 
....  In  spite  of  all  this,  I  am  always  glad  to  meet 
George  for  the  sake  of  dear  old  long  ago;  and  if  he  is  not 
glad  to  meet  me,  he  is  at  least  still  very  fond  of  me,  I  am 
sure.  I  saw  at  his  house,  the  other  day,  for  the  first  time, 
Marion  Manderstone  (Margaret's  only  Daughter).  She 
is  the  image  of  what  Margaret  was  when  she  went  with 
me  to  the  Ballincrief  Ball, — my  last  Ball  in  East  Lothian! 
I  have  been  to  Balls  here, — very  grand  ones  too, — but 
never  with  the  same  heart  I  carried  to  that  one, 
before  any  shadow  of  death  had  fallen  on  my  young 
life! 

Who  on  Earth  do  you  think  I  have  coming  to  Two 
o'clock  dinner  with  me?  (Mr.  C.  dines  at  seven,  which  is 
too  long  for  me  to  wait  now-a-days).  That  tall  Sir  George 
Sinclair  that  went  to  see  George  [Welsh?],  with  some 
wonderful  ointment  or  other,  which  of  course  did  him  no 
good!  He  is  living  in  the  vicinity  of  London,  at  present; 
and  wants  us  to  spend  a  month  with  him  at  Thurso  Castle 
(in  the  very  extreme  North  of  Scotland),  when  Summer 
is  come.  If  I  could  be  conveyed  there  in  my  sleep,  I 
should  make  no  objections  for  my  share;  but  it  would 
be  a  terrible  long  journey  to  go,  for  the  doubtful  pleasure 

VOL.  II.-14 


210          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

of  finding  Sir  George  Sinclair  and  Lady  Clementina  at 
the  end  of  it! 

.  .  .  Surely  this  mild  Winter  must  have  been  good 
for  George  [Betty's  Son] — as  it  has  been  for  me.  If  I  only 
knew  him  improving,  tho'  ever  so  slowly,  I  should  think 
of  you  in  your  new  home  with  pleasure.  Have  you  any 
snowdrops  or  crocuses  in  bloom?  My  Cousin  Walter  sent 
me  a  dozen  snowdrops  from  Auchtertool  in  a  Letter. 
They  arrived  as  flat  as  could  be;  but  when  I  put  them  in 
water,  I  could  positively  see  them  drinking  and  their 
little  bellies  rounding  themselves  out,  till  they  looked 
as  fresh  as  if  they  had  been  just  brought  in  from  the 
garden. 

My  kind  regards  to  your  Husband  and  George, 
^iffectionately  yours, 

JANE  CARLYLE. 

John  Welsh  is  still  at  Falmouth,  not  worse  he  says. 
But  the  Dr.  thinks  his  case  perfectly  hopeless. 

LETTER  198 

To  Mrs.  Russell,  Thornhill. 

Chelsea,  12  May,  1859. 

Dearest  Mary — Had  I  been  ever  so  well,  I  shouldn't 
have  written  till  you  wrote, — just  to  bring  it  home  to  your 
business  and  bosom  how  much  easier  it  is  to  keep  out  of 
a  long  silence  than  to  get  out  of  it!  For  you  couldn't  but 
know  very  well,  my  Dear,  that  you  were  owing  me  a  long 
Letter,  in  spite  of  your  cool  doubts  as  to  whose  turn  it 
was!  Indeed  I  was  very  cross  with  you,  till  I  heard  that 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  21 1 

you  had  been  ill  with  your  stomach,  and  then  I  regretted 
that  I  had  stood  on  my  rights  of  woman,  when  I  could  so 
easily  have  written,  on  the  voluntary  principle.  Especial- 
ly as  to  answer  your  Letter  at  once  on  receiving  it,  was 
among  the  things  forbidden  to  me.  My  dear,  for  weeks 
I  have  been  forbidden  to  write,  or  read,  or  talk,  or  think! 
above  all  I  was  "on  no  account  to  think!'"  I  might  knit 
in  my  bed,  if  I  liked,  but  nothing  else.  Besides  swallowing 
tonics,  wine,  and  " nourishing  food"  from  morning  till 
night, — and  I  might  add,  from  night  till  morning, — and 
as  I  never  had  succeeded  in  learning  to  knit,  and  my 
Doctor  " couldn't  teach  me"  (which  he  excessively  re- 
gretted), I  had  just  to  resign  myself  to  be  an  idiot! 

So,  I  have  "had  a  Doctor  after  all!"  Doctor  Russell 
will  say  he  had  been  right  then,  in  telling  me  I  "had  never 
been  very  ill  or  I  would  have  sent  for  a  Doctor!"  But 
let  me  tell  him  first  why  I  sent  for  a  Doctor  on  the  present 
occasion.  In  the  first  place  my  head  was  getting  light, 
which  threatened  to  disable  me  from  giving  directions  about 
myself',  in  the  second  place  there  was-  need  of  somebody 
who  knew  to  explain  to  Mr.  C.  that  if  care  were  not  taken, 
I  should  die  of  sheer  weakness! — a  thing  which  makes 
no  show  to  inexperienced  eyes, — especially  to  eyes  blinded 
with  incessant  contemplation  of  Frederick  the  Great!* 

*  Carlyle  was  more  aware,  now  and  at  all  times,  of  his  Jane's 
weakness  and  ill  health  than  she  imagined.  There  is  scarcely  a  Let- 
ter of  his  to  any  member  of  his  Family  (and  he  wrote  to  one  or  other 
of  them  almost  every  day)  in  which  he  does  not  refer  specifically 
to  her  state  of  health;  and  when  she  is  at  all  seriously  ill  he  gives 
details  of  her  symptoms  with  a  minuteness  which  is  quite  pathetic. 
Especially  is  this  the  case  when  he  is  writing  to  Dr.  Carlyle, — a 
Physician  in  whom  he  still  had  a  lingering  hope.  This  will  become 
apparent  when  Carlyle's  Letters  are  published;  meantime  I  may 
give  an  example  or  two  applicable  to  Mrs.  Carlyle's  present  illness, 


212          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

So  I  sent  for  the  nearest  General  Practitioner*  (whom  I 
knew  to  bow  to,  and  had  often  been  struck  with  the 
human  practical  look  of);  and  he  came,  and  more  than 
realized  my  most  sanguine  expectations;  not  only  making 
the  danger  of  my  situation  understood,  so  that  I  was 
delivered  from  petty  worries,  and  all  that,  but  helping 
me  up  with  strength,  by  medicines,  and  especially  by 
giving  me  to  understand  that,  if  I  did  not  make  myself 


which  was  not  of  a  very  serious  nature,  little  more  than  the 
result  of  a  bad  cold,  complicated  by  constitutional  weakness  and 
almost  total  loss  of  appetite. 

On  the  14th  of  April,  a  month  before  the  date  of  the  above 
Letter,  he  writes  to  Dr.  Carlyle :  "  Poor  Jane,  I  regret  to  say,  as 
the  worst  item  of  all,  has  broken  down  at  last:  in  the  outburst  of 
almost  July  heat  last  week  but  one,  she  stripped  too  suddenly, 
gradually  got  into  a  bad  cold  (accumulated  peccancies,  I  have 
perceived,  were  there  at  any  rate);  and  for  the  last  four  days, 
sleepless,  foodless,  coughing,  tormented  somewhere  in  the  region 
of  the  heart,  she  has  been  as  ill  as  I  ever  saw  her.  Not  till  this 
morning  pretty  late,  could  I  flatter  myself  with  the  least  sign  of 
improvement;  but  now  I  do  strive  to  believe  we  are  round  the 
corner  again.  She  has  eaten  a  particle  of  white  fish  (her  own 
demand),  and  is  lying  quiet,  with  here  and  there  a  moment  of 
sleep,  which  is  better  than  none."  He  then  goes  on  to  ask  Dr. 
Carlyle  to  look  at  Cressfield,  a  fine  house  in  Dumfriesshire,  then 
to  let  furnished.  "  I  find/'  he  writes,  "  I  could  for  a  certain  part 
of  my  work,  pack  the  necessary  Books  in  something  like  com- 
pendious shape;  and  write  in  the  country.  At  all  events,  to  gather 
a  little  strength  there  would  be  very  furthersome  both  for  self  and 
Partner." 

Again  on  the  29th  of  April,  he  writes  to  Mrs.  Aitken :  "  She 
(Jane)  is  close  in  her  bed,  with  a  Doctor  watching  over  her, — a 
rather  sensible  kind  of  man,  who  comes  daily,  and  gives  little  or 
no  medicine,  but  prescribes  food  (or  attempts  at  food),  and  above 
all  things  absolute  silence  and  the  steady  endeavour  to  give  a  chance 
for  rest.  He  does  not  seem  alarmed  about  her  general  state;  but 
says  that  of  all  the  patients  he  has  had  she  is  the  most  excitable,  and 
is  so  weak  in  bodily  respects  that  she  amazes  him.  As  weak  as 
an  infant,  poor  little  soul;  and  loaded  daily  (not  in  these  days 
only)  with  such  a  burden  of  suffering,  which  she  bears  without 
quarrelling  with  it  more !  Yesterday  I  did  not  see  her  except  once, 
so  strict  was  her  order  for  seclusion.  She  sleeps  very  little,  but 
not  absolutely  none;  it  is  the  same  with  her  eating. — I  flatter 
myself,  and  the  medical  man  flatters  me,  with  the  hope  of  seeing 
her  fairly  on  the  mending  hand  (as  indeed,  we  hope  she  already 
intrinsically  is)  in  the  course  of  a  few  days  more." 

*  Mr.  Barnes. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  213 

eat,  I  should  certainly  die.  The  violent  illness  which  had 
preceded  this  state  of  weakness  I  had  treated  he  said 
quite  right,  but  my  "  audacity  was  not  a  thing  he  would 
recommend  me  to  repeat."  During  the  three  weeks  that 
I  saw  him  every  day  and  was  allowed  to  see  no  one  else, 
I  indeed  took  quite  a  serious  attachment  to  him;  and  he 
finds  me  the  very  oddest  patient  he  ever  had.  He  now 
sits  with  me  half  an  hour  instead  of  the  official  three 
minutes.  Another  thing,  he  is  not  unlike  Dr.  Russell; — 
certainly  far  liker  him  than  any  other  Medical  Man  in 
London. — But  I  am  writing  too  long.  I  am  in  the  drawing- 
room  now,  after  three  weeks'  confinement  to  bed, — part 
of  the  day  at  least;  and  may  see  one  person  daily.  And 
I  am  improving  in  strength  slowly  but  steadily.  So  soon 
as  I  am  up  to  moving,  and  the  weather  is  warm,  I  must  go, 
my  Dr.  says,  to  the  seaside. — God  bless  you. 
Affectionately, 

J.  W.  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  199 

To  Mrs.  Russell,  Thornhill. 

Sunny  Bank,  Haddington,  Sunday, 
'27  June,  1859.' 

My  dearest  Mary — You  are  not  to  fancy  me  indifferent 
to  your  kindness,  writing  so  often  when  ill  yourself.  Such 
sympathy  is  not  thrown  away  on  me,  tho'  my  long  silence 
does  not  look  like  it.  The  fact  is,  I  put  off  writing  from 
day  to  day,  that  I  might  be  able  to  tell  you  a  conclusion 
was  arrived  at  about  our  leaving  home, — to  tell  you  the 
where  and  the  when  of  our  going That  Lodging 


214          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

which  I  think  I  told  you  of,  in  a  Farmhouse  at  Aberdour 
(Fife)  was  decided  on,  and  immediately  we  must  carry 
out  the  decision.  I  was  in  the  midst  of  packing  and  pre- 
paring for  the  defects  of  a  lodging,  and  for  the  possibilities 
of  thieves  at  home,  when  your  last  dear  Letter  reached  me; 
and  I  tried  sincerely  to  find  a  leisure  hour  to  write  to  you 
before  starting;  but  what  with  the  dreadful  quantity  to  be 
done  and  the  next  to  no  strength  to  do  it  with,  I  had  to 
rest  in  the  intention. 

Last  Wednesday  morning  I  saw  my  Husband  and  maid, 
and  horse  and  dog,  fairly  off  at  eight  in  the  morning  to  sail 
to  their  destination.  Myself  set  out  at  eight  in  the  even- 
ing, to  travel  all  night!  with  a  slight  hope  of  reaching 
Sunny  Bank  next  morning — alive!  It  was  my  Doctor's 
opinion,  as  well  as  my  own,  that  doing  the  whole  journey 
at  one  fell  rush,  in  the  dark,  would  be  less  hurtful  to  me 
than  attempting  to  sleep  at  Inns  on  the  road,  and  getting 
myself  agitated  by  changes.  I  am  sure  it  was;  and  that 
the  best  was  made  of  a  bad  job  that  could  be 
made! 

I  arrived  here  on  Thursday  morning,  aching  all  over 
with  fatigue,  as  I  never  ached  before  in  all  my  life;  but  my 
mind  quite  calm:  and  that  is  the  chief  thing  I  have  to  at- 
tend to.  To-day  is  Sunday,  and  I  have  done  nothing 
since  I  arrived  but  rest!  My  dear  old  ladies  do  everything 
on  earth  that  is  possible  to  strengthen  and  soothe  me; 
and  I  am  beginning  to  contemplate  the  remainder  of  the 
journey  with  some  assurance  of  being  able  to  accomplish 
it.  On  Tuesday  I  proceed  to  Fife,  if  all  go  well.  My 
family  are  already  established  there  in  the  Farmhouse, 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  215 

and  write  to  me  satisfactory  accounts  of  it.    You  shall 
hear  about  it  from  myself  ere  long. 

I  had  a  Letter  from  Mrs.  Pringle  inviting  us  in  a  self- 
devoted  sort  of  way  to  come  and  recruit  at  Lann  Hall.  .  .  . 

If  I  can  get  a  glimpse  of  you  and  the  Doctor  I  will  have 
it.  But  for  Lann  Hall,  it  doesn't  suit  me.  Good-bye, 
Darling.  I  can't  get  staying  up-stairs  long  at  a  time: 
they  send  to  ask  if  I  am  ill! 

Your  ever  affectionate 

JANE  CARLYLE. 

Do  tell  me  soon  if  you  are  better,  poor  Dear. 
LETTER  200 

To  Mrs.  Russell,  Thornhill. 

Humble  Farm,  Aberdour,  Fife,  11  July,  1859. 

Dearest  Mary—.  .  .  Our  lodging  here  is  all,  and 
more  than  all,  that  could  be  expected  of  seaside  quarters. 
The  beautifullest  view  in  the  created  world!  Rooms 
enough,  well-sized,  well-furnished,  and  quite  clean;  com- 
mand of  what  Mr.  C.  calls  "soft  food,"  for  both  himself 
and  horse.  As  for  me,  soft  food  is  the  last  sort  that  I  find 
useful.  And  as  for  air,  there  can  be  none  purer  than  this, 
blowing  from  the  Atlantic  fresh  on  a  hill-top!  Decidedly 
there  is  everything  here  needed  for  happiness,  but  just 
one  thing — the  faculty  of  being  happy!  And  that  unfor- 
tunately, I  had  never  much  of  in  my  best  days;  and  in 
the  days  that  are,  it  is  lost  to  me  altogether! 

I  have  now  been  here  a  fortnight,  and  all  that  time 
have  experienced  no  benefit  from  the  change;  indeed  have 
felt  weaker  and  mc^e  spiritless  than  before  I  left  home. 


New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

At  first  I  fancied  myself  suffering  from  the  fatigues  of  the 
journey,  but  there  has  been  time  surely  to  recover  from 
that;  and  I  am  not. 

How  are  you?  I  daresay  you  suffer  as  much  as  I  do; 
but  you  are  more  patient. 

I  have  a  dim  recollection  of  having  told  you  of  a  Letter 
I  had  from  Mrs.  Pringle  inviting  us  in  a  grand  manner  to 
come  and  be  done  at  Lann  Hall.  .  .  .  You  know  she 
is  going  to  be  married  to  a  Mr.  Potts,  or  some  such  thing, 
one  of  her  Trustees?  As  I  don't  know  his  position  in  so- 
ciety, I  can't  say  if  she  has  justified  your  Husband's 
opinion  of  her  cleverness. 

Good-bye,  Dear.  Love  to  your  Husband.  You  have 
now  no  excuse  for  not  writing,  as  you  have  my  address,— 
once  if  not  twice. 

Yours  affectionately, 

JANE  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  201 

To  J.  George  Cooke]  London. 

Auchtertool  House,   Friday,  '9  Sep.,  1859.' 

My  dear  Friend — .  .  .*  I  have  had  a  piece  of  news 
on  my  mind  for  you  these  two  weeks:  little  Miss  Barnes 
(you  remember  her?  Remember  her?  Will  you  ever 
forget  her?)  has  found  a  Being  she  can  love!  and  who— 
loves  her!  !  And  the  marriage  will  take  place  soon!  As 
odd  as  any  other  part  of  my  news  is  that  the  little  girl  was 
moved  in  spirit  to  write  and  tell  me  of  her  happiness!  I 
"had  been  so  kind  to  her  that  evening,"  etc.,  etc.  Indeed 

*A  part  of  what  is  omitted  here  is  printed  in  Letters  and  M em- 
orialst.iii.,  4. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  217 

the  whole  of  her  Letter,  which  is  excessively  sentimental, 
breathes  a  spirit  of  beautiful  humility  towards  me,  and  of 
young-girl  enthusiasm  towards  her  lover  and  her  Father 
and  me  and  everybody!  Now,  will  you  ever  judge  from 
first  impressions  again?  I  could 'i  have  taken  my  Bible 
oath  that  this  little  girl  hadn't  one  spark  of  sentiment  or 
humility  (of  all  things)  in  her  whole  composition.  I  was 
as  sure  as  if  I  had  been  "up  thro'  her  and  down  thro'  her 
with  a  lighted  candle"  (to  use  an  Annandale  expression). 

Poor  Geraldine!  I  wish,  if  a  Doctor  was  needed,  she 
would  have  consigned  herself  to  Mr.  Barnes.  What  do 
you  think  ails  her?  The  Letter  she  wrote  to  me  about  her 
illness  was  so  gay  and  amusing  that  I  did  not  think  it  in- 
dicated much  the  matter;  but  I  might  have  known  by  my- 
self that  the  excitability  of  nerves  which  makes  amusing 
Letters  is  very  compatible  with  serious  ailment. 

I  liked  Mr.  Mantell  much  when  I  saw  him  away  out  of 
the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  Geraldine.  So  did  Mr.  C.  like 
him:  "far  too  clever  and  substantial  a  man  to  be  thrown 
away  on  a  flimsy  tatter  of  a  creature  like  Geraldine  Jews- 
bury,"*  was  his  remark  when  he  returned  from  "convoy- 
ing" Mr.  Mantell. 

*This  is  hard  measure  for  poor  Geraldine!  But  Mrs.  Car- 
lyle's  own  opinion  of  her  as  expressed  in  another  Letter  from 
Fife  to  Mr.  J.  G.  Cooke  is  quite  as  uncomplimentary.  Mr.  Cooke 
and  Geraldine  Jewsbury  saw  Mrs.  Carlyle  off,  from  the  Railway 
Station  in  London,  on  this  trip  to  Scotland.  Mrs.  Carlyle  writes 
to  him  soon  after  reaching  Humbie  Farm,  "I  wondered,  as  much 
as  you  could  do,  what  demon  inspired  the  tasteless  jest  with 
which  I  bade  you  goodbye!  in  presence,  too,  of  the  most  gossiping 
and  romancing  of  all  our  mutual  acquaintance." — The  whole 
Letter  is  printed  in  Letters  and  Memorials  ii.,  396-9;  but  Car- 
lyle's  note  on  the  MS.  of  the  Letter,  to  the  effect  that  the  person 
referred  to  is  Geraldine,  has  been  omitted  by  Mr.  Froude.  (The 
Scotticism,  acquaintance  for  acquaintances,  is  of  frequent  occur- 
rence in  Mrs.  Carlyle's  Letters.) 


218          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

I  am  coming  [home]  before  long.  Mr.  C.  goes  to  An- 
nandale,  he  thinks,  the  end  of  next  week;  I  shall  then  get 
Charlotte  packed  off  home  to  make  ready  for  me;  and  fol- 
low myself,  so  as  to  be  there  a  week  before  Mr.  C.  It  were 
best  I  had  time  to  rest  before  "my  duties"  (as  Mrs.  Godby 
would  say)  begin. 

I  was  to  have  gone  with  him  to  Alderley  (the  Stanleys') 
but  I  have  no  spirit  for  late  dinners  and  dressing,  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing.  So  I  will  cut  myself  loose  here.  A  day 
or  two  with  my  Aunts  in  Edinburgh,  and  with  my  old 
ladies  at  Haddington,  will  fill  up  all  the  time  I  shall  have  to 
dispose  of. 

Yours  affectionately, 

JANE  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  202 

To  T.  Carlyle,  Scotsbrig. 

Chelsea,  24  September,  1859. 

All  right!  I  arrived  soon  after  five  last  evening;  hav- 
ing lost  neither  my  head  nor  my  luggage.  But  my  tired- 
ness! Heaven  knows  what  it  would  have  been  had  I  come 
all  the  way  at  once!  for  each  half  of  the  journey  was  as 
much  as  I  could  bear. 

I  got  little  sleep  at  York,  but  no  shame  to  Mrs.  Scawin. 
For  my  bed  proved  most  comfortable,  not  a  "small  being" 
molested  me,  of  any  sort;  and  the  quietness  was  wonder- 
ful! Except  that  several  times  during  the  night  the  rail- 
way whistle  seemed  to  fill  my  room,  there  wasn't  a  sound! 
It  was  merely  the  tumult  of  my  own  blood  that  kept  me 


Jane   Welsh  Carlyle  219 

waking.  On  the  whole,  this  first  experience  of  an  Inn 
has  been  most  encouraging;  for  I  had  every  comfort,  and 
the  "cha-a-rge"  was  moderate.  I  had  tea  with  plenty  of 
warm  muffins  and  eggs,  a  tumbler  of  white-wine  negus  and 
toast  for  supper,  a  breakfast  quite  sumptuous,  whole  roast 
fowl  (cold),  a  tongue,  eggs,  etc.  I  had  as  many  coals  in 
my  bedroom  as  kept  the  fire  in  all  night;  a  pair  of  candles 
that  I  burnt  down;  and  for  all  this,  with  beautiful 
rooms  and  a  well-aired,  clean  bed,  I  was  cha-a-rged 
just  9s.  2d. 

I  find  the  work  here  far  advanced;  all  the  floors  scrubbed 
and  the  carpets  down;  Mrs.  Southam  having  helped  Char- 
lotte, who  was  "  dreadful  tired,"  and  afraid  of  your  coming 
before  she  was  ready.  .  .  . 

Mr.  Larkin  went  to  the  Station  to  meet  me;  but  we 
failed  to  meet.  However,  I  managed  well  enough.  He 
has  just  been  here  and  says  the  horse  was  well  two  days 
ago,  and  has  a  very  good  stable  and  every  attention  at 
Silvester's.  Charlotte  was  very  frightened  that  the 
Prince's  horse*  might  have  "some  bad  complaint/7  as  the 
people  said  on  board  it  was  ill;  and  to  see  the  Prince's 
groom  giving  our  horse  water  and  corn  "out  of  the  same 
dishes  which  the  other  horse  had  used"  alarmed  her  so 
much  that  she  went  to  Silvester's  after  her  arrival,  and 
begged  him  to  "give  the  horse  some  physic  in  case  of  his 
catching  anything ! ! ! " 

Mrs.  Gilchrist  and  then  Mrs.  Royston  and  then  Mr. 
Larkin  have  been  here  to  ask  for  me. 


came  from  Granton  to  London  on  the  same  steamer 
with  Fritz  and  Charlotte. 


!20          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

I  don't  feel  to  have  got  any  cold;  indeed  the  air  is  mild 
and  warm  here, — quite  different  from  what  I  left  at  Had- 
dington.  .  .  . 

Yours  ever, 

J.  W.  C. 

P.  S.  —I  took  henbane  last  night,  and  got  hardly  any 
sleep,  nevertheless. 

LETTER  203 

To  Mrs.  Russell,  Holm  Hill*  Thornhill 

Chelsea,  Friday,  'Autumn,  1859.! 

Dearest  Mary —  .  .  .  Did  you  see  in  your  news- 
paper that  Mr.  Carlyle  was  made  a  "  Knight  of  the  White 
Falcon"?  Consequently  I  am  a  Lady  of  the  White  Fal- 
con! Charlotte  told  our  charwoman,  with  great  glee, 
that  the  Master  might  call  himself  "Sir  Thomas,  if  he 
liked."  "My!"  said  the  charwoman,  "then  the  Mistress 
is  Lady,  now!"  "Yes,"  said  Charlotte,  "but  she  says  she 
won't  go  in  for  it!  Such  a  shame!" — The  Order,  however, 
which  Mr.  C.  immediately  made  over  to  me,  is  beautiful! 
A  solid  enamelled  White  Falcon,  on  a  green  star,  attached 
to  a  broad  red  ribbon.  If  I  live  ever  to  visit  you  again,  I 
shall  wear  it,  when  you  have  Mrs.  Kennedy  and  Robert 
M'Turk! 

My  poor  little  Dog  is  become  a  source  of  great  sorrow; 
his  tendency  to  asthma  having  been  dreadfully  developed 
since  the  Butcher's  cart  went  over  his  throat.  I  have 

*  Dr.  Russell's  new  house  a  little  way  out  of  Thornhill. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  221 

made  him  a  little  red  cloak,  and   he   keeps   the   house 
with  me. 

Love  to  the  Doctor;  remember  me  kindly  to  all  my 
Thornhill  friends.  .  .  . 

Yours  ever  affectionately, 

JANE  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  204 

To  Mrs.  Austin,  The  Gill. 

Chelsea,  Monday,  'End  of  Jan'y,  I860.! 

My  dear  Mary —  ....  The  Gill  fowls  are  al- 
ways welcomed  "in  our  choicest  mood";  and  the  great 
currant-loaf  has  already  received  the  compliment  of  hav- 
ing a  good  half  slice  of  it  swallowed  down  Mr.  C.'s  throat, 
to  my  immense  surprise,  for  not  only  does  he  avoid  all  such 
"Dainties"  as  a  general  rule,  but  to-day  in  particular,  his 
"interior"  had  been  entirely  "ruined"  by  a  piece  of  pheas- 
ant he  ate  yesterday;  and  more  than  usual  discretion  was 
to  have  been  expected  of  him!  The  fact  is,  he  ate  it  out 
of  affection -for  you,  and  as  an  expression  of  grateful  feel- 
ing; not  out  of  any  real  liking  for  currant-loaf,  nor  yet 
"as  a  melancholy  distraction"  (the  motive  he  usually 
assigns  for  committing  any  extravagance  in  eating, — 
breaking  into  green  pears,  and  such  like!)  Thank  you 
much!  You  are  the  same  dear,  kind  Mary  always! 

We  are  only  subsiding  still  from  the  glories  of  the 
Grange  and  from  the  indigestions!  Not  that  my  individual 
digestion  has  been  disturbed  by  the  visit.  I  frankly  con- 
fess that  "French  Cookery"  agrees  with  me  remarkably 
well!  and  that  I  can  drink  Champagne  to  dinner  every 


222  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

day,  not  only  without  hurt,  but  with  benefit  to  my  health. 
Then  it  is  cheering  to  get  out  of  the  "  valley  of  the  shadow" 
of  Frederick  the  Great  for  even  eight  days!  And  it  is  won- 
derfully pleasant  to  live  in  a  house  where,  by  means  of 
hot-water  pipes,  there  is  the  temperature  of  Summer  in  the 
dead  of  Winter!  not  to  speak  of  the  brilliant  talk,  and 
the  brilliant  diamonds,  and  the  brilliant  ever-so-many 
things!  which,  tho'  "the  flames  o'  Hell"  may  certainly 
"come  and  burn  it  a'  up!"  is  very  pretty  and  pleasant  "in 
the  meanwhile!"  All  the  prettier  for  me,  that  I  have 
lived  more  like  "owl  in  desert"  of  late  years,  than  like  an 
unfeathered,  articulate-speaking  woman!  haunted  every 
day  and  all  by  the  ghost  of  Frederick  the  Great!  And  so  I 
was  unusually  well  at  the  Grange;  and  came  home  in  better 
case  than  I  left  it!  and  much  pleased  with  the  new  Lady, 
who  was  kindnesses  self!  A  really  amiable,  loveable 
woman  she  seems  to  be;  much  more  intent  on  making  her 
visitors  at  their  ease  and  happy,  than  on  shewing  off  her- 
self, and  attracting  admiration. 

It  was  in  sickening  apprehension  that  I  arrived  at  my 
own  door,  however.  I  had  left  my  poor  wee  Dog  so  ill  of 
old  age,  complicated  with  asthma,  that  I  doubted  that  I 
should  find  him  alive!  It  was  the  first  time  for  eleven 
years  that  his  welcoming  bark  had  failed  me!  Was  he 
really  dead,  then?  No!  strange  to  say,  he  was  actually 
a  little  better  and  had  run  up  the  kitchen  stairs  to  wel- 
come me  as  usual;  but  there  he  had  been  arrested  by  a 
paroxysm  of  coughing,  and  the  more  he  tried  to  shew  his 
joy  the  more  he  could  not  do  it! 

Mr.  C.  keeps  insisting  on  "a  little  prussic  acid"  for 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  223 

him!  At  the  same  time  he  was  overheard  saying  to  him 
in  the  garden  one  day,  "Poor  little  fellow!  I  declare  I  am 
heartily  sorry  for  you!  If  I  could  make  you  young  again, 
upon  my  soul  I  would ! "  And  now,  rgood-bye,  dear 
Mary.  .  . 

Affectionately  yours, 

JANE  WELSH  CARLYLE. 


LETTER  205 

To  Mrs.  Russell,  Holm  Rill,  Thornhill. 

Chelsea,  24  February,  1860. 

Dearest  Mary — If  you  are  going  to  make  a  jacket  the 
sooner  you  have  the  pattern  the  better;  for  the  sooner 
you  begin,  as  I  know,  you  will  be  the  sooner  ended.  So  I 
won't  put  off  more  time,  waiting  for  a  day  of  leisure  enough 
to  write  you  a  good  long  Letter;  but  take  my  chances  of 
interruption,  which  are  rather  many  just  now. 

I  wish  I  was  beside  you  to  help  you  with  the  jacket,  in 
the  way  of  delivering  a  lecture  on  the  paper  illustration 
[enclosed].  You  will  need  some  directions,  and  I  must 
give  them,  as  well  as  I  can  at  this  distance.  .  .  . 

For  the  rest:  I  am  still  not  laid  up,  but  going  out  for  a 
drive  twice  a  week,  and  sometimes,  for  a  short  walk.  But 
if  I  am  less  ill  than  usual  this  Winter,  I  am  more  than 
usually  sorrowful.  For  I  have  lost  my  dear  little  com- 
panion of  eleven  years'  standing:  my  little  Nero  is  dead! 
And  the  grief  his  death  has  caused  me  has  been  wonderful 
even  to  myself.  His  patience  and  gentleness,  and  loving 
struggle  to  do  all  his  bits  of  duties  under  his  painful  illness, 


224          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

up  to  the  last  hour  of  his  life,  was  very  strange  and  touch- 
ing to  see,  and  had  so  endeared  him  to  everybody  in  the 
house,  that  I  was  happily  spared  all  reproaches  for  wasting 
so  much  feeling  on  a  dog.  Mr.  C.  couldn't  have  reproached 
me,  for  he  himself  was  in  tears  at  the  poor  little  thing's 
end!  and  his  own  heart  was  (as  he  phrased  it)  "  unex- 
pectedly and  distractedly  torn  to  pieces  with  it!"  As  for 
Charlotte,  she  went  about  for  three  days  after  with  her 
face  all  swollen  and  red  with  weeping.  But  on  the  fourth 
day  she  got  back  her  good  looks  and  gay  spirits;  and 
much  sooner,  Mr.  C.  had  got  to  speak  of  "poor  Nero/' 
composedly  enough.  Only  to  me,  whom  he  belonged  to 
and  whom  he  preferred  to  all  living,  does  my  dear  wee  dog 
remain  a  constantly  recurring  blank,  and  a  thought  of 
strange  sadness!  What  is  become  of  that  little,  beautiful, 
graceful  Life,  so  full  of  love  and  loyalty  and  sense  of  duty, 
up  to  the  last  moment  that  it  animated  the  body  of  that 
little  dog?  Is  it  to  be  extinguished,  abolished,  annihilated 
in  an  instant,  while  the  brutalized,  two-legged,  so-called 
human  creature  who  dies  in  a  ditch,  after  having  out- 
raged all  duties,  and  caused  nothing  but  pain  and  disgust 
to  all  concerned  with  him,— is  he  to  live  forever?  It  is  im- 
possible for  me  to  believe  that!  I  couldn't  help  saying  so 
in  writing  to  my  Aunt  Grace,  and  expected  a  terrible 
lecture  for  it.  But  not  so!  Grace,  who  had  been  fond  of 
my  little  dog,  couldn't  find  in  her  heart  to  speak  un- 
kindly on  his  subject,  nay,  actually  gave  me  a  reference  to 
certain  verses  in  Romans  which  seemed  to  warrant  my  be- 
lief in  the  immortality  of  animal  life  as  well  as  human. 
One  thing  is  sure,  anyhow:  my  little  dog  is  buried  at  the 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  225 

top  of  our  Garden;  and  I  grieve  for  him  as  if  he  had  been 
my  little  human  child.    Love  to  the  Doctor,  and  a  kiss  to 

yourself. 

Affectionately  yours, 

JANE  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  206 

To  Mrs.  Russellj  Holm  Hill,  Thornhill. 

Chelsea,  Wednesday,  '6  June,  I860.'. 

Dearest  Mary — I  am  really  terrified  just  now  to  hear 
the  Postman's  rap  and  to  open  a  Letter !  One  death  after 
another,  in  which  I  have  an  interest  more  or  less  deep, 
has  followed,  till  it  is  borne  in  on  me  that  every  Letter 
I  receive,  especially  in  an  unknown  handwriting,  must 
be  either  an  "Intimation,"  or  news  of  deadly  illness! 
Two,  within  the  last  week,  of  my  oldest  friends  gone! 
And  one  of  these  so  unexpectedly;  for  I  had  heard  quite 
recently  of  Robert  M'Turk,*  both  from  you  and  from 
Mrs.  Pringle  (Potts),  and  both  reported  him  so  well! 
Mrs.  P.  said,  I  remember,  that  he  was  "the  one  flourishing 
man  in  that  quarter."  Too  flourishing!  I  take  it  for 
granted  that  he  died  of  apoplexy.  The  other,  my  dear 
old  Miss  Jess  Donaldson's  death,  was  not  unexpected  for 
me.  Since  the  older  Sister  went,  hardly  two  months  ago, 
I  felt  sure  the  other  would  soon  follow, — the  one  interest 
and  occupation  and  companionship  in  life  that  had  kept 
her  from  sinking  under  a  complication  of  ailments  (the 
worst  of  them  old  age),  being  withdrawn,— what  indeed 
remained  for  that  poor  old  solitary  life-long  invalid  but 

*An  early  lover  of  Miss  Welsh,  when  she  was  "  an  extremely 
absurd  little  girl."     See  Letters  and  Memorials,  ii.,  392. 

VOL.  II. -15 


226          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

to  die?  Those  who  loved  her  best  could  not  wish  her 
life  prolonged  in  such  suffering  and  desolation!  But  it 
was  so  sudden  a  death  at  the  last,  almost  without  any 
increase  of  illness, — a  slight  cold,  that  would  not  have 
killed  a  baby,  killed  her,  worn  to  a  shred  as  she  was! 
And  there  were  circumstances  which  made  the  suddenness 
a  great  shock  to  me,  tho'  both  expecting  and  wishing 
she  might  not  live  long.  .  .  . 

Will  you  write  and  tell  me  anything  you  know  about 
Robert  M'Turk's  death;  and  how  that  poor  little  sweet 
invalid  woman  is  bearing  it?  Surely  it  will  be  her  death 
too!  for  he  seemed  to  carry  her  thro'  life  in  his  arms. 
I  would  like  to  write  to  her,  just  to  say  how  sorry  I  am. 
But  I  am  afraid  of  her  being  too  ill  to  find  a  line  from  me 
anything  but  intrusive.  There  are  some  griefs  too  cruel 
for  being  touched  even  with  a  word  of  sympathy;  and 
it  seems  to  me  this  of  hers  must  be  such!  Love  to  your 

Husband. 

Yours  ever, 

J.  W.  C. 

My  Husband  is  working  himself  to  death;  has  no 
thought  of  going  North  this  year!  And  I  shall  not  dare 
to  leave  him  in  his  present  way.  I  cannot  make  him  take 
care  of  himself:  but  I  can  put  all  sorts  of  hindrances  in 
the  way  of  his  absolutely  killing  himself. 

LETTER  207 

To  Mrs.  Aitken,  Dumfries. 

Chelsea,  Saturday,  11  Aug.,  1860. 

My  dear  Jean—.    .    .    I  will  inclose  you  a  Note  I 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  227 

had  from  Sir  George  Sinclair,  which  will  put  you  in  heart 
about  Mr.  C.'s  situation  up  there.*  Even  from  the  one 
Letter  I  have  had  from  himself  since  his  arrival,  it  appears 
that  his  circumstances  are  as  favourable  for  the  purposes 
he  had  in  view  as  could  have  well  been  found  in  a  con- 
ditional world. 

I  trust  in  God  he  will  get  calmed  down,  by  a  good 
long  stay  there;  and  come  back  with  a  thicker  skin  than 
he  took  away!  This  Book  has  been  far  too  long  a  piece 
of  work  for  him, — to  say  nothing  of  its  difficulty. 

I  don't  know  what  I  am  going  to  do  with  myself  yet. 
His  nervous  state  had  acted  upon  me,  till  I  was  become 
more  sleepless  and  agitated  than  himself!  And  I  was 
on  the  verge  of  complete  break-down  into  serious  illness 
when  Mr.  C.  left,  and  my  Doctor  took  me  in  hands.  To 
judge  from  the  amount  of  " composing  draughts"  given 
me  (three  in  a  day!),  I  must  have  been  very  near  boiling 
over  and  blowing  my  lid  off!  He  (the  Doctor)  forbade 
my  leaving  home  for  the  present;  and  I  shall  await  his 
permission  before  going  anywhere.  He  is  both  a  skilful 
and  honest  man,  and  would  not  keep  me  here  for  the  sake 
of  running  up  a  bill! — But  I  do  feel  a  great  longing  to  be 
on  the  top  of  a  hill  somewhere,  to  breathe  more  freely. — 
I  will  tell  you  my  plans  when  I  have  any.  What  a  nice 
little  woman  Mrs.  Symington  is!  I  liked  her  much  better 
than  him.  Jamesf  might  have  called  and  reported  himself 
at  Cheyne  Row.  But  I  find  him,  socially  speaking,  a 
most  impracticable  youth!  I  wish  he  could  fall  in  love! 

*  At  Thurso  Castle,  John  o'Groat's. 

t  Mrs.  Aitken's  eldest  son,  then  living  in  London. 


528          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

That  would  be  the  making  of  him,  if  he  did  it  wisely  and 
not  too  well. — Kind  regards  to  your  Husband. 
Yours,  faithfully, 

JANE  WILSH  CARLYLE. 


LETTER  208 

To  Mrs.  Russell,  Holm  Hill. 

Alderley  Park,  24  August,  1860. 

Dearest  Mary — You  must  be  thinking  me  a  little 
insane;  and  you  won't  be  far  from  the  truth!  I  have 
really  been  driven  nearly  beside  myself  by  a  complication 
of  things, — a  serious  and  most  ill-timed  illness  included. 
My  Dear,  after  one  has  gone  for  a  week  almost  entirely 
without  sleep,  and  almost  entirely  without  other  nourish- 
ment than  brandy  and  water,  one  may  be  pardoned  some 
omissions! 

Besides,  till  I  had  really  got  myself  started,  and  found 
myself  thus  far  alive,  and  life-like,  I  couldn't  have  answered 
your  dear  kind  Letter  to  any  definite  purpose.  It  depend- 
ed altogether  on  how  I  stood  the  first  half  of  the  journey 
to  Scotland,  whether  I  undertook  the  other,  or  returned 
to  Chelsea,  where  I  should  at  least  not  trouble  my  friends 
with  my  ailments. 

I  came  off  so  suddenly  at  the  last,  and  had  such  a 
quantity  of  things  to  do  in  a  hurry,  with  no  strength  to 
do  them,  that  I  did  not  get  my  Exodus  announced  to 
even  my  Husband!*  and  absurd  as  I  feel  it,  after  demand- 

*  This  was  an  unlucky  omission ;  for  Carlyle,  in  ignorance  of 
his  Wife's  departure  from  Chelsea,  wrote  her  a  Letter  in  which 
he  said  he  was  about  to  leave  Thurso  (where  he  was  staying  as 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  229 

ing  an  immediate  answer  from  you,  to  let  my  own  next 
communciation  linger  so  long,  I  was  obliged  to  just  accept 
the  absurdity!  When  you  hear  all  my  history  of  late 
weeks  you  will  not  wonder  that  I  should  have  failed  in 
writing,  so  much  as  that  I  should  have  failed  in  dying, 
or  going  out  of  my  mind. 

the  guest  of  Sir  George  Sinclair),  and  "sail  South."  This  Letter, 
addressed  to  Cheyne  Row,  did  not  reach  Mrs.  Carlyle  till  the  25th 
of  August,  by  which  time  she  was  at  Alderley  Park  in  Cheshire 
on  a  visit  to  Lady  Stanley.  She  seems  to  have  jumped  to  the 
conclusion  that  "  sailing  South "  meant  sailing  to  London,  instead 
of  to  Leith,  as  Carlyle  intended.  Had  he  dreamed  of  the  possibility 
of  her  being  from  home,  he  would  doubtless  have  been  more 
specific.  She  hurried  back  to  London;  and  on  hearing  that  he 
was  coming  only  as  far  as  Dumfriesshire,  for  the  present,  she  wrote 
him  a  series  of  angry  Letters  (printed  with  many  important  and 
unmarked  omissions  in  Letters  and  Memorials,  iii.,  47-55).  which 
are  little  to  her  credit.  Carlyle  took  his  scolding  kindly  and 
patiently;  but  he  does  venture  to  hint  that  she  had  been  "precipi- 
tate," and  had  perhaps  herself  "  lost  heart  fo?r  further  travel. "  With 
some  vehemence  Jane  resented  and  protested  against  the  suggestion; 
but  a  careful  study  of  all  the  Letters  she  wrote,  about  this  time, 
and  a  consideration  of  the  circumstances  in  which  she  was  placed, 
show  pretty  clearly  that  Carlyle  was  quite  right  in  his  surmise:  (1), 
She  had  left  her  house  in  charge  of  a  servant  whose  honesty  she 
suspected,  and  who  did  very  soon  become  a  convicted  thief.  She 
was  uneasy  at  having  left  this  person  in  such  a  responsible  position; 
and  she  explains  to  Mrs.  Russell  (in  Letter  213,  post)  that  this 
"was  one  of  the  things"  she  "had  to  hurry  home  for."  (2),  She 
feared  the  Gill  would  be  unattractive  and  dull;  for  in  a  passage 
omitted  from  Letter  221  (Letters  and  Memorials,  iii.,  35)  she  had 
written,  "  But  decidedly,  mooning  about  all  by  myself,  at  the 
Gill,  and  lapping  milk,  which  doesn't  agree  with  me,  and  being 
stared  at  by  the  Gill  children  as  their  'Aunt ! '  is  not  the  happy 
change  for  which  I  would  go  far,  much  as  I  like  Mary  Austin, 
and  like  to  speak  with  her  for  a  few  hours  [the  italics  are  Mrs. 
Carlyle's].  Now  if  I  had  it  in  my  power  to  go  on  to  you 
for  a  week  or  so  from  the  Gill,  .  .  .  the  pleasure  of  a 
week  with  you  and  the  Doctor  would  counterbalance  the 
tedium  of  a  week  at  the  Gill;  and  I  could  break  the  long  journey 
by  staying  a  few  days  at  Alderley  Park."  (3),  But  after  accepting 
Lady  Stanley's  invitation  and  after  having  made  preparation  for 
leaving  London,  she  learnt  that  Mrs.  Russell's  "spare  room" 
was  occupied  by  another  guest, — a  lady, — who  might  stay  for  an 
indefinite  time.  Mrs.  Carlyle  expresses  her  dislike  to  being  a 
second  guest  at  Mrs.  Russell's;  and  evidently  feared  that  if  she 
took  the  long  journey  to  Scotland  she  might  have  to  spend  all 
her  time  at  the  Gill! — She  was  the  unfortunate  victim  of  circum- 
stances. No  one  was  to  blame  more  than  herself.  The  chief 
regret  is  that  her  impatient  and  angry  Letters  were  ever  published] 


rew  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

But  to  the  purpose:  I  am  thus  far  safe;  and  tho' 
the  journey  tired  me  excessively,  I  have  been  improving 
every  hour  since.  Lady  Stanley  and  her  Daughters  are 
charming  people,  and  as  kind  to  me,  and  considerate, 
as  it  is  possible  to  be.  Last  night  I  got  the  first  human 
sleep  that  I  have  had  these  six  weeks!  And  I  expect  to 
be  quite  in  heart  for  proceeding  to  the  Gill  next  week. 
Will  you  kindly  address  a  line  to  me  there,  "Mrs.  Austin, 
The  Gill,  Cummertrees,  Annan/ '  for  next  Wednesday, 
telling  me  when  your  friend's  visit  terminates.  For  one 
of  us  at  a  time,  I  should  say,  would  be  quite  enough  for 
you.  And  of  course,  I  should  rather  be  alone  with  you, 
than  with  you  in  the  presence  of  a  third  person. — 

I  have  to  write  to  Mr.  Carlyle;  and  my  Doctor's  last 
words  to  me  were  to  "beware  of  overworking  that  excited 
brain  of  yours. "  So  I  will  leave  all  the  rest  till  we  meet. 

I  feel  very  happy  at  the  thought  of  seeing  the  Doctor 
and  you  again. — God  bless  you  for  your  warm  assurance 

of  welcome. 

Affectionately  yours, 

JANE  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  209 

To  Mrs.  Austin,  The  Gill,  Annan. 

Alderley  Park,  25  Aug.,  1860. 

Oh,  my  dear  Mary!  I  am  so  very  sorry!  Instead  of 
telling  you  the  specific  time  of  my  arrival  at  the  Gill, 
I  have  to  tell  you  the  unexpected,  and  to  me  very  dis- 
appointing, news,  that  I  cannot  get  there  at  all! 

A  Letter  from  Mr.  C.  this  morning  has  knocked  all 
my  Scotch  ^project  on  the  head,  remorselessly.  He  is 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  231 

evidently  coming  back  to  Chelsea  by  the  next  Steamer! 
and  the  house  is  by  no  means  left  in  a  state  fit  to  receive 
him!  And  there  is  no  servant  there  at  present  who  can 
make  the  necessary  preparations.  .  .  . 

I  feel  myself  a  very  unfortunate  and  rather  injured 
woman,  for  the  moment. 

Affectionately  yours, 

JANE  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  210 

The  following  Letter  from  Sir  George  Sinclair  (Carlyle's 
host  at  Thurso  Castle)  to  Mrs.  Carlyle,  who  had  written  to 
him  also,  in  the  mocking,  satirical  vein,  is  interesting 
enough  for  reproduction  here. 

Sir  George  Sinclair  to  Mrs.  Carlyle. 

Thurso  Castle,  7  September,  1860. 

My  dear  Mrs.  Carlyle — My  heart  is  very  much  saddened 
whilst  I  announce  to  you  the  termination  of  a  visit  by  which 
I  have  been  equally  honoured  and  gratified.  My  very 
dear  and  valued  friend  sailed  from  Scrabster  harbour 
this  morning  at  9,  accompanied  by  my  daughter  and 
granddaughter  and  Mr.  Stephens,  a  young  acquaintance 
of  theirs.  He  was  in  good  spirits^and  assured  me  that, 
altho'  " wearisome  nights  had  been  appointed  him"  for 
some  time  previous  to  his  departure  from  the  South, 
he  had  enjoyed  an  uninterrupted  measure  of  repose  and 
tranquility  from  the  day  on  which  he  first  "laid  his  head 
upon  the  pillow"  beneath  this  roof. 

He  has  rendered  himself  a  universal  favourite  with  all 
the  inmates  of  this  house,  young  and  old,  male  and  female, 


232          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

high  and  low.  For  all  he  had  a  kind  word,  and  a  willing 
ear,  and  could  accommodate  his  conversation  with  equal 
capacity  and  cheerfulness,  to  the  habits,  occupations  and 
predilections  of  auditors  the  most  widely  differing  from 
each  other  in  all  their  elements  of  thought,  action  and 
experience.  His  absence  will  leave  a  blank  in  my  daily 
arrangements  and  pursuits,  which  cannot  be  supplied, 
or  cease  to  be  felt  and  lamented.  There  never  passed 
between  us  the  most  transient  feeling  of  discord  or  impa- 
tience; and  much  as  I  admired  his  genius,  I  was  even 
more  fascinated  by  the  strong  undercurrent  of  tenderness 
and  sympathy,  which  a  superficial  or  commonplace  observer 
might  be  unable  to  discover,  appreciate  or  respond  to. 
His  allusions  to  yourself  always  indicated  the  strength 
of  his  affection,  and  his  unwavering  conviction  that  you 
have  no  object  so  much  at  heart  as  that  of  promoting  his 
happiness,  and  consulting  his  wishes. 

If  I  should  live  another  year,  I  cherish  an  anxious 
hope  that  you  may  both  devote  the  summer  and  autumnal 
months  to  a  residence  in  this  house, — unless  you  can  find 
another  where  you  will  receive  a  heartier  welcome,  or 
where  a  more  lively  desire  will  be  felt  to  render  your 
sojourn  agreeable  and  not  unprofitable. 

Allow  me  to  express  my  best  thanks  for  your  grati- 
fying Letter,  which  reached  me  yesterday,  and  which 
conveyed  to  me  so  graphic  and  interesting  an  account  of 
your  adventures  and  anxieties. 

Believe  me  to  remain,  with  sincere  regard, 

My  dear  Mrs.  Carlyle,  most  faithfully  yours, 

GEORGE  SINCLAIR. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  233 

LETTER  211 

To  T.  Carlyle,  Scotsbrig. 

Chelsea,  Wednesday,  12  Sep.,  1860. 

There!  I  am  good  you  see!  I  don't  wait  till  I  have 
heard  from  Scotsbrig,  but  write  on  the  voluntary  principle 
to  reassure  your  mind  on  that  "blue  paint/'*  in  case  it 
have  taken  effect  on  it!  I  myself  had  some  apprehension 
that  so  magical  a  cure  of  the  sore  throat  would  cost  me 
something  in  shock  to  the  stomach  or  system.  But  no 
such  thing!  I  have  been  better  than  usual  in  every 
way. 

To-day  I  am  going  for  a  drive  in  my  neat  Fly,  and 
have  undertaken  to  make  out  the  failed  appointment  with 
Fuz  [John  Forster]  on  Friday.  Mrs.  Forster  came  over 
to  arrange  it  the  same  day  she  got  my  Note  of  apology. 

Mrs.  Gilchrist  is  coming  home,  which  I  am  rather  glad 
of. 

The  new  servant  is  a  success,  I  think.  I  shall  bring 
home  the  girl  next  week.  I  am  sure  that  my  sleep  has 
been  much  improved  by  the  substitution  of  Charlotte 
Secunda  for  "old  Jane."  The  worry  and  Disgust  that 
old  humbug  occasioned  me  just  on  the  back  of  so  much 
other  worry,  was  dreadfully  bad  for  my  worn  out 
nerves! 

Geraldine  has  been  very  obliging  and  attentive,  but 
Oh  Heaven!  what  a  fuss  she  does  make  with  everything 
she  does!  and  how  wonderfully  little  sense  she  has!  As 
a  sample  of  her  practical  conduct:  the  unlucky  day 

*A  bottle  of  medicine  resembling  blue  paint,  prescribed  by 
Mr.  Barnes. 


234          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

we  went  to  Norwood,  she  left  behind  her  at  the  Hotel, 
a  silk  neckerchief  and  an  aluminum  brooch  (a  love  token 
from  Mr.  Barlow!);  on  Monday  she  returned  by  herself 
to  the  Norwood  Hotel  to  try  and  recover  her  lost  goods, 
— which  had  been  taken  care  of  and  were  honestly  re- 
stored. On  the  way  home  she  left  her  new  silk  parasol 
in  the  Railway  waitingroom! ! !  She  bragged  to  me  that 
she  had  gone  Second  Class.  I  asked  her  what  the  saving 
was.  When  she  came  to  calculate,  it  was  found  the 
"cha-arge"  First  Class  (with  a  return  ticket)  was  eighteen 
pence, — the  charge  by  Second  Class  was  ninepence— 
but  ninepence  each  way,  there  being  no  return-ticket 
for  the  Second  Class.  So  she  had  paid  precisely  the 
same! ! 

Oh  what  dreadful  pens  I  have  to  write  with  in  your 
absence!  Love  to  Jamie  and  Jenny. 

Yours  ever, 

J.  W.  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  212 

To  T.  Carlyle,  The  Gill,  Annan. 

Chelsea,  '20  Sep.,  I860.' 

I  do  hate,  Dear,  to  tell  about  myself  every  day!  as 
if  I  were  "the  crops/7  or  something  of  that  sort.  When 
"Tse  no  better,  Tse  ashamed  to  say  it";  and  when  I 
am  better  I'se  equally  ashamed  to  be  cackling  about  my 
wellness;  and  so  I  shall  be  glad  when  you  can  see  with 
your  own  eyes  how  I  am,  instead  of  my  telling  you  in 
words. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  235 

Meanwhile  I  have  to-day  to  inform  you  that  I  am  in 
what  poor  Hunt  called  a  "very  Irish  state  of  health/' 
"only  middling!"  I  didn't  sleep  so  well  as  the  previous 
night;  and  got  up  with  a  headache,  which  is  not  gone  yet. 
But  I  have  had  a  good  dinner  of  "sweetbread/'  and  ex- 
pect a  sleep  by  and  by. 

Don't  be  afraid  that  I  will  go  to  Mrs.  Godby;  I  am  not 
in  a  condition  to  be  of  any  use  to  them,  and  have  no 
notion  of  going  out  of  my  way  for  the  fuss  of  the  thing, 
like  Geraldine.  At  present  I  don't  even  know  when  I 
shall  be  let  go  out.  Mr.  Larkin  went  yesterday  and  brought 
me  a  Note  from  Mrs.  Binnie.  The  Doctors  think  the 
poor  soul  still  in  great  danger;  but  have  hope  (they  had 
none  at  first)  of  her  recovery. 

Mr.  Barlow  has  brought  me  a  pretty  gold  brooch 
from  Paris;  and  gave  it  to  me  as  a  "keepsake  in  the 
prospect  of  his  death  any  day."  He  gets  more  and  more 
palsied,  and  his  mind  too  is  much  enfeebled;  but  the 
perfect  gentleman  still  looks  pathetically  out  thro'  all 
his  infirmities;  and  he  will  allow  none  of  us  to  bother. 
He  admits,  if  you  question  him,  that "  paralysis  is  gradually 
carrying  him  off,"  but  you  are  not  expected  to  look  more 
grave  for  that;  and  for  the  rest,  he  seems  as  prepared 
as  the  most  "professing  Christians." 

The  Duke  of sent  back  your  Books  unpaid 

(carriage  Is.  9d.).  I  thought  it  was  game,  when  that  money 
was  demanded,  and  was  so  provoked  to  see  our  own 
Books!— God  be  with  you! 

Ever  yours, 

J.  W.  CARLYLE. 


rew  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

LETTER  213 

To  Mrs.  Russellj  Holm  Hill. 

Chelsea,  Monday,  '22  Oct.,;i86(M 

Now,  Dearest  Mary,  suppose  you  were  to  write  me  a 
Letter?  It  is  your  turn.  But  perhaps,  and  very  likely, 
you  think  my  Letters  this  good  while  back  haven't  de- 
served to  be  counted, — have  been  so  hurried  and  unsatis- 
factory that  you  are  only  nominally  in  my  debt.  I  am 
somewhat  of  that  opinion  myself!  But  what  could  I  do, 
you  see?  A  nice,  long,  comfortable  Letter  couldn't  pro- 
ceed out  of  a  hurried  and  unsatisfactory  state  of  mind. 
Arid  what  with  illnesses — one  on  the  back  of  another — and 
worries  all  in  a  heap,  I  should  have  been  more  than  mortal 
to  have  preserved  my  equanimity  thro'  the  last  three  or 
four  months! 

.  .  .  And  during  this  wretched  time,  a  change  of 
servants  had  to  be  transacted!  Had  I  foreseen  it  at  the 
time,  I  would  have  kept  on  with  poor  little  Charlotte;  for 
tho'  she  was  needing  to  be  put  under  some  stricter  superin- 
tendence than  mine,  still  she  was  and  is  warmly  attached 
to  us;— and  loving  kindness  at  such  a  time  was  to  have 
been  kept  near  me,  tho'  accompanied  with  ever  such 
muddle!  But  things  were  going  on  as  usual  when  I  gave 
her  warning  and  engaged  a  so-called  " Treasure"*  in  her 
stead.  I  had  also  a  girl  who  was  to  come  on  Mr.  C.'s 
return, — the  Treasure  being  71  years  old,  and  requiring  to 
be  supplied  with  a  pair  of  young  legs.  Well,  my  Dear,  the 

*  Called    "Old   Jane."      This  was  the  servant   Mrs.   Carlyle 
engaged  just  before  leaving  for  Alderley. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  237 

Treasure  for  whom  I  was  remodelling  my  "  establishment," 
turned  out, — as  Treasures  are  too  apt  to  do, — an  arrant  old 
humbug!  Couldn't  speak  a  word  of  truth;  couldn't  even 
cook,  and  finished  off  by  stealing  eight  bottles  of  ale! — a 
great  comfort  for  poor  Charlotte,  who  came  and  nursed 
me,  and  cooked  all  my  food  when  I  was  too  ill  to  take  care 
of  myself.  I  was  weak  enough  to  ivish  to  take  her  (Char- 
lotte) back,  but  not  weak  enough  to  do  it!  She,  who 
couldn't  rule  herself,  would  have  made  a  sad  mess  of  ruling 
a  girl  nearly  her  own  age.  So  I  had  to  engage  a  middle- 
aged  servant  to  be  head  to  the  girl.  Both  of  whom  were 
installed  on  my  return  from  Alderley;  and  the  old  Treasure 
dismissed  with  not  a  blessing.  That  was  one  of  the  things 
I  had  to  hurry  home  for. 

So  now  I  am  mistress  of  two  servants, — and  ready  to 
hang  myself!  Seriously,  the  change  is  nearly  intolerable 
to  me,  tho'  both  these  women  are  good  servants,  as  servants 
go.  But  the  two-ness!  the  "much  ado  about  nothing!"  I 
hate,  and  cannot  use  myself  to  it.  With  one  servant, — 
especially  with  one  Charlotte,  we  were  one  family  in  the 
House;  one  interest  and  one  Power!  Now  it  is  as  if  I  had 
taken  in  Lodgers  for  down-stairs ;  and  had  a  flight  of  crwvs 
about  me  up-stairs!  I  ring  my  bell,  this  one  answers,  but 
it  is  the  "other's  business"  to  do  what  I  want.  Then  the 
solemn  consultations  about  "your  dinner"  and  "our  din- 
ner," the  everlasting  smell  of  fresh  turpentine,  without 
anything  looking  cleaner  than  it  used  to  be;  the  ever-re- 
curring "we,"  which  in  little  Charlotte's  mouth  meant 
Master  and  Mistress  and  self;  but  in  the  mouth  of  the  new 
tall  Charlotte  means,— most  decidedly  "I  and  Sarah." 


238          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

Although  you  have  had  two  women  yourself,  you  can't  un- 
derstand the  abstract  disagreeableness  of  two,— any  two,— 
London  servants  in  one's  kitchen.  A  maid-of-all-work, 
even  in  London,  will  tolerate  your  looking  after  her,  and 
directing  her;  but  a  "cook"  and  "housemaid"  will  stand 
no  interference;  you  mustn't  set  foot  in  your  own  kitchen, 
unless  you  are  prepared  for  their  giving  warning!  Either 
of  these  servants  by  herself,  provided  she  were  up  to  the 
general  work  of  the  house  (which  neither  of  them  is),  I 
could  be  tolerably  comfortable  with.  But  together,  0 
dear  me!  Shall  I  ever  get  used  to  it?  In  sleepless  nights 
I  almost  resolve  to  clear  the  premises  of  them  both,  and 
take  back  little  Charlotte,  who  has  kept  hanging  on  at  her 
Mother's  all  these  months  in  the  wild  hope  that  one  or  other 
of  these  women  would  break  down,  and  she  be  taken  in  her 
stead.  "  What  a  fool  that  girl  is,"  said  tall  Charlotte  to  me 
one  day:  "  I  told  her  she  should  look  out  for  a  place,  that  a 
nice-looking  healthy  girl  like  her  would  easily  find  one; 
and  she  answered,  'Oh,  yes!  I  may  get  plenty  of  places, 
but  never  a  home  again,  as  I  have  had  here, ' "  (meaning 
with  us).  Tall  Charlotte  could  see  only  folly  in  such  at- 
tachment. "She  is  very  different  from  I  am,"  said  she; 
"if  people  hadn't  been  satisfied  with  me,  it's  little  I 
should  care  about  leaving  them!"  That  I  can  well 
believe! 

And  now,  surely  I  have  given  you  enough  of  my  house- 
hold worry.  I  hear  such  charming  accounts  of  the  beauty 
of  your  new  house,  and  the  warmth  of  your  old  kindness! 
Do  write  me  a  nice  long  Letter,  and  mind  to  tell  me  about 
poor  little  Mrs.  M'Turk,  whom  I  often  think  of  with  deep 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  239 

sympathy. — I  sent  Mrs.  Grierson  a  Book  of  Poems  the 
other  day,  which  struck  me  as  quite  her  style  of 
thing. 

Love  to  the  Doctor. 

Your  ever  affectionate 

JANE  W.  CARLYLE. 


LETTER  214 

To  Mrs.  Russell,  Holm  Hill. 

Chelsea,  'Jan.  or  Feb.,  1861.' 

Dearest  Mary — I  think  it  was  I  who  wrote  last;  and  in 
that  belief,  with  the  spirit  proper  to  a  native  of  a  Com- 
mercial Country,  I  have  been  resting  on  my  oars  till  I 
should  get  your  answer.  But  to-day,  while  thinking  of 
you  and  wondering  why  you  didn't  write,  it  suddenly 
came  to  my  mind  that  in  my  last  Letter  I  had  engaged  to 
write  again  from  the  Grange.  Did  I?  I  am  not  sure 
whether  or  no!  I  have  the  worst  memory  of  all  the  women 
I  know;  for  not  only  do  I  forget  utterly  particulars  of 
quite  recent  date,  but  I  remember  particulars  of  no  date  at 
all!  that  is  to  say,  imagine  to  remember  minutely  things 
that  never  happened,— never  were!  !  Since  I  became 
aware,  by  repeated  experience,  of  this  freak  of  memory  in 
me,  I  have  felt  a  toleration  which  I  never  felt  before  for — 
"white  liars!"  Perhaps  they  are  merely  unfortunate 
people  with  memories  like  mine!  But  no  matter  about 
that  just  now.  I  was  going  to  say  that  whether  I  did  or 
didn't  engage  to  write  again,  the  mere  doubt  is  sufficient 
basis  to  write  upon,  instanter.  And  it  was  not  much  of  a. 


240          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

forget  in  me  not  writing  from  the  Grange,  as  you  will  admit 
when  I  tell  you  that  we  staid  at  the  Grange  only  four 
days!  .  .  . 

Oh,  I  got  such  a  start  followed  by  such  a  shock  the 
other  day!  Sarah,  throwing  the  door  wide  open,  an- 
nounced clear  and  loud,  "Dr.  Russell!"  I  sprang  to  my 
feet  with  an  exclamation  of  joy,  and  all  but  rushed  into  the 
arms  of  a  man,  not  very  unlike  your  Husband,  but  a  man 
whom  I  should  never  have  been  tempted  to  embrace  in  his 
own  person!  The  disappointment  was  too  marked  for 
passing  unobserved:  and  I  didn't  smooth  it  off  much  by 
saying,  "Oh,  I  thought  it  was  a  Dr.  Russell  that  is  a  very 
dear  friend  of  mine!"  "Which  means  that  you  don't  con- 
sider me  as  such!"  was  the  somewhat  offended  answer. 
And  this  was  the  second  time  the  same  disappointment 
had  been  caused  by  the  same  man! 

Won't  you  soon  get  the  photographing  Barber  (or 
Saddler?)  at  Thornhill  to  do  Holm  Hill  for  my  Gallery  of 
Sentiment? 

Remember  me  kindly  to  all  my  friends. 
Your  ever  affectionate 

JANE  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  215  , 

To  Mrs.  Cooke,  Mount  Street. 

Chelsea,  Thursday,  9  May,  1861  (?) 

Goodness,  no!  Don't  let  that  poor  little  girl  [Margaret] 
take  the  long  journey  here  again  "  under  difficulties " !  We 
have  said  to  one  another  all  that  was  to  be  said,  except 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  241 

just  fixing  the  day  for  her  coming;  and  she  can  tell  me 
that,  when  she  knows  it,  thro7  you. 

Miss  Gooseberry  [Geraldine  Jewsbury]  has  been  staying 

at  Lady  X 's,  while  her  Ladyship  was  away  at  the 

races,  "taking  care  of"  Miss  Something!  What  an  idea 
of  a  destitute  girl  that  gives  one — Geraldine  called  in  to 
take  care  of  her ! 

Tell  Margaret  to  take  it  all  quietly;  I  am  not  in  any 
violent  hurry.  It  is  but  doing  for  a  day  or  two  what  I 
used  to  do  all  the  days  of  the  year,  and  for  years  on  years, 
viz.,  dusting  about  a  little  myself. 

Yours  ever, 

J.  W.  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  216 

To  T.  Carlyle]  Chelsea': 

Wellington  Crescent,  Ramsgate, 
Thursday,  '8  Aug.,  1861.' 

Just  returned  from  Margate,  tired,  damp,  cross!  weak 
brandy-and-water  "thrown  into  the  system,"  and  dinner 
in  prospect, — nothing  else  in  prospect!  For  to-day  it  rains 
by  fits  and  starts,  and  having  no  change  of  clothes  with  us 
we  may  not  risk  being  wet  through.  So  we  got  down  out 
of  the  Ramsgate  omnibus  at  Margate  only  to  go  into  an- 
other omnibus  going  straight  back. 

But  I  liked  the  appearance  of  Margate, — as  seen  from 
the  omnibus, — better  than  this  place,  and  will  go  again 
to-morrow  to  view  it  in  detail,  if  the  weather  take  up.  I 
am  solemnly  invited  to  take  dinner-tea  with  the  Hepworth 

VOL.  II.-16 


242          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

Dixons  at  Margate  on  Saturday;  but  have  held  stiffly  to 
my  purpose  of  taking  tea  at  Cheyne  Row  on  that  evening, — 
to  Geraldine's  marked  displeasure,  who  delights  in  per- 
suading people  to  alter  their  plans  for  the  mere  pleasure 
and  pride  of  overpersuading  them. 

|  Good  Heavens!  who  think  you  passed  our  windows 
this  instant,  with  a  profligate  little  pipe  in  his  mouth? 
Your  hump-back  hairdresser,  the  beetle-destroyer!  That 
is  the  sort  of  gentry  that  congregate  here!  I  never  saw  so 
vulgar  a  place'  Neither  did  I  ever  hear  so  noisy  a  place. 
But  there  need  be  no  reflexions  for  want  of  sea  air.  The 
air  is  heavenly. 

Our  tea-party  was  of  the  dullest, — when  the  eating 
part  of  it  was  over!  I  was  forcibly  reminded  of  poor 
Plattnauer's  temptations  of  long  ago,  to  "take  up  the 
poker  and  knock  out  the  brains  of  that  man!" 

However,  my  mouthful  of  "change"  has  answered  the 
end.  That  horrid  sickness  has  kept  quite  off  since  I  have 
been  here.  Like  the  Parrot  sent  down  into  the  kitchen 
"because  it  moped  and  wanted  a  change,"  I  have  "come 
round  finely."  For  how  long? 

I  see  you  are  going  all  wrong;  proofsheets  till  one! 
and  to  bed  " shivery!"  That  is  the  way  you  bring  yourself 
to  ruin! 

Have  you  perhaps  heard  of  the  American  battle?*  No? 

Don't  expect  me  to  dinner  on  Saturday;  and  don't 
wait  tea. 

Yours, 

J.  W.  C. 

*  Battle  of  Bull  Run. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  243 

LETTER  217 

To  Mrs.  Russell,  Holm  Hill,  Thornhill 

Chelsea,  Monday,  '14  April,  1862.' 

Dearest  Mary — It  has  been  in  my  head  to  write  to  you 
these  three  weeks.  But  I  have  put  off  and  put  off,  wait- 
ing for  a  livelier  mood,  which  has  never  come,  and  looks  no 
nearer;  so  I  write  now  in  the  mood  that  is, — a  dismal  one — 
rather! 

You  have  probably  seen  in  the  Newspapers  the  death 
of  Elizabeth  Pepoli.  To  the  best  of  my  recollection,  when 
I  wrote  to  you  last,  I  told  you  how  sad  it  made  me  to  go 
and  find  her  always  so  evidently  ill,  and  getting  worse 
and  worse;  yet  shutting  herself  up  in  her  proud  stoicism 
from  even  me,  her  friend  of  so  many  years,  and,  as  I  still 
felt  sure,  the  most  trusted  friend  she  had  in  London.  But 
her  stoicism  had  to  give  way  at  last,  poor  Dear!  When 
she  was  seized  with  violent  pain  and  absolutely  could  not 
get  out  of  bed.  She  then  wrote  to  me  a  few  blotted  lines, 
the  very  handwriting  of  which  showed  how  far  gone  she 
was,  begging  me  to  send  her  my  doctor — the  fine  Physician 
from  Town,  whom  she  would  only  see  rarely,  having  "  done 
her  no  good."  I  went  to  her  immediately,  and  my  Doctor 
went; — and  his  first  words  to  me  when  he  left  her  room 
were,  "The  thing  which  ails  this  friend  of  yours  is  — old 
age!  and  you  know  whether  there  be  any  cure  for 
tforf/" 

Still  he  gave  me  hopes  that  she  might  rally  a  little,  for 
a  while.  And  she  did  seem  slightly  better  for  the  new  diet 
and  medicines.  But  to  see  her  all  alone  there  in  such  a 


244          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

critical  state  was  very  miserable  for  me.  She  was  at  last 
persuaded  to  let  her  Sister,  Miss  Jessie,  come  from  Italy; — 
any  of  them  would  have  been  only  too  glad  to  come  long 
before,  had  she  not  misled  them  to  believe  her  nearly  well ! 
To  Pepoli  she  had  sent  no  such  permission,  not  wishing 
him  to  "leave  his  affairs  in  Bologna  to  wait  upon  her." 
But  he  was  telegraphed  to  by  Mr.  Fergus  from  another 
Italian  City;  and  started  half  an  hour  after,  and  travelled 
without  rest  till  he  arrived  at  her  bedside,  which  he  hardly 
ever  left  for  the  next  three  days,  when  she  died.  Cer- 
tainly he  looked  the  most  devoted  of  husbands.  And  al- 
though dreadfully  displeased  at  his  coming  she  seemed  glad 
enough  to  have  him,  after  a  little  while.  Miss  Fergus 
came  two  days  after  him.  So  she  was  surrounded  by 
friends,  as  she  ought  to  be,  at  the  last. 

After  the  Sister's  coming,  I  went  seldomer;  for  a  fort- 
night before,  I  had  been  with  her  every  day.  But  she  did 
not  feel  my  visits  made  superfluous  by  the  presence  of  the 
others.  The  cook  told  my  maid  that  "  the  Countess  had 
been  crying  out  for  Mrs.  Carlyle."  And  the  last  day  I  saw 
her,  tho'  her  mind  was  wandering,  she  was  so  sweet  and 
loving  to  me  like  her  old  self!  That  was  a  comfort!  And 
tho'  I  am  very  sorrowful  just  now  about  her  loss, — such  an 
old  and  true  friend, — still  I  know  in  my  heart  that  her  living 
on  in  infirmity  was  not  to  be  wished  for.  For  her  of  all 
people!  with  a  Husband  still  in  middle  age,  on  whom  she 
could  never  have  reconciled  herself  to  the  idea  of  being  a 
burden! 

This  business  made  me  poorly,  you  may  conceive;  and  I 
accepted  an  offer  made  providentially  just  then,  to  be 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  245 

taken  for  three  days  to  Hastings.  The  sea  air  did  me  the 
good  it  always  does,  and  I  took  "penny-worths  of  it,"  like 
old  Mrs.  Kepburn  of  Thornhill, — with  better  success,  how- 
ever. The  last  two  or  three  days  of  intense  cold  and  East 
wind  have  undone  the  benefit  for  the  present.  But  this 
sort  of  thing  won't  last,  it  is  to  be  hoped. 

Wasn't  I  enchanted  to  get  a  Note  from  your  Husband! 
and  yet  if  I  had  known  he  was  to  take  the  trouble  of  thank- 
ing me  for  that  Book,  I  doubt  if  I  should  have  ventured  to 
address  it  to  him.  I  have  learnt  from  my  own  Husband,  a 
perfectly  sacred  respect  for  the  time  of  men! 

The  two  numbers  of  the  Story*  I  sent  you  the  other 
day  will  be  followed  up  to  the  end;  and  I  am  sure  you  will 
like  it,  and  even  the  Doctor  may  read  it  with  satis- 
faction. The  Author  is  one  of  the  best  Novelists  of 
the  day. 

Of  course  I  had  no  photographs  of  Mr.  C.  or  myself,  or 
you  should  have  received  them  by  return  of  post.  Plenty 
of  Photographers  have  offered  to  bring  their  apparatus  to 
the  house,  to  do  Mr.  C.  But  he  won't  be  done!  that,  like 
everything  else  with  him,  is  postponed  "till  his  Book  is 
finished."  As  for  me,  my  photograph  has  been  waiting 
these  two  years,  till  I  looked  a  little  less  haggard!  But  I 
put  it  to  you,  if  at  my  age  one  is  likely  to  improve  by  keep- 
ing !  Good-night.  I  am  feeling  as  if  I  were  all  made  up  of 
separate  particles  of  glass;  a  nice  state!  so  I  will  go  to  bed 
soon.  Love  to  the  Doctor. 

Yours  ever, 

J.  W.  C. 

*  The  Story  was_probably  "  Denis  Duval,"  by  Thackeray. 


!46          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

LETTER  218 

To  John  Forster. 

Chelsea,  'Spring,  1862.' 

Dear  Friend— You  were  good-natured,  upon  my  honour, 
to  call  at  that  woman's  on  your  way  to  the  Railway.  I 
have  got  my  skirt — and  got  my  Note  of  apology. 

Now,  seeing  how  energetically  you  do  commissions  for 
one,  I  bethink  me  to  countermand  the  half-dozen  bottles 
of  whisky.  I  shouldn't  in  any  lifetime  that  can  possibly 
remain  for  me,  use  up  six  bottles  for  the  original  purpose* 
I  mentioned;  the  greater  part  would  expect  to  get  itself 
applied  internally;  and  for  whisky  to  drink  I  should  like  to 
be  sure  of  its  goodness,  in  the  first  instance!  And  upon 
my  life,  I  believe  I  am  a  better  judge  of  whisky  than  any 
Miss  Stewart  that  ever  was  put  together!  So  my  revised 
idea  is  that  you  shall  order  the  whisky  "all  to  yourself," 
and  then  let  me  taste  it,  and  if  I  like  it,  Mr.  C.  can  send  for 
some  gallons!  One  manifest  advantage  in  this  course  is 
that  Mr.  C.  would  pay  for  the  whisky  instead  of  my  having 
to  pay  for  it  out  of  my  housekeeping  money.  He  orders 
and  pays  all  the  wine  and  spirits  consumed  in  the  house, — • 
a  N.  B.  for  his  Biography! 

I  mean  to  leave  your  dozen  pipes  to-day  with  this  Note 
at  your  lodgings. 

Ever  affectionately  yours, 

JANE  B.  W.  CARLYLE. 

*  "  The  dozen  pipes  "  I  dimly  remember;  but  except  that  it  seems 
12  to  20  years  ago,  and  is  perhaps  12  or  more,  can  give  no  date. 

The  whisky,  I  think,  was  in  use  for  the  skin;  sometimes, 
more  rarely,  a  spoonful  of  it  in  punch  as  a  soporific.  Her  Mother, 
who  had  one  of  the  tenderest  and  finest  of  skins,  was  sometimes 
obliged  in  bad  frosty  weather,  to  wash  with  mere  whisky  (a 
sponge  and  towel)  for  days  and  days. — T.  C. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  247 

LETTER  219 

We  were  with  the  Ashburtons,  she  first  for  a  week, 
or  more,  then  both  of  us  for  perhaps  a  week  longer.  Ay 
de  mi!  29  Oct.,  1869).— T.  C. 

To  T.  Carlyle,  Chelsea. 

West-Cliff  Hotel,  Folkestone,  29th  June,  1862. 

My  Dear — I  don't  know  what  would  have  become  of 
me,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Miss  Davenport  Bromley,  whom 
I  met  on  the  platform  at  Folkestone  Station!  The  heavens 
had  chosen  that  particular  moment  to  pour  down  a  deluge! 
I  had  taken  no  umbrella,  and  no  outer  wrappage;  no 
"carriage"  was  waiting,  nor  servant.  But  Miss  Bromley 
was  also  bound  for  Lady  Ashburton's;  and  her  maid 
plunged  about  and  procured  a  Fly,  to  which  we  had  to 
walk  some  space  as  thro'  a  waterfall;  and  in  which  we 
were  packed  all  too  close  for  my  wetted  velvet  cloak, — 
the  wreck  of  which  was  total!  It  was  a  bad  beginning; 
and  I  am  very  sorry  about  my  poor  cloak,  which  is  not 
fit  to  be  put  on  again!  and  which  I  got  from  dear  Lady 
Sandwich.  But  I  suppose  I  should  be  thankful  that  I 
didn't  catch  a  great  cold  besides! — N.  B. — Not  to  travel 
again  without  umbrella;  not  to  have  a  cloak  again  which 
is  spoilable  by  rain;  and  not  to  put  any  dependence  on 
Lady  A.'s  memory. 

I  found  Lord  Ashburton  on  crutches;  Baby*  better; 
and  the  Lady  improving.  Miss  Anstruther,  the  Niece, 
is  here;  and  Miss  D.  Bromley,  who  is  amiable  and  an 
acquisition.  Lady  A.  asked.  "Did  I  think  you  would 

*  The  Hon.  Mary  Baring,  the  late  Marchioness  of  Northampton. 


248          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

come?"  and  said  she  " almost  expected  to  see  you  with 
me!"  Still  she  didn't  give  me  the  idea  of  having  ex- 
pected you,  or  exactly  meaning  you  to  come  just  at  this 
moment.  Perhaps  the  party  is  as  large  as  the  premises 
admit  of;  but  I  shall  watch  and  ascertain  if  possible  her 
precise  meaning.  Perhaps  she  would  like  best  that  you 
came  when  I  went  home. 

It  is  a  wonderfully  quiet  house  to  be  a  hotel.  My 
room  was  undisturbed  till  the  servants  came  into  the 
adjoining  sittingrooms  in  the  morning,  except  for  Baby, 
who  is  located  overhead,  and  who  appeared  to  have 
more  than  one  bad  dream;  when  nurses  tramped 
about  to  the  rescue,  and  Baby's  cries  rose  to  a 
pitch! 

The  objection  to  the  bedroom  for  you  would  be  only 
the  light;  there  is  a  white  muslin  blind,  and  white  muslin 
window  curtains  over  a  rather  large  window.  But  you 
could  pin  up  your  railway  rug,  as  you  have  done  ere 
now. 

The  surrounding  country,  so  far  as  I  have  seen  yet, 
from  the  windows,  is  flat  and  prosaic;  the  sea  not  so  near 
as  one  could  wish;  and  the  weather  being  dull,  not  clearly 
definable  from  the  sky.  It  isn't  to  be  compared  to 
Hastings  as  a  place!  Still  a  day  or  two  by  the  sea  any- 
where, would  do  you  good.  If  Lady  A.  would  only  say 
frankly  what  she  wishes  as  to  both  of  us!  instead  of 
leaving  one  to  guess!  I  haven't  a  notion  whether  she 
expects  me  to  stay  two  days  or  two  weeks  or  what!— 
And  I  shall  have  to  find  out  before  I  can  feel  any  pleasure 
in  being  here.  What  I  should  like  to  do  is  just  to  stay 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  249 

half  as  long  as  she  means  me  to  stay.  For  the  rest,  she 
is  as  kind  as  kind  can  be;  and  the  sea  air  always  revives 
me, — at  first.  And  Kate  is  very  attentive, — brought  me 
a  cup  of  tea  at  eight  o'clock,  in  my  bed. 

I  do  hope  you  will  be  properly  fed!  Elizabeth  is  very 
anxious  to  do  right,  and  will  attend  to  every  wish  you 
express, — if  you  will  only  give  her  brief  and  plain  directions. 

.    .    .    And  now  I  shall  go  and  take  a  little  walk 
before  the  rain  comes,  which  I  see  in  the  wind. 
Ever  yours, 

JANE  WELSH  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  220 

To  T.  Carlyle]  Chelsea. 

Holm  Hill,  Tuesday,  12   Aug.,  1862 

There,  Dear!  You  would  get  a  Letter  "next  morning" 
after  all!  From  here  it  would  have  been  impossible. 
But  I  told  Jean  to  rush  home  and  write  to  you.  And 
she  was  sure  to  do  it!  She  was  to  tell  you  that  I  had  got 
to  Dumfries,  at  least,  without  a  turned  feather!  really 
not  physically  tired  the  least  in  the  world, — only  worried 
morally  with  the  confusion  of  the  business  at  Carlisle 
and  with  the  longest  Roman-nose  I  had  ever  seen  in  this 
world,  and  a  pair  of  cruel  close-together  eyes  over  it, 
which  fronted  me  from  Rugby  to  Carlisle  and  magnetised 
me  antipathetically! 

It  was  very  cheering  to  see  the  face  of  Mary,  looking 
in  thro'  the  glass  dimmed  with  human  breath,  at  Ruthwell ! 
(I  had  been  forced  into  the  middle  seat,  and  the  wretches 


250          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

would  keep  both  windows  shut  to  within  an  inch  at  the 
top, — so  I  hadn't  been  able  to  wave  my  pockethandker- 
chief  opposite  the  Gill,  as  I  had  meant  to  do;  and  was 
not  sure  whether  there  was  a  figure  on  the  knowe  or  not!) 
It  was  such  an  old  wrinkled  face,  and  was  so  full  of  dis- 
appointment for  the  moment!  She  had  not  recognised 
me  under  the  spicy  little  black  hat  and  white  feather! 
But  I  flew  at  the  window,  and  without  even  a  "pardon 
me,"  dashed  it  down,  and  Mary  clambered  up  like  a  cat, 
and  we  kissed  with  enthusiasm  regardless  of  consequences! 
It  was  only  a  minute's  interval;  but  if  short  it  was  sweet, 
and  I  went  on  the  cheerier  for  it,  tho'  aware  I  couldn't 
reach  Thornhill  till  nine, — exactly  an  hour  late,  "  owing 
to  the  12th  of  August"  being  next  day. 

At  Dumfries  I  found  Jean,  and  her  Husband  and  eldest 
Daughter;  and  the  carriage  being  then  cleared  of  all 
but  myself,  and  the  time  longer,  we  had  plenty  of  talk: 
and  I  took  tea  with  them!  !  It  was  the  most  practically 
kind  thing  I  ever  saw  Jean  do.  She  had  actually  brought 
a  little  jar  of  "warm  tea — at  least  it  had  been  warm 
when  they  left  home  an  hour  before,"*  and  a  tumbler 
to  drink  it  from,  and  some  sweet  biscuits  which  I  pretended 
to  eat,  but  stowed  slyly  into  my  bag.  And  then  she 
would  be  in  time  to  write  to  you;  so  "altogether"  "it 
was  a  good  joy."  I  was  apparently  the  only  soul  in  the 
train  at  Thornhill, — the  whole  apparatus  stopping  there! 
So  Dr.  Russell  had  no  trouble  in  finding  me  and  my  box, 
which  by  the  way,  came  by  a  horrid  scratch  on  the  top; 
and  I  wish  now  I  had  made  a  cover  for  it!  It  was  better 
*  The  train  was  an  hour  late. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  251 

it  was  so  dark  that  I  couldn't  see  anything,  till  I  was  put 
down  at  Holm  Hill  door,  and  received  in  the  arms  of  Mrs. 
Russell!  What  a  different  welcome  from  the  fashionable 
welcomes! 

It  is  a  lovely  place  and  House  they  have  made  of 
old  Holm  Hill!  The  rooms  are  none  of  them  very  large, 
but  there  is  a  good  and  beautifully  done  up  diningroom 
and  drawingroom,  and  two  handsome  bedrooms,  and  a 
kitchen  and  larder  and  storeroom  and  the  usual  trimmings, 
"all  on  the  ground  floor."  Above  there  are  plenty  of 
bedrooms — one  fine  one. — But  Mrs.  Russell  put  me  into 
the  ground-floor  room,  and  I  know  why, — because  the 
up-stairs  windows  must,  some  of  them,  look  towards 
Templand.  Oh  how  kind  they  are;  and  I  feel  that  kind- 
ness, [which]  is  partly  out  of  love  for  my  Mother  and 
Aunt  Jeannie,  so  much  more  keenly  than  kindness  I 
derive  from  Lion-worship,  even  tho'  the  Lion  be  you, 
my  Dear! 

I  had  a  famous  tea,  and  went  to  a  most  comfortable 
bed  in  deepest  privacy;  but  of  course,  tho7  feeling  no 
tiredness,  I  couldn't  go  to  sleep  with  my  mind  in  such 
a  tumult,  and  the  idea  of  Templand  half  a  mile  off!  But 
between  four  and  five  I  at  last  fell  into  what  you  call  a 
doze  (is  it  s  or  2?),  and  to-day  I  am  "  better  than  I  deserve." 
But  it  is  pouring  rain;  so  I  must  rest  at  home:  the  best 
thing  I  could  do  perhaps,  in  any  case. 

At  Carlisle,  when  I  was  rushing  madly  after  my  box, 
which  couldn't  be  found,  but  finally  was  perceived  to  have 
"come  home  with  its  tail  behind  it"  into  the  Thornhill 
van,  I  noticed  a  dark  gentleman  turn  in  passing  and  look 


252          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

after  me;  and  then  I  saw  him  with  the  tail  of  my  eye 
trying  to  look  at  my  face,  which  (fancying  this  proceeding 
some  delusion,  on  the  gentleman's  part,  arising  out  of 
the  spicy  little  hat)  I  turned  resolutely  away.  When 
a  voice  said  at  my  back,  "surely  it  is  Mrs.  Carlyle  that 
I  see!"  I  wheeled  round  and  found  the  dark  gentleman's 
face  quite  familiar  to  me,  but  couldn't  for  my  life  identify 
him  till  he  named  himself,  " Huxley!"  He  was  going 
to  Edinburgh;  and  we  did  a  good  deal  of  portmanteau- 
hunting  together,  amidst  distracted  pointer-dogs  and 
more  distracted  sportsmen!  I  never  saw  such  a  lively 
representation  of  "confusion  worse  confounded."  Every 
passenger  had  lost  his  luggage,  and  the  porters  their 
senses;  and  the  dogs  barked  and  yelled;  and  the  gentle- 
men swore;  and  the  women  implored! 

Since  I  began  the  last  page  your  Letter  has  come. 
Oh  thanks!  But,  don't  you  see,  I  shan't  dare  go  away 
again,  if  you  take  the  expense  of  it!  Perhaps  you  mean 
that!  Wretch  and  devil  as  I  am,  I  have  not  read  the 
Lady's  Letter  yet:  it  takes  time  to  decipher;  but  I  am 
very  glad  of  your  few  lines;  and  the  fact  of  there  being 
a  Letter  from  you  already,  has  raised  you  to  the  stars 
in  Mrs.  Russell's  opinion;  "as  attentive  a  Husband  as 
mine/'  she  says. 

Now,  "To  t'Father,  Son  and  t'Olly  Gohast." 

J.  W.  C. 

Oh  please  forward  the  two  Punches  together,  when 
the  next  comes,  to  Mrs.  George  Braid,  Stenhouse,  Greenend, 
Edinburgh.  Recollect  about  my  Letters. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  253 

LETTER  221 

To  Mrs.  Aiiken,  Dumfries. 

Holm  Hill,  Thursday,  14  Aug.,  1862. 

My  dear  Jane — I  have  been  meaning  to  "kill  two 
birds  with  one  stone"  (an  economy  of  action  which  never 
does  succeed  with  me),  meaning  to  repeat  my  thanks, 
still  lying  quite  warm  at  the  heart  of  me,  for  your  and 
James's  welcome  to  Dumfries, — so  hearty  and  practically 
beneficent  as  it  was!  and  at  the  same  time  to  fix  a  time 
for  seeing  you  "more  in  detail"  as  the  Doctor  would  say. 
But  I  must  have  still  a  few  days  for  arranging  my  further 
plans,  which  were  best  left  in  abeyance  till  I  had  looked 
about  me  here  and  rested  the  sprained  foot  I  brought 
with  me  from  home. 

Hitherto  it  has  rained  pretty  constantly,  and  I  have 
only  once  crossed  the  threshold,  for  a  short  time  between 
showers,  yesterday.  To-day  it  is  fair  as  yet,  and  we  are 
going  to  Keir. 

In  a  few  days  I  shall  have  subsided  from  the  nervous- 
ness of  finding  myself  here  at  the  foot  of  Templand  Hill! 
with  so  many  houses  within  sight,  once  occupied  by  people 
who  belonged  to  me  or  cared  for  me!  And  then  I  shall 
be  up  to  forming  plans.  So  far,  I  merely  sit  bewildered 
in  presence  of  my  own  Past!  How  long  I  stay  will  de- 
pend chiefly  on  the  accounts  I  get  from  Cheyne  Row. 
I  am  in  hopes  Lady  Ashburton  will  persuade  Mr.  C.  to 
go  off  with  them  to  the  Grange, — where  I  could  join  him 
on  my  return.  Whether  I  shall  go  back  the  road  I 
came,  or  round  by  Edinburgh,  will  depend  on  answers 
to  Letters  which  I  have  not  yet  written! 


254          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

In  a  few  days,  as  I  have  said,  I  will  " consider"  (like 
the  Piper's  cow),  and  then  tell  you  whether  you  will  next 
see  me  on  the  way  home,  or  on  the  way  to  Edinburgh, 
or  merely  from  here  to  return  here.  However,  to  see 
you  and  Mary,  being  one  of  the  greatest  pleasures  I  prom- 
ised myself  incoming  to  this  country,  you  are  safe  to  have 
me  plump  down  on  you  some  day.  I  will  write  again 
"when  I  see  my  way"  (to  quote  again  from  the 
Doctor). 

It  is  the  beautifullest  house  this  that  a  reasonable 
mortal  could  desire!  But  Mrs.  Russell  cannot  reconcile 
herself  to  it;  is  always  regretting  the  tumble-down,  old 
rambling  house  in  Thornhill,  where  " Papa's  room"  is 
"the  room  he  died  in!"  She  is  the  dearest,  gentlest- 
hearted  woman! 

Ever  affectionately  yours, 

JANE  WELSH  CARLYLE. 


LETTER  222 

To  T.  Carlyle,  Chelsea. 

Holm  Hill,  Friday,  '15  August,  1862.' 

Yes,  indeed,  Dear!  you  may  well  be  "afraid  of  my 
weather!"  I  have  only  twice  got  over  the  threshold 
since  I  came!  and  that  hurriedly  between  showers.  I 
begin  to  have  more  sympathy  with  Mrs.  Russell's  melan- 
choly impressions  of  her  beautiful  new  house!  But  I 
don't  weary  as  yet:  the  situation  has  still  novelty  enough 
to  keep  me  from  wearying;  and  within  doors  it  has  not 
been  so  dull  as  you  might  think.  The  day  before  yesterday 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  255 

"there  plumped  down"  to  us  a  little  man  on  his  way 
home  from  "the  Exhibition"  (can't  get  rid  of  the  Ex- 
hibition even  here,  you  see!),  A B ,  the  Sheriff  of 

— ,  whom  you  may  remember.  He  was  a  round- 
faced,  cherry-cheeked,  black-eyed  young  man,  of  the 
entirely  uninteresting  sort,  when  last  seen  by  me.  Now 
he  has  got  transformed  into  the  most  ridiculous  yet  touch- 
ing likeness  of  Jeffrey!  The  little  short  grey  head,  and 
round  brow,  the  arching  of  his  eyebrows,  the  settling 
of  his  chin  into  his  neckcloth,  the  jerking  movements, 
the  neither  Scotch  nor  English  speech, — bring  Jeffrey 
before  me  as  if  he  were  alive  again.  I  have  been  making 

searching  inquiries  into  the  character  of  Mrs.  B ; 

for  I  have  not  the  slightest  doubt  in  my  own  mind  that 
A B is  Jeffrey's  Son  (unofficially).  .  .  . 

Yesterday  we  (Mrs.  Russell,  Mr.  B— —  and  I)  called 
at  Bellevue,  and  drove  up  the  Penfillan  Avenue,  and 
surveyed  the  remaining  wing  of  the  old  house;  and  then 
drove  away,  to  the  open-mouthed  astonishment  of  the 
servant  girls;  and  then  we  called  at  Keir  Manse  (poor 
old  Graham's  Mr.  Menzies).  A  sad  Manse  it  has  been 
this  some  time:  the  eldest  Son  met  with  an  accident 
and  died  after  long  agony;  the  Mother  went  melancholy 
in  consequence.  .  .  .  His  sorrows  "have  been  blest 
to  him"  (as  the  phrase  is), — such  a  changed  expression 
of  face  I  never  saw. 

I  have  ever  so  many  Letters  to  write;  so  I  must  spend 
no  more  time  on  you!  One  of  the  Letters  you  forwarded 
was  from  Miss  Dickens,  apologizing  for  not  inviting  us 
(her  Aunt's  illness,  etc.).  I  must  assure  her  that  we  are 


256          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

not  too  much  disappointed.    A  Letter  from  Betty  says: 
"0  der  me!  you  did  not  dreck  (direct)  the  paper  this 
wick  and  I  can  do  nothing/'  etc.,  etc.    .    .    . 
Yours  ever, 

J.  W.  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  223 

To  T.  Carlyle,  Chelsea. 

Holm  Hill,  Friday,  22  Aug.,  1862. 

There!  That  is  something  like  a  Letter!  and  I  feel 
my  good-humour  restored.*  Nothing  in  this  Bessy  Barnet 
romance  surprises  me  so  much  as  the  cool  manner  in 
which  you  seem  to  have  taken  the  fact  of  her  being  alive! 
I  at  this  distance  screamed  to  hear  of  her  being  alive! 
And  you,  having  a  Bessy  announced  to  you,  calmly  ask 
was  it  Bessy  Barnet!  after  she  had  been  dead  and  buried 
(according  to  Tom  Holcroft)  for  a  quarter  of  a  century! 
I  do  hope  she  won't  be  gone  when  I  return.  Mercy  of 
Heaven,  if  I  had  met  her  at  Folkestone,  and  she  had 
spoken  to  me,  what  a  fright  I  should  have  got! 

We  spent  yesterday  in  an  excursion  to  Burnfoot, 
dining  with  the  Miss  Wighams  (formerly  of  Allington). 
I  have  not  seen  any  such  perfectly  beautiful  scenery 
as  that  between  here  and  Sanquhar,  since  I  used  to  ride 
there  on  a  wee  pony  beside  my  Grandfather  Walter, 
when  he  took  me  by  new  paths  "to  va-ary  the  schane 
Miss!"  and  I  used  to  come  home  and  mimic  him  to  the 
others!  little  wretch! 

*  Carlyle's  Letters  had  been  too  brief, — that  was  all. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  257 

To-day  we  are  to  dine  with  Mrs.  Hunter  of  Milton, 
going  early,  that  we,  that  is  I,  might  go  up  to  the  Glen 
to  take  a  look  at  dear  old  Strathmilligan.  These  old 
roads  where  I  have  been  both  as  a  child  and  young  lady, 
give  me  a  feeling  half  charming,  half  terrible!  The  people 
all  gone,  or  so  changed!  and  the  scenery  so  strangely 
the  same!  You  remember  that  couplet  you  criticised  so 
sharply  and  which  I  admired, 

"And  my  youth  was  left  behind 
For  some  one  else  to  find!" 

That  is  what  I  feel  in  these  places;  that  there  "my  youth 
was  left  behind,"  and  that  some  one  else  had  found  it! 
at  least  that  7  in  looking  ever  so  wistfully  about,  can't 
find  a  trace  of  it! 

It  is  raining  to-day,  however,  and  I  shall  have  to  make 
my  little  pilgrimage  in  a  covered  carriage.  But  I  shall 
find  some  woodruff  to  bring  back  to  Chelsea  from  the 
same  place  where  I  gathered  it  more  than  forty 
years  ago! 

Did  you  know  anything  of  Mr.  Rogerson,  an  Anti- 
burgher  Preacher  here?  He  died  a  year  or  two  ago; 
and,  Mrs.  Russell  tells  me,  he  talked  so  incessantly  of 
your  Works  that  his  congregation,  wishing  to  give  him 
a  testimonial,  presented  him  with  your  Life  of 
Cromwell. 

You  deserve  a  better  Letter  for  once,  but  I  have  no 
more  time  to  spare  you. 

Yours  ever  faithfully, 

JANE  WELSH  CARLYLE. 

VOL.  II.-17 


258          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

LETTER  224 

To  T.  Carlyle,  Chelsea: 

Holm  Hill,  Sunday,  24  Aug.,  1862. 

.  .  .  Please  tell  Maria  I  was  greatly  obliged  by  her 
immediate  attention  to  my  request,  and  her  excellent  ful- 
filment of  it;  and  that  I  will  write  to  her  "all  to  herself " 
when  I  have  seen  "Mrs.  Braid."  Dear  old  Betty;  she  has 
"nited"  me  "a  pair  of  stockins'";  and  won't  she  be  glad 
when  I  come  and  take  them?  I  am  afraid  she  goes 
for  more  in  my  purpose  to  take  Edinburgh  in  my  way — or 
rather  out  of  my  way — than  my  Aunts!  At  the  same 
time,  as  they  were  going  to  be  much  hurt  had  I  gone  back 
without  seeing  them,  and  as  Elizabeth  has  been  "very  frail 
indeed"  of  late,  and  as,  after  all,  they  are  my  Father's  Sis- 
ters and  my  only  near  relatives  in  the  world  now,  I  should 
have  oughted  to  go  whether  there  had  been  a  dear  old  Betty 
in  the  case  or  not.  I  shall  not  put  off  time  there,  how- 
ever. .  . 

We  dined  at  Capenoch  yesterday, — a  superb  place  the 
Gladstones  have  made  it!  And  they  are  really  nice  people. 
It  was  quite  a  high-art  style  of  dinner — even  to  the  two 
separate  kinds  of  ice.  "  By  God,  Sir,  I  believe  it  was  (not) 
a  woman!"  (You  know  that  speech  of  the  Poodle's  when  he 
had  dined  to  his  dissatisfaction!)*  The  original  old  John 
Gladstone's  Portrait  was  facing  me,  and  a  harder,  cun- 

*  "Poodle"  (Byng),in  winding  up  a  diatribe  against  the  dinner 
at  Lord  Ashburton's  the  first  time  after  the  advent  of  the  new 
Lady  Ashburton,  exclaimed  to  Carlyle,  with  a  tragi-comical  look, 
"Gad,  Sir,  I  believe  it's  a  woman!" — meaning  that  the  French 
chef  of  former  times  had  been  supplanted  by  a  female  cook! 


Jane   Welsh  Carlyle  259 

ninger  old  baker  I  never  saw.  ...  I  write  now  (Sun- 
day evening)  because  to-morrow  we  shall  start  early  to 
spend  the  day  with  Mrs.  Veitch  of  Eliock,  home  from  Lon- 
don now.  And  you  had  better  not  expect  to  hear  on  Wed- 
nesday, as  I  shall  go  to  Dumfries  by  the  first  train  on  Tues- 
day. My  next  will  be  written  at  the  Gill  most  probably. 
I  cannot  get  that  Bessy  Barnet  rediviva  out  of  my  head! 

Ever  yours, 

J.  W.  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  225 

To  T.  Carlyle,  Chelsea. 

The  Gill,  Annan,  Wed.,  '27  Aug.,  1862.' 

Your  Letter,  written  on  Sunday  night,  reached  me  yes- 
terday morning  (Tuesday)  just  before  I  started;  and  was 
read  "with  the  same  relish,"*  on  my  way  to  the  Station. 
At  Dumfries  I  read  also  a  Letter  from  you  (to  Dr.  C.). 
Then  I  had  been  still  further  favoured  with  a  Note  from 
Woolner,  to  tell  me  you  "seemed  to  be  thriving  so  remark- 
ably well  delivered  from  the  cares  of  a  Wife,  that,  if  I  were 
considerate,  I  would  stay  away  a  long  time,"  etc.,  etc.  So 
all  is  right  on  the  Chelsea  side. 

It  was  a  very  confused  and  confusing  day  at  Dumfries, — 
the  chief  ingredient  being  the  Doctor!  going  back  in  the 
evening  to  poor  Arbuckle's  funeral.  Many  live  camels 
and  dromedaries  were  also  parading  the  streets,  prepara- 
tory to  an  Exhibition  of  WombwelPs  Menagerie!  I  have  a 
curious  luck  for  falling  in  with  wild  beasts  in  retired  places! 
Recollect  my  being  kept  awake  the  first  night  at  Moffat  by 

*  John  Jeffrey's  phrase. 


260  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

the  roaring  of  Lions  and  Hyaenas.  The  only  collected  act 
of  volition  I  accomplished  was  a  call  on  poor  Miss  Willie 
Richardson,  in  spite  of  her  being  represented  to  me  as  "in- 
sane and  a  monster  of  fat, — the  eyes  invisible  in  her  head!" 
Mad  or  not,  over  fat  or  not,  I  thought  it  was  right  to  show 
her  the  respect  of  calling  for  her,  considering  the  kindness  of 
her  Mother  to  you  and  me  when  we  were  less  "  celebrated!" 
So  I  made  Jean  come  with  me  to  Maxwelltown  to  find  her 
out;  and  a  very  pleasant  call  it  proved.  She  opened  the 
door  to  us  herself, — her  one  domestic,  a  small  girl,  being 
raising  potatoes  in  the  garden.  She  didn't  recognise  me  at 
first;  but  received  us  nevertheless  with  all  her  Mother's 
hospitable  politeness.  And  when  I  told  her  my  name,  the 
poor  creature's  delight  over  me  ("Mrs.  Carlyle,  Jeannie 
Welsh!  that  my  dear  Mother  was  so  fond  of!")  quite 
brought  tears  to  my  eyes.  So  far  from  being  a  "monster" 
she  is  a  handsomer  woman  now  than  she  was  as  a  young 
lady.  Very  like  her  Mother  both  in  appearance  and 
manners,  and  in  well-bred  kindliness.  She  told  me  all 
about  her  Mother's  death;  and  listening  to  her,  with  her 
clear  truthful  eyes  looking  straight  into  mine,  I  couldn't 
but  admire  at  the  cruelty  of  the  Dumfries  gossip  about 
this  poor  lonely  reduced  gentlewoman,  who  I  could  "stake 
my  head  against  a  china  orange"  (as  I  have  heard  you 
say)  is  as  free  from  " insanity"  and  from  "drink"  as  any 
woman  among  them!  I  saw,  too,  Mr.  Aird,*  who  you  know 
never  did  interest  me,  and  who  interests  me  now  less  than 

*  Thomas  Aird  (1802-1876),  editor  of  the  Dumfries  Herald 
from  1835-63;  a  minor  Poet  of  at  least  local  celebrity.  He  made 
Carlyle's  acquaintance  at  College,  and  was  ever  afterwards  well 
liked  by  him. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  261 

ever!  Jean  took  me  past  the  Station  to  see  their  new 
house,*  which  is  ready  for  roofing.  It  looks  a  handsome 
villa  sort  of  house,  which  I  cannot  help  thinking  will 
smoke! 

Mary  and  Jamie  Austin  were  waiting  on  the  platform 
at  Ruthwell,  a  gig  outside.  Mary  said  the  evening  was 
cold,  and  wrapped  me  in  three  plaids;  but  I  could  feel  no 
cold  thro'  the  welcome  she  gives  one.  I  had  taken  tea  at 
Dumfries,  so  declined  tea; — "  would  take  porridge  by  and 
by  "; — so  we  sat  by  the  fire  in  the  parlour,  talking.  I  went 
to  my  bag  for  something,  and  heard  a  pronounced  sound 
like  a  screw  in  a  cork!  I  looked  round;  she  was  in  the 
press.  "For  God's  sake  what  are  you  doing?"  I  asked. 
"I  thocht  ye'd  maybe  tak  a  wee  soup  wine  till  the  porridge 
is  ready!!"  I  had  to  wrench  her  out  of  the  press  in  my 
arms! 

The  porridge  was  excellent;  and  such  milk!  "of  two 
sorts!"  How  I  wished  you  had  had  it!  My  "interior" 
felt  so  comforted  by  that  supper  that  I  felt  I  should  prob- 
ably sleep.  To  tell  you  a  melancholy  fact,  I  have  been 
having  horrible  nights  ever  since  I  left  home;  only  two 
nights  out  of  the  fortnight  that  I  have  closed  my  eyes  be- 
fore four  in  the  morning,  in  spite  of  the  quietest  of  bed- 
rooms, the  wholesomest  of  diet,  and  constant  exercise  in 
the  open  air!  At  first  I  imputed  it  to  the  excitement  of 
finding  myself  there;  but  that  subsided;  still  the  bad  habit 
taken  root  did  not  abate;  and  still  Dr.  Russell  (very  un- 
like Dr.  Rous)  would  not  let  me  have  any  morphia!  In 
other  respects  I  was  better;  felt  less  languid,  and  required 
*  Tha  Hill. 


262  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

— "what  shall  I  say?' ' — no  pills!  But  I  was  content  to 
try  a  new  sleeping-place, — mere  change  being  useful  in 
these  cases,  and  I  was  beginning  to  feel  a  little  delirious! 
So  having  taken  my  nice  supper  last  night,  and  read  for  an 
hour  after,  I  lay  down  in  the  softest,  most  comfortable  of 
beds,  with  a  modest  confidence  that  my  luck  was  about  to 
change.  And  so  it  was!  The  confusions  of  Dumfries, 
after  whirling  round  in  my  brain  a  while  like  a  dingle- 
doozie*  faster  and  faster,  were  going  black  out,  and 
I  was  falling  into  a  heavenly  sleep,  when  "wouf!  wouf! 
wouf!  bow!  wow!  wow!  wow!"  commenced  at  my  very 
ear.  "The  dogs"  chasing  some  belated  cat  thro'  the  gar- 
den, galloping  and  barking  over  my  prostrate  body  (it  felt) ! 
What  a  mercy  it  wasn't  you  that  this  had  happened  to, 
was  my  first  thought!  My  next  thought  made  me  laugh, 
"like  a  cuddy  eating  thistles!"  It  was  the  recollection 
of  those  hyaenas  and  lions  at  Moffat!  Decidedly  my  search 
after  a  "quiet  bed"  was  not  so  successful  as  Ccekbs'  search 
after  a  Wife!  Well,  the  demons  carried  on  for  some  half 
hour  without  an  instant's  cessation;  then  they  seemed  to 
gallop  away  to  the  distance,  and  were  no  more  heard! — till 
the  porridge  and  my  good  will  for  sleep  had  brought  me 
again  to  the  first  stage  of  unconsciousness;  and  then  out- 
burst again  under  my  window  the  same  demoniacal  chari- 
vari! This  was  repeated  three  times;  and  I  had  given  up 
all  idea  of  closing  my  eyes  again,  when,  Heaven  knows  how, 
I  did  close  them  about  4  in  the  morning  (as  usual),  and 
got  two  hours  good  sleep,  without  the  dogs,  or  in  spite  of 
them.  Mary  will  "shut  them  in  the  barn  to-night";  had 
*  See  ante,  p.  89?*. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  263 

thought  "they  never  would  have  played  wow,"  or  she 
would  have  done  it  last  night.  For  I  am  to  sleep  here 
again  to-night,  Scotsbrig  being  given  up.  Jamie  is  just  ar- 
rived to  tell  me  poor  little  Jenny  is  ill  in  bed;  has  been  ill 
some  days;  so  that  they  couldn't  have  me.  So  I  shall  go 
back  to  Thornhill  on  Friday  morning, — staying  here  over 
to-morrow.  I  cannot  change  everything  now,  or  I  might 
have  gone  to  Edinburgh  on  Friday,  since  I  haven't  to  go  to 
Scotsbrig.  Your  Letter,  too,  is  arrived.  .  .  .  Write 
to  Thornhill. 

Yours  ever, 

J.  W.  C. 

LETTER  226 

To  T.  Carlyle,  Chelsea. 

Holm  Hill,  Sunday,  31  Aug.,  1862. 

There  will  be  no  time  for  writing  to-morrow,  Dear;  so 
I  shall  write  a  few  lines  now,  and  leave  them  to  be  put  in 
before  post-time  to-morrow, — the  very  slit  being  closed  for 
the  better  observance  of  Sunday. 

.  .  .  0,  so  long  as  I  remember  it,  please  send  me  an 
autograph  that  Mrs.  Russell  wants  for  a  lady.  It  would 
come  straighter  addressed  to  herself;  but  if  you  don't  like 
enclosing  it  in  a  blank  cover,  and  at  the  same  time  don't 
like  to  write  with  it,  just  send  it  to  me  at  Morningside. 

I  have  been  rather  better  at  sleeping,  since  my  return 
from  the  Gill;  and  the  chill  passed  off  without  conse- 
quences. 

Yesterday  we  drove  to  Morton  Mains,  and  Castle.  I 
couldn't  get  up  a  sentiment  about  it,  tho'  the  Birthplace 


264          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

of  my  Grandfather  Walter  and  all  his  Brothers.  It  is  so 
completely  Ducalized  now!  Penfillan,  which  I  can  see  at 
any  moment  I  choose  to  lift  my  eyes,  is  more  pathetic  for 
me  by  far. 

What  a  pity  about  that  young  scamp!  Such  wretches 
do  so  much  harm  to  one's  benevolent  feelings  towards 
"others!"  You  may  read  the  page,  in  a  shocking  bad 
handwriting,  torn  from  "his  Wife's  Letter"  by  that  dread- 
ful young  Skirving  you  once  saw,*  and  inclosed  in  soma 
stuff  of  his  own  written  on  the  Bank  (Dr.  Russell's  Bank) 
Counter  on  his  way  to  the  train,  which  he  all  but  missed 
in  consequence,  and  actually  did  leave  his  purse  on  the 
Counter  behind  him!  if  you  care  to  see  how  you  are  ap- 
preciated by  an  East  Lothian  Farmer's  Wife!  Madame 
Venturi  you  will  certainly  read,  for  the  Letter  is  charming. 
Keep  it  safe  for  me.  And  now,  God  bless  you. 

Ever  yours, 

J.  W.  C. 

LETTER  227 

To  Mrs.  Russell,  Holm  Hill. 

Craigenvilla,  Morningside,  Edinburgh. 
Tuesday,  2  Sep.,  1862. 

My  Darling — Nature  prompts  me  to  write  just  a  line, 
tho'  I  am  not  up  to  a  Letter  to-day. — at  least  to  any  other 
Letter  than  the  daily  one  to  Mr.  C.,  which  must  be  written, 
dead  or  alive! 

Imagine!  after  such  a  tiring  day,  I  never  closed  my 
eyes,  till  after  five  this  morning!  and  was  awake  again,  for 

*  See  Early  Letters  of  J.  W.  Carlyle,  p.  316. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  265 

good, — or  rather  for  bad, — before  six  struck!  My  eyes 
are  almost  out  of  my  head  this  morning,  and— tell  the 
Doctor,  or  rather,  don't  tell  him, — I  will  have  a  dose  of 
morphia  to-night!*  am  just  going  in  an  omnibus  to  Dun- 
can &  Flockhart's  for  it!  It  will  calm  down  my  mind  for 
me, — generally  my  mind  needs  no  calming,  being  sunk  in 
apathy.  And  this  won't  do  to  go  on! 

Mr.  C.  writes  this  morning  that  he  had  received  a  Letter 
in  the  handwriting  of  Dr.  Russell  (!!!), — my  own  hand- 
writing slightly  disguised, — and  torn  it  open  in  a  great 
fright,  thinking  that  the  Doctor  was  writing  to  tell  I  was 
ill,  and  found  a  photograph  of  me,  "really  very  like  indeed"; 
but  not  a  word  from  the  Dr.,  inside!  He  took  it  as  a  sign 
that  I  was  off!  (Why,  in  all  the  world,  take  it  as  that?) 
"but  it  would  have  been  an  additional  favour  had  the  Dr. 
written  just  a  line!" 

Grace  was  waiting  at  the  Station  for  me,  much  to  my 

*  It  has  been  remarked  by  Physicians  that  Mrs.  Carlyle  was 
in  the  habit  of  "occasionally  taking  Morphia,"  a  drug  which  is 
known  to  produce  depression  and  suspicion  in  those  addicted  to 
its  use.  Readers  of  the  present  volumes  will  find  abundant 
evidence  to  prove  that  she  indulged  not  "  occasionally,"  but  very 
frequently,  and  sometimes  excessively,  in  this  dangerous  practice; 
and  that  she  continued  to  indulge  in  it  in  spite  of  warnings.  On 
hearing  of  the  result  of  the  Morphia  taken  on  the  above  occasion, 
Carlyle  wrote  to  her  (on  the  5th  of  Sep.) :  "  Glad  I  am  that  the 
subtle  Morphine  has  done  its  function;  be  thankful  to  it,  tho' 
beware  also!'!  The  caution  was  far  from  needless;  but  it  was, 
like  warnings  from  other  sources,  unheeded.  She  continued  to 
the  last  to  indulge  in  Morphia,  and  other  drugs  equally  dangerous. 
For,  at  a  later  date,  she  confesses  to  having  taken  a  dose  of  "  thirty 
drops  of  Morphia";  and  she  adds,  "I  used  to  get  good  of  an 
exceptional  dose  of  this  sort."  (See  post,  p.  332).  Elsewhere  she 
boasts  of  having  taken,  by  guess  in  the  dark,  medicine  containing 
prussic  acid;  of  having  swallowed  a  gargle  intended  for  external 
application;  of  having  administered  to  herself  henbane,  chloroform, 
opium,  etc.  Her  constant  pottering  with  dangerous  medicines  ana 
her  amateur  doctoring  of  herself,  year  after  year,  had  probably 
much  more  to  do  with  the  breakdown  of  her  health  than  the  "hard 
work'!  she  is  said  to  have  done! 


266          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

astonishment,  and  discovered  me  at  once,  under  the  hat 
and  feather,  actually,  she  said, by  "a  motion  of  my  hand!" 
The  drains  are  all  torn  up  at  Morningside,  and  she  was 
afraid  I  would  not  get  across  the  rubbish  in  my  cab  with- 
out a  pilot.  They  are  all  looking  well,  I  think, — even 
Elizabeth.  Many  friendly  inquiries  about  you,  and  love 
to  be  sent. 

Oh,  rny  Dear,  my  Dear,  my  head  is  full  of  wool!  Shall 
I  ever  forget  those  green  hills  and  that  lovely  church-yard, 
and  your  dear,  gentle  face!  Oh!  how  I  wish  I  had  a 
sleep! 

Your  own  friend, 

JANE  CARLYLE. 

The  roots  are  all  in  the  Garden. 

LETTER  228 

To  Mrs.  Russell,  Holm  Hill. 

Chelsea,  Monday,  15  September,  1862. 

Here  I  am,  Dearest  Friend!  Here  I  have  been  since 
Thursday  night.  I  had  fixed  to  arrive  on  Thursday  morn- 
ing; but  I  took  a  horror  at  the  notion  of  the  night  journey, 
and  staid  in  my  bed  at  Morningside  instead.  .  .  . 

Mr.  C.  was  very  glad,  of  course,  to  see  me  back.  As 
for  Maria,  she  went  into  a  sort  of  hysterics  over  me;  seiz- 
ing me  in  her  arms,  and  kissing  me  all  over,  and  laughing 
in  a  distracted  manner; — a  charming  reception  from  one's 
housemaid,  certainly,  if  it  weren't  that  such  emotional 
natures  have  always  two  sides:  this  loving  and  loveable 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  267 

one,  and  another  as  quick  to  anger  and  jealousy  and  all 
unreasonableness!  All  this  impetuous  affection  for  me 
wouldn't  prevail  with  her  to  make  any  sacrifices  for  my 
sake,  or  to  exert  herself  in  any  manner  which  was  not 
agreeable  to  her  inclinations.  It  is  just  the  emotionalness 
of  the  Wesleyan  Methodist, — having  its  home  in  the  senses 
rather  than  in  the  soul. 

All  Friday  I  was  so  busy  unpacking,  and  putting  things 
in  their  places,  and  (what  the  American  housewives  call) 
"reconciling  things"  that  I  put  off  writing  to  anybody, 
even  to  you,  till  Saturda}7;  and  then  a  horrid  remembrance 
flashed  on  me  that  Thornhill  kept  the  Sabbath  in  an 
ail-too  exemplary  manner,  and  that  I  might  spare  my 
haste.  .  .  . 

I  send  along  with  this  Letter,  but  separately,  a  packet 
containing  the  neck-brooch  which  you  were  to  "like  better" 
than  your  "  old  thistle."  Perhaps  you  wouldn't  like  it  bet- 
ter or  as  well,  singly;  but  the  set,  to  my  taste,  is  prettier; 
and  /  care  more  for  the  old  thistle, — its  oldness  being  its 
very  charm  to  me!  The  brooches  can  be  worn  as  clasps, 
down  the  front  of  the  dress,  also;  and  look  very  well  on  a 
dress  of  any  colour 

Mr.  C.  thinks,  as  everybody  does,  that  I  am  much  im- 
proved in  health;  and  I  myself,  who  should  know  best, 
think  so,  too!  "What  could  he  do  to  show  his  gratitude 
to  Mrs.  Russell  for  taking  such  care  of  me?  Well,  he  had 
read  a  really  nice  Book  that  would  suit  her;  he  would  send 
her  that!"  I  shall  send  the  Book  by  Railway  parcel,  so 
soon  as  I  hear  that  the  other  packet  has  reached  its  true 
destination. 


268  New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

You  can't  think  with  what  new  interest  ray  little 
Picture  of  Nipp  looked  out  on  me  on  my  return!  My  kind- 
est love  to  the  Doctor. 

Your  ever-affectionate 

JANE  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  229 

To  Mrs.  Russell,  Thornhill. 

Chelsea,  Wednesday,  'Sept.,  1862.' 

My  darling  Woman — I  didn't  forget  your  autograph.* 
I  sent  it  in  the  first  Letter  I  wrote  you  after  my  departure; 
that  is  a  fact!  I  received  it  from  Mr.  C.  in  his  first  Letter 
to  me  at  Morningside,  the  Tuesday  morning, — the  first 
morning  with  my  Aunts;  and  I  enclosed  it  in  my  Letter 
to  you.  I  think  I  can  tell  how  you  missed  noticing  it:  it 
was  one  line, — some  short  maxim  (I  forget  what)  with  his 
signature;  it  was  folded  like  a  Note;  arid  you  had  taken 
it  for  a  bit  of  blank  paper  put  round  the  Letter  to  keep 
the  writing  from  showing  through  the  envelope.  However 
it  was,  I  could  stake  my  head  against  a  china  orange,  that 
I  sent  it.  But  that  you  didn't  notice  it,  is  of  no  earthly 
consequence;  except  in  the  appearance  of  negligence  the 
oversight  gave  we, — autographs  can  be  supplied  so  readily! 
I  send  another  this  time.  Also  I  send  you  photographs 
for  your  Book:  one  of  Mr.  C.,  two  of  myself,  which  ought 
to  be  better  than  the  Hairdresser's,  being  done  by  the  best 
photographer  in  London;  one  of  Alfred  Tennyson  (with 
the  wide-awake);  and  one  of  Mazzini,  which  you  are  to 

*  See  ante,  p.  263. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  269 

substitute  for  the  head  I  gave  the  Doctor,  as  giving  a  better 
notion  of  him,  and  besides  having  his  autograph  on  it. 

.  .  .  My  Husband  having  decided  that  last  week 
was  to  be  a  holiday,  he  actually  went  with  me  to  the  best 
photographer  in  London,  who  had  been  for  years  soliciting 
him  to  come  and  be  done, — for  nothing!  He  (the  Photog- 
rapher) took  a  great  many  different  ones,  large  and  small; 
of  which  one  of  the  large  ones  satisfied  him,  and  is  to  be 
published,  and  I  think  it  the  finest  photograph  I  ever  saw. 
But  we  have  got  no  copies  of  it  yet  except  one  for  myself. 
Four  or  five  different  little  ones  will  be  published,  and  of 
these  I  like  the  one  here  sent  the  best.  As  Mr.  Jeffray 
(the  Photographer)  will  make  a  good  thing  of  supplying 
the  shops  with  Mr.  C.'s,  of  course  he  was  very  obliging 
in  insisting  on  doing  me,  who  had  not  laid  my  account 
with  being  done,  and  so,  was  at  the  same  loss  for  a 
headdress  as  you  were  at  the  Hairdresser's!  But  for- 
tunately Mr.  Jeffray's  Aunt,  who  assists  him,  offered  me  a 
white  lace  thing,  so  like  one  of  my  own  loose  caps,  that  I  put 
it  on  without  reluctance;  and  the  same  helpful  woman, 
seeing  the  black  lace  I  wear  round  my  neck  lying  on  the 
table,  snatched  it  up  and  suggested  I  should  be  done  also 
in  that  headdress.  To  complete  my  luck,  I  had  on,  the 
day  being  cold,  my  last  Winter's  gown  (from  Madame 
Elise),  so  that  I  came  out  a  better  figure  than  at  the  Hair- 
dresser's! !  Still,  I  have  a  certain  regard  for  the  queer 
little  Thornhill  likeness  of  myself, — not  as  a  likeness,  but 
as  a  memorial  of  the  three  happiest  weeks  I  have  lived  for 
a  long  time;  so  I  will  ask  you  to  get  me  another  from  the 
Hairdresser,  as  the  one  I  had  sent  to  Mr.  C.  has  been  given 


270          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

away  to  Sarah,  the  Housemaid,  who  went  away  ill  some 
fourteen  months  ago,  and  who  came  last  night  to  see  me, 
before  starting  for  Australia.  I  gave  her  Mrs.  Pringle's 
(alias  Pott's)  scarlet  Plaid,  and  my  Photograph,  and  my 
blessing! 

I  was  quite  relieved  to  find  the  brooches  had  arrived 
safe.  People  always  say  it  is  so  rash  to  send  anything  of 
consequence  unregistered.  And  I,  again,  am  so  per- 
suaded that  registering  a  thing  only  puts  it  in  the  head  of 
dishonest  Postmen  that  the  thing  is  worth  stealing.  So 
that  if  that  packet  had  misgone,  I  should  have  had  "both 
the  skaith  and  the  scorn." 

My  blessed  Dear,  what  nonsense  you  talk  about  my 
"depriving  myself"  of  this  and  that!  Depend  upon  it, 
when  I  give  away  a  thing,  it  is  never  with  the  slightest 
sense  of  depriving  myself.  Either  the  thing  is  a  super- 
fluity to  myself,  or  I  have  more  pleasure  in  giving  it  than  in 
keeping  it!  I  never  give  away  anything  which  has  what 
Lawyers  call  a  pretium  affectionis  attached  to  it!  At  least 
I  never  did  but  once, — in  the  case  of  that  same  pebble 
brooch,  which  I  took  from  you  again! !  Nor  had  I  ever 
regretted  giving  you  that  (tho'  my  Mother  was  with  me 
when  I  was  alloweet*to  choose  it!  and  my  Father  paid  for 
it!), — never  till  I  saw  it  fastening  your  neck- velvet,  that 
day  at  Mrs.  Hunter's!  Then  I  thought  first,  that  does  not 
answer  the  purpose;  it  should  be  more  like  a  clasp  to 
fasten  the  velvet;  and  only  then.  I  thought  next,  I 
shouldn't  have  parted  with  that  old  Edinburgh  brooch! 
And  then  followed  the  bright  idea  of  the  exchange!  Pray 
don't  thank  me  for  my  brooches  as  if  they  had  been  a  pres- 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  271 

ent,  or  you  place  me  in  the  odious  position  of  "having 
"given  a  thing  and  taken  a  thing,"  (as  we  used  to  say  at 
School). 

I  sent  by  the  railway  Parcel  Company  yesterday  (car- 
riage paid)  the  Book  Mr.  Carlyle  wished  you  to  have  and 
read  and  keep  for  his  sake.  He  bade  me  tie  up  with  it  a 
Translation  of  Dante,  which  some  one  had  sent  him.  If 
you  don't  happen  to  have  a  Dante  in  English,  it  might 
amuse  you  in  Winter  nights,  he  said. 

I  have  never  told  you  yet  about  Auchtertool,  or  Craigen- 
villa;  and  here  are  two  sheets  filled, — enough  for  one  time! 

Oh,  do  write  often,  Dear.  Never  mind  a  regular  Letter, 
— just  a  few  off-hand  lines, — a  how-d'ye-do?  That  keeps 
one  from  feeling  the  long  distance  between  us;  and  long 
silences  lead  to  silences  still  longer.  My  best  love  to  the 
kind  Doctor.  The  little  pot  I  brought  from  Crawford  was 
emptied  without  shaking  into  our  Garden;  and  the  plants 
seem  to  be  taking  root;  also  the  Templand  daisy,  and  the 
ivy;  and  the  Strathmilligan  woodruff. 

Your  loving  friend, 

JANE  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  230 

«    - 

To  Mrs.  Russell,  Holm  Hill 

Chelsea,  21  October,  '1862.! 

Dearest  Mary — I  am  not  doing  "what  England  expects 
of  me,"  my  duty!  I  ought  to  begin  writing  at  least  half 
a  dozen  Letters  that  are  troubling  my  conscience;  and 
here  am  I  writing  to  you,  from  no  sense  of  duty  at  all, 
but  because  I  like  it. 


272          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

Well,  my  wanderings  for  this  year  are  over;  and  it 
must  be  owned  they  have  been  far  and  wide!  The  Grange 
visit  was  very  successful.  Every  time  I  come  away  from 
there  with  increased  affection  for  the  Lady,  and  in  a  sort 
of  amazement  at  her  excessive  kindness  to  me.  That 
she  is  naturally  a  very  kind  woman,  and  also  a  very 
demonstrative  woman,  is  not  enough  to  account  for  the 
sort  of  passion  she  puts  into  her  expressions  of  fondness 
and  unwearied  attention  to  me!  I  always  wonder  will 
it  last?  But  it  has  lasted  a  good  while  now;  and  I  begin 
to  feel  ashamed  of  myself  for  not  accepting  it  all  with 
absolute  faith. 

Mrs.  Anstruther  came  for  two  days,  and  pressed  me  to 
spend  my  Christmas  with  her;  as  Lady  A.  would  be  away 
at  Nice  all  the  Winter.  But  the  answer  to  that  was 
simply,  "impossible!"  I  told  her  about  meeting  Mr.  S— 
at  your  house,  and  she  said  in  her  soft,  silky,  rather  drawly 
voice,  "Oh,  dear  Mrs.  Carlyle,  did  you  ever  in  your  life 
see  so  ugly  a  man?" — The  Bishop  of  Oxford  was  there  too, 
and  Mr.  C.  set  him  right  in  two  Scripture  quotations! ! ! 
But  the  most  interesting  visitor  was  Mr.  Storey,  the 
American  Sculptor,  who  sang  like  an  angel!  There  was 
a  Photographer  down  for  three  days,  taking  views  of 
the  place  at  the  easy  rate  of  five  guineas  a-day!  and  Lady 
A.  made  him  photograph  me  sitting,  with  herself  standing 
beside  me;  and  he  did  another  of  Lord  A.  and  Mr.  C. 
sitting  on  the  same  bench,  under  the  portico;  and  another 
of  a  whole  party  of  us  sitting  about  on  the  steps  of  one  of 
the  porticos.  That  one  was  half  good,  and  the  other  half 
spoiled,  Lord  A.,  one  of  his  Sisters,  and  Mrs.  Anstruther 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  273 

"had  moved";  Mr.  C.  and  Lady  A.,  and  myself,  came  out 
perfect;  and  so  we  "perfect  ones"  were  all  together,  and 
were  to  be  "cut  out"  from  the  failed  ones.  I  have  not 
seen  the  Photographs  on  paper  yet;  but  hope  to  have  them 
in  a  few  days;  and  if  they  are  worth  any  thing,  I  will  send 
you  them — to  look  at,  at  least. 

But  the  rose  coloured  petticoat,  Oh  my  Dear!  I 
must  tell  you  about  the  first  appearance  of  that!  I  put 
it  on  the  second  day,  and  the  black  silk  tunic  trimmed 
with  half-a-yard-wide  lace  (imitation),  with  long  falling 
sleeves  lined  with  rose-colour;  and  a  great  bunch  of  rose- 
coloured  ribbon  on  my  breast,  and  smaller  boughs  at  the 
wrists  of  my  white  under-sleeves.  It  was  really,  as  Miss 
Baring  said,  "quite  a  costume!"  And  in  spite  of  its 
prettiness,  I  couldn't  help  feeling  nervous  about  appearing, 
for  the  first  time,  in  a  guise  which  would  make  me  remarked 
by  all  the  women,  at  least!  So  I  dressed  in  good  time, 
that  I  mightn't  have  to  walk  into  the  drawingroom  when 
many  people  were  down.  There  had  been  some  uncertain- 
ty about  the  dinner  hour  that  day,  as  people  were  coming 
from  London  by  a  late  train.  At  all  events,  I  should  hear 
the  gong  sound  for  dressing,  I  thought,  half  an  hour  before 
dinner;  and  in  the  mean  time  I  sat  down,  all  ready,  to 
read  a  novel.  How  long  I  had  sat  without  hearing  either 
bell  or  gong  I  can't  say;  but  I  was  startled  from  my 
reading  by  a  sharp  knock  at  my  bedroom  door,  and  the 
voice  of  one  of  the  man-servants  informing  me  "every- 
body was  gone  in  to  dinner!"  Upon  my  honour,  I  can 
believe  some  hardened  wretches  have  gone  out  to  be 
hanged  with  less  emotion  than  I  had  in  hurrying  along 

VOL.  II.-18 


274          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

the  corridor  and  down  the  great  staircase,  to  have  the 
two  leaves  of  the  diningroom  door  flung  wide  open  before 
me  by  two  footmen !  and  then  to  walk  up  the  great  room 
to  my  seat  at  the  dinner-table,  everybody's  head  turned 
to  see  who  was  so  late!  To  put  the  finishing  stroke  to 
my  agony,  the  rose-coloured  petticoat  was  a  trifle  too 
long  in  front  for  the  stooping  way  in  which  I  walked, 
and  was  like  to  trip  me  at  every  step!— But  bad  moments 
and  good  moments  and  all  moments  pass  over!  I  got 
into  my  seat,  Lord  knows  how,  and  any  one  who  had 
heard  me  complaining  aloud  to  Lady  A.  up  the  table, 
that  the  gong  had  never  been  sounded,  would  have  fancied 
me  endowed  with  all  the  self-possession  I  could  have 
wished. 

Another  ordeal  was  in  store  for  me  and  my  " costume" 
later.  Being  Sunday  night,  the  Bishop  was  to  read  a 
Chapter  and  say  Prayers  in  that  same  diningroom  before 
all  the  servants,  and  such  of  the  visitors  as  would  attend. 
Eight-and-thirty  servants  were  seated  along  two  sides 
of  the  room;  the  men  all  in  a  line,  and  the  women  all 
in  a  line;  and  with  these  thirty-eight  pairs  of  eyes  on  me 
(six  pairs  of  them  belonging  to  Ladies'  maids!  !)  I  had  to 
sail  up,  in  all  that  rose-colour,  to  the  top  of  the  room, 
on  the  opposite  side,  first!  the  other  Ladies  being  members 
of  the  family  pushed  me  into  that  horrid  dignity.  And 
the  same  in  going  out;  I  had  to  walk  the  length  of  the 
room,  like  to  trip  myself  at  every  step,  with  the  petticoat 
and  the  embarrassment!  before  one  of  that  frightful  line 
of  servants  budged.  It  took  all  the  compliments  paid 
me  on  the  costume  to  give  me  courage  to  put  it  on  a  second 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  275 

time!  As  an  old  Aunt  of  Mr.  C.'s  said,  when  she  had 
become  somehow  possessed  of  a  one-pound  note  and 
didn't  know  where  on  earth  to  hide  it  for  safety,"  "They're 
troubled  that  hae  the  worl',  and  troubled  that  want  it." 

And  now  my  Letter  is  long  enough,  and  it  is  bed- 
time. 

I  was  so  glad  of  your  dear  Letter  yesterday!  If  you 
were  my  Sister,  I  couldn't  have  you  nearer  my  heart, 
or  more  in  my  thoughts. 

Love  to  the  Doctor,  and  a  kiss  to  Nipp,  whose  likeness 
I  have  opposite  my  bed. 

Your  loving  friend, 

JANE  W.  CARLYLE. 

P.  S. — I  did  drive  one  day  a  great  long  road  to  the  ad- 
dress of  Mrs.  Clark's  "  Bell,"  but  she  was  "  in  the  Country." 

LETTER  231 

To  Mrs.  Russellj  Holm  Hill 

Chelsea,  Monday,  15  December,  1862. 

You  would  see,  dearest  Mary,  by  my  last  Letter, 
that  yours  had  not  come  before  mine  was  sent  to  the 
post.  It  came  some  half  hour  after.  Your  Letters  never 
do  come  till  the  afternoon,  which  is  curious.  The  Letters 
from  Jane  at  Dumfries  arrive  always  by  the  morning 
post. 

The  news  from  Paris*  continues  a  little  more  hopeful. 
But  with  the  prospect  of  hard  Winter  weather  setting 
in,  before  he  (Lord  Ashburton)  can  be  got  to  Nice,  one 
*  Of  Lord  Ashburton,  ill  there  in  a  furnished  house. 


276          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

dare  not  feel  too  elated  about  the  present  slight  amend- 
ment. 

At  all  rates  I  may  be  thankful  that  I  was  not  taken 
at  my  word*  given  in  a  moment  when  my  sympathy 
overcame  my  discretion;  for  I  think  now,  I  should  most 
likely  have  been  laid  up  at  a  Hotel  at  Calais,  which  would 
have  helped  nothing,  and  been  precious  bad  for  myself! 

.  .  .  I  am  very  anxious  to  know  how  my  prospective 
Cook  will  turn  out.  With  such  a  character  as  I  got  of  her 
from  a  mistress  who  seemed  a  sensible  trustworthy  woman, 
If  should  not  be  at  all  afraid  that  after  a  few  weeks  she 
would  do  well  enough,  if  it  were  not  for  Mr.  C.'s  frightful 
impatience  with  any  new  servant  untrained  to  his  ways, 
which  would  drive  a  new  woman  out  of  the  house  with 
her  hair  on  end,  if  allowed  to  act  directly  upon  her.  So 
that  I  have  to  stand  between  them,  and  imitate  in  a 
small  humble  way  the  Roman  soldier  who  gathered 
his  arms  full  of  the  enemies'  spears  and  received  them 
all  into  his  own  breast !{  It  is  this  which  makes  a  change 

*  Offering  to  go  and  help  to  nurse  Lord  Ashburton. 

fA  dozen  lines  beginning  at  this  point  appear  as  "  Letter  262  " 
in  Letters  and  Memorials,  iii.,  142. 

J  This  is  of  course  exaggerative  language.  It  may  be  as  well  to 
say  that,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  servants  at  Cheyne  Row  were  all 
very  fond  of  Carlyle,  and  would  have  "gone  thro'  fire  and  water"  to 
gain  his  approbation.  He  was  uniformly  kind  and  sympathetic, 
and  never  scolded  them  (unless  at  the  instance  of  his  Wife!)  nor 
needed  to  scold;  for,  by  a  subtle  influence,  which  may  be  called 
magnetic,  he  never  failed  to  bring  out  a  servant's  best  qualities,  and 
they  were  all  willing  and  proud  to  do  their  very  best  for  him.  Not 
one  of  them  had  ever  any  complaint  to  make  against  him,  nor  he  of 
them,  when  Mrs.  Carlyle  was  absent;  and  she  was  away  from  home, 
alone,  sometimes  for  weeks  or  even  months  at  a  time.  Some  of  the 
old  servants  have  fortunately  put  on  record  their  opinions  of  their 
Master:  amongst  these  are  Mrs.  Warren,  and  Jessie  Hiddlestone 
(now  Mrs.  Broadfoot  of  Thornhill).  The  latter  says,  "  I  could  have 
lived  with  him  all  my  days;  and  it  always  makes  me  angry  when  I 
read,  as  I  sometimes  do,  that  he  was  '  bad  tempered,'  and  'gey  ill 
to  get  on  with.'  He  was  the  very  reverse,  in  my  opinion.  I  never 


f 


THE    SECOND    LORD    ASHBURTON 
(Hon.  W.  B.  Baring), 
From  the  Portrait  by 
Sir  E.  Landseer. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  277 

of  servants,  even  when  for  the  better,  a  terror  to  me  in 
prospect,  and  an  agony  in  realization — for  a  time!  You 
say  get  a  thorough  good  Cook  at  any  wages!  Yes,  if  the 
wages  were  all  the  difference!  But  when  you  have  agreed 
to  give  sixteen  guineas  a  year  and  two  pounds  more  for 
extras  (the  price  of  a  "good  plain  cook"),  you  find  that 
she  requires  "a  servants'  Hall"  and  "a  bedroom  upstairs" 
and  accommodations,  which  your  house,  not  having  been 
built  on  purpose  for  so  dignified  an  individual,  does  not 
possess.  And  still  worse,  you  find  that  she  objects  to 
making  bread,  and  that  with  the  power  of  cooking  some 
hundreds  of  dishes  which  you  don't  want,  she  has  to  be 
taught  to  prepare  Mr.  C/s  little  plain  things  just  as  an 
ignorant  servant  would;  and  that  she  thinks  her  gifts 
quite  wasted  on  a  household  unworthy  of  them, — as 
indeed  they  would  be.  .  .  .  No;  what  would  suit  me 


would  have  left  him  when  I  did,  had  I  not  been  going  to  be  married." 
(See  Mr.  Reginald  Blunt's  interesting  Article,  "  Mrs.  Carlyle  and  her 
Housemaid,"  in  the  Cornhill  for  October,  1901).  Mrs.  Warren's  testi- 
mony is  similar.  Carlyle's  Niece,  who  lived  with  him  for  over 
thirteen  years,  often  remarked  on  the  kindly  relation  between  Car- 
lyle and  the  servants  during  her  time.  And  my  own  experience 
and  observation,  which  lasted  three  years,  was  to  the  same  effect. 

It  cannot  be  said  that  Mrs.  Carlyle  was,  on  the  whole,  unkind 
to  her  servants,  or  lacking  in  interest  in  their  welfare;  but  unfor- 
tunately, she  too  often  failed,  by  reason  of  her  inconstant  temper, 
to  win  and  hold  their  respect  and  confidence :  at  one  time  she  over- 
praised and  petted  them;  at  another,  probably  the  very  next  min- 
ute, she  went  to  the  opposite  extreme  of  censure  and  rebuke.  This 
want  of  steady  treatment  is  generally  ruinous  to  the  very  best  of 
servants,  and  was  probably  the  chief  cause  of  Mrs.  Carlyle's  troubles 
in  housekeeping.  It  is  hardly  possible  to  imagine  an  easier  task 
than  hers  was:  a  small  house  to  keep  in  order;  no  children  to  be 
cared  for;  a  Husband  whose  requirements  were  few  and  whose  way 
of  living  was  plain  and  simple.  Surely  housekeeping  under  these 
conditions  ought  to  have  been  easily  reducible  to  a  minimum  of 
trouble!  It  is  fair  to  state,  however,  that  Mrs.  Carlyle's  "trouble 
with  servants,"  has  been,  by  herself  and  others,  greatly  exaggerated. 
She  had  one  servant  for  twelve  years,  and  another  for  six,  during 
the  thirty-two  years  she  kept  house  in  Chelsea. 


278          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

best,  if  good,  is  what  is  called  "a  General  servant  who  is 
a  plain  cook";  the  wages  of  these  is  from  £12  to  £14  and 
everything  found.  That  is  the  sort  of  girl  I  have  engaged. 
•  *  . 

God  bless  you,  Dear. 

Yours  affectionately, 

J.  W.  C. 

LETTER  232 

To  Mrs.  Austin,  The  Gill,  Annan. 

Chelsea,  '1  January,  1863.'. 

Dear  little  Woman — A  Letter  was  to  have  preceded 
that  box — a  Letter  of  apology  for  its  rubbishy  contents, 
— only  to  be  excused  indeed  by  my  knowledge  from  of 
old  how  you  could  make  somethings  out  of  nothings! 
a  capital  talent  which,  I  daresay,  is  inherited  by  these 
remarkably  "world-like"  girls  of  yours.  But  I  had  been 
kept  in  such  a  constant  bother  with  teaching  the  new 
cook  how  to  make  bread,  and  to  make  everything  that 
was  wanted  of  her,  that  I  never  could  find  time  for  writing; 
and  now  your  kind  acknowledgement  of  the  said  rubbish 
shows  that  my  apology  was  not  needed.  .  .  .  But 
why  not  have  taken  a  cook  ready  trained  out  of  a  gentle- 
man's family?  Simply,  my  dear,  because  cooks  ready 
trained  out  of  gentlemen's  families  have  wages  entirely 
disproportionate  to  any  work  they  would  have  here,— 
£20  at  the  least; — and  that  is  not  the  worst;  all  their 
accommodations  are  expected  to  be  in  keeping  with  their 
wages;  and  they  would  look  down  on  people  living  so 
economically  and  quietly  as  we  do!  Now,  I  think  it  is 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  279 

more  pleasant,  or  rather  less  unpleasant,  to  look  down  on 
one's  promoted  "maid-of -all- work,"  than  to  be  looked 
down  upon  by  one's  "professed  cook." 

The  news  from  Paris  continue  more  favourable;  but 
it  strikes  me  the  Doctor  never  quite  believes  himself  the 
hope  he  gives  to  others.  There  is  always  a  hollow  sound 
in  his  words  about  recovery.  Mr.  C.  is  angry  at  my 
hopelessness;  he  has  so  much  more  hope  in  him  about 
everything  than  I  have!  Who  would  believe  that  to 
hear  how  he  talks! — I  am  hoping  to  receive  small  contribu- 
tions of  new-laid  eggs.  I  hope  I  may  not  need  to  trouble 
you  for  more;  but  will  if  the  hens  strike  work  again. 

The  best  of  New  Year's  wishes  to  you  all. 
Your  affectionate, 

JANE  W.  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  233 

To  Mrs.  Russell,  Holm  Hill 

Chelsea,  'January,  1863.' 

Dearest  Mary— You  thought  I  must  be  ill  that  I  did 
not  write;  and  now  that  three  days  have  brought  no 
answer  to  your  inquiry,  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  you  are 
thinking  I  must  be  dead! 

.  .  .  The  illness  I  have  had,  and  am  still  having, 
has  been  caused  palpably  enough  by  a  mental  shock 
which  struck  me  deadly  sick  at  stomach,  and  struck  the 
pain  into  my  back,  in  the  first  moment  of  it.  And  tho' 
my  mind  has  recovered  its  balance,  these  consequences 
still  remain.  One  expects  to  hear  of  something  senti- 


580          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

mental,  romantic,  at  least  exciting,  when  anybody  speaks 
of  having  had  a  great  mental  shock.  My  Dear,  lower  your 
expectations;  bring  them  down  to  the  level  of  the  meanest 
prose!  For  what  I  have  to  tell  you  is  again  about  my 
servants.  But  take  up  the  servant  as  a  human  being, — 
a  fellow-creature, — and  read  my  paltry  tale  as  a  psycho- 
logical illustration;  and  it  is  enough  to  throw  one  into 
a  fit  of  misanthropy,  besides  making  one  sick  at  stomach 
and  breaking  one's  spine  in  two! 

When  I  wrote  last,  I  was  looking  forward  to  better 
times  below  stairs.  The  new  cook  seemed  a  decent  young 
woman;  not  bright  or  quick,  but  one  who  would,  with 
a  little  teaching  and  a  good  deal  of  patience,  be  made  to 
do.  "Flo"  was  clever  and  assidious,  and  thoughtful  and 
helpful;  the  only  thing  to  be  guarded  against  with  her, 
was  the  tendency  to  praise  and  pet  her  overmuch,  and 
so,  spoil  her,  as  I  had  spoilt  Charlotte!  But  I  was  helped 
in  that  by  the  want  of  personal  attraction  for  me  in  the 
child.  There  was  something  dry  and  hard,  something 
very  unyouthfut  in  her  manner  and  voice,  which,  coupled 
with  her  extraordinary  cleverness  and  assiduity,  some- 
times reminded  me  of  the  "Changeling"  in  Fairy  Legends. 

Well,  as  the  days  went  on,  a  change  seemed  to  come 
over  the  spirit  of  the  new  cook's  dream.  She  grew  more 
and  more  gloomy  and  sullen  and  indifferent,  till  she  grew 
exactly  into  her  Scotch  predecessor  translated  into  En- 
glish,— minus  the  utter  blockheadism!  I  was  careful  to 
make  no  remarks  on  her  before  Flo;  but  Flo  was  constantly 
blurting  out  aggravating  instances  of  negligence  and 
disagreeableness  on  the  part  of  the  newcomer.  At  last 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  281 

one  day  my  dissatisfaction  reached  a  climax;  and  I  told 
this  Mary  that  I  perceived  that  she  would  not  suit,  and 
that  I  tho't  it  better  to  tell  her  so  in  the  first  month. 
And  again  my  weary  spirit  was  wandering  thro'  space 
in  search  of  a  cook,  beset  by  far  greater  difficulties  than 
"Calebs  in  search  of  a  Wife!"  The  only  person  that 
looked  delighted  was  Flo, — as  delighted  as  she  looked 
when  I  gave  Elizabeth  warning.  Next  day  I  was  just 
putting  on  my  bonnet  to  go  out  on  this  miserable  search, 
when  the  cook  said  to  me,  she  thought  it  very  strange 
to  be  going  hi  this  way;  that  she  had  "never  gone  out  of 
any  place  before  in  less  than  a  year  at  least."  "  Whose 
fault  is  it?"  I  said.  "Do  you  consider  it  possible  for 
me  to  keep  a  woman  who  shows  no  sort  of  interest  in 
doing  or  learning  the  work  she  has  undertaken  to  do 
here?"  "Well,"  said  the  woman  with  a  half  sob,  "I 
am  aware  I  have  made  myself  very  disagreeable;  but  it 
wasn't  easy  to  be  good  tempered  and  to  try  to  please, 
with  Flo  every  time  she  came  down  stairs,  telling  me 
the  dreadfullest  things  that  you  had  said  of  me  and  of 
everything  I  did!!"  that  "I  was  nothing  but  a  stupid 
dirty  maid-of-all-work,  fit  for  nothing  but  a  Tradesman's 
house,  where  I  could  get  tumbling  about  among  a  lot  of 
rough  workmen!  and  Oh!  far  worse  things  than  these!" 
Astonishment  took  away  my  speech  for  a  moment:  I 
had  not  said  one  word  of  the  woman  to  the  child,  knowing 
that  she  carried  everything  to  her  Mother.  I  rang  the 
bell  for  Flo.  "What  is  this,"  I  asked,  "that  you  have 
been  telling  Mary,  as  said  of  her  by  we?"  "Well,  Ma'am," 
said  Flo,  very  red,  "7  couldn't  help  it!  Mary  was  always 


!82          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

asking  me  what  you  said  about  her— You  know  you  were, 
Mary!  (like  a  viper)',  and  I  was  obliged  to  tell  her  some- 
thing!" "You  were  obliged  to  invent  horrible  lies,  were 
you?  "  "  If  I  didn't  tell  her  something,  Ma'am,  she  wouldn't 
leave  me  alone!"  "Oh,  you  wicked  girl,"  burst  in  Mary! 
"what  was  I  asking  you  when  you  tried  to  set  me  against 
the  place  and  the  Mistress  from  the  first  night  I  entered 
the  house?"  "If"  said  Flo,  "I  only  repeated  what 
Elizabeth  said!"  "And  the  Mistress  would  be  a  little 
surprised,"  said  Mary,  "if  I  were  to  tell  her  what  you 
told  me!"  "Oh,  I  will  tell  her  myself,"  said  Flo;  "if  you 
please,  Ma'am,  Elizabeth  said  a  woman  that  was  her  fellow- 
servant  in  Scotland  told  her  before  she  came  here  that 
you  were  a  she-devil!  and  Elizabeth  said  that  tall  chair 
(pointing  to  a  prie  Dieu)  was  for  strapping  you  to  when 
you  were  mad! ! !"  It  was  at  this  point  when  the  sickness 
came  into  my  stomach,  and  the  pain  into  my  back !  ' '  Good 
God"  I  said  when  I  could  speak,  "is  it  possible  that  you 
who  have  lived  beside  me  these  two  months,  who  have 
never  got  a  cross  word  from  me,  who  have  seen  my  fce- 
haviour  to  that  very  Elizabeth,  could  say  the  like  of 
this?"  "If  you  please  Ma'am,  it  wasn't  I  that  said  it, 
it  was  Elizabeth!"  "0,  you  lying  bad  girl,"  broke  in 
Mary,  "I  see  it  all  now;  that  you  were  set  on  driving  me 
out  of  the  place;  and  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  you  did  the 
same  by  Elizabeth." — The  same  tho't  had  just  flashed  on 
myself.  It  was  from  the  day  that  Maria  left  and  this 
child  came,  that  Elizabeth  began  to  grow,  from  a  mere 
obedient  blockhead,  into  a  sullen,  disobliging  blockhead, 
seeming  rather  to  take  pleasure  in  poisoning  Mr.  C.  than 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  283 

not!  In  her  case,  there  wasn't  even  invention  needed. 
The  imp  had  only  to  do  what  I  was  constantly  warning 
her  against,  viz:  to  repeat  the  strong  things  Mr.  C.  said 
of  her  (Elizabeth's)  cookery  and  self  to  drive  the  woman 
to  fury,  and  make  her  the  unbearable  creature  she  became. 
Flo  seeing  herself  unmasked,  began  to  cry  very  hard, 
repeating  again  and  again,  "You  will  never  be  able  to 
bear  me  again,  I  know!  I  have  been  so  treacherous! 
You  were  so  kind  to  me;  and  I  was  fond  of  you!  and  I 
have  been  so  very  treacherous,  ooh — ooh — oo-oh."  I 
didn't  know  what  on  earth  to  do.  I  didn't  feel  justified 
in  turning  Flo  off  on  the  spot;  and  to  keep  her  was  like 
keeping  a  poisonous  viper  at  large  in  the  house.  The 
only  thing  I  was  clear  about  was  to  withdraw  my  warning 
to  Mary,  whose  behaviour  had  been  sufficiently  excused 
by  the  influences  acting  on  her.  Flo's  Mother  hearing 
of  the  row,  came  over  to  try  and  shift  the  blame  on  Mary. 
I  rung  the  bell  and  said  to  Mary,  "Mrs.  Morrison  has 
accusations  to  make  against  you,  Mary;  you  had  better 
hear,  them  yourself,  and  answer  her — as  I  know  nothing 
about  it."  And  then  ensued  an  altercation  between  the 
two  women,  while  I  sat  with  my  feet  on  the  fender  and 
my  back  to  them,  in  which  Mrs.  Morrison  came  by  the 
worse;  having  only  drawn  out  a  fuller  statement  of  Flo's 
horrid  conduct.  She  went  away  imploring  me  to  try  her 
Flo  a  little  longer;  it  would  be  a  lesson  she  would  never 
forget,  etc.,  etc.  And  I  said,  "  She  can  stay  for  the  present, 
till  I  see  what  comes  of  her."  But  three  days  after,  the 
child  herself  said,  "I  can  never  be  happy  here  after  having 
been  so  treacherous,  and  I  had  better  go  away."  "I  am 


284          New  Letter^  and  Memorials  of 

glad  you  think  so,"  I  said;  "so  the  sooner  you  go  the 
better, — to-day,  if  you  like";  and  in  one  hour  she  was 
gone!  My  paragon  little  housemaid!  Three  days  after, 
she  came  over,  tears  all  dried,  looking  hard  and  cold, 
to  ask  me  to  "see  a  Lady"  for  her.  "What  sort  of  a 
character  do  you  think  I  can  give  you?"  I  asked.  "Well," 
said  the  little  child,  "I  have  told  a  jew  lies  and  I  have  been 
treacherous;  but  that  is  all  you  can  say  against  me!" — 
The  dreadful  child! 

I  saw  a  girl  that  I  thought  would  suit  me,  the  same 
day  Flo  left;  but  she  couldn't  come  for  a  month,  and  her 
Aunt  who  wished  me  to  wait  for  her,  offered  to  come  and 
help  Mary,  till  the  girl  was  free.  So  I  have  a  great, 
jolly,  clever,  elderly  woman  in  the  kitchen, — except  for 
the  two  last  days  of  the  week,  when  she  is  engaged  else- 
where. This  woman  is  a  capital  cook;  and  I  almost 
wish  the  present  arrangement,  tho'  an  expensive  one, 
could  last; — now  that  I  have  got  used  to  the  big  woman, 
who  "thoroughly  understands  her  business."  But  she 
has  a  Husband  and  couldn't  stay  with  me  in  permanence. 

Now  do  you  wonder  I  feel  ill?    .    .    . 

God  bless  you  both, 

Your  ever-affectionate, 

JANE  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  234 

To  Mrs.  Russell,  Holm  Hill. 

Chelsea,  '3  March,  1863.' 

Dearest  Mary — I  should  be  glad  to  hear  you  were  quite 
done  with  that  cold.    .    .    . 

I  went  to  Ealing  the  other  day,  to  visit  Mrs.  Oliphant, 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  285 

and  I  staid  all  night.  Even  that  short  distance  from  Chel- 
sea did  me  ever  so  much  good!  And  on  the  strength  of  it, 
I  went  afterwards  to  a  dinner-party  at  the  Rectory;  and 
to-morrow  I  am  going  to  dine  out  again,  at  the  Forsters', 
to  meet  Dickens  and  nobody  else.  They  send  their  car- 
riage for  me,  and  send  me  home  at  night;  so  in  this  cold 
weather,  I  trust  no  harm  will  come  of  it. 

I  was  in  Swan  &  Edgar's  shop  the  other  day,  and  a 
nice-looking  lad  was  serving  me  with  tapes  and  things, 
whose  speech,  tho'  doing  its  best  to  be  Anglified,  sounded 
homelike.  "You  are  Scotch,"  I  said,  without  considera- 
tion for  the  mortified  vanity  of  a  youth  trying  to  speak 
fine.  "Yes,  I  am,"  answered  he  tartly.  "I  should  say 
you  come  from  Dumfriesshire?"  I  went  on  with  the  same 
inquiring  inhumanity.  "Yes,  I  do,"  he  answered,  with 
an  almost  startled  look.  "Dumfriesshire  is  partly  my 
country,  too;  you  are  from  the  Nithsdale, — from  near 
Thornhill,  are  you  not?"  The  young  man  stared,  quite 
subdued,  and  answered  meekly  that  "he  did  come  from 
near  Thornhill!" — from  a  place  close  to  Dabton,  if  I  knew 
where  that  was.  "  Oh,  don't  I?"  Then  I  asked  him  if  he 
knew  Holm  Hill;  and  so  subdued  was  he  that  he  answered, 
in  the  most  unadulterated  Scotch,  "Oh,  fine!  Dr.  Rus- 
sell's— I  know  it  fine!"  I  told  him  I  had  been  there  for 
three  weeks  last  August;  and  then  left  him,  thinking  me, 
I  have  no  doubt,  a  very  odd  woman!  Do  you  know  who 
it  could  be?  He  said  they  came  there  about  the  time  of 
Mr.  Crichton's  death.  .  .  . 

Good-bye,  Darling.    Love  to  the  Doctor. 
Your  faithful  friend, 

JANE  CARLYLE. 


286          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

LETTER  235 

To  Miss  Jane  Austin,  The  Gill,  Annan'. 

Chelsea,  Friday,  '20  March,  1863.' 

My  dear  Jane — Thanks  for  your  Letter.  I  shall  be 
glad  to  have  more  and  favourable  news  of  the  poor  wee 
bairn.  .  .  . 

We  are  very  thankful  in  this  house  to  have  got  done 
with  "the  Royal  Marriage."  Tho'  neither  Mr.  C.  nor  I 
"went  out  for  to  see"  any  part  of  the  business,  we  couldn't 
get  out  of  the  noise  and  fuss  about  it 

The  most  interesting  part  of  the  Princess  Alexandra  to 
me  is  not  her  present  splendours,  but  her  previous  homely, 
rather  poor  life,  which  makes  such  a  curious  contrast !  Her 
Parents,  "Royal"  tho'  they  be,  have  an  income  of  just 
from  seven  hundred  to  a  thousand  a  year!  When  she  was 
visiting  our  Queen,  after  the  engagement,  she  always  came 
to  breakfast  in  a  jacket.  "My  Dear,"  said  the  Queen  to 
her  one  day,  "you  seem  very  fond  of  jackets!  How  is  it 
that  you  always  wear  a  jacket?"  "Well,"  said  little 
Alexandra,  "I  like  them;  and  then  you  see  a  jacket  is  so 
economical!  You  can  wear  different  skirts  with  it,  and  I 
have  very  few  gowns, — having  to  make  them  all  myself! 
My  Sisters  and  I  have  no  Lady's  maid,  and  have  been 
brought  up  to  make  all  our  own  clothes.  I  made  my  own 
bonnet!"  Bless  her! 

Mr.  C.  goes  on  very  contentedly  without  a  horse.  Did 
you  hear  that  he  sold  his  beautiful  Fritz  for  £9?  But  the 
Apothecary  who  bought  him  was  to  ride  him;  and  better 
he  should  have  him  for  nothing  than  that  he  had  been  sold, 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  287 

at  ever  so  much,  to  be  lashed  into  drawing  in  a  waggon;  I 
would  rather  he  had  been  shot  than  that.  Meanwhile  Mr. 
C.  walks,  and — rides  in  omnibuses! !  and  finds  the  variety 
amusing.  He  "now  meets  human  beings  to  speak  to!" 
How  long  he  will  be  able  to  enjoy  his  walking  I  cannot  pre- 
dict. Love  to  you  all. 

Yours  affectionately, 

JANE  W.  CARLYLEL 

LETTER  236 

To  Miss  Grace  Welsh,  Edinburgh' 

Chelsea,  First  day  of  Spring,  1863. 

My  dear  young  woman! — I  make  you  my  compliments, 
and  shall  get  to  have  some  faith  in  you,  as  a  correspond- 
ent, if  this  sort  of  thing  goes  on!  But  I  wish  you  could 
have  given  me  a  better  account  of  yourself.  I  know  what 
a  wearing  misery  that  neuralgia  is.  I,  too,  have  had  it  in 
my  head  and  face  till  I  have  been  nearly,  indeed  once  alto- 
gether delirious.  My  long  winter  illnesses  usually  com- 
mence in  that  way;  an  intense  toothache,  as  it  were,  all 
thro'  my  head  and  face,  that  leaves  me  no  moment's  ease, 
day  or  night.  .  .  .  What  my  Doctor  recommends  is 
very  nourishing  diet,  in  the  most  concentrated  form.  No 
weak  broths,  or  what  we  used  to  call  "slaisters";  but  soup 
strong  enough  to  be  called  "essence  of  beef;  juicy  mutton 
chops,  and  that  sort  of  thing;  and  two  glasses  a  day  of 
good  sherry.  I  daresay  you  are,  as  I  used  to  be,  unwilling 
and  ashamed  to  be  at  such  expense  with  yourself.  But 
every  consideration  is  to  be  postponed  to  the  duty  of  keep- 
ing one's  soul  in  a  healthy  body,  if  one  can.  Do  feed  your- 


288          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

self  up:  if  milk  agrees  with  you,  there  is  nothing  more 
nourishing  than  a  tumbler  of  new  milk  with  a  tablespoon- 
ful  of  rum  in  it, — twice  a  day. 

I  was  meaning  to  give  Elizabeth  a  lecture  about  her 
carelessness  in  feeding  herself:  with  such  a  bad  digestion 
as  she  has!  I  am  sure  if  she  would  take  her  nourishment 
in  a  more  concentrated  shape,  she  would  find  a  difference! 
I  don't  believe  Mr.  C.  could  have  lived  thro'  this  Book  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  his  horse  exercise  and  his  almost  daily 
breakfast-cupful  of  clear  essence  of  beef.  When  I  told 
him  about  Elizabeth's  attacks,  he  said,  "did  you  tell  her 
to  take  my  strong  gravy  soup?  Write  and  tell  her  that  / 
can  match  anybody  in  the  British  Dominions  for  a  bad  di- 
gestion; and  that  I  consider  myself  to  have  been  kept  so 
long  alive,  by  that  one  article  of  food."  If  you  would  like 
our  recipe  for  making  it,  tell  me. 

And  now  my  Letter  has  reached  a  length*  very  incom- 
patible with  a  headache.  You  say  no  word  of  Anne.  My 
dear  love  to  you  all  and  severally. 

Your  affectionate 

JANE  W.  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  237 

To  T.  Carlyle,  Chelsea: 

6  Warrior  Square,  St.  Leonards,  9  June,  1863. 

All  right,  Dear!    You  would  see  from  the  Newspaper 

that  I  had  arrived  at  the  far  end.    Tho'  only  a  journey  of 

two  hours,  it  seemed  a  dreadful  long  one,  from  which  was 

to  be  inferred  that  I  am  not  even  up  to  the  mark  of  "my 

*  The  first,  and  longest  part  of  the  Letter  is  to  another  Aunt. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  289 

{rail  ordinar"  at  present.  Dr.  Blakiston  was  waiting  for 
me  with  the  carriage,  and  gave  me  the  frankest  welcome. 
I  felt  quite  at  my  ease  with  him  before  I  reached  his  house. 
Bessy  wasn't  allowed  to  come,  having  a  headache,  but  she 
met  me  on  the  steps  at  the  front  door.  So  well  she  looks 
in  her  own  house!  and  a  very  suitable  Mistress  of  it, — al- 
tho'  it  is  quite  what  the  auctioneers  call  "a  large  aristo- 
cratic mansion.'7  The  situation  is  first-rate,  close  on  the 
sea,  at  right  angles  to  it,  in  a  Square  of  large  handsome 
houses.  The  bedrooms  are  beautiful,  and  must  be  very 
quiet  as  a  general  rule.  .  ,  . 

I  have  been  out  in  the  carriage  to-day  twice, — before 
dinner  and  after, — and  I  have  had  a  dose  of  pepsine  ad- 
ministered to  me  by  the  Doctor,  whom  I  take  to  be  a  very 
clever  Doctor.  And  Bessy  is  always  feeding  me  with 
dainties, — calves'-foot  jelly,  etc.,  as  if  I  were  a  young  bird! 
Nothing  can  exceed  their  kindness.  I  only  fear  that  I 
cause  a  good  deal  of  trouble. 

I  have  not  said  anything  yet  about  going  away,  but  I 
shall  to-morrow,  and  tell  you  when  to  expect  me.  Pray 
don't  sit  up  till  two,  nor  take  in  a  sixth  cup  of  tea, — nor 
commit  any  indiscretions  in  your  management  of  yourself. 
The  thought  of  your  being  "left  to  yourseP"  is  the  only 
drawback  to  my  content. 

Yours  ever, 

J.  W.  C. 

LETTER  238 

To  Mrs.  Russell,  Holm  Hill. 

Chelsea,  9th  July,  1863. 

Dearest  Mary—I  had  been  fancying  it  was  your  turn  to 

VouII.-19 


290          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

write  and  so,  not  feeling  any  qualms  of  conscience  at  my 
own  silence,  but  your  Letter  comes  with  such  an  air  of 
having  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of  or  to  apologise  for,  that  I 
begin  to  fear  I  had  made  a  mistake,  and  was  myself  the 
indebted  Party!  At  all  events,  it  would  seem  you  had 
not  heard  from  me  since  I  went  to  St.  Leonards.  I  staid 
there  from  Monday  till  Saturday,  and  liked  my  visit  much. 
It  is  a  beautiful  place,  and  the  Blakistons'  house  is  situated 
within  a  stonecast  of  the  Sea,  and  is  a  fine  airy,  lofty 
house,  handsomely  but  plainly  furnished;  and  Bessy 
looked  very  natural,  gliding  about  as  Mistress  of  it!  Dr. 
Blakiston  is  a  clever,  energetic,  kind-hearted  man, — very 
vain,  rather  egotistic,  and  as  excitable  and  impatient  as  my 
Grandfather  Walter!  But  Bessy  understands  him  en- 
tirely; seems  to  admire  his  faults  as  much  as  his  virtues; 
and  has  the  completest  silken  dominion  over  him!  They 
live  the  quietest  life,  except  for  his  Practice.  She  will 
visit  nowhere;  "does  not  choose  to  be  patronised."  She 
is  always  occupied  about  her  house  and  his  comforts.  His 
Practice  is  not  very  laborious  (being  a  Physician)  consid- 
ering how  lucrative  it  is.  He  told  me  he  made  about 
£2,000  a-year! 

They  were  both  as  kind  as  kind  could  be.  Bessy  would 
not  be  hindered  from  bringing  up  my  hot  water  and  wait- 
ing on  me  as  a  Lady's-maid;  and  she  was  never  so  pleased 
as  when  we  talked  of  the  things  that  happened  when  she 
was  my  servant.  Dr.  Blakiston,  too,  talked  of  all  that  so 
frankly  that  there  was  no  awkwardness  in  my  changed 
position  towards  her.  I  seemed  to  improve  every  day. 
Dr.  B.  gave  me  pepsine— which  agreed  wonderfully  well 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  291 

with  me;  and  Bessy  was  always  "nourishing"  me  with 
jellies,  champagne,  etc.,  and  always  making  of  me.  And 
that  divine  sea  air!  And  I  did  not  fatigue  myself  with 
walking,  but  had  two  drives  in  the  carriage  every  day. 
Never  woman  had  a  better  chance  of  getting  well!  And 
I  did  come  home  a  different  creature  from  what  I  went 
away.  And  the  difference  lasted  two  or  three  days;  but 
only  two  or  three  days,  tho'  I  did  continue  the  pepsine. 
Gradually  I  ceased  to  eat  again,  and  got  sicker  and  sicker, 
till  I  had  to  take  to  bed  and  lie  there  several  days  unable 
to  hold  up  my  head  for  nausea! 

Mr.  Barnes,  whom  Mr.  C.  sent  for  (Mr.  C.  never  being 
alarmed  at  any  form  of  illness  but  the  incapacity  of  taking 
one's  regular  meals),  put  mustard  blisters  to  my  stomach; 
and  dieted  me  on  soda-water  "with  a  little  brandy  in  it"; 
and  said  "the  heat  had  upset  me."  I  have  not  been  feel- 
ing the  heat  at  all  disagreeable;  but,  of  course,  Doctors 
know  best!  After  a  week  I  was  about  again,  after  a  sort. 
But  very  thankful  should  I  be  to  get  away  from  this  noisy, 
dusty  place  for  a  while;  and  if  I  had  my  choice,  independ- 
ent of  all  other  considerations,  it  is  to  Holm  Hill  I  should 
like  to  go.  But  I  cannot  run  away  this  year  again,  as  I  did 
last,  and  leave  Mr.  C.  to  his  own  devices,  especially  as  he  is 
likely  to  take  a  short  holiday  himself,  after  all,  provided  I 
keep  him  up  to  it,  and  go  with  him.  The  Ashburtons  are 
at  last  coming  home  this  day  week.  Dr.  Quain  is  going  to 
Paris  in  a  few  days  to  superintend  the  journey,  and  hopes 
that  when  he  (Lord  A.)  gets  home  to  the  Grange,  he  will 
make  more  rapid  progress  in  gaining  strength,  than  he  has 
done  hitherto.  They  are  sure  to  want  us  at  the  Grange, 


292          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

and  Mr.  C.  will  not  refuse  him,  in  his  present  circumstances. 
Then  there  was  a  promise,  when  Mr.  C.  refused  Lord  Lo- 
thian's invitation  last  Summer,  that  we  would  go  there 
next  year, — when  the  Book  was  to  be  done!  But  Lord 
Lothian  asks  us  again,  and  I  think  Mr.  C.  will  hardly  find 
in  his  heart  to  refuse.  That  poor  young  man  is  so  fond  of 
him!  and  has  such  a  sad  life! 

Miss  Baring  wants  me  to  go  to  her  in  Hampshire,  on  the 
22d,  and  I  could  do  that,  which  is  a  short  journey,  and 
would  not  require  me  to  be  long  away.  But  Mr.  C.  said 
to-day,  I  had  to  keep  in  mind  that  I  might  have  to  go  to 
the  Grange,  and  afterwards  to  Blickling  Hall  (the  Lo- 
thians'  place  in  Norfolk).  So  I  must  postpone  my  own 
will  to  his  "mights." 

Kindest  regards  to  the  Doctor.  Don't  be  long  in 
writing. 

Your  ever-loving 

JANE  CARLTLE. 


About  the  beginning  of  October,  1863,  Mrs.  Garlyle 
met  with  a  serious  street  accident  (described  by  Carlyle 
in  the  Letters  and  Memorials,  iii.,  174-181),  and  wrote  but 
few  Letters  during  the  remainder  of  the  year,  and  none 
at  all,  it  would  seem,  during  the  first  three  months  of  1864. 

In  March  of  this  year  she  was  taken  to  St.  Leonards, 
where  she  was  the  guest  of  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Blackiston  till 
April  the  28th.  On  that  day  she  removed  to  a  furnished 
house  (117  Marina),  and  shortly  afterwards  Carlyle  came 
down  with  his  Books  and  writing  materials  to  be  beside 
her.  She  did  not  improve  in  health;  and  growing  tired 
of  St.  Leonards  and  the  sound  of  the  sea,  she  left  for 
London  on  the  12th  of  July;  staid  overnight  at  Mrs. 
John  Forster's,  Palace  Gate,  Kensington;  thence  she  set 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  293 

out  next  evening  to  travel  all  night  to  Scotland,  and 
arrived  at  Mrs.  Austin's,  the  Gill,  near  Annan,  on  the 
morning  of  her  birthday,  the  14th  of  July.  She  remained 
with  her  Sister-in-law  till  the  23rd  of  the  month,  when  she 
proceeded  to  Holm  Hill,  Thornhill,  on  the  invitation  of 
her  old  friends,  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Russell.  Here  she  improved 
slowly  but  surely;  and  found  herself  strong  enough  by 
the  1st  of  October  to  return  home  to  Chelsea. 

Not  many  of  her  Letters  written  during  this  time 
of  severe  illness,  are  suitable  for  publication.  She 
herself  called  them  "  weak  and  wretched " ;  and  certain- 
ly they  are  not  pleasant  reading,  being  full  of  details  of 
her  sufferings  and  the  incidents  of  the  sick-room,  brightened 
only  here  and  there  by  her  touches  of  wit  and  humour; 
but  on  the  whole  they  are  muck  less  gloomy  and  despair- 
ing than  the  Extracts  which  are  printed  in  the  Letters 
and  Memorials  would  lead  one  to  infer.  For  some  reason 
or  other,  Mr.  Froude  has  clearly  done  his  best  (or  worst) 
to  paint  her  condition,  especially  at  Holm  Hill,  in  the 
darkest  colours  possible,  by  picking  from  different  Letters 
the  most  gloomy  and  despondent  sentences  and  placing 
them  together  as  an  Extract  from  one  Letter, — many  of 
these  citations  being  of  necessity  under  wrong  dates. 
At  the  same  time  he  supresses  nearly  all  that  is  cheerful 
and  bright.  I  had  prepared  several  typical  instances  of 
this  proceedure;  but  I  now  think  it  needless  to  trouble 
any  reader  with  them. 

The  following  half-dozen  Letters,  one  written  at  St. 
Leonards,  the  others  at  Holm  Hill,  will  serve  as  fair 
specimens  of  Mrs.  Carlyle's  correspondence  during  this 
most  trying  time. 

LETTER  239 

To  T.  Carlyle,  Chelsea'. 

117  Marina,  St.  Leonards,  29  April,  1864: 

Again  a  day  of  comparative  comfort!    The  "Lini- 


294          New  Letters  and  Memorials  0} 

ment"  and    rubbing  (with  opium)    having  the  desired 
effect.    .    .    . 

I  got  thro'  the  night  in  my  strange  bed  better  than  I 
had  hoped;  fell  asleep  about  three!  It  is  a  most  tidy 
little  house,  and  so  clean,  and  I  think  quiet! 

Maggie  is  out  with  two  of  the  Liverpool  Leishmans, 
who  are  come  over  from  Brighton  on  her  invitation, — I 
knowing  nothing  [of  it]  till  an  hour  before  they  came! 

I  fear,  as  John  has  had  no  practice  at  what  they  call  "a 
Ladies'  Doctor/'  he  can  suggest  nothing  either  at  random 
or  on  reflection,  to  save  me  from  this  worse  than  death 
torture;  but  if  he  likes  to  come  for  a  day  and  take  care  of 
you,  I  shall  give  him  some  dinner,  and  be  glad  to  see  you 
both.  Could  you  come  on  Monday?  Oh!  if  I  might  be 
even  as  well  as  this  when  you  come!  But  that  is  too  much 
to  hope. 

What  quantities  of  things  I  have  to'tell  you, — if  I  had 
my  poor  soul  freed  from  the  pressure  of  physical  torment! 

Oh,  my  Dear,  my  Dear!  shall  I  ever  make  fun  for  you 
again?  Or  is  our  life  together  indeed  past  and  gone?  I 
want  so  much  to  live, — to  be  to  you  more  than  I  have  ever 
been;  but  I  fear,  I  fear! 

As  yet,  your  own  affectionate 

JANE  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  240 

To  T.  Carlyle,  Chelsea: 

Holm  Hill,  Monday,  15  Aug.,  1864. 

Oh,  my  Dear— I  have  great  cause  for  thankfulness! 
and  I  am  thankful!  I  have  no  entire  night  of  wakefulness 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  295 

to  report.  For  five  nights  now  I  have  gone  to  sleep  about 
two,  and  slept  off  and  on  till  about  six.  It  is  not  refreshing 
sleep;  but  any  sleep  is  such  a  mercy,  after  wakefulness 
enough  to  have  turned  my  brain, — if  it  had  been  in  the 
habit  of  turning!*  .  .  . 

Another  piece  of  intelligence  I  have  for  you,  which 
you  will  regard  as  first-rate, — and  so  should  I  too,  if 
with  the  gain  of  weight,  there  was  proportionate  gain  of 
strength:  when  weighed  last  Friday  I  was  found  to  have 
gained  a  pound  and  half  in  ten  days! ! !  I  am  now  eight 
stones,  twelve  and  a  half!  Still  I  cannot  walk;  but  go 
tottering  like  a  Chinese  woman;  and  am  ready  to  sink 
with  fatigue  if  I  have  gone  some  twenty  yards  on  the 
smooth  sward.  Dr.  Russell  insists  on  my  "  exercising 
my  legs,"  and  I  do  my  best;  but  no  good  seems  to  come 
of  it! 

This  morning  the  little  housemaid,  bringing  my  new 
milk,  having  asked  in  a  modest  whisper,  "Hae  ye  had 
ony  sleep?"  and  receiving  an  affirmative  answer,  looked 
at  me  with  such  a  bright  smile,  and  said,  "I  think  ye'r 
gaun  to  get  better  noo!"  Ach!  if  I  hadn't  had  so  many 
disappointments,  I  should  be  thinking  so  too!  But  my 
Hope  is  like  Humpty  Dumpty  that  "sat  on  a  wall,"  and 
"had  a  great  fall;  and  all  the  king's  horses  and  all  the 
king's  men,  couldn't  set  Humpty  Dumpty  up  again!" 

I  went  with  your  sovereign  to  Margaret  Hiddlestone 

*  "In  the  habit,"  etc.  A  big  fellow,  in  a  pugnacious  mood, 
coming  up  to  Carlyle's  Brother  Alick,  said:  "Thou  canna  gar  me 
trimle  the  day!"  (You  can't  make  me  tremble  today,!)  To  whom 
Alick  Carlyle  replied :  "I  kenna  what's  to  hinner  thee  frae  trimling 
the  day  mair  than  ony  ither  day,  if  thou's  i'  the  habit  o'  trimling!" 
Big  fellow,  who  hadn't  thought  of  it  in  that  light,  at  once  departs 
again  trimling. — T,  C.  loq. 


296          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

on  Saturday.  She  looked  very  glad,  and  her  eyes  reddened 
when  she  said,  "I  canna  show  him  my  gratitude,  but  I 
am  grateful!"  Then  she  expatiated  on  how  well  you  and 
she  got  on  together  at  Templand.*  "Ye  see  we  just 
suited  aneanither!"  "Oh,  yes/'  she  concluded,  "I  thocht 
a  power  o'  Mr.  Carlyle! — thocht  far  mair  o'  him,  Mem, 
than  I  did  o7  you  when  I  saw  ye! !"  She  is  impatient  to 
"just  get  back  into  my  am  hoose  and  doe  for  mysel,"— 
for  all  so  well  cared  for  as  she  is!  The  Daughter  she  lives 
with  is  married  to  a  cabinet-maker,  and  they  are  well  to 
do. 

Oh  dear,  I  must  now  go  and  "exercise  my  legs/' 
—the  most  disagreeable  thing  I  do  all  day. 

Yours  ever, 

JANE  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  241 

To  T.  Carlyle,  Chelsea. 

Holm  Hill,  Friday,  19  Aug.,  1864. 

Dearest — .  .  .  Something  occurred  here  last  evening 
between  the  hours  of  8  and  9,  which  produced  an  extra- 
ordinary sensation!  Mrs.  Russell  has  not  got  over  it  yet! 
My  Dear,  I  laughed!!!  "The  first  tune  I  had  laughed 
since  I  came! "  And  it  was  no  feeble  attempt,  but  a  good, 
loud,  hearty  laugh!  Perhaps  you  will  wonder  what  could 
have  produced  an  effect  so  startling?  The  cause  was  a 

nothing.    Mrs.  Russell  had  been  telling  of  a  row  Mrs. 

had  with  her  servants.    Hearing  some  disturbance  in  the 

*  When  Carlyle  was  there  in  the  Spring  of  1842,  settling  the 
affairs  of  Templand  after  Mrs.  Welsh's  death. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  297 

room  where  her  maids  slept,  ....  "Only  think 
what  a  terrible  thing!" — said  Mrs.  Russell:— and  a  great 
big  man!"  "My  Dear,"  said  Dr.  Russell,  in  his  quiet, 
dry  way,  "would  it  have  been  any  better  if  it  had  been  a 
little  man?"  I  don't  know  why  this  tickled  me  so  much; 
but  I  laughed;  and  if  I  had  cried  I  couldn't  have  surprised 
them  more,  or  so  much! 

Along  with  Forster's  Letter  to  you,  there  is  come  this 
morning  a  kind  little  Letter  from  Forster  to  me.  Nobody 
else  has  written  to  me  for  long,  which  makes  me  feel  some- 
times as  if  I  were  officially  dead.  Curious  that  Geraldine, 
above  all,  who  makes  more  protestations  of  undying 
love  to  me  than  all  my  other  friends  put  together,  does 
not  see  what  a  "bad  effect"  such  inconstancy  would  have 
in  SL  Novel! 

I  read  in  Forster's  Essays  the  other  day  a  charming 
paragraph  about  Frederick.  After  telling  the  story  of 
Frederick's  making  Zeithen  add  a  line  to  his  Letter  to  his 
Wife,  to  the  effect  that  "next  day  at  two  o'clock  he  would 
be  dead,"  Forster  remarks:  "There  are  people  who  have 
called  in  question  the  truth  of  this  incident;  but  it  accords 
so  well  with  the  cruel,  tyrannical  disposition  of  the  man, 
that  if  it  did  not  actually  take  place,  it  might  have  done 
so"!! 

There,  you  have  a  long  Letter  to-day,  tho'  I  am  rather 
shaky;  for  you  will  get  no  more  till  Tuesday. 
Your  ever  affectionate 

J.INE  W.  CARLYLE. 

I  hope  Mary  is  shaking  my  furs  to  keep  the  moths  off. 


298          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

LETTER  242 

To  T.  Carlyle,  Chelsea. 

Holm  Hill,  Monday,  5  Sep.,  1864. 

Here  we  are  at  the  beginning  of  a  new  week.  God 
grant  that  it  be  better  than  the  last.  .  .  . 

I  wrote  a  Note  to  Geraldine  on  Saturday  after  post- 
time, — which  will  go  to-day.  Why  I  should  have  written 
to  to*  whom  I  have  been  so  dissatisfied  with, — at  a  time 
when  more  than  usually  ill  and  depressed, — needs  ex- 
planation, in  case  she  make  a  fuss  about  having  heard  from 
"Jane."  She  wrote  to  me,  as  she  had  told  you,  some 
weeks  ago  a  disagreeable  Letter, — the  third  Letter  she 
had  written  to  me  thro'  all  my  illness  (every  one  of  them 
disagreeable), — about  her  parties  and  her  new  clothes, 
etc.!  I  should  have  delayed  answering,  intp  the  vague, 
had  not  there  been  enclosed  in  the  Letter  to  me  a  Note  to 
Mrs.  Russell  full  of  passionate  anxiety  to  have  news  of  me 
(which  could  have  been  got  any  day  at  Cheyne  Row!), 
and  imploring  Mrs.  Russell  to  write  and  tell  her  how  I 
was, — quite  Geraldinish,  the  whole  thing!  Poor  Mrs. 
Russell,  who  is  very  shy  and  nervous,  fell  into  a  panic  at 
the  idea  of  having  to  "write  to  a  learned  lady  whom  she 
had  never  seen."  So,  in  common  humanity  and  common 
gratitude,  I  had  to  take  the  answering  on  myself  and 
promise  to  write.  Every  day  it  was  "Oh,  Mrs.  Carlyle! 
have  you  written  to  that  lady?  I  am  afraid  she  will  think 
me  so  rude."  At  last  on  Saturday  afternoon,  when  I  was 
ever  so  ill  and  miserable,  I  "wrote  to  that  lady," — not 
however  telling  her  much  of  myself. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  299 

When  the  rooms  are  done,  pray  charge  the  maids  not 
to  rub  on  the  clean  paper  with  their  abominably  large 
crinolines,  and  not  to  push  back  the  chairs  against  it, 
as  their  habit  is!  .  .  . 

Yours  ever, 

J.  W.  C. 

LETTER  243 

To  T.  Carlyle,  Chelsea. 

Holm  Hill,  Thursday,  15th  Sep.,  1864. 

Dearest — Our  Letter-carrier  has  taken  it  into  his  head 
to  come  an  hour  earlier;  so  I  now  get  your  Letter  as  a 
finish  to  my  breakfast. 

Last  night  I  had  a  little  more  sleep, — not  "balmy" 
by  any  means,  but  any  sort  of  sleep  is  to  be  considered 
as  a  mercy  now!  To-day  the  rain  has  come  only  in  brief 
showers,  with  bright  sunshine  between.  I  hear  of  no 
harm  done  by  the  flood  yesterday,  except  the  complete 
destruction  of  an  embankment  the  Duke  was  making  a 
little  below  Holm  Hill.  "It  will  be  a  great  loss  to  the 
Duke!"  Well,  he  can  stand  it! — But  I  wish  all  prosperity 
to  the  Duke!  He  seems  to  be  a  good  owner,  whatever 
other  sort  of  man  he  may  be.  I  have  heard  many  nice 
things  of  him,  not  merely  in  the  way  of  giving,  but,  for 
example,  an  old  woman  had  an  old  cottage  in  a  conspicuous 
part  of  the  Park;  all  the  other  cottages  were  new  and 
highly  ornamental,  but  this  one  was  not  only  an  eyesore, 
but  interfered  with  a  new  approach  the  Duke  had  planned; 
nevertheless  as  old  Aggie  liked  better  her  old  cottage 
than  any  possible  new  one,  the  Duke  promised  her  "his 


300          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

own  self"  and  left  strict  orders,  that  so  long  as  Aggie 
Brown  lived  her  cottage  was  not  to  be  meddled  with. 
That  was  kind,  and  human!  The  old  woman  died  two  or 
three  months  ago,  and  the  road  is  making  over  the  site 
of  her  cottage. — The  Duchess  finding  Margaret  Hiddle- 
stone  no  longer  in  her  laundry  (fancy  a  Duchess  knowing 
what  women  washed  for  her!),  enquired  of  Dr.  Russell 
about  her  illness  and  circumstances,  and  sent  her  a  quantity 
of  wine,  and  ordered  that  she  should  be  cared  for  thro' 
the  Winter.  After  hearing  thatf  I  would  have  staid  in  the 
room  when  "the  Duchess"  and  "the  Countess"  called 
here  the  other  day;  could  I  have  executed  a  decent  court- 
esy; but  in  the  actual  state  of  my  legs  and  back,  I  preferred 
making  an  ignominious  retreat. 

I  am  thankful  to  see  the  sun  once  more!  If  the  misery 
would  but  fall  into  abeyance  again!  But  I  am  never  quite 
delivered  from  it  now;  never  since  the  day  I  was  at  Dum- 
fries. Not  that,  I  suppose,  going  to  Dumfries  hurt  me, 
but  it  so  happened!  I  can  bear  all  the  rest, — my  neuralgic 
pains,  my  lameness,  etc.,  with  patience;  but  that  seems 
to  be  connected  with  the  nerves  of  my  brain!  I  go  wild 
under  it.  To  keep  up  the  pretence  of  rationality  is  the 
most  I  am  up  to. 

I  saw  in  the  Dumfries  Paper  the  death  of  Mrs.  Allan 
Cunningham, — modestly  recorded,  without  a  word  of  her 

Husband. 

Ever  yours, 

J.  W.  CARLYLE. 

What  have  you  done  with  Ward's  preserved  apricots? 
If  you  have  no  use  for  them,  I  have,  when  I  come. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  301 

LETTER  244 

To  T.  Carlyle,  Chelsea. 

Holm  Hill,  Monday,  19  Sep:,  1864. 

There  is  nothing  new  to  tell,  Dear:  I  continue  to  have 
wretched  nights.  My  nights  have  never  been  to  be  called 
good  even  when  at  my  best  here;  .  .  .  Still  they  do 
not  react  on  my  days,  as  one  would  expect.  Except  in 
the  special  ailment,  which  is  indeed  the  most  important 
of  all,  I  hardly  seem  to  suffer  from  them!  I  have  not  lost 
flesh;  I  do  not  feel  weaker,  when  once  up  and  dressed. 
Only  the  irritation  is  pretty  constant;  tho'  not  as  severe 
as  it  used  to  be,  but  bad  enough  to  spoil  all  comfort  in  the 
present  and  to  keep  me  in  dread  of  worse,  and  increase 
my  unfitness  for  my  long  journey  before  me.  After  even 
the  two  hours  drive  in  the  carriage,  I  come  in  every  day 
uncertain  whether  I  had  not  better  have  wanted  the  air 
and  exercise,  than  have  increased  my  discomfort  to  such 
a  degree.  Last  night  I  took  a  blue-pill,  but  it  did  no  good: 
I  lay  awake  till  between  four  and  five  after:  but  neither 
does  it  seem  to  have  done  any  harm.  Often  when  I  am 
lying  tossing  on  my  bed,  the  words  of  poor  bewildered 
Mr.  Barnes  seem  spoken  in  my  ear:  "You  will  never  get 
rid  of  it!  never!  never!" — But  I  had  better  speak  of 
somebody  else.  .  .  . 

Now  I  will  tell  you  what  Mrs.  Russell  has  just  said 
of  her  housemaid's  Father,  and  then  conclude.  "He  is 
a  real  excellent  man,  old  Gabriel.  He  is  just  the  man 
among  them  all  (meaning  the  people  of  his  clachari)  \  He 
has  help  for  all  needs.  He  kills  their  pigs  for  them;  he 


302          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

prays  with  them  in  illness;  and  he  shaves  their  heads, 
when  that's  the  thing  in  hand!" — Thanks  for  the  Mutual 
Friends.  Mrs.  Russell  will  be  glad  of  them.— The  Taunton 
Letter  was  from  Mrs.  Graham  (Agnes  Veitch  of  Hadding- 
ton)  who  lives  now  in  an  old  Rectory  near  Taunton. 

Ever  yours, 

J.  W.  C. 

LETTER  245 

Saturday,  1st  October,  1864,  a  mild  clear  (not  sunny) 
day,  John  brought  her  home  to  me  again  to  this  door, — by 
far  the  gladdest  sight  I  shall  ever  see  here,  if  gladness  were 
the  name  of  any  sight  now  in  store  for  me.  A  faint,  kind 
timid  smile  was  on  her  face,  as  if  afraid  to  believe  fully; 
but  the  despair  had  vanished  from  her  looks  altogether, 
and  she  was  brought  back  to  me,  my  own  again  as 
before.  .  .  . 

My  poor  martyred  Darling  continued  to  prosper  here 
beyond  my  hopes, — far  beyond  her  own;  and  in  spite 
of  utter  weakness  (which  I  never  rightly  saw),  and  of 
many  bits  of  troubles,  her  life  to  the  very  end  continued 
beautiful  and  hopeful  to  both  of  us, — to  me  more  beautiful 
that  I  had  ever  seen  it  in  her  best  days.  Strange  and 
precious  to  look  back  upon,  those  last  eighteen  months, 
as  of  a  second  youth  (almost  a  second  childhood  with  the 
wisdom  and  graces  of  old  age),  which  by  Heaven's  great 
mercy  were  conceded  her  and  me.  .  .  . — T.  C. 

To  Mrs.  Austin]  The  GUlj  Annan. 

Chelsea,  Sunday,  '9  October,  1864.' 

Dearest  Mary — I  should  have  liked  to  give  you  another 
kiss,  and  my  thanks  and  blessings  by  word  of  mouth, 
before  going  away  again  beyond  all  reach  of  personal 
communication.  But  the  additional  fatigue  of  going 


No.  24.  CHEYNE   ROW; 
Chelsea  (Front  View). 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  303 

round  by  the  Gill,  and  the  additional  agitation  of  taking 
a  solemn  leave  in  circumstances  so  precarious,  were  not 
to  be  encountered  voluntarily.  I  was  terrified  enough, 
as  it  was,  for  the  journey  back,  tho'  the  same  journey 
down  had  done  me  no  harm.  But  nothing  is  ever  so  bad 
when  it  comes  to  reality,  as  one's  cowardly  imagination 
paints  it  beforehand. 

I  arrived  quite  safe,  and  the  dreaded  moment  of  re- 
entering  a  house,  which  I  had  left  in  a  sort  of  a  hearse, 
with  a  firm  conviction  of  returning  no  more,  was  tumbled 
head  over  heels  by  Mr.  C.  rushing  out  into  the  street  to 
meet  me,  in  his  dressinggown,  and  in  violent  agitation, 
— John  had  given  him  reason  to  expect  us  an  hour  and 
half  earlier.  He  had  been  momentarily  expecting  a 
telegram  to  say  I  had  died  on  the  road. 

I  got  a  heavenly  sleep  the  first  night  after  my  return: 
nothing  like  it  since  the  first  night  I  slept  at  the  Gill. 
To  expect  the  like  of  that  to  continue — out  of  heaven — 
would  have  been  too  presumptuous.  Still  I  have  slept 
every  night  since,  rather  better  than  I  was  doing  at  Holm 
Hill.  An  immense  mercy!  if  it  were  only  for  reconciling 
my  imagination  to  Home,  which  I  had  got  to  shudder  at! 
For  the  rest  I  have  been  wonderfully  well.  Everybody 
is  astonished  at  me,  and  so  glad  and  kind, — especially 
the  men.  They  take  me  in  their  arms,  most  I  have  seen, 
and  kiss  me,  and — burst  into  tears! !  or  are  struck  speech- 
less. I  remarked  to  Mr.  C.  that  women  were  always 
considered  to  have  the  tenderest  hearts;  but  George  Cooke 
and  Lord  Houghton  had  embraced  and  kissed  me  with 
far  more  enthusiasm!  He  answered  that  "there  was 


304          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

nothing  very  wonderful  in  that;  men  have  been  understood 
to  have  more  notion  than  women  of  kissing  women  ever 
since  the  world  began!" 

I  will  write  soon  again  and  tell  you  more  particularly 
about  us.  To-day,  and  all  days  at  present,  I  am  struggling 
against  accumulations  of  disorder. 

Yes,  I  should  like  butter  very  much. — Love  to  James; 
I  hope  his  back  never  troubles  him. 

Yours  affectionately, 

JANE  CAELYLE. 

LETTER  246 

To  Mrs.  Russell,  Holm  Hill. 

Chelsea,  '20  Oct.,  1864.! 

Dearest  Darling— Why  don't  you  write  me  a  little 
word?  I  don't  ask  for  a  long  Letter,  but  just  a  line  or  two 
to  break  the  strange  silence  fallen  between  us  so  suddenly 
thro'  the  necessities  of  the  case.  It  still  feels  strange, 
and  sad,  for  me  when  Mary  (not  your  Mary)  brings  me 
my  warm  milk,  instead  of  you,  and  when,  all  thro'  the 
day,  I  miss  your  gentle  ministrations.  I  should  be  thank- 
ful that  I  get  new  milk  at  all,  whomsoever  brought  by!  Mr. 
C.  says  "it  is  little  short  of  a  daily  recurring  miracle!" 
At  first  they  did  not  make  haste  enough,  and  the  milk 
was  pretty  cold,  and  the  froth  fallen;  but  now  it  comes 
frothed  up  an  inch  above  the  tumbler.  Only  it  has  not 
the  sweet  taste  of  milk  made  of  grass.  For  cream,  I 
do  pretty  well.  A  hamper  from  Addiscombe  (Lady  Ash- 
burton's  Farm)  brings,  three  times  a  week,  new-laid  eggs, 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  305 

sweet  butter,  and  the  thickest  cream;  besides  vegetables 
and  apples.  .  .  . 

It  is  a  wonder  I  have  not  been  knocked  up  by  the 
heaps  of  people  who  come  and  make  such  rejoicing  over 
me,  as  if  I  were  a  Queen  bee!  The  social  imprudences 
I  have  gone  into,  or  rather  been  forced  into,  were  wound 
up  the  other  night  to  a  climax.  I  had  been  several  times 
"kissed  and  cried  over"  during  the  day,  and  I  was  not 
bound  to  sit  up  longer  than  was  good  for  me,  with  the 
two  Confederate  Officers  who  came  by  appointment  to 
tea.  (Mr.  C.  pours  out  the  tea! !)  About  9  I  wanted  to 
go  away;  but  hadn't  moral  courage  to  hobble  with  my 
stick  thro7  the  room,  and  raise  them  all  to  their  feet  with 
"fears  of  intruding,"  etc.  So  I  sat  on  from  minute  to 
minute,  hoping  they  might  go  away.  At  ten  a  carriage 
dashed  up,  and  enter  Lady  Ashburton  and  Miss  Baring, 
who  staid  till  eleven!  !  And  then  they  all  went,  Mr.  C. 
walking  out  with  the  Confederates.  .  .  . 

Lady  Airlie  is  in  Town  for  a  fortnight.  Has  been  here 
for  two  hours  this  afternoon, — making  me  miss  the  post. 
— Dr.  Carlyle  is  on  a  visit  to  some  stupid  rich  people. 
It  is  to  be  feared  he  will  soon  return  here. — Kindest  love 
to  the  Doctor,  twenty  kisses  to  yourself. 

Your  ever-loving 

J.  W.  C. 
I  sent  Mr.  Hunter  the  autograph. 

LETTER  247 

To  Mrs.  Russell,  Holm  HUH 

'Chelsea,  24  Oct.,    1864.' 

Dearest — I  have  a  superstition  about  beginning  a  week 

VOL.  II.-20 


306          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

in  doing  (when  capable  of  doing)  something  pleasant  and 
not  "unwholesome,  nor  expensive  nor  wrong"  as  Lady 
Dufferin  declared  all  pleasant  things  to  be!  So  I  begin  this 
week  in  writing  to  you,  tho'  I  have  the  prospect  of  being 
interrupted,  very  soon,  by  a  Tailor  about  Mr.  C.'s  coat 
and  trousers,  a  servant  "after  the  place,"  and  a  groom 
with  a  horse  for  my  inspection! !  a  sufficiency  and  variety 
of  business  " for  a  wee  fellow  like  me!"  .  .  . 

The  weather  has  been  warm  and  moist — often  to  the 
length  of  rain, — to  which  I  impute  the  loss  of  my  appetite 
(entirely)  for  some  days  last  week,  and  a  backgoing  in 
several  ways.  In  desperation  at  a  ring,  which  fitted  me 
when  I  left  Holm  Hill,  dropping  off  my  finger,  I  betook 
myself  to  the  bottle  of  fluid  quinine  I  had  luckily  brought 
away  with  me,  and  have  taken  it  regularly  twice  a  day, 
with  good  effect  on  my  stomach,  I  think,  and  with  no 
bad  effect  on  my  sleep.  Perhaps  the  air  being  so  much 
more  sluggish  here,  my  brain  is  more  difficult  to  excite. 
I  mean  to  go  on  with  it;  so  please  ask  the  Doctor  to  send 
me  the  prescription  immediately,  my  bottle  will  not  hold 
out  above  a  couple  of  days,  and  I  forget  the  proportion 
of  quinine  and  water.  Dr.  Blackiston  wrote,  as  if  in 
the  spirit  of  prophecy,  "should  your  appetite  fail,  don't 
forget  to  take  the  pepsine."  But  I  never  got  any  good 
of  pepsine  and  have  always  got  good  of  quinine,  except 
for  the  effect,  real  or  imaginary,  on  my  sleep. 

I  am  perfectly  astonished  at  the  impunity  with  which  I 
do  and  suffer  things  that  used  to  ruin  me  for  days  at  St. 
Leonards.  Especially  the  talking  in  the  evenings.  I 
do  not  encourage  anybody  to  come  in  the  evening,  but 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  307 

cannot  always  keep  people  out  without  seeming  too  un- 
grateful. Lady  Ashburton  is  still  in  Town,  and  she  has 
come  three  evenings  last  week,  and  last  night  Woolner 
the  Sculptor  came,  just  returned  from  his  marriage  tour 
with  the  graceful  lady,  who,  your  Mary  said,  "looked 
awful  modest"  (in  the  photograph).  Woolner  was  es- 
pecially trying,  for  he  dropped  on  his  knees  beside  my 
sofa,  and  kissed  me  over  and  over  again,  with  a  most 
stupendous  beard!  and  a  face  wet  with  tears!  I  had 
seen  him  last  on  New  Year's  evening,  in  my  bed,  dying 
as  I  thought;  I  had  made  Mr.  C.  bring  him  that  I  might  bid 
him  farewell;  and  he  had  then  kissed  my  hand,  and  gone 
away  with  a  great  sob!  Forster  too,  had  been  kissing 
me  in  the  forenoon  yesterday!  I  have  never  in  all  my 
life  sustained  such  an  amount  of  kissing  in  a  given  time! 

Don't  forget  the  quinine.  I  have  bought  you  a  Com- 
mon Prayer  Book,  which  will  be  sent  when  I  am  a  little 
at  leisure.  Ask  Mary  to  send  me  her  photograph,  and 
I  will  send  her  the  shilling  in  stamps,  when  I  have  as 
many.— Dear  and  grateful  love  to  the  Doctor. — Never 
return  any  Letters  or  pamphlets  I  send  to  amuse  you 
unless  I  ask  for  them  back. 

Your  loving 

J.  W.  C. 

LETTER  248 

To  Mrs.  Russell,  Holm  Hill. 

Chelsea,  Friday,  'Nov.,  1864.' 

Oh,  my  Darling,  I  should  not  be  writing  to  you  this 
morning,  with  so  many  Letters  on  my  conscience,  which  it 


New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

is  more  my  duty,  tho'  not  so  much  my  pleasure  to  write! 
But  "life  is  short/'  and  I  feel  that  truth  more  poignantly 
than  ever,  since  this  horrible  illness;  and  I  don't  feel  to 
have  time  for  always  sacrificing  my  pleasure  to  my  duty! 
So  the  others  must  wait  while  I  talk  to  you  a  bit. 

The  weather  has  been,  as  November  weather  always  is 
here,  horrible:  so  wet  and  foggy  and  dispiriting.  Never- 
theless, I  have  not  since  my  return  to  London,  missed  my 
drive  a  single  day.  It  is  the  great  support  and  comfort  of 
my  Me,  that  movement  thro'  the  open  air  once  a  day. 
Then  it  enables  me  to  do  my  shopping  (at  the  carriage 
window)  and  to  make  visits  (on  the  new  principle  of  calling 
out  the  person  visited  to  sit  in  the  carriage  with  me!).  My 
back  continues  as  weak  as  ever,  making  it  too  much  fa- 
tigue for  me  to  go  up  people's  stairs,  and  that  sort  of  thing! 
When  I  have  nothing  particular  to  do  in  the  streets,  I 
know  where  to  drive  for  a  sight  of  sheep  (very  dirty  ones!) 
and  green  fields.  I  am  out  from  one  till  about  four,  gen- 
erally; then  I  dine,  and  receive  company  till  six.  Occa- 
sionally, not  often,  some  one  drops  in  to  tea,  but  I  seldom 
fail  to  be  in  bed  by  eleven,— and  still  better,  I  seldom  fail  to 
get  some  sleep.  I  have  not  been  awake  a  whole  night  since 
my  return!  tho'  I  am  still  far  from  sleeping  like  a  buman 
being!  I  take  pills  at  a  great  rate, — can't  help  myself. 
And  no  matter,  so  long  as  the  special  misery  keeps  in  abey- 
ance. 

I  have  been  feeling  myself  very  ungrateful  in  not  going 
tc  report  myself  to  Dr.  Quain  all  this  time.  He  was  very 
kind  and  attentive  to  me  last  Winter,  and  couldn't  be  per- 
suaded ever  to  take  a  fee!  But  now  that  the  torment 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  309 

...  is  abated,  I  " think  shame"  to  see  him,  after 
all  the  dreadful  questions  and  answers  that  passed  be- 
tween us! 

My  new  "cook  and  housekeeper"*  promises  well.  If  I 
had  not  had  another  such  perfect  and  polite  servant  in  the 
tt  Old  Ann,"  who  was  with  me  six  years,  I  should  live  in  con- 
stant expectation  of  discovering  some  serious  flaw  in  her! 
For  this  woman's  characteristic  is  plausibility,  and  I  have 
a  dread  of  plausible  people!  But  probably,  as  in  "Old 
Ann,"  there  will  be  nothing  to  discover  worse  than  a  large 
amount  of  selfishness  and  an  exaggerated  idea  of  per- 
quisites. The  new  "housemaid  and  lady's-maid"  is  to 
come  on  Tuesday.  As  Mrs.  Warren  (the  cook)  said, 
"however  she  turns  out,  we  can't  well  be  worse  off  than  we 
are  at  present."  .  .  . 

Mrs.  Anstruther  and  Daughter  were  here  yesterday, — 
sweet  as  melted  barley-sugar!  Lady  A.  has  been  in  Town 
again,  keeping  me  out  of  bed  till  near  twelve!  bless  her! 
People  begin  to  come  back,  and  I  have  more  company 
than  I  need. 

The  little  box?  Yes!  it  has  a  history.  It  was  a  white 
deal  box  containing  some  presents  sent  me  by  Goethe, 
when  we  were  at  Craigenputtock.  By  way  of  illustrating 
it,  I  painted  it  black,  and  ornamented  it  with  clippings  of 
chintz ! !  I  sent  it  to  you  because  I  thought  you  would 
give  it  a  place  in  your  bedroom;  and  here,  if  I  died,  it 
would  have  no  value  for  man,  woman  or  child !  .  .  . 

God  bless  you  both,  my  Dear. 

JANE  W.  GAKLYLE. 

*  Mrs.  Warren; 


310          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

LETTER  249 

To  Miss  Anne  Welsh]  Edinburgh] 

Chelsea,  Wednesday,  30  Nov.,  1864. 

Oh,  thank  you,  Dear!  I  am  really  grateful  for 
this!*  .  .  . 

I  have  been  very  much  occupied  of  late  weeks,  with 
changes  in  the  house,  etc.,  etc.  My  days  are  so  short  to 
begin  with!  As  I  am  still  too  weak  for  getting  up  before 
breakfast,  it  is  near  eleven  always  before  I  get  into  the 
drawing-room;  at  half  after  twelve  I  go  out  for  my  drive, 
whatever  weather  it  is,  and  am  generally  out  for  three 
hours;  at  four  I  dine;  and  receive  visits  till  six.  Then  in 
the  evenings,  I  am  too  much  wearied  to  do  anything  but  a 
little  desultory  reading.  When  I  try  writing  Letters  in 
the  evening,  it  never  fails  to  give  me  a  restless  night; 
and  now,  Mr.  C.  won't  suffer  me  to  take  pen  in  hand. 

Still  it  is  not  an  unhappy  life.  The  comparative  free- 
dom from  physical  suffering  seems,  after  the  long  tortures 
I  endured,  positive  enjoyment.  And  the  pleasure  I  have 
in  my  friends  is  so  enhanced  by  grateful  remembrance  of 
the  kindness  shown  me  thro'  the  long  period  of  my  ill- 
ness! .  .  . 

I  have  got  a  respectable  widow  of  fifty  for  cook  and 
housekeeper,  who  has  already  done  more  for  improving  my 
appetite  than  all  the  quinine  and  pepsine  that  have  been 
tried  on  me.  There  is  never  a  speck  of  dust  about  this 
woman;  and  her  manners  are  the  perfection  of  courtliness! 
And  so  far  as  I  have  seen,  things  go  on  at  less  expense 

*A  photograph  of  herself  (Miss  Anne  Welsh). 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  311 

than  formerly.    If  she  only  goes  on  as  she  has  begun,  I 
shall  say  I  have  lighted  on  "a  treasure," — at  last! 

The  young  person  (eight-and-twenty)  who  came  yes- 
terday for  housemaid  and  lady's-maid  also  promises  ex- 
cellently. She  comes  of  an  excellent  family,  and  I  have 
great  faith  in  breed.  She  "thoroughly  understands  her 
business" — one  can  see  that  the  first  day;  and  she  is  very 
modest  and  intelligent  and,  I  should  say  from  her  face,  is 
not  only  honest  but  honourable.  So  I  feel  myself  set  up  in 
quite  a  magnificent  style;  housekeeper  and  lady's-maid, 
and  coachman  coming  every  morning  "for  orders!"  I 
feel  the  comfort  of  all  this  better  now  than  if  it  had  come 
to  me  when  I  was  young  and  strong.  As  dear  Betty  says, 
"We  hae  mony  mercies;  may  we  be  thankful!" 

I  find  I  have  written  on  a  sheet  destined  for  Madame 
Elise,  my  beloved  Dressmaker !  Never  mind ! 

My  best  love  to  Elizabeth  and  Grace.  Couldn't  you 
persuade  Elizabeth  to  send  me  her  photograph?  The  sit- 
ting one,  on  metal,  is  so  ghastly!  God  bless  you. 

Your  loving  Niece, 

JANE  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  250 

To  Mrs.  Russell,  Holm  Hill. 

Chelsea,  Tuesday,  Nov'r  (?),  1864. 

I  had  it  in  mind,  Dearest,  to  write  you  a  nice  long  Letter 
to-day,  but  the  fates  willed  that  I  should  get  up  this  morn- 
ing late  and  stupid,  having  had  a  worse  night  than  usual. 
No  wonder!  considering  the  way  I  was  used.  I  went  yes- 
terday to  have  a  dress  fitted  on  at  Elise's;  my  black  silk 


312          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

tunic  which  you  liked  so  much,  arid  which  I  have  worn 
every  day  arid  all  day  since  I  left  you!  having  fairly  gone  to 
tatters, — and  no  shame  to  it.  I  was  before  the  time  of  day 
for  the  fashionable  ladies,  so  Elise  was  disengaged  and 
came  to  the  fitting-room  herself,  to  superintend  the  process, 
which  I  don't  believe  she  would  have  done  for  any  Duchess 
in  the  Land.  And  she  would  not  let  me  have  the  thing 
done  anyhow,  as  I  wanted,  saying  to  her  French  Dress- 
maker: "  Because  Madame  will  not  wear  a  crinoline  and 
will  not  be  tied  up,  that  is  no  reason  why  she  should  have 
no  waist  and  no  style!"  And  so  she  fingered  away  at  me 
herself,  while  I  stood  for  half  an  hour!  Then  she  brought 
me  a  glass  of  wine,  "to  put  away  your  fatigues!"  but  it 
didn't! — I  went  after  to  see  Lady  William  Russell,  who 
happened  to  be  better  up  to  talking  than  usual,  poor  soul! 
and  I  didn't  get  away  from  her  till  within  half  an  hour  of 
my  dinner  time  (four  o'clock).  Mrs.  Warren  (the  new 
cook)  never  keeps  me  waiting;  but  my  dinner  was  not 
well  over  till  Mr.  Twisleton  came,  who  staid  till  near 
seven;  and  between  seven  and  eight,  a  Mr.  Ballantyne 
came  on  the  voluntary  principle,  and  shortly  after,  Colonel 
Cunningham  and  Miss  Cunningham  (Allan's  Family)  by 
appointment  to  tea.  And  just,  I  think,  because  I  was  so 
feverishly  tired,  I  thought  fit  to  make  tea  myself, — the 
first  tune  these  fifteen  months!  It  was  half  after  ten  when 
they  went  away,  and  Mr.  C.'s  walk  was  not  ended  till 
near  twelve.  Of  course,  I  couldn't  sleep;  and  when  I  did, 
couldn't  keep  hold  of  sleep  for  many  minutes  together; 
and  awoke  finally  for  good,  at  five.  And  such  long,  dark 
mornings  these  are! 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  313 

So  I  will  put  off  the  "nice  long  Letter"  till  another 
more  auspicious  day,  and  just  tell  you  how  it  is  with  me. 

On  the  whole,  I  don't  think  I  have  lost  ground.  My 
cold  is  gone, — a  little  tendency  to  cough  and  roughness  of 
the  throat,  but  nothing  to  speak  of.  My  appetite  has  im- 
proved since  I  had  the  new  cook,  who  makes  everything 
look  nice,  however  it  may  taste;  and  who  regulates  my 
dinners  according  to  "her  own  sweet  will."  Nothing  so 
soon  destroys  all  inclination  for  food  in  me,  as  having  to 
order  it  beforehand.  So,  reflecting  that  I  was  eating  bet- 
ter, I  thought  I  might  probably  be  gaining  flesh  again,  and 
yesterday  summoned  up  resolution  to  go  and  be  weighed, — 
at  the  green  grocer's — swung  up  in  the  air  like  a  basket  of 
potatoes!  It  wasn't  half  such  pleasant  weighing  as  An- 
drew's; nor  was  the  result  so  pleasant.  I  had  lost  two 
pounds  and  a  half  since  I  was  weighed  last; — not  much, 
and  the  weight  remaining,  8  stones,  9  Ibs.,  is  fair  enough 
for  a  woman  of  my  inches.  Still  I  should  have  liked  to 
keep  the  "8  stones,  eleven  and  a  half."  When  I  came 
home  after,  I  solemnly  announced  to  Mrs.  Warren  that 
she  would  have  to  fatten  me  to  the  extent  of  two  pounds 
and  a  half.  Whereupon  she  went  and  baked  some  sweet 
unwholesome  biscuits  which  gave  me  the  heartburn.  .  .  . 

I  am  not  at  all  nervous,  and  I  certainly  sleep  better 
than  I  did  while  I  was  with  you, — when  I  commit  no  in- 
discretions like  last  night's.  .  .  .  The  actual  suffering, 
if  cleared  of  the  aggravations  of  the  Imagination,  would 
be  nothing  to  make  a  fuss  about.  Many  people, —  the 
greater  number,  I  believe, — have  to  suffer  as  much  in  some 
form  or  other!  I  daresay  the  exceptionalness  of  the  form 


314          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

in  my  case,  has  had  a  great  deal  to  do  with  the  unbearable- 
ness. 

.  .  .  My  ever  grateful  love  to  the  Doctor.  Dear, 
dear!  I  wish  he  and  you  were  not  so  far  away! 

Your  loving  friend, 

J.  CARLTLE. 

Kind  remembrance  to  Mary  and  Lady  Macbeth.* 

LETTER  251 

To  Mrs.  Austin,  The  Gill,  Annan. 

Chelsea,  '21  December,  1864.' 

Dearest  Mary —  .  .  .  The  butter  comes  exactly 
at  the  right  moment,  just  when  Lady  Ashburton's  Farmer 
at  Addiscombe  had  written  that  "the  hamper"  would 
henceforth  be  sent  only  once  a  week  instead  of  three  times, 
"as  he  had  to  send  hampers  also  to  her  Ladyship  in  Devon- 
shire." The  impossibility  is  curious  when  you  consider 
that  in  each  hamper  there  is  just  two  eggs,  about  a  gill  of 
cream,  and,  twice  a  week,  a  pound  of  butter!  It  is  a 
compensation  for  those  who  have  no  toy-farmers  and 
gardeners,  to  see  how  a  great  Lady  is  imposed  upon  at  all 
hands!  My  grey  horse  that  Lady  A.'s  coachman  gave  an 
"enormous  price"  for  (sixty  or  seventy  guineas!),  and 
which  Lady  A.  absolutely  forced  on  my  acceptance,  turns 
out  too  soft  for  even  my  gentle  uses;  the  first  day  of  the 
frost  I  had  it  sharpened  and  sent  out  in  the  carriage  as 
usual  (I  have  not  been  one  day  without  a  drive  since  my 
return),  and  one  of  the  creature's  hind  legs  got  sprained 

*  Mrs.  Russell's  servants. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  315 

somehow,  and  it  has  been  laid  up  in  its  stable,  with  a  far- 
rier attending  it  ever  since. — I  have  to  hire  a  horse  in  the 
meantime!  The  groom  says  that  every  time  my  horse 
does  a  little  more  than  usual  she  "goes  off  her  food."  I 
shall  never  have  any  comfort  in  driving  her  again,  even  if 
she  gets  over  this  accident.  And  the  best  thing  to  do  will 
be  to  sell  her,  and  job  a  horse. 

Mr.  C.  does  not  look  to  me  as  if  he  were  going  to  keep 
his  word  and  "get  done  about  Newyear's  day."  If  he  get 
done  in  February,  I  shall  be  thankful.  I  am  not  now  so 
impatient  for  getting  to  Devonshire  to  Lady  A.'s  as  I  was 
before  I  knew  that  her  house  there  only  began  to  be  built 
last  June!  She  affirms  it  is  quite  dry,  nevertheless;  but 
she  had  only  been  there  for  two  days  when  she  said  so.  As 
she  is  troubled  with  rheumatism  herself  at  present,  she 
will  not  be  able  to  live  in  it,  any  more  than  I  should  be, 
unless  it  is  free  from  damp.  We  shall  see. 

In  the  meantime  I  have  reason  to  thank  God  for  the 
comparative  ease  I  still  enjoy, — in  spite  of  the  severe 
changes  of  weather.  My  appetite  is  improved  again  since 
I  had  the  new  cook,  who  sends  up  everything  so  tidy  and 
pretty!  She  seems  a  very  nice  servant  indeed,  and  not  at 
all  extravagant.  I  pay  her  a  little  more  wages  than  I 
was  in  the  habit  of  giving;  but  that  is  not  the  difference  at 
the  year's  end.  The  weekly  bills  are  diminished  rather 
than  increased  since  she  came,  tho'  we  live  much  better: — 
have  all  sorts  of  cakes  and  "dainties"  which  no  former 
cook  (unless  Grace  MacDonald)*  was  up  to.  And  she  is  a 
most  pleasant  servant,  always  so  polite  and  obliging,  with 
*  Servant  at  Comley  Bank  and  Craigenputtock  for  a  time. 


316          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 


an  equableness  of  temper  rare  at  fifty,  and  very  soothing 
for  the  rest  of  us, — who  are  anything  but  equable! 

The  new  housemaid*  is  also  a  good  servant;  intensely 
"respectable,"  and  "understands  her  business";  but  she 
is  nothing  like  so  pleasant.  .  .  . 

I  was  weighed  the  other  day,  and  found  that  I  had  lost 
two  pounds  and  a  half  since  I  was  last  weighed  at  Dr. 
Russell's.  Considering  my  loss  of  appetite  from  cold  and 
from  worry,  it  was  less  than  might  have  been  expected. 
I  am  certainly  sleeping  better;  not  to  be  called  well  yet; 
but  better  than  I  had  done  since  before  my  illness.  .  . 
Oh,  mercy,  what  a  different  state  of  things  from  last  year 
at  Christmas!  Can  I  ever  be  thankful  enough! 

God  bless  you,  Dear,  and  all  your  belongings!  Many 
thanks  for  all  these  things  and  all  your  true  affection. 

Yours  ever  faithfully, 

JANE  W.  CARLYLE. 

I  can't  walk  any  better  yet,  but  I  feel  rather  less  fa- 
tigued by  the  effort  of  walking. 

LETTER  252 

To  Mrs.  Russellj  Holm  Hill. 

Chelsea,  Thursday,  'December,  1864/ 

If  it  weren't,  Dear,  that  the  delay  might  make  you 
anxious  about  the  basket,  I  would  not  write  this  morning, 
having  no  time  to  make  a  decently  long  Letter.  But  you 
will  kindly  accept  a  brief  acknowledgement  in  the  mean- 
time; and  the  nice  long  Letter  will  follow. 
*  Fanny. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  317 

I  wish  you  had  seen  the  sensation  the  Basket  produced; 
for  we  couldn't  conceive  what  it  contained,  or  where  it 
came  from!  "Glasgow?"  Mr.  C.  said.  "But  who  on 
earth,"  I  asked,  "is  there  in  Glasgow  to  send  us  anything?'' 
"Your  Cousin  Jeannie,  perhaps?"  "Bah!  my  Cousin 
Jeannie  never  sent  me  anything  in  her  life!"  "Well,  let 
us  get  into  the  inside  of  it,"  said  Mr.  C.,  standing  with  his 
long  pipe  in  his  mouth,  offering  no  assistance.  Fanny, 
having  placed  the  package  in  the  middle  of  the  Drawing- 
room  floor,  had  disappeared.  At  last  by  my  unaided 
efforts  I  had  extracted  the  Basket  from  its  brown  paper. 
"Pooh!"  said  Mr.  C.,  "it  is  more  game!"  (Mr.  C.  doesn't 
eat  most  sorts  of  game,  and  had  been  aggravated  by  the 
quantity  sent  lately).  "  D'ye  know,  I  have  a  sort  of  notion 
it  is  fish,"  said  I  rather  mournfully,  not  seeing  my  way 
thro'  a  basketful  of  fish!  "I  am  afraid  it  is,"  said  he — 
"just  fish;  and  I  wish  you  joy  of  it!"  Then  Fanny  came 
back  and  helped  me  to  open  the  Basket.  "Eggs!"  said 
Fannjr,  solemnly,  as  if  she  had  been  solving  the  Problem 
of  the  Universe.  "Oh,  hang  it!"  said  Mr.  C.,  "all  broken 
again,  of  course."  (Mr.  C.'s  temper  had  been  much  tried 
latterly  by  boxfuls  of  eggs  from  both  the  Gill  and  Dum- 
fries, arriving  all  in  a  state  of  mush!  and  he  had  written  to 
forbid  more  eggs.)  "These  seem  to  be  all  whole,  however," 
said  I;  "who  can  have  sent  them?"  "A  person,  whoever 
it  be,"  said  Mr.  C.  blandly,  "who  knows  something  about 
the  art  of  packing!"  "Look  here,"  said  Famty  groping 
among  the  eggs,  "if  that  ain't  a  Turkey!"  Still,  with  the 
fixed  idea  of  Glasgow  put  into  my  head,  I  never  thought  of 
Holm  Hill!  not  till  we  arrived  at  the  whisky.  Then  a 


318          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

light  flashed  on  my  soul!  "  Oh,  it  is  Mrs.  Russell!"  I  cried, 
"  where  is  the  address?  don't  you  know  the  handwriting?" 
Mr.  C.  picked  up  the  address  and  said,  "  To  be  sure,  that  is 
Dr.  Russell's  writing!"  You  can't  think  what  a  good  the 
little  excitement  did  us!  But  I  couldn't  help  a  little  shud- 
der, on  contemplating  the  dead  body  of  one  of  those  Tur- 
keys that  I  had  seen  grow  up  from  babyhood!  slain  for  me, 
poor  bird!  The  wrhisky  came  exactly  at  the  right  moment; 
for  only  the  night  before,  I  had  swallowed  the  last  drop  in 
the  bottle  I  brought  home  with  me!  and  was  thinking  I 
should  have  to  put  up  with  the  Irish  L.L.  whisky,  the  only 
sort  procurable  here. 

There  wasn't  a  single  egg  broken, — one  cracked,  that 
was  all.  A  thousand  thanks!  And  I  am  so  glad  the 
package  did  not  come  from  Glasgow,  as  Mr.  C.  said;  it 
makes  all  the  difference  whom  a  present  comes  from! 

I  have  been  sleeping  very  badly  for  the  last  ten  days, 
without  any  assignable  reason:  but  last  night  was  better; 
so  I  hope  the  spell  is  broken.    I  have  a  great  many  things 
to  do  before  going  out  for  my  drive;  so  must  stop. 
Ever  yours  affectionately, 

JANE  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  253 

To  Mrs.  Russell,  Holm  Hill1. 

Chelsea,  28  February,    1865. 

Darling —  ...  I  suppose  I  am  bilious  just  now; 
I  feel  so  bad  at  writing;  so  bad  at  doing  anything.  I  would 
like  to  lie  all  day  on  the  sofa,  reading  Novels!  the  "last 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  319 

sad  refuge  of  the  noble  mind!"    I  will  take  a  blue-pill  to- 
night. 

I  had  a  visit  the  other  day  that  gave  me  the  knife  in  my 
back!  Dr.  Quain!  It  was  very  good-natured  in  him  to 
come  so  far  to  see  me,  considering  that  I  had  never  an- 
nounced my  return  and  my  recovery  to  him.  Not  that  I 
did  not  feel  grateful  for  his  kindness  last  Winter;  but  I 
remembered  how  wildly  I  used  to  talk  to  him,  imploring 
him  to  give  me  poison,  etc.,  etc.,  and  all  the  horrid  ques- 
tions he  had  to  ask!  And  I  could  not  look  him  in  the  face, 
now  that  I  found  myself  in  my  normal  state  of  mind!  He 
was  very  good  and  put  me  at  my  ease  at  once,  and  scolded 
me  for  not  sending  for  him  in  my  last  inflammatory  attack. 
How  could  I,  when  he  would  never  accept  a  fee  from  me? 
I  have  such  a  pretty  story  to  tell  you  about  a  Baby  left  at 
Dr.  Quain's  door,  and  a  great  many  stories  laid  by  in  my 
mind  to  amuse  you  with  when  you  come  here. 

For  the  present  I  must  get  ready  for  my  drive.  Love 
to  the  Doctor.  .  .  . 

Affectionately  yours, 

JANE  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  254 

To  Mrs.  Braid,  Green  End,  Edinburgh^ 

Seaforth  Lodge,  Seaton,  Devonshire, 
12  March,  1865. 

My  own  darling  Betty — Thanks  from  the  bottom  of 
my  heart  for  your  Letter,  which  was  all  the  more  pleasure 
to  me  that  I  was  not  expecting  such  an  effort  from  you. 
I  know  how  difficult  it  is  to  concentrate  one's  thoughts 


320          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

and  put  them  into  written  sentences  when  one  is  full  of 
sorrow  or  pain!  To  do  it  at  all  one  must  hold  very  dear 
the  person  one  writes  to!  And  you  and  I  hold  one  another 
very  dear  by  that  and  by  other  tokens.  When  my  bodily 
torments  were  nearly  greater  than  I  could  bear,  and  I 
had  dropt  all  correspondence  in  the  outer  world,  I  recollect 
writing  a  few  lines  to  you;  and  now,  you  write  to  me 
when  bowed  down  with  sorrow  as  I  was  with  pain. 

Dear  Thomas  Erskine  wrote  me  a  kind  Letter  about 
you  after  he  had  seen  you.  He  told  me  the  manner  of 
George's*  end.  In  my  life  I  never  heard  anything  so 
sad!  And  yet  how  merciful! 

.  .  .  I  was  not  thinking  of  a  journey  to  Scotland 
this  Summer,  until  I  had  the  news  of  your  loss.  Now, 
I  should  like  to  go,  that  you  might  see  the  child  remaining 
to  you,  which  would  be  a  comfort  to  you,  would  it  not? 
If  I  were  not  still  in  such  weak  health  that  I  can  stand 
no  knocking  about,  I  should  decide  to  go.  For  Mr.  Carlyle, 
who  has  lately  finished  the  great  Book,  in  six  big  volumes, 
which  has  kept  him  busy  for  ten  years,  is  going  to  Scotland 
in  a  little  while,  and  to  pay  several  visits  up  and  down; 
so  that  I  should  not  be  needed  at  home.  And  it  would 
be  too  much  fatigue  going  from  place  to  place  along 
with  him;  besides  that,  among  his  own  people  there  is 
not  accommodation  for  us  both  at  one  time,  as  we  are  both 
bad  sleepers  and  need  a  room  a-piece!  So,  if  I  had  but 
strength  for  it,  there  would  be  nothing  to  hinder  me  from 
going  back  to  Thornhill,  and  on  for  a  few  days  to  Edin- 
burgh. To  Thornhill  is  not  a  difficult  journey;  and  there 

*Mrs.  Braid's  son.' 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  321 

is  such  beautiful  rest  at  the  end  of  it!  And  I  should  find 
just  the  same  welcome  this  year  as  if  I  had  not  staid  near 
three  months  there  last  year!  But  the  journey  from 
Thornhill  to  Edinburgh  is  more  complicated  and  bothering; 
and  I  don't  feel  at  home  with  my  Aunts  as  I  do  with 
the  Russells.  I  need  a  great  many  tender  attentions 
now,  which  I  could  perfectly  dispense  with  when  I  was 
stronger,  and  it  is  not  in  my  Aunts  to  be  tender  towards 
anybody!  However  we  shall  see!  Perhaps  as  the  weather 
gets  warmer  I  may  be  less  of  an  invalid.  Meanwhile 
I  have  written  to  Mrs.  Russell  to  beg  her  to  come  to  me, 
— and  the  Doctor  too  if  possible, — in  London,  when  Mr. 
C.  goes  north  and  leaves  house-room  for  them.  After 
showing  them  London,  I  would  perhaps  return  with 
them,  I  said,  as  an  inducement  to  their  coming! 

At  present  we  are  on  a  visit  to  Lady  Ashburton  in 
Devonshire;  so  your  Letter  did  not  reach  me  till  yesterday, 
as  we  left  London  on  Wednesday,  forgetting  to  leave 
the  address  with  the  postman.  I  had  been  much  plagued 
with  a  constant  nausea  for  some  time,  and  was  glad  to 
get  a  change  of  air  and  scene,  which  the  Doctors  say  is 
the  only  remedy  for  nervous  illness;  and  certainly  that 
is  my  own  experience. 

I  am  just  as  much  at  home  with  Lady  Ashburton 
as  with  Mrs.  Russell:  they  are  the  two  kindest  hostesses 
on  earth.  So  I  doubt  not  but  I  shall  improve  here,  so 
soon  as  my  sleep  gets  settled,  which  is  always  driven  away 
by  a  new  bed. 

The  house  is  within  a  hundred  yards  of  a  high  cliff 
overhanging  the  sea;  so  we  have  fresh  air  enough!  The 

VOL.  II.-21 


322          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

Country  all  round  is  extremely  beautiful,  and  new  to  me. 
Chiefly  I  am  delighted  to  see  clear,  running  waters,  like 
what  we  have  in  Scotland;  also  the  wee  lambs,  quite 
white,  are  a  treat  to  see  after  the  sooty  sheep  near  London! 

We  shall  stay  here  some  two  or  three  weeks. 

Mr.  Carlyle  was  for  me  not  continuing  to  send  Punch, 
as  the  sight  of  it  might  make  you  sorry.  But  I  thought 
your  Husband  might  care  to  look  at  it;  and  at  all  rates 
that  you  took  the  address  in  my  handwriting  as  an  assur- 
ance of  my  welfare. 

God  bless  and  comfort  you,  Dear! 
Affectionately  yours, 

JANE  WELSH  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  255 

To  Mrs.  Oliphant. 

Seaforth  Lodge,  '29  March,  1865.'. 

I  give  you  now,  Dear,  the  only  piece  of  news  I  have 
had  to  give  since  I  went  away,  viz.,  that  we  are  coming 
home  on  Saturday.  It  is  very  perverse  of  Mr.  C.  to  be 
in  such  haste,  seeing  that  we  are  only  now  beginning 
to  feel  the  benefit  of  the  change,  and  that  we  are  not 
wished  to  go.  Indeed  a  more  cordial,  more  generous 
Hostess  than  Lady  A.  does  not  I  believe  exist  on  this 
Planet!  Every  time  I  see  her  I  like  her  better  than  last 
time;  and  she  seems  more  kind  to  me,  tho'  that  had 
seemed  impossible. 

But  I  will  tell  you  all  about  everything  by  word  of 
mouth— which  is  much  easier  than  with  pen  and  ink. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  323 

Writing  continues  a  horrid  bore  to  me;  and  if  Letters 
from  me  have  "been  flying  about,"  I  can  only  say  they 
have  flown  very  wide  apart,  and  with  very  drooping 
wings! 

Oh,  what  a  place  this  is  for  lovers  of  the  Picturesque! 
Such  a  sea!  Such  cliffs!  the  one  so  blue,  the  other  so 
white!  My  head  was  quite  turned  at  first,  with  all  this 
"beautiful  nature";  and  I  had  a  "moment  of  enthusiasm" 
in  which  I  was  near  persuading  Mr.  C.  to  buy  a  Devonshire 
Craigenputtock,  to  be  sold  extraordinarily  cheap!  Pine 
trees  and  wild  heaths,  and  black  bog!  a  hundred  acres 
of  it;  and  in  the  midst,  a  charming  house  built  in  the 
style  of  a  convent!  The  speculation  was  wrecked  by 
my  answering  to  Mr.  C.'s  fear  I  should  "die  of  the  solitude, 
in  six  months,"  "  Oh,  no!  for  I  will  keep  constant  company." 
George  II. 's  "  Non!  J'aurai  des  maitresses!"*  couldn't  have 
given  a  greater  shock! — My  chief,  indeed  only  discontents, 
have  been  from  my  Lady's  Maid,  who  has  put  me  in  a 
rage  at  least  once  every  day. 

Affectionately  yours, 

JANE  CAKLYLE. 

LETTER  256 

To  T.  Carlyle,  The  Gill,  Annan. 

Chelsea,  '26  May,  1865.' 

Dearest — I  am  so  sorry!    Especially  if  my  Letter, 

posted  on  Wednesday  night,  did  not  reach  you  last  night, 

— not  till  this  morning.    But  after  all,  my  delay  in  writing 

was  not  so  incomprehensible  as  it  represents  itself  in 

*  See  Carlyle's  Friedrich,  Bk.  X,  chap.  iv. 


New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

your  mind.  Time  moves  at  a  strangely  different  rate 
for  the  person  gone  away,  and  the  one  staying  at  home! 
It  was  on  Monday  you  left:  and  on  Wednesday  (the  next 
day  but  one)  you  are  already  astonished  at  my  silence! 


Affectionately  yours, 


J.  W.  CARLYLE. 


LETTER  257 

To  T.  Carlyle,  The  Gill,  Annan. 

The  Elms,  Streatham  Lane,  Upper  Tooting, 
8  June,  1865. 

Dearest — I  wonder  that  we  are  not  brought  up  to  use 
our  two  hands  equally,  the  same  as  our  two  eyes  and  two 
ears:  there  is  no  natural  impossibility,  and  "it  would  be 
a  great  advantage";  anyhow  I  must  learn  to  write  with 
my  left  hand  legibly  at  least,  the  right  having  entirely 
struck  work.  For  it  is  not  now  a  question  of  pain  merely, 
but  of  utter  powerlessness  as  well.  I  foresaw  that  it 
would  come  to  that,  so  I  am  not  shocked  as  you  may 
fancy.  I  daresay  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  practice  two 
or  three  times  a  day  for  a  week  or  so  will  deliver  me 
from  the  absurd  necessity  of  having  to  call  in  the  as- 
sistance of  the  neighbourhood  to  communicate  my  bits 
of  news  to  you;  not  to  say  that  dictation  is  only  a  degree 
less  awkward  than  left-handed  penmanship,  having 
never  tried  it  before  in  my  life. 

You  perceive  that  I  am  still  here,  and  you  will  infer 
from  that  that  I  find  it  good  to  be  here;  but,  as  it  is  Mrs. 
Macmillan  who  is  writing  for  me,  it  would  be  too  barefaced 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  325 

to  give  any  glowing  description  of  either  the  pleasantness 
of  the  place  or  the  kindness  of  the  people,  I  shall  only 
say,  what  you  will  be  glad  to  hear,  that  I  am  getting  in- 
to the  way  of  sleeping  for  snatches,  after  three  o'clock, 
which  I  attribute,  under  Providence,  to  a  wineglassful 
of  essence  of  beef,  which  is  placed  by  my  bedside 
every  night,  and  which  I  take  when  I  awake  at  three 
with  the  feeling  of  doing  it  for  good.  It  is  simply  the 
juice  of  beef  without  any  water  at  all.  As  for  the  pain, 
I  am  sorry  I  cannot  compliment  myself  on  its  being  in 
the  least  better;  it  has  been  and  continues  more  severe 
than  I  ever  had  it  before.  It  wears  me  to  fiddle- 
strings,  and  takes  all  "good  joy"  out  of  my  life;  but  it 
does  not  take  the  life  itself  out  of  me  as  the  old  nervous 
misery  did.  I  always  said,  better  any  amount  of  acute 
pain  than  that;  and  I  say  so  still,  now  when  the  acute 
pain  is  here. 

I  am  going  home  in  an  hour  or  two  to  look  after  my 
workmen.  They  go  on  better  when  expecting  me  to 
drop  down  upon  them  at  any  hour.  My  further  plans 
it  may  be  interesting  not  to  state,  except  this  much, 
that  I  leave  here  on  Monday;  but  you  need  be  under  no 
apprehension  about  the  paint,  as  Mrs.  Blunt  has  given 
me  a  bed-room  at  the  Rectory.  Indeed  everybody  is  so 
kind  to  me  that  so  far  as  human  kindness  can  avail,  you 
may  always  feel  assured  that  I  am  all  right, — falling  on 
my  feet  like  any  cat.  ...  "I  add  no  more  but 
remain 

Your  obedient,  humble  servant! ! " 

JANE  CARLYLE. 


326          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

LETTER  258 

To  Mrs.  Warren,  Chelsea. 

Holm  Hill,  Thornhill,  29  June,  1865. 

My  dear  Mrs.  Warren — It  is  a  fortnight  to-day  since 
I  left  home,  and  time  that  I  should  send  another  word  of 
news.  At  least  I  hope  that  you  are  thinking  so;  for,  if 
such  a  kind,  motherly  woman  as  you  did  not  feel  any 
concern  about  how  I  was  getting  on,  with  this  wretched 
arm,  I  should  say  it  must  have  been  somehow  my  own 
fault  and  did  not  tell  to  my  advantage. 

You  will  see  before  reading  a  word  that  my  right  arm 
continues  to  be  of  no  use  to  me!  If  only  that  were  all, 
I  could  manage  to  get  on  pretty  well  with  the  left, — 
as  I  am  here  giving  you  a  proof.*  But  the  pain  continues 
almost  unbearable,  and  keeps  me  awake,  tumbling  about 
like  a  wild  thing,  night  after  night,  thro'  one  weary 
week  after  another;  so  that  it  is  a  perpetual  miracle 
to  myself  that  I  am  able  to  get  up  in  the  morning  and 
keep  on  foot,  like  other  people,  thro'  the  day.  I  have 
been  much  worse  since  I  came  here,  than  I  was  at  Mr. 
Macmillan's.  And  I  long  to  be  home  again,  where,  when 
ill,  one  has  always  the  consolation  of  perfect  liberty  to 
be  as  ugly  and  stupid  and  disagreeable  as  ever  one  likes! 

If  it  were  not  for  shame  of  seeming  not  to  know  my 
own  mind,  and  for  the  terror  of  the  long  journey,  I  would 
start  off  home  at  once!  But  I  must  at  least  for  decency's 
sake  make  out  the  month  I  spoke  of  at  starting. 

I  hope  you  are  quite  rid  of  the  painters  and  of  the 

*  Mrs.  Carlyle  is  writing  with  the  left  hand. 


Jane   Welsh  Carlyle  327 

smell  too.    Be  sure  to  keep  all  the  windows  open,  that  the 
house  may  be  sweet  when  Mr.  Carlyle  returns.     .    .    . 

If  you  have  no  more  pressing  work  it  would*  be  a 
useful  thing  to  be  looking  thro'  all  the  sheets  and  mending 
them;  and  there  might  not  be  soon  so  good  an  opportunity. 
Please  inquire  for  Mr.  Royston,  and  tell  me  how  he  is 
when  you  write.  The  settlement  of  the  hamper  was  very 
judicious;  but  in  case  of  any  such  emergence  again,  just 
take  counsel  with  yourself:  I  have  considerable  faith  in 
your  practical  judgement  but  little  or  none  in  Miss  Jews- 
bury's.  Her  talent  is  of  quite  another  sort  than  practical. 
If  the  Bookcases  are  not  quite  finished,  pray  make  Mr. 
Freure  get  on,  that  there  may  be  no  traces  of  new  paint. 

I  will  write  again  in  a  week;  but  rnind  that  you  send 
me  a  few  lines  in  the  meantime. 

Yours  kindly, 

JANE  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  259 

To  Mrs.  Braid,  Green  End,  Edinburgh. 

Nith  Bank,  Thornhill,  15  July,  1865. 
My  dearest  Betty — It  has  been  often  in  my  mind  that 
you  would  think  me  growing  neglectful,  so  long  it  is  since 
I  wrote  to  you  any  Letter!  But  there  was  needed  the 
prompting  of  your  own  dear  Letter,  forwarded  back  from 
London  this  morning,  to  stir  me  up  to  undertake  the 
fatigue  which  writing  is  for  me  at  present,  and  has  been 
for  more  than  two  months  back.  You  must  know  that 

*  From  this  point  on  to  the  signature,  the  Letter  has  been 
dictated. 


328          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

everything  I  do,  even  to  putting  the  food  into  my  mouth, 
has  to  be  done  with  my  kft  hand,  which  I  was  not  ever 
before  in  the  habit  of  using  at  all;  and  which  protests 
against  the  unwonted  demands  on  it,  by  taking  the  cramp 
every  now  and  then;  so  that  writing  is  really  only  to  be 
attempted  in  cases  of  necessity!  For  my  right  hand 
and  arm  are  entirely  disabled  by  neuralgia!  And  besides 
having  no  earthly  use  of  them,  the  pain,— just  like  a  bad 
toothache  in  my  arm  and  hand, — hinders  me  from  sleeping 
and  eating.  So  my  London  Doctor,  being  unable  to 
give  me  relief,  ordered  me  off  to  Scotland  again,  as  that 
had  done  ine  so  much  good  last  year. 

So  I  came  to  Mrs.  Russell's  at  Holm  Hill,  where  I 
am  always  welcomed  like  an  own  child,  just  a  month  ago. 
A  fortnight  of  the  time  I  have  been  with  Mrs.  Ewart 
of  Nith  Bank.  But  I  go  back  to  Holm  Hill  to-morrow 
for  another  week;  and  then  back  to  London! — without 
seeing  you,  my  Darling! — I  did  not  send  you  word  when 
I  first  came,  for  I  was  hoping  my  wretched  arm  might 
really  derive  some  benefit  from  the  change  of  air,  and 
if  it  permitted  me  any  pleasure  in  life,  I  had  it  in  my 
heart  to  proceed  to  Edinburgh  just  to  see  you.  As  for 
my  Aunts,  their  invitations,  if  they  give  any,  are  so  little 
cordial  that  I  needn't  put  myself  to  any  expense  or  trouble 
for  the  sake  of  seeing  them!  My  idea  was  to  ask  you  to 
find  a  lodging  for  me  and  my  maid,  for  a  day  or  two, 
and  then  take  the  train  for  London.  But  this  beautiful 
little  scheme  has  been  knocked  on  the  head  by  the  fact 
that  my  arm  continues  as  bad  as  ever,  making  me  shrink 
from  all  journeyings  and  changings  that  can  be  avoided, 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  329 

and  only  anxious  to  get  back  to  rny  own  quiet  bed  at 
Chelsea. 

It  is  such  a  dreadful  pity  that  the  journey  from  Edin- 
burgh to  Thornhill  is  so  indirect  and  interrupted.  I 
should  be  only  too  happy  to  pay  your  expenses  here  to 
see  me,  if  it  weren't  that  I  know  the  journey  would  be 
both  too  fatiguing  and  too  confusing  for  you!  We  are 
none  of  us  so  young  as  we  have  been,  Dear! 

On  the  24th  then,  I  start  for  London;  and  will  write 
or  make  somebody  write,  on  rny  arrival. 
Your  loving 


JANE  W.  CARLYLE. 


LETTER  260 


To  T.  Carlyle,  The  Gill,  Annan. 

Holm  Hill,  Saturday,  22  July,  1865. 

I  am  afraid,  Dear,  I  "have  made  a  mull  of  it!"  I 
should  have  let  you  come  here  to-day!  For  there  can 
be  no  peaceable  meeting  at  Dumfries.  I  decided  against 
Alderley;  and  must  take  two  tickets  for  London,  here, 
not  to  lose  time  or  create  bother  with  the  luggage.  So 
you  will  just  have  to  jump  in  at  Dumfries  and  go  a  few 
miles  with  me. 

I  told  you  I  must  leave  the  decision  about  Alderley 
till  next  day.  Night  would  bring  counsel.  Yes!  but 
one  knows  what  dark  premises  Deliberation  starts  from, 
and  what  pusillanimous  conclusion  it  arrives  at,  when 
Night  brings  no  sleep!  And  that  night  I  lay  wholly  and 
absolutely  awake.  .  .  .  All  these  objections  assumed 
gigantic  proportions  over  night;  and  the  appointment  of 


330          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

"  two  nights"  as  the  utmost  possible  limit  of  the  hospitality 
offered  me,  chilled  my  ardour  for  availing  myself  of  it! 
Not  that  I  had  ever  any  intention  of,  or  wish  for,  staying 
longer;  but  I  disliked  not  having  the  credit  allowed  me 
of  mense  enough  to  see  when  I  was  inconvenient  without 
needing  to  be  told.  And  so  I  wrote  yesterday,  with 
many  thanks,  that  I  could  not  think  of  plumping  into 
the  midst  of  the  approaching  event.*  I  took  care  to 
word  my  Letter  kindly  and  gratefully.  .  .  . 

On  Monday,  then,  by  the  eleven  o'clock  train — on  the 
platform! 

Yours  ever, 

JANE. 

LETTER  261 

To  T.  Carlyle,  The  Gill,  Annan. 

Chelsea,  Tuesday,  25  July,  1865. 

Dearest — All  right,  that  is,  all  as  I  expected!  When  I 
chose  to  travel  by  day,  I  knew  I  should  have  no  sleep  after! 
I  sat  up  reading  till  three;  it  was  no  use  I  felt  to  lie  down; 
then  I  went  to  bed  and  lay  awake,  without  kicking  about 
much,  till  morning.  At  seven  I  rang  for  my  breakfast, 
and  ate  some;  and  got  up  at  nine,  and  have  been  putting 
my  things  in  the  drawers  with  the  efficient  help  of  Jessie,  f 
I  don't  suppose  the  night  without  sleep  in  my  own  bed  can 
do  me  so  much  harm  as  that  on  the  railway  on  the  road 
down  [would  have  done].  But  in  the  meantime  I  am  very 
unfit  for  writing.  I  do  hope  Dr.  Russell  may  prove  mis- 

*An  expected  "addition  to  the  family." 

t  Jessie  Hiddlestone,  whom  Mrs.  Carlyle  had  engaged  for  her 
housemaid. 


No.  24,  CHEYNE   ROW, 
Chelsea  (Back  View). 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  331 

taken  about  my  right  hand  having  gone  to  the  dogs  for 
good.  The  loss  of  it  hinders  me  at  every  turn!  And  I 
haven't  even  the  consolation  of  having  lost  it  in  the  service 
of  my  Country! 

At  Carlisle  we  waited  three-quarters  of  an  hour;  and 
Jessie  was  told  her  third-class  ticket  was  "no  go/' — there 
being  no  third-class  from  Carlisle  to  London  by  that  train. 
So  she  was  transferred  into  a  second-class  carriage  next 
me,  and  I  had  to  pay  15s.  6d.  difference!  I  perceived  on 
the  platform  at  Lancaster,  a  man  in  grey,  pacing  as  if  his 
foot  was  on  his  native  pavement,  and  took  him  for  the 
Station-master, — tho'  looking  upwards  as  tho'  meditating 
on  "the  Good,  the  Beautiful  and  the  True."  He  looked 

at  me  once  or  twice,  then   stopt  and — it  was  Mr.  S. 

(is  that  the  name?)  He  was  very  civil  with  offers  of  rasp- 
berry tart  and  gooseberries  "pulled  that  morning  by  his 
Wife,  in  his  own  garden!"  He  is  so  awfully  interesting  to 
himself,  that  man!  Mr.  Sylvester  is  to  be  here  with  Bellona 
at  1  o'clock.  I  hope  to  be  steadier  next  time. 
Yours  affectionately, 

JANE  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  262 

To  Mrs.  Russell,  Holm  Hill. 

Chelsea,  <26  July,  1865.' 

Oh,  my  Dear,  my  Dear — I  wish  I  had  the  use  of  that 
hand  again!  For  when  I  try  to  write  or  do  anything  with 
the  left  without  great  plenty  of  leisure,  it  shakes  and 
threatens  to  strike  work! 

I  absolutely  couldn't  write  yesterday;  and  to  make 


332          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

Jessie  write  would  have  made  you  think  me  either  more 
unwell  or  more  disagreeable  than  I  was!  The  first  night 
after  my  long  journey,  I  lay  wholly  awake  as  I  was  sure  to 
do,  except  when  I  travel  by  night  and  allow  myself  twelve 
hours  to  subside!  Indeed,  knowing  how  it  would  be  in 
bed,  I  sat  up  reading  till  three  in  the  morning!  Then  I 
made  a  bold  venture  and  took  before  lying  down  thirty 
drops  of  Morphia!  I  used  to  get  good  of  an  exceptional 
dose  of  this  sort.  Even  that  couldn't  put  me  to  sleep  for  a 
minute;  but  it  gave  me  a  sensation  of  rest  instead  of  wild- 
ness;  and  I  lay  patiently  till  seven,  when  I  rang  for  my 
breakfast.  Last  night  I  slept  like  the  angels.  In  waking 
I  had  lost  my  identity,  and  was  saying  to  myself,  "It  can't 
be  I  who  have  slept  in  this  way!" 

Oh!  I  am  stopt!  I  will  finish  it  at  night.  I  am  so 
sorry. 

LETTER  263 

To  T.  Carlyle,  The  Gill,  Annan. 

Chelsea,  2  August,  1865. 

Dearest— What  belated  your  Letter  that  it  didn't  ar- 
rive till  the  two  o'clock  post — after  I  was  gone  out?  Get- 
ting no  news  in  the  morning,  and  being  up  to  the  eyes  in 
the  Books,  I  felt  justified  in  passing  a  day,  on  the  pretext 
of  not  being  quite  sure  of  your  whereabout. 

I  must  now  be  concise  and  to  the  purpose,  the  day 
being  too  short  for  all  the  affairs  I  have  on  hand.  First, 
of  my  sleep:  I  really  begin  to  sleep  like  a  human  being! 
If  this  would  last  a  week  or  two,  my  arm  would  be  cured, 
and  even  my  hand.  Already  the  pain  is  so  much  dimin- 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  333 

ished  that  I  don't  dream  of  it  in  my  sleep!  and  I  can  do  a 
lot  of  things  with  my  hand;  can  put  on  my  stockings! 
can  lift  a  spoon  to  my  mouth!  can  tie  on  my  bonnet,  etc., 
etc.  Oh,  the  relief  of  this  comparative  ease,  after  five 
months  of  constant  wearing  pain  and  helplessness! 

Mrs.  Forster  has  been  ill  in  the  same  sort  of  way,  only 
her  pain  has  been  more  general  and  more  diluted  and 
sooner  over.  Poor  dear  Fuz  himself  had  a  violent  attack 
of  British  Cholera  lately,  and  is  at  present  in  great  misery 
with  some  new  cold  caught  in  his  face.  I  saw  him  yester- 
day, by  his  own  request,  stretched  among  pillows  on  the 
sofa  of  his  Library,  bemoaning  himself  in  his  usual  ob- 
streperous way,  and  with  palpable  reason, — his  face  was 
swelled  and  discoloured  frightfully,  an  abscess  forming  in 
the  cheek,  his  Wife  said.  He  himself  said  he  "  was  dying, — 
not  a  doubt  of  it!"  But  he  was  far  too  impatient  and 
unreasonable  for  being  arrived  at  that  stage.  .  .  . 
Yours  affectionately, 

JANE  CARLYLE. 

LETTER  264 

To  T.  Carlyle,  Miss  Craik's] 
73  George  St.]  Edinburgh. 

Chelsea,  Wednesday,  9  Aug.,  1865. 

Again  you  have  had  no  Letter,  Dear!  But,  in  com- 
pensation, all  the  ink-spots  are  out  of  your  writing-table!! 
Had  it  been  going  straight  to  any  Literary  museum,  I 
shouldn't  have  meddled  with  the  ink,  which  Hero-wor- 
shippers might  have  regarded  with  a  certain  adoration; 
but  for  your  own  use  I  thought  you  would  like  it  better 


334          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

clean!  It  has  never  been  cleaned,  that  poor  table,  since  I 
used  to  do  all  the  Housemaid  work  myself!  And  it  is  a 
wonder  of  heaven  that  I  should  be  up  to  such  work  again, 
after  all;  and  I  cannot  better  express  my  thankfulness  than 
in  working  while  I  may!  So  I  fastened  on  that  table  after 
breakfast  this  morning,  and  rubbed  at  it  the  whole  time 
till  the  carriage  came  at  two!  Of  course  Jessie  could  have 
waxed  and  turpentined  the  table  better  than  I;  but  no 
one  but  me,  I  flatter  myself,  could  have  shown  the  patience 
and  ingenuity  necessary  for  extracting  all  that  ink! 

You  will  infer  that  I  am  going  on  well  as  to  my  arm, 
my  sleep,  and  all  that.  I  have  really  had  not  one  down- 
right bad  night  since  I  came  home, — except  the  first.  The 
pain  is  almost  entirely  gone  out  of  my  arm  and  hand.  But 
the  stiffness  continues, — and  is  easy  to  bear.  I  can  use 
some  of  my  fingers  a  little.  I  am  now  writing  with  the 
lamed  hand!  But  I  cannot  take  hold;  nor  could  I  raise 
my  arm  to  my  head  if  it  were  to  save  my  life. 

If  it  were  not  that  almost  everybody  is  "out  of  Town," 
I  should  rather  regret  having  promised  to  go  to  Folkestone 
on  Monday.  But  it  is  to  be  hoped  the  sea  breezes  will  blow 
the  dust  of  those  Books  off  me!  Two  of  the  Pug  Puppies 
and  their  amiable  Mamma  have  been  "  placed  at  Hamp- 
stead  for  change  of  air,"  and  only  Spark  and  the  youngest 
accompany  us  to  Folkestone. 

Another  proof  of  wellness :  I  am  going  alone !  I  find  that 
I  can  now  do  everything  in  dressing,  with  my  left  hand, 
except  twisting  up  my  back  hair  and  putting  the  comb  in; 
and  Miss  Bromley's  house-maid  can  do  that  much  for  me 
in  one  minute.  Jessie  sees  a  great  deal  of  cleaning  needed, 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  335 

and  will  get  at  it  better  when  the  regular  work  of  the 
house  is  not  going  on.  Then,  sufficient  for  the  day  is  the 
running  up  and  down  thereof!  Besides,  she  will  learn  the 
ways  of  London  servants  fast  enough  without  my  hasten- 
ing to  initiate  her  therein! 

In  my  dearth  of  company,  I  drove  out  to  Denmark 
Hill  yesterday  to  return  a  call  old  Mrs.  Ruskin  made  here 
in  my  absence.  But  I  am  decidedly  unlucky  at  that 
house:  Mrs.  Ruskin  and  Son  were  changing  the  air  at  the 
Norwood  Hotel!  He  writes  to  offer  himself  for  Friday 
evening. 

Such  a  fright  Dr.  Carlyle's  hand  on  the  address  gave 
me! — Forster  is  better,  and  off  on  his  Inspecting. — You 
won't  forget  to  go  and  see  my  Aunts!  And  do  take  a  cab 
and  go  and  see  poor  dear  Betty!  Stenhouse,  close  by 
Green  End:  anybody  can  tell  you  which  is  the  house.  [No 
room  left  for  farewell.] 

J.  C. 

LETTER  265 

To  T.  Carlyle,  Linlathenj  Dundee^ 

4  Langhorne  Gardens,  Folkestone,  15  Aug.,  1865. 

Here  I  am,  Dear,  safe  and  slept!  I  arrived  last  even- 
ing about  7.  Miss  Bromley  had  gone  for  a  walk  with  the 
girl  staying  with  her,  and  they  had  lost  their  way!  So  I 
had  ample  time  to  unpack  all  the  things  into  my  drawers 
before  I  was  called  upon  to  dress  for  dinner. 

It  is  a  nice  house — for  Sea-lodging — but  I  am  afraid  you 
would  find  the  same  fault  to  it  as  to  the  West  Cliff  Hotel, 
viz.— "an  eternal  ripple-tippling  of  Venetian  blinds!" 


336          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

Also  there  is  a  terrible  superabundance  of — earwigs!  They 
are  found  in  your  hair-brush!  in  the  book  you  are  reading! 
in  fact,  I  defy  you  to  say  where  they  will  not  be 
found! 

But  the  " Flight  of  Skylarks"*  is  always  charming  to 
live  beside;  and  the  air  of  the  West  Cliff  is  understood  to 
be  all  one  could  wish!  And  "change"  (Dr.  Blakiston 
wrote  to  me  the  other  day)  "is  for  illness  like  mine  the  one 
available  medicine."  So  I  suppose  it  is  all  right!  Cer- 
tainly my  sleeping  facilities  were  nothing  like  so  great 
here  last  night  as  they  were  at  home;  nevertheless,  in 
spite  of  "ripple-tippling,"  and  too  much  light  and  the 
sense  of  novelty,  I  patched  together  sleep  enough  to  be 
called  a  goodish  night. 

It  is  blowing  hard  to-day,  with  a  dull  grey  sky,  and 
skits  of  rain;  so  I  see  no  prospect  of  "vah-rying  the 
schene!"  as  there  are  no  carriages  but  open  ones. 

Oh,  my  Dear!  I  could  tell  you  something  that  would 
make  you  die  of  laughing,  if  I  hadn't  to  dilute  it  in  ink! 
And  I  was  solemnly  charged  to  "not  tell  Mr.  Carlyle!" 

Lady  William  told  me  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  X ,  having 

lived  to  the  respective  ages  of  72  and  74,  in  the  expression 
of  the  most  outrageously  George-Sandish  opinions,  had 
tried  the  thing  in  practice  and  found  it  "no  go." — "Yes, 

my  dear  Lady!  Mr.  X ,  sad  to  say,  has  committed  an 

— infidelity!    And  poor  Mrs.  X ,  so  far  from  agreeing 

that  a  grand  passion  is  omnipotent,  and  showing  the  gen- 
erosity of  Jaques,  has  fallen  ill  about  it,  and  had  to  go  off 
to  the  Continent  (Paris)  for  her  health!"  .  .  . 

*  Miss  Bromley. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  337 

An  intimation  reached  me  yesterday  that  poor  Gen- 
eral Veitch  (Hamilton  Veitch)  had  died  in  India.  He  had 
gone  out  again  for  "  just  one  year,  to  settle  his  affairs." 

Yours  ever, 

J.  W.  C. 

LETTER  266 

To  Mrs.  Russell,  Holm  Hill. 

Chelsea,  16  October,  1865. 

Well,  Dear,  are  you  home  again?  And  have  you 
found  the  Dear  Doctor  all  right?  Not  broken  in  health  or 
spirits  by  being  left  to  his  own  shifts  and  the  "  mercy  of 
servants"  for  a  few  days!  I  heard  of  him  in  your  absence 
as  not  only  alive  and  "  looking  well,"  but  as  "  remarkably 
agreeable!" 

Depend  upon  it  we  are  not  so  indispensable  to  these 
men  of  ours  as  we  are  apt  to  flatter  ourselves!  Any  one 
would  have  sworn  beforehand  that  my  Husband  could  not 
have  survived  six  months  of  housekeeping  on  his  own 
basis,  being  as  my  Scotch  Helen  said  of  him,  "one  that 
could  do  nothing  i'  the  worV  for  himseF,  and  had  no  turn 
for  takin'  up  wi'  ither  women!"  but  he  did,  and  survived 
it  very  well,  too!  doing  his  own  work  all  the  while,  without 
a  day  wasted  in  conjugal  regrets!— You  might  have  done 
as  I  wanted  you  to  do  in  Summer,  and  taken  the  holiday 
I  had  schemed  out  for  you,  and  found  the  Doctor  on 
your  return  nothing  worse  than  very  glad  to  get  you 
back ! 

It  was  from  Mrs.  Ewart  I  heard  of  your  being  in  Glas- 
gow. Such  a  long,  nice  Letter  she  sent  me!  How  any- 

VOL.  11-22 


338          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

body  can  keep  up  such  a  spirit  at  eighty  exceeds  my  com- 
prehension! 

.  .  .  What  is  to  become  of  me  for  a  Doctor  when 
next  I  need  one?  I  was  so  satisfied  with  Herbert  Barnes 
last  Winter,  when  I  had  conquered  my  prejudices  against 
having  a  Dr.  under  thirty,  who  wore  a  glass  in  his  eye! 
He  treated  me  most  skilfully;  and  was  so  gentlemanly  and 
kind;  and  I  had  been  quite  at  ease  as  to  what  I  should  do 
next  time.  I  was  saying  to  Mrs.  Warren  one  night  what  a 
comfort  that  was;  and  went  down  stairs  after  to  receive 
the  Rector's  Wife,  who  looked  anxious  and  flurried,  and 
bit  by  bit  told  me  the  astounding  fact  that  Herbert  Barnes 
was  dead!  He  had  become  a  great  favorite  with  his  Fa- 
ther's patients,  and  is  much  lamented.  The  poor  old 
Father  took  the  news  like  a  child:  crying  one  minute,  and 
forgetting  the  next!  I  know  of  no  other  Doctor  in  Chelsea 
that  I  would  trust  myself  or  any  belonging  to  me  to,  with- 
out a  shudder!  tho'  there  are  some  scores  of  them!  And 
Dr.  Quain  is  at  such  a  distance;  besides  the  delicacy  about 
sending  for  him,  when  he  absolutely  refuses  his  fee!  Clearly 
I  ought  to  take  no  business  in  hand  till  I  have  made  a 
choice:  for  illness  may  come  and  the  want  make  itself  felt 
when  I  am  powerless  to  supply  it. 

In  the  meantime,  I  go  on  famously  without  doctoring, 
even  of  my  own!  The  wonderful  improvement  on  my 
sleep  has  continued,  and  the  cessation  of  all  pains  in  my 
arm  and  hand  has  continued.  There  is  still  stiffness 
enough;  but  that,  too,  wears  off  by  degrees,  and  has  al- 
ready ceased  to  be  much  of  an  inconvenience. 

I  have  just  made  myself  a  bonnet!  black  silk  and 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  339 

ermine  and  little  feathers!  Indeed  I  can  put  the  hand  to 
anything  needed;  only  I  can't  raise  it  to  the  crown  of  my 
head.  In  the  Winter  weather  I  suppose  it  will  make  itself 
felt  again,  that  "gout,"  or  whatever  it  was;  but  there  is  a 
good  old  proverb,  "afraid  of  the  day  one  is  never  to  see!" 
I  don't  do  that  much.  .  .  . 

Lady  Ashburton  is  still  at  Vevay;  detained  there  by 
an  accident  which  nearly  cost  her  her  life,  and  did  cost  her 
a  dislocated  shoulder.  A  carriage  drawn  by  mules,  in 
which  she  was  crossing  the  Alps,  got  overturned  on  the 
brink  of  a  precipice!  She  had  to  travel  eight  miles  in 
agony,  before  it  could  be  got  set;  and  then  it  was  ill  set 
and  had  to  be  all  done  over  again.  She  talks  of  wintering 
abroad,  which  will  be  a  great  loss  to  me. 

Jessie  is  well,  and  continues  to  be  an  active  and  punctual 
servant.  Mr.  C.  is  immensely  pleased  with  her;  and  has 
reason  to  be.  I  think  she  must  have  her  Mother's  prefer- 
ence for  the  male  sex;  for  she  never  exhibits  any  ill-temper 
with  Mr.  C. ;  but  is  ready  to  fly  at  his  word.  Perhaps  one 
reason  why  she  is  better  for  him  than  for  the  rest  of  us,  is 
that  he  never  pays  the  slightest  regard  to  a  servant's 
humours;  remains  sublimely  unconscious  of  them,  so  long 
as  he  gets  his  bidding  done!  She  has  had  the  young  man 
that  neighboured  her  at  Closeburn  Manse  to  visit  her;  in- 
deed is  not  at  all  so  ill  off  for  visitors  as  she  led  me  to  ex- 
pect. With  Mrs.  Warren  she  seems  to  fight  less  than  at 
first;  but  still  they  are  by  no  means  cordial.  .  .  . 

Kindest  love  to  the  Doctor. 

Your  ever-affectionate 

JANE  CARLYLE. 


340 


Letters  and  Memorials  of 


LETTER  267 


To  Mrs.  Braid,  Green  End,  Edinbnrghl 

Chelsea,  '27  Oct.,  1865/ 

My  darling  Betty —  ...  I  was  much  amused  by 
your  account  of  the  visit  from  Anne  and  Grace.  It  was 
full  late,  I  think!  Grace  wrote  to  me  after  having  seen 
you,  taking  credit  to  herself  for  the  "great  effort!'7  and 
telling  me  particulars  of  very  old  date  now,  as  if  I  had 
been  kept  in  ignorance  about  you  till  it  pleased  them  to 
give  me  your  news.  I  replied  that  "I  was  obliged  to  them 
for  their  details,  but  that  these  had  been  all  communicated 
to  me  at  the  time  by  Mr.  Erskine  of  Linlathen,  who  had 
a  great  respect  and  regard  for  Betty,  and  had  gone  to  see 
her  and  sympathise  with  her  on  the  first  opportunity." 
And  that  you  yourself,  under  whatever  difficulties  of  sor- 
row or  weakness,  never  neglected  me — as  they  did! 

They  never  alluded  to  the  subject  of  Jackie  Welsh's* 
money  in  that  last  Letter.  A  long  time  ago,  Elizabeth 
wrote  suggesting  that  /  should  write  to  John  Ferme  about 
it!  I  answered  that  "  considering  the  smallness  of  the 
gain  to  each  of  us  when  divided,  I  didn't  see  it  was  worth 
showing  oneself  anxious  and  greedy  about  it!"  Poor 
Jackie!  she  is  a  loss  to  me!  Besides  having  a  sincere  re- 
gard for  me,  naturally,  since  I  was  the  only  one  of  her 
Father's  name  that  recognised  her  existence,  she  used  to 
keep  me  up  with  all  the  affairs  of  Haddington.  And  dull, 
gossipping,  low-minded  place  as  it  has  become  (if  indeed 
it  ever  was  otherwise),  I  was  always  interested  to  hear 

*See  ante,  p.  140n. 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  341 

who  had  died,  or  been  married,  or  been  born  in  it!  Now 
I  am  quite  cut  off  from  it;  especially  since  the  loss  of  poor 
General  Veitch  (Hamilton,  the  youngest  and  best  Veitch), 
who  was  always,  when  not  in  India,  flying  between  London 
and  East  Lothian  like  a  weaver's  shuttle! 

I  continue  free  of  my  neuralgia,  tho'  the  wet  weather 
we  have  had  is  very  trying  for  that  sort  of  illness.  My 
arm  and  hand  are  still  stiff;  but  I  don't  mind  that  when 
the  pain  is  gone;  and  I  can  do  mostly  everything  for  my- 
self that  I  need  to  do, — and  even  some  things  that  needn't 
be  done  by  myself!  For  instance,  I  made  myself  a  beauti- 
ful bonnet  the  other  day ! !  .  .  . 

God  bless  you,  dearest  Betty.  My  kind  remembrance 
to  your  Husband. 

Ever  affectionately  yours, 

JANE  WELSH   CARLYLE. 

LETTER  268 

To  Mrs.  Braid,  Green  End,  Edinburgh. 

Chelsea,  28  December,  1865. 

My  own  dear  Woman — I  have  been  looking  forward  to 
writing  you  a  nice,  long  comfortable  Letter  for  your  New- 
year's  Day!  How  many  of  them  have  we  seen  together 
on  this  earth,  you  and  I!  glad  Newyear's  Days,  and  sad 
Newyear's  Days!  Oh,  so  very  sad  some  that  we  have  seen! 
But  the  wonder  to  me  is,  that  for  all  the  sufferings  I  have 
gone  thro',  of  one  sort  and  another,  I  am  still  in  the  upper 
light,  with  my  heart  unchanged  in  its  old  affections, — 
especially  its  affection  for  you,  my  "Haddington  Betty!" 


342 


New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 


But  I  was  beginning  to  say  that  I  would  not  put  off  my 
Letter  to  you  until  the  post  before  Newyear's  Day,  in  case 
the  last  day  should  find  me  unable  to  sit  up.  I  am  taking 
what  my  little  Cousins  used  to  call " a  heavy  cold!"  I  don't 
know  when  I  caught  it,  nor  how;  it  has  been  hanging  about 
me,  making  me  feel  all  "no-hoiv"  for  days  back.  To-night 
my  throat  is  sore  and  I  am  sick,  and  shall  most  likely  be 
"worse  before  I  am  better."  Don't  be  uneasy  about  me! 
Colds  are  not  the  formidable  things  for  me  that  they  used 
to  be,  when  I  couldn't  cough  a  dozen  times  together  with- 
out my  dear  Mother  setting  me  down  for  far  gone  in  con- 
sumption! The  only  inference  to  be  drawn  from  my  pres- 
ent discomfort  is  that  nothing  that  can  be  done  to-day 
should  be  put  off  till  to-morrow. 

One  shouldn't,  however,  talk  lightly  of  consumption  in 
our  family!  Oh,  is  it  not  sad,  the  last  surviving  Welsh 
whom  one  looked  to  for  continuing  my  Father's  name  and 
blood,  is  going  the  way  of  all  my  Uncle  Robert's  family! 
He  returned  from  his  last  voyage,  coughing,  emaciated, — 
with  all  the  symptoms  of  the  disease  that  carried  off  his 
four  Sisters!  He  was  in  a  lodging  at  Liverpool  when  my 
Aunts  wrote  to  me  about  him.  His  Mother,  "Mrs.  Rob- 
ert," is  very  deaf,  and  does  not  see  well,  and  said,  "If  she 
went  to  him  she  would  be  no  help!"  .  .  .  Fancy 
yourself  in  her  place!  I  think  if  you  had  been  stone-deaf, 
and  stone-blind,  you  wouldn't  have  kept  away  from  George, 
had  you  known  of  him  dangerously  ill — in  a  lodging — at 
no  greater  distance  than  from  Hull  to  Liverpool.  .  .  . 
I  am  very  sorry  about  the  poor  young  man,  altho'  I  never 
saw  him  with  my  eyes.  But  I  have  heard  of  him  from 


Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  343 

John  Welsh  (George's  Son),  who  died,  and  whose  opinion 
was  to  be  relied  on,  as  being  more  like  my  Uncle  Robert 
than  any  of  the  others,  and  a  most  upright  and  industrious 
treature,  who  was  very  little  cared  for  by  the  rest, — be- 
cause he  was  less  pretentious. 

I  had  a  visit  lately  from  Agnes  Veitch  of  Hawthorn 
Bank  (Mrs.  Thomas  Graham).  She  is  such  a  queer,  little 
old,  white-haired,  fairy  grown!  but  as  fond  of  me  as  when 
we  were  playfellows  at  home!  I  felt  ashamed  of  myself 
that  I  couldn't  feel  so  glad  over  her  as  she  seemed  to  be 
over  me!  I  felt  to  have  gone  so  far,  far  away  from  her, 
into  spheres  of  thought  and  action  so  different  from  the 
narrow,  monotonous  sphere  in  which  she  had  lived  and 
turned  grey!  But  I  tried  to  not  show  that  she  rather 
wearied  me!  that  at  least  I  owed  to  her  loving  regards.  By 
way  of  being  very  kind  indeed,  I  took  her  home,  to  a  part 
of  the  Town,  after  dark,  in  my  Brougham,  the  day  she 
dined  here;  and  this  act  of  amiability  cost  me  no  end  of 
vexation.  For,  on  my  way  home,  a  drunk  or  mad  carter 
drove  against  my  beautiful  black  mare  and  burst  her 
harness  and  bruised  her  foot,  so  that  she  was  in  the  hands 
of  the  Veterinary  Surgeon  for  three  weeks  and  couldn't  be 
put  to  any  use. 

So  Mr.  Carlyle  has  settled  to  go  to  Edinburgh  to  de- 
liver that  "  Address"  expected  of  him,  in  the  last  week  of 
March.  If  the  weather  happened  to  be  remarkably  mild, 
and  if  I  happened  to  be  remarkably  well,  I  should  like  to 
go  with  him, — and  possibly  may.  Tho'  my  Aunts  have 
given  me  no  invitation,  I  should  be  at  no  loss  for  good 
quarters  and  the  warmest  welcome!  But  of  all  the  invi- 


344          New  Letters  and  Memorials  of 

tations  we  have,  we  are  likely, — and  have  indeed  engaged, 
— to  accept  the  one  that  came  first — from  the  Marchioness 
of  Lothian  at  Newbattle  Abbey.  They  are  nice  people, 
and  live  very  quietly, — the  poor  young  Marquis  being 
paralysed  in  his  lower  limbs.  They  are  in  London  now 
consulting  Doctors. 

I  had  to  stop  in  the  last  sheet,  I  was  so  sick.  It  is  two 
days  since  then;  and  meanwhile  my  cold  has  reached  its 
climax,  and  I  expect  to  be  in  what  poor  Jackie  Welsh  used 
to  call  my  "frail  ordinar,"  before  the  New  Year  sets  in.  I 
beg  to  be  your  "First-foot"  in  the  shape  of  a  post-office 
order  for  a  sovereign.  Ah,  my  Dear,  if  I  could  but  give 
you  a  kiss  along  with  it! 

Kind  regards  to  your  Husband. 

Your  own 

JEANNIE  WELSH. 

FINIS 


INDEX 


ADAM  BEDE,  ii.  205 

Adamson,  Mrs.,  ii.  90 

Addiscombe  Farm,  i.  184 ;  lent  to 
the  Carlyles,  ii.  82 

Aird,  Thomas,  ii.  260 

Airlie,  Lord,  ii.  31 

Aitken,  Mrs.,  of  Minto,  i.  31 

Aitken,  Mrs.  (Miss  Jean  Carlyle); 
her  marriage,  i.  44;  letters 
from  Mrs.  Carlyle,  i.  67,  85, 
222;  ii.  147,200,226,253;  her 
child  poem,  ii.  17;  thought- 
fulness,  ii.  250 

Aitken,  Mr.  James,  ii.  227 

Albany  Place,  Dumfries,  i.  4 

Alderley  Park,  Mrs.  Carlyle  on  a 
visit  to,  ii.  31 ;  her  likeness  to 
a  picture  at,  ii.  59 

Alexandra,  Princess  (H.  M.  the 
Queen),  ii.  286 

Alfred,  Prince,  ii.  192 

Alton  Locke,  ii.  21 

Amelia,  Fielding's,  i.  125 

America,  Carlyle 's  proposed  lec- 
turing tour,  i.  80 ;  rumours  of 
war  with,  ii.  103 

Ames,  Mrs.,  i.  150,  170 

Anderton,  Miss,  ii.  204 

Animal  Magnetism,  i.  158 

Ann,  one  of  the  Carlyles'  maids,  i. 

55,  59 

The  Carlyles'  servant  at  Chel- 
sea, i.  226,  234,   237;   leaves 
the  Carlyles,  i.  250 
One  of  the  Carlyles'  servants,  ii. 
31, 36;  her  "gentility,"  ii.  134 


Annan  Academy,  i.  10 

Anstruther,  Miss,  ii.  247,  272 

Arbuckle,  Dr.,  i.  48 

Arbuckle,  Mrs.,  ii.  92 

Armandel  Carrel,  by  John  Mill,  ii. 
11 

Ashburton,  Lady  (the  first,  for- 
merly Lady  Baring),  the  Car- 
lyles staying  with,  at  The 
Grange,  i.  249;  "Lady  A.,"  i. 
255;  Mrs.  Carlyle  at  Addis- 
combe,  ii.  11;  a  prospective 
visit  to,  ii.  19;  Mrs.  Carlyle 
accepts  an  invitation,  ii.  33  et 
seq.;  her  Christmas  present  to 
Mrs.  Carlyle,  ii.  71 ;  lends  the 
Carlyles  Addiscombe,  ii.  82; 
parties  at  Bath  House,  ii.  91, 
97,  101 ;  takes  the  Carlyles  up 
to  Scotland  in  her  saloon,  ii. 
115;  death  of,  ii.  135,  172 

Ashburton,  Lady  (the  second),  ii. 
222,  247,  272;  her  gift  of  a 
horse  to  Mrs.  Carlyle,  ii.  314; 
Mrs.  Carlyle  staying  with,  at 
Seaforth,  ii.  319;  an  accident 
at  Vevay,  ii.  339 

Ashburton,  Lord,  his  residences,  i. 
184;  after  the  first  Lady  Ash- 
burton's  death,  ii.  160 ;  illness 
of,  in  Paris,  ii.  275,  279,  291 

Auchtertool  Manse,  ii.  1 

Austin,  Mrs.,  i.  39,  40,  127;  letters 
from  Mrs.  Carlyle,  ii.  221,  229, 
230,  278,  302,  314;  Mrs.  Car- 
lyle visiting,  ii.  261,  293,  319 


346 


Index 


Austin,  Miss  Jane,  letter  from  Mrs. 

Carlyle,  ii.  286 
Ayr,  Mrs.  Carlyle  on  a  visit  to,  i. 

80  et  seq. 

BAILLIE,  JAMES,  i.  182 

Ballantynes  of  Edinburgh,  Car- 
lyle's  notes  on,  i.  21 

Bamford,  Mr.,  i.  206 

Baring,  Lady  Harriet  (afterwards 
Lady  Ashburton),  i.  123,  175, 
183;  the  true  facts  of  her 
friendship  for  the  Carlyles,  i. 
186  et  seq.t  231 ;  Carlyle  on  a 
tour  with  Mr.  Baring  and 
Lady  Harriet,  i.  202 ;  letter  to 
Mrs.  Carlyle,  i.  207;  Mrs. 
Carlyle  staying  with,  at  Ad- 
discombe,  i.  233,  245;  Mrs. 
Carlyle's  marmalade-making, 
i.  247  (see  under  Ashburton, 
Lady) 

Baring,  Mr.  Francis,  ii.  101 

Baring,  Miss  (Lord  Ashburton 's 
sister),  ii.  183;  Mrs.  Carlyle 
visiting,  ii.  190  et  seq.,  247 

Baring,  Sir  Thomas,  his  death,  i. 
245 

Barlow,  Mr.,  ii.  93,  101,  104,  106, 
235 

Barnes,  Miss,  ii.  216 

Barnes,  Mr.,  ii.  212,  217,  338 

Barnet,  Bessy,  ii.  256,  259 

Bath  House,  i.  184 

Bay  House,  Alverstoke,  i.  184 

Benrydden,  Mrs.  Carlyle's  expe- 
rience of,  i.  263 

Bessy  (Barnet),  one  of  the  Car- 
lyles' servants,  ii.  75 

Betty  (Braid),  a  favourite  old  ser- 
vant of  Dr.  Welsh,  i.  151,  219; 
ii.  98 ;  letters  from  Mrs.  Car- 
lyle, ii.  138,  206,  319,  327,  340, 
341;  Mrs.  Carlyle's  affection 
for,  ii.  258 


Blakiston,  Dr.,  ii.  75,  289,  290 
Blakiston,  Mrs.,  ii.  289,  290 
Blumine.    See  under  Sartor  Resar- 

tus 

Blunt,  Mr.  Reginald,  ii.  277 
"Bobus,"  Carlyle's  horse,  i.  192, 

197 
Bolte,  Miss,  intercourse  with  the 

Carlyles,  i.  108,  127,  129,  138, 

194,  255 

Borthwick,  Mrs.,  ii.  203 
Bradfute,  Mr.,  i.  31,  66 
Braid,  George,  his  death,  ii.  320 
Brandes,  the  Dane,  ii.  3 
Brereton,  Mr.,  of  Speke Hall,  i.  198 
Brodie,  Sir  B.,  his  Psychological 

Inquiries,  ii.  131 
Broke,  Lady,  ii.  103 
Bromley,  Miss  Davenport,  ii.  247 
Bronte,  Charlotte,  ii.  4,  5 
Brown,  Mr.   James,   tutorship  at 

Haddington,  ii.  207 
Brown,  Mrs.  Samuel,  ii.  149 
Browning,  Mrs.,  intercourse  with 

the  Carlyles,  ii.  39,  45,  84 
Browning,     Robert,     intercourse 

with  the  Carlyles,  i.  181,  183; 

ii.  39,  45,  84,  108 
Bull  Run,  battle  of,  ii.  242 
Buller,   Charles,  i.  47,   115,   185, 

246,  248 
Burns,  Mrs.  Carlyle  visiting  the 

haunts  of,  i.  83;  Carlyle's  arti- 
cle on,  in  the  Edinburgh,  i.  29; 

ii.  73 

Burnswark,  i.  50 
Byng,  Mr.,  ii.  258 

CAB-STRIKE  in  London,  ii.  65 

Cameron,  Miss,  ii.  179 

Campbell,  Sir  Colin,  at  the  Crimea, 
ii.  86;  Mrs.  Carlyle's  opinion 
of,  ii.  107,  109;  sent  to  India, 
ii.  160 

Capelle,  Marie,  i.  87 


Index 


347 


Capenoch,  ii.  258 

Carlyle,  Alick,  brother  of  Thomas 
Carlyle,  i.  5,  35;  at  Craigen- 
puttock,  i.  21;  at  Catlinns 
Farm,  i.  44;  in  Canada,  i.  201 ; 
anecdote  about,  ii.  295 

Carlyle's  House  Memorial  Trust, 
the  catalogue  of,  i.  112;  ii.  162 

Carlyle,  Jamie  (brother  of  Thomas 
Carlyle),  i.  91,  174,  236;  ii.  64 

Carlyle,  Mrs.  James  (Isabella),  ii. 
145 ;  and  see  under  references  to 
Carlyle,  Jamie 

CARLYLE,  JANE  WELSH  (Mrs. 

Thomas  Carlyle) 
Settlement  of  the  Craigenput- 
tock  estate,  i.  1 ;  conveyance 
of  Haddington,  i.  2,  3;  her 
various  homes  in  girlhood,  i. 
4;  visits  the  Carlyles  at  Hod- 
dam  Hill,  i.  6  et  seq.;  letter  to 
Mrs.  Carlyle  after  the  visit,  i. 
11;  uses  her  influence  for 
James  Johnstone,  i.  13 ;  letter 
to  Mrs.  Carlyle  accompanying 
a  cap,  i.  14 

Married,  i.  16;  letters  during 
first  months  of  married  life,  i. 
17  et  seq.;  household  duties  at 
Comley  Bank,  i.  21 ;  removal 
to  Craigenputtock,  i.  24;  life 
at  Craigenputtock,  i.  24  etseq.; 
visiting  her  mother  at  Temp- 
land,  on  a  furnishing  mission, 
i.  28;  early  London  life,  i.  34; 
revisiting  Craigenputtock,  i. 
40, 41 ;  transferring  household 
gods  to  Chelsea,  i.  46 ;  revisit- 
ing Templand,  i.  50  et  seq.; 
her  first  railway  journey,  i.  52; 
touring  with  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Sterling,  i.  61  et  seq.;  her  din- 
ner-party for  Cavaignac  and 
Rio,  i.  74;  visiting  Scotsbrig 
and  Ayr,  i.  80  et  seq.;  her  ill 


health,  i.  85 ;  household  duties 
at  Chelsea,  i.  87,  102,  103  et 
seq.,  156;  negotiating  the  pub- 
lication of  Heroes,  i.  88  et  seq. 
Death  of  her  mother,  i.  97, 
101;  the  thriftlessness  of 
London  poor,  i.  100;  a  visit  to 
Ryde,  i.  106,  129;  a  birthday 
present,  i.  107,  110,  115;  a 
letter  from  Thackeray,  i.  129 ; 
visiting  her  uncle  in  Liver- 
pool, i.  136, 151 ;  visiting  Mrs. 
Paulet,  i.  142  et  seq.;  a  riding 
adventure,  i.  146;  at  a  Uni- 
tarian soiree,  i.  150 ;  her  impa- 
tience of  orthodox  clericalism, 
i.  155 ;  on  Animal  Magnetism, 
i.  158 ;  a  visit  from  her  neph- 
ew, i.  160;  staying  with  the 
Paulets,  i.  162  et  seq.;  an  ex- 
pedition to  Eastham,  i.  168; 
expecting  her  husband  at  the 
Paulets,  i.  171 ;  back  at  Chel- 
sea, i.  173 ;  a  call  upon  Lady 
Harriet  Baring,  i.  175;  her 
friendship  for  Lady  Harriet, 
i.  183  et  seq.;  staying  at  Ad- 
discombe,  i.  184;  ill  health, 
and  a  visit  to  the  Paulets  to 
recruit,  i.  186,  190  et  seq.;  a 
miscarried  birthday  letter 
from  Carlyle,  i.  193;  low- 
spirited,  i.  196,  197 ;  a  visit  to 
Speke  Hall,  i.  198;  staying 
with  Geraldine  Jewsbury,  i. 
204 ;  letter  from  Lady  Harriet 
Baring,  i.  207 ;  with  her  Uncle 
Robert,  i.  211 ;  back  at  Chel- 
sea, i.  214;  losing  her  servant 
Helen,  i.  217 ;  staying  at  Bay 
House,  i.  222;  the  domestic 
question,  i.  226;  a  tour  in 
Yorkshire,  i.  227  et  seq.;  stay- 
ing with  the  Newtons  at 
Barnsley,  i.  229 ;  the  friendly 


S48 


Index 


butler  at  the  Chalmers',  i.  232; 
staying  at  Addiscombe,  i.  233; 
back  at  Chelsea,  in  poor 
health,  i.  234 ;  her  friendliness 
towards  Mr.  John  Carlyle, 
i.  240;  delicacy  during  the 
winter,  i.  243;  her  visit  to 
Emerson,  i.  245;  staying  at 
Addiscombe,  i.  245;  marma- 
lade-making at  Addiscombe, 
i.  247 ;  staying  at  the  Grange 
with  the  Ashburtons,  i.  249; 
troubles  with  her  servants,  i. 
251 ;  her  screen-making,  i.  253; 
her  portrait  by  Hartmann,  i. 
256;  by  Laurence,  i.  258; 
touring  in  the  Midlands  with 
the  Neubergs,  i.  259;  staying 
with  Mrs.  Newton,  i.  260; 
revisiting  Haddington,  i.  262 
et  aeq.;  at  Benrydden,  i.  263 
Staying  with  her  uncle  at  Auch- 
tertool  Manse,  ii.  1  et  seq.;  a 
collier  wedding,  ii.  2 ;  London 
life  again,  ii.  4  et  seq.;  her  lit- 
tle dog  Nero,  ii.  6, 10, 16,  42, 
61,67,  81,  189,  220,  222,  223; 
staying  at  Addiscombe,  ii.  11 ; 
mathematical  attainments,  ii. 
12;  house-cleaning  again,  ii. 
18;  an  efficient  physician,  ii. 
21;  less  optimistic  than  Car- 
lyle, ii.  23;  an  accident  to 
herself,  ii.  24;  a  "distin- 
guished "  dinner-party,  ii.  26 ; 
staying  in  Manchester,  ii.  28, 
30;  visiting  the  Stanleys  at 
Alderley  Park,  ii.  31 ;  befriend- 
ing Italian  exiles,  ii.  33;  an 
invitation  to  Lady  Ashbur- 
ton's,  ii.  33 ;  busied  with  house 
alterations,  ii.  36  et  seq.,  67 
et  seq.;  an  intermittent  visit 
to  Addiscombe,  ii.  44;  her 
views  on  marriage,  ii.  45,  101 


Mrs.  Carlyle's  "Love-Story,"  ii. 
47-57 ;  the  Irving  episode  in 
her  girlhood,  ii.  48 ;  her  story 
of  the  discomfited  young 
preacher,  ii.  57 

A  walk  through  London  snow 
at  night,  ii.  58 ;  photographed 
by  Col.  Sterling,  ii.  59;  her 
likeness  to  a  picture  at  Lord 
Stanley's,  ii.  59;  visiting  her 
uncle  at  Liverpool,  ii.  61 ;  vis- 
iting Dr.  Carlyle  and  wife,  ii. 
63;  a  Unitarian  sermon,  ii.  66; 
last  illness  of  her  mother-in- 
law,  ii.  70  et  seq.;  a  Christmas 
alone  at  Chelsea,  ii.  71 ;  death 
of  her  mother-in-law,  ii.  74; 
renews  acquaintance  with 
Mrs.  Montagu,  ii.  75  et  seq.; 
staying  with  the  Neubergs  at 
Willesden,  ii.  79  et  seq.;  liv- 
ing between  Addiscombe  and 
Chelsea,  ii.  82;  doctoring  her- 
self, ii.  85 ;  the  Crimean  War, 
ii.  86 

Extracts  from  Mrs.  Carlyle's 
Journal,  ii.  87  et  seq.;  illness 
and  despondency,  ii.  88 ;  wit- 
nessing a  confirmation,  ii.  89 ; 
the  Crimean  Inquiry,  ii.  90, 
92;  parties  at  Bath  House,  ii. 
91,  97,  101 ;  renews  acquaint- 
ance with  George  Rennie,  ii. 
93  et  seq.;  social  amusements, 
95  et  seq.;  at  The  Messiah,  ii. 
99 ;  an  expedition  to  The  Span- 
iards, ii.  107;  at  her  dentist's, 
ii.  108 

Selection  of  passages  from  Mrs. 
Carlyle's  Note-book,  ii.  109- 
115 

Travels  up  to  Scotland  in  Lady 
Ashburton's  saloon,  ii.  115;  in 
Scotland,  ii.  117  et  seq.;  her 
canaries,  ii.  119,  128;  taking 


Index 


349 


morphia,  ii.  124, 132 ;  a  serious 
illness,  ii.  125  et  seq.;  a  panic 
at  night,  ii.  129;  staying  at 
Addiscombe  after  Lady  Ash- 
burton's  death,  ii.  138;  re- 
cruiting at  Sunny  Bank,  ii. 
140  et  seq.;  at  Craigen villa,  ii. 
143,  149;  at  Auchtertool,  ii. 
144;  amongst  early  friends, 
ii.  150;  her  likeness  to  her 
mother,  ii.  150;  at  Sunny 
Bank  again,  ii.  152  et  seq.; 
reading  the  proofs  of  Fred- 
erick the  Great,  ii.  155,  157 ;  a 
wasp-sting  vividly  described, 
ii.  156;  Mr.  Tait  painting  the 
interior  of  Cheyne  Row,  ii. 
166;  servant  troubles,  ii.  169, 
176,  233,  236,  276;  memories 
of  Halloween,  ii.  170;  Mrs. 
Hawkes'  portrait  of,  ii.  175; 
the  health  of  her  family,  ii. 
181;  ill  health,  ii.  182,  210; 
not  to  be  imposed  upon,  ii. 
184;  visiting  Miss  Baring  at 
Alverstoke,  ii.  190;  visiting 
at  Lann  Hall  (Mrs.  Pringle's), 
iii.  195  et  seq.;  a  patient  in 
Dr.  Russell's  hands,  ii.  199; 
her  portrait  of  "Nipp,"  ii. 
204 ;  visiting  Sunny  Bank,  ii. 
213;  a  "Lady  of  the  White 
Falcon,"  ii.  220;  death  of  her 
little  dog  Nero,  ii.  223 ;  a  mis- 
understanding as  to  Carlyle's 
travels,  ii.  229;  letter  from  Sir 
George  Sinclair,  ii.  231 ;  with 
two  servants,  ii.  237;  Dr. 
Russell's  double,  ii.  240;  a 
visit  to  Ramsgate,  ii.  241; 
staying  at  Folkestone,  ii.  247 ; 
staying  at  Holm  Hill,  ii.  249 
et  seq.;  staying  at  the  Gill,  ii. 
259;  at  Holm  Hill,  ii.  263  et 
seq.;  her  morphia  habit,  ii. 


265;  a  return  home,  ii.  266; 
some  photographs  of,  ii.  268; 
a  description  of  a  visit  to  The 
Grange,  ii.  272;  the  domestic 
question,  and  Mrs.  Carlyle's 
treatment  of  it,  ii.  276  et  seq.; 
meeting  a  fellow-countryman 
in  a  shop,  ii.  285 ;  staying  at 
St.  Leonard's,  ii.  288 
Meets  with  street  accident,  ii. 
292;  recruiting,  ii.  292  et  seq.; 
her  return  home,  ii.  302;  her 
box  of  presents  from  Goethe, 
ii.  309;  at  her  dressmaker's 
(Madame  Elise),  ii.  311 ;  Lady 
Ashburton's  gift  of  a  horse, 
ii.  314;  a  hamper  from  Mrs. 
Russell,  ii.  317;  staying  with 
Lady  Ashburton  at  Seaforth 
Lodge,  ii.  319 ;  losing  the  use 
of  her  right  hand,  ii.  324  et 
seq.;  staying  at  The  Elms, 
Tooting,  ii.  324;  staying  with 
Mrs.  Russell,  ii.  326 ;  at  Folke- 
stone, ii.  335;  a  New  Year's 
letter,  ii.  341 

Carlyle,  Jean  (sister  of  Thomas 
Carlyle),  i.  5 ;  her  education,  i. 
12;  letters  from  Mrs.  Carlyle, 
i.  20,  30,  31,  33,  44;  on  a  visit 
to  the  Carlyles,  i.  32 ;  her  mar- 
riage, i.  44.  (Hereafter  see 
under  Aitken,  Mrs.) 

Carlyle,  Jenny  (sister  of  Thomas 
Carlyle),  i.  5 ;  her  marriage,  i. 
50.  (Hereafter  see  under  Ban- 
ning, Mrs.) 

Carlyle,  Dr.  John  (brother  of 
Thomas  Carlyle),  i.  5;  at  the 
wedding  of  the  Carlyles,  i.  16 ; 
visiting  at  Comley  Bank,  1. 
18 ;  a  surprise  visit  to  Craigen- 
puttock,  i.  31 ;  welcomes  Mrs. 
Carlyle  to  London,  i.  36;  trav- 
elling physician  to  Lady  Clare, 


350 


Index 


i.  38 ;  letter  from  Mrs.  Carlyle 
just  settled  at  Chelsea,  i.  49; 
his  uncertainty,  i.  102,  113, 
133,  174 ;  his  intercourse  with 
Mrs.  Carlyle,  i.  177;  Froude's 
prejudice  against,  i.  240;  let- 
ters from  Mrs.  Carlyle,  revis- 
iting Haddington,  i.  262  et 
seq.;  more  letters  from  Mrs. 
Carlyle,  ii.  1,  4,  6,  8, 15,  32,  36, 
45,  46,  60,  67,  74;  his  transla- 
tion of  Dante,  ii.  2,  8 ;  a  dream 
about,  ii.  8;  his  engagement, 
ii.  45  et  seq.;  married,  ii.  60; 
Mrs.  Carlyle  visiting,  ii.  63; 
death  of  his  wife,  ii.  78 

Carlyle,  Margaret  (sister  of  Thom- 
as Carlyle),  i.  8;  Carlyle's 
notes  on,  i.  9 ;  her  last  visit  to 
Craigenputtock,  i.  31 

Carlyle,  Mary  (sister  of  Thomas 
Carlyle),  i.  8;  at  Craigenput- 
tock, i.  21 

Carlyle,  Mr.  (father  of  Thomas 
Carlyle),  i.  7,  8;  his  kindness 
of  heart,  ii.  22 

Carlyle,  Mrs.  (mother  of  Thomas 
Carlyle),  i.  6;  Jane  Welsh's 
visit  to,  i.  8 ;  letter  after  visit, 
i.  11 ;  receives  a  letter  with  a 
cap,  i.  14;  letters  from  Jane 
Welsh  Carlyle,  i.  17  et  seq.,  89, 
71,  184,  236;  letter  from  Mrs. 
Welsh,  i.  90 ;  Mrs.  Carlyle  vis- 
iting, ii.  64 ;  her  last  illness,  ii. 
70  et  seq.;  her  death,  ii.  74 

CARLYLE,  THOMAS 
Settlement  of  Craigenputtock 
estate,  i.  1 ;  notes  on  Hoddam 
Hill  and  district,  i.  $-5;  on 
Jane  Welsh's  visit  there,  i.  5, 
6;  reading  for  the  "German 
Romance,"  i.  5;  his  Sister 
Margaret,  i.  9;  on  "Dr. 
Waugh,"  i.  9, 10;  on  printing 


his  "German  Romance"  at 
Ballantynes',  i.  12;  on  James 
Johnstone,  i.  13;  married,  i. 
16 ;  at  work  on  the  "  Didactic 
Novel "  (Wotten  Reinfred),  i. 
17,  18;  visits  his  brother  and 
sister  at  Carigenputtock,  1.  21 ; 
notes  on  "Jean  Carruthers,"  i. 
22 ;  early  married  life  at  Craig- 
enputtock, i.  24  et  seq.;  his 
article  on  Burns  for  the  Edin- 
burgh, i.  29;  ii.  73;  his  sister 
Margaret's  last  visit,  i.  81; 
his  horses,  i.  33 ;  notes  on  their 
early  London  life,  i.  34  et  seq., 
46;  at  work  on  The  French 
Revolution,  i.  50;  lecturing, 
i.  68,  79;  his  portraits  by 
Laurence,  i.  69;  reading  for 
Cromwell,  i.  80;  the  MS.  of 
his  Hytpes,  i.  88;  Froude's 
groundless  charge  of  selfish- 
ness, i.  103 ;  staying  with  Mrs. 
Strachey  at  Bristol,  i.  106, 108 ; 
his  double,  i.  109;  visiting 
Charles  Redwood  in  Wales,  i. 
110;  the  original  of  his  char- 
acter Blumine,  i.  115 ;  visiting 
Bishop  Thirlwall,  i.  118;  his 
article  on  Francia,  i.  121 ;  at 
work  on  Cromwell,  i.  135,  159 ; 
his  letter  to  the  Times  on  the 
letter-opening  question,  i.  151 ; 
at  work  alone  at  Chelsea,  i. 
167  et  seq.;  finishing  Crom- 
well, i.  171;  in  Scotland,  173 
et  seq.;  preparing  second  edi- 
tion of  Cromwell,  i.  184,  185; 
friendship  for  Lady  Harriet 
Baring,  i.  184,  185,  232;  a 
miscarried  birthday  letter,  i. 
193 ;  encouraging  his  wife  in 
her  despondency,  i.  197;  on  a 
tour  with  Mr.  and  Lady  Har- 
riet Baring,  i.  202;  in  Scot- 


Index 


351 


land,  i.  202  etseq.;  Mrs.  Car- 
lyle's  ill  health,  i.  223 ;  a  tour 
in  Yorkshire,  i.  227;  a  Times 
paragraph  from  Lady  Harriet 
Baring,  i.  233 ;  in  Scotland,  i 
234;  staying  at  Alverstoke,  i. 
239;  the  "Squire  Papers,"  i. 
241;  a  visit  to  Ireland,  i.  254; 
Mrs.  Carlyle's  dog  "Nero,"  ii 
7;  his  article  on  the  planting 
of  trees,  ii.  8;  the  effect  of 
"Latter  Day  Pamphlets"  on 
his  friends,  ii.  14;  a  prospec- 
tive visit  to  The  Grange,  ii.  19 ; 
a  touch  of  rheumatism,  ii.  21 ; 
his  father's  kindly  character, 
ii.  22;  his  use  of  expletives 
misunderstood,  ii.  23;  at  a 
"distinguished  dinner-party," 
ii.  26;  a  visit  to  Paris,  ii.  32; 
Italian  exile  friends,  ii.  33 ;  his 
Life  of  John  Sterling,  ii.  35, 
36;  the  building  of  his  new 
study,  ii.  36  et  seq.,  67  et  seq.; 
prospective  visit  to  Germany, 
ii.  42  et  seq.;  his  views  on  the 
nature  of  "love,"  ii.  47;  last 
illness  of  his  mother,  ii.  70  et 
seq.;  death  of  his  mother,  ii. 
74;  on  a  visit  to  Edward  Fitz- 
Gerald,  ii.  79;  Addiscombe 
loaned  to,  ii.  82 ;  his  notes  on 
Mrs.  Carlyle's  "Journals,"  ii. 
87  et  seq.;  reserved  towards 
new  acquaintances,  ii.  103; 
travels  up  to  Scotland  in  Lady 
Ashburton's  saloon,  ii.  115;  in 
Scotland,  ii.  117  et  seq.;  his 
horse  Fritz,  ii.  128;  getting  up 
in  the  night  to  smoke,  ii.  129 ; 
his  secretary,  ii.  131,  143;  at 
work  on  Frederick  the  Great, 
ii.  133,  136;  fond  of  "fresh 
air,"  ii.  160;  philosophical 
view  of  money  losses  in 


America,  ii.  171 ;  in  Scotland, 
ii.  181 ;  proposing  a  yachting 
cruise  up  the  Mediterranean, 
ii.  187,  194,  195;  in  Germany, 
ii.  195,  198;  his  wife's  ill 
health,  ii.  211 ;  his  opinion  of 
Miss  Jewsbury,  ii.  217;  at 
Scotsbrig,  ii.  218;  made  a 
Knight  of  the  White  Falcon, 
ii.  220 ;  death  of  Mrs.  Carlyle's 
"Nero,"  ii.  223;  staying  with 
Sir  George  Sinclair,  ii.  229;  a 
misunderstanding  as  to  his 
travels,  ii.  229;  a  Mr.  Roger- 
son,  a  disciple  of,  ii.  257;  Mrs. 
Carlyle  sending  photos  to,  ii. 
265;  autographs  for  Mrs. 
Russell,  ii.  268 ;  a  photograph 
of,  ii.  268;  photographed  at 
The  Grange,  ii.  272;  his  kind- 
ness to  the  domestics  at 
Cheyne  Row,  ii.  276;  sells 
Fritz,  ii.  286;  his  staple  food, 
ii.  288;  Mrs.  Carlyle's  bad  ac- 
cident, ii.  292  et  seq.;  Margaret 
Hiddlestone's  admiration  for, 
ii.  296;  a  note  on  the  re- 
turn of  his  wife  after  her  long 
recruiting,  ii.  302;  unpacking 
a  hamper  from  Mrs.  Russell, 
ii.317;  in  Scotland,  ii.  320 ;  at 
Edinburgh,  ii.  333;  going  to 
Edinburgh  to  deliver  an  ad- 
dress, ii.  343 

Carrick  the  artist,  ii.  5 

Carruthers,  Mrs.  (Jean),  i.  22 

Cavaignac,  Godfroi,  his  looks,  i. 
66 ;  meets  Rio  at  the  Carlyles', 
i.  74;  some  minor  references 
to,  i.  112 

Cavan,  Grace,  i.  45 

Cecil,  i.  176 

Chalmers,  the  Carlyles'  neigh- 
bours, i.  232 

Chapman,  publisher,  ii.  35,  73 


352 


Index 


Charlotte,  one  of  the  Carlyles'  ser- 
vants, ii.  189 

Chatsworth,  i.  259 

Chelsea.     See  Cheyne  Row 

Chester,  i.  141 

Cheyne  Row,  No.  24  (formerly 
No.  5),  the  Carlyles  investi- 
gating, i.  48;  building  Car- 
lyle's  roof -study,  ii.  36  et  seq., 
67  et  seq.;  Mr.  Tait  painting 
the  interior,  ii.  166,  175,  178, 
203 

Child  of  Hale,  i.  136 

Chorley,  Mr.  John,  ii.  68 

Chrichton,  Mrs.,  i.  59 

Clare,  Lady,  i.  38 

Collier  wedding,  ii.  2 

Colquhoun,  Mrs.,  of  Edinburgh, 
i.  81 

Comley  Bank,  Edinburgh,  i.  4; 
the  Carlyles'  first  home,  i.  16, 
17,24 

Conversations  with  Carlyle,  by  Sir 
C.  G.  Duffy,  ii.  8 

Cooke,  Mr.  George,  ii.  103, 216,  303 

Cooke,  Mrs.,  ii.  240 

Coolidge,  Mrs.,  i.  77 

Cowan,  Mr.,  i.  108 

Craigenputtock,  settlement  of  the 
estate,  i.  1 ;  the  Carlyles'  oc- 
cupation of,  i.  24  et  seq.;  fur- 
nishing of,  i.  29;  abandoned 
for  London,  i.  34;  Mrs.  Car- 
lyle revisiting,  i.  41 

Craik,  Miss,  Carlyle  staying  with, 
at  Edinburgh,  ii.  333 

Creek,  i.  78 

Cressfield,  ii.  188 

Crimean  Inquiry  Committee,  ii. 
90,  92 

Crimean  War,  ii.  83,  86 

Cromwell,  Carlyle  at  work  on,  i.  80, 
135,  137, 159 ;  preparing  a  sec- 
ond edition,  i.  184,  185 ;  a  new 
letter  for,  i.  256 


Cromwell's  writing-desk,  i.  166 
"Crowdy,"ii.  186 
Cunningham,  Col.,  ii.  312 
Cunningham,   Mrs.   Allan,   death 
of,  ii.  300 

DANIEL,  MRS.,  i.  116,  127 
Darbyshire,  Mrs.,  i.  144 
Darley,  George,  ii.  13 
Darwin,  his  intercourse  with  the 

Carlyles,  i.  70,  119,  181,  182, 

239;  ii.  103;    his  opinion  of 

Blanco    White's   Memoirs,  i. 

176 
Davidson,    Major,    letters    from 

Mrs.  Carlyle,  ii.  119,  204;  near 

Craigenvilla,  ii.  149 
Davidson,  Mrs.  David,  ii.  164 
Deerbi'ook,  by  Harriet  Martineau, 

i.  75 

Delane,  Mr.,  editor  of  Times,  ii.  115 
Denis  Duval,  ii.  245 
Derbyshire,  the  Carlyles  on  a  tour 

in,  i.  227,  259 
Dermot,  Mrs.,  ii.  100 
Dickens'  Haunted  Man,  i.  250 
Dickens'  and  Forster's  theatricals, 

i.  170,  176 
Dilberoglue,  Mr.,  i.  210,  217;  gives 

Mrs.   Carlyle    the  little  dog 

"Nero,"  ii.  6 

Dingle-doosie,  definition  of,  ii.  89 
Disraeli,  a  story  about,  ii.  113 
Dixon,   Frank,   and  Mrs.   Carru- 

thers,  i.  22 
Dixon,  R.,  i.  7 
Dobbie,  Mr.,  i.  96;  ii.  130;  his 

death,  ii.  133 
Donaldson,  Miss,  ii.  154;  death  of, 

ii.  202 

Donaldson,  Miss  Jess,  ii.  225 
Donaldson,  Mr.  Alexander,   i.   2, 

262 

Drumlanrig,  i.  140;  ii.  84 
Duffy,  Sir  C.  G.,  ii.  8 


Index 


353 


Dumfries,  Mrs.  Carlyle's  home  at, 

i.  4 
Dumfries  Courier,  Macdiannid  of, 

i.  113 

Dunbar,  Mrs.,  ii.  203 
Dunlop,  the  Misses,  ii.  149 

Early  Letters  (Mrs.  Carlyle's),  i. 
27 

Eastham,  Mrs.  Carlyle's  expedi- 
tion to,  i.  168 

Eaton  Hall,  i.  140 

Ecclefechan,  i.  4 

Edinburgh,  the  Carlyles  at  Com- 
ley  Bank,  i.  4,  16,  17,  24;  at 
Stockbridge,  i.  81 

Edinburgh  Review,  Carlyle's  arti- 
cle on  Burns  for,  i.  29 

Election,  by  John  Sterling,  i.  94 

Eliot,  George,  her  Adam  Bede,  ii. 
205 

Elise,  Madame,  ii.  311 

Elizabeth,  a  servant  of  the  Car- 
lyles, i.  256;  ii.  10,  22 

Emerson,  Mrs.  Carlyle's  call  upon, 
i.  244,  245 

Empson,  Mrs.,  i.  38 

Erskine,  Thomas,  of  Linlathen,  ii. 
89,  98,  139,  320,  840 

Espinasse,  Mr.,  i.  117;  a  letter  to 
Mrs.  Carlyle,  ii.  9;  renounces 
his  allegiance,  ii.  28 

Ewart,  Mrs.,  Mrs.  Carlyle  staying 
with,  ii.  326 

FAIRIB,  MR.,  ii.  128 
Farrar,  Mrs.,  ii.  108 
Fergus,  Miss  Jessie,  ii.  118 
Fielding's  Amelia,  i.  125 
Fireworks  at  Bath  House,  ii.  101, 

102 
First   Forty    Tears  (of  Carlyle's 

Life),  by  James  Froude,  i.  24 
FitzGerald,      Edward,      Carlyle 

visiting,  ii.  79 


Folkestone,  staying  with  the  Ash- 
burtons  at,  ii.  247 

Foreign  Quarterly  Review,  Car- 
lyle's article  on  Francia  in,  i. 
121 

Forster,  Mr.  John,  letters  from 
Mrs.  Carlyle,  i.  86,  92,  235, 
238,  244,  253;  his  intercourse 
with  the  Carlyles,  i.  121,  258; 
ii.  44,  83,  297;  Dickens'  and 
his  theatricals,  i.  170, 176;  let- 
ters from  Mrs.  Carlyle,  ii.  5, 
14,  25,  73,  78,  246 

Forster,  Mrs.  John,  Mrs.  Carlyle 
staying  with,  ii.  292 

Forster,  Mr.  W.  E.,  i.  105,  111; 
with  the  Carlyles  in  Derby- 
shire, i.  228;  in  Yorkshire,  i. 
260,  261 

Francia,  Carlyle's  article  in  the 
Foreign  Quarterly  Review,  i. 
121 

Fraser,  his  offer  for  the  MS.  of 
Heroes,  i.  88 

Frederick  tTie  Great,  Carlyle  at 
work  on,  ii.  133, 136,  155,  157; 
the  frontispiece,  ii.  187,  206; 
publishing,  ii.  198,  201 

French  Revolution,  Carlyle  at  work 
on,  i.  50;  disposal  of  the  MS., 
i.  77 

Fritz,  Carlyle's  horse,  ii.  128,  286 

Froude,  James,  his  croakings  con- 
cerning Mrs.  Carlyle's  house- 
hold duties,  i.  22  et  seq.;  his 
misconception  of  the  life  at 
Craigenputtock,  i.  24  et  seq., 
40;  his  First  Forty  Tears  of 
Carlyle's  Life,  and  Life  in 
London,  i.  24 ;  Carlyle's  horse 
Larry,  i.  33;  some  minor  in- 
stances of  his  misinterpreta- 
tions, i.  78, 109,  171,  191,  202, 
226,  267;  his  suggestions  for 
a  "triple  alliance,"  i,  65;  bis 


354 


Index 


charge  against  Carlyle  of 
"selfishness,"  i.  103;  his  mis- 
representations concerning  the 
Carlyles'  friendship  for  Lady 
Harriet  Baring  (Lady  Ash- 
burton),  i.  184, 186,  232;  ii.  33, 
et  seq.,  116;  his  prejudice 
against  Dr.  John  Carlyle,  i. 
240;  some  more  minor  in- 
stances of  misrepresentation, 
ii.  3,  103,  207;  his  misunder- 
standing of  Carlyle's  views 
on  love,  ii.  47 ;  his  use  of  Mrs. 
Carlyle's  "Journals,"  ii.  87; 
his  reliance  on  Miss  Jews- 
bury 's  authority,  ii.  127,  217; 
his  exaggeration  of  her  spirit- 
lessness  in  recovering  from 
her  accident,  ii.  293 
Froude  and  Carlyle,  by  David  Wil- 
son, i.  27 

GAMBARDELLA,  i.  138  et  seq.,  175 
Gaskell,  Mrs.,  ii.  29,  102 
"German  Romance,"  the,  Carlyle 

reading  for,  i.  5 ;  in  the  press, 

i.  12 
Germany,  Carlyle's  visit  to,  ii.  42 


Gibson,  Mr.,  of  Ayr,  i.  80,  81,  83 

Gladstones,  the,  of  Capenoch,  ii. 
258 

Goderich,  Lord,  ii.  107 

Goethe,  Carlyle  reading  Helena,  i. 
21;  a  letter  from,  i.  31;  his 
box  of  presents  to  Mrs.  Car- 
lyle, ii.  309 

"Goody,"  Carlyle's  name  for  his 
wife,  i.  28,  50,  142 

Grace  (M'Donald),  one  of  the  Car- 
lyles' servants,  i.  117 

Graham,  Mrs.  T.,  ii.  149,  302,  343 

Graham,  Mr.  W.,  i.  137 

Grange,  the,  Alresford,  i.  184 

Grange,  The,  Annandale,  i.  7 


Grove,  Mrs.,  ii.  107 

Gully,  Dr.,  the  Carlyles  visiting, 

ii.  28 
Guthrie,  Dr.,  ii.  118,  122 

HADDINGTON,  ownership  conveyed 
to  Mrs.  Welsh,  i.  2,  3;  James 
Johnstone  appointed  to  the 
Parish  School,  i.  13,  15;  Mrs. 
Carlyle  revisiting,  i.  262 

Haddon  Hall,  i.  259 

Hale,  the  child  of,  i.  136 

Half-listers,  by  Geraldine  Jews- 
bury,  i.  244 

Halloween,  ii.  170 

Hamilton,  Dr.,  Mrs.  Carlyle  under, 
i.  26 

Banning,  Mrs.  (Miss  Jenny  Car- 
lyle), i.  52 

Banning,  Robert,  i.  50 

Harry,  Carlyle's  horse,  i.  33 

Hartmann,  his  portrait  of  Mrs. 
Carlyle,  i.  256 

Hare,  Archdeacon,  his  Life  of  John 
Sterling,  i.  242 

Haunted  Man,  by  Dickens,  i.  250 

Hawkes,  Mrs.,  ii.  90,  175,  182 

Helen  (Mitchell),  one  of  the  Car- 
lyles' maids,  i.  59,  73,  85;  bad 
habits  of,  i.  87;  reformation, 
i.  102;  some  incidents  con- 
cerning, i.  121,  125,  130,  158; 
leaving  the  Carlyles,  i.  217, 
224;  in  Ireland,  237;  returns 
to  Chelsea,  i.  250;  bad  habits 
again,  i.  251 ;  ii.  9,  16 ;  some 
sayings  of,  ii.  Ill,  112 

Helena,  by  Goethe,  Carlyle  read- 
ing, i.  21 

Helps,  Sir  Arthur,  i.  113,  119,  174 

Hiddlestone.  See  under  Margaret 
and  Jessie 

Hill,  Lady  Alice,  ii.  134 

Hoddam  Hill,  i.  4  et  seq. 

Hooper,  Mrs.,  ii.  90 


Index 


355 


Houghton,  Lord,  welcoming  Mrs. 

Carlyle  home,   ii.    303.      See 

also   under   Milnes,    Richard 

Monckton 
Howden,  Miss  Agnes,  letters  from 

Mrs.  Carlyle,  ii.  162,  168 
Howden,  Dr.,  i.  1 
Howden,  Mr.  Thomas,  Jr.,  i.  266 
Hunt,  Leigh,  i.  34,  35 
Hunter,  Mrs.,  ii.  257 
Huxley,  Prof.,  ii.  252 

INDIAN  MUTINY,  ii.  160 

Irving,  Edward,  in  London  on  the 

Carlyles'  arrival,   i.   36;    his 

tutorship  to  Jane  Welsh,  ii. 

48,  207 
Irving,  George,  the  Carlyles  at  his 

lodgings  in  London,  i.  36 

JAMESON,  MBS.,  letter  from  Mrs. 
Carlyle  concerning  the  MS. 
of  Carlyle's  Heroes,  i.  88  et 
seq.;  letter  from  Mrs.  Carlyle 
on  a  tour  in  Yorkshire,  i.  227 

Jane,  one  of  the  Carlyles'  maids, 
i.  59 

Jeffrey,  Mrs.  and  Miss,  i.  38 

Jeffrey,  Francis  (Lord  Advocate), 
i.  38,  45,  47,  57,  188,  254 

Jelf,  Richard  W.,  ii.  74 

Jeptha's  Daughter,  ii.  99 

Jessie  [(Hiddlestone),  one  of  Mrs. 
Carlyle's  servants,  i.  97,  157; 
her  testimony  of  Carlyle's 
kindness,  ii.  276;  Mrs.  Car- 
lyle's housemaid,  ii.  330,  339 

Jewsbury,  Miss  Geraldine,  i.  123; 
some  instances  of  her  jeal- 
ousy, i.  142,  145,  151  163,  170; 
improvement,  i.  195;  Mrs. 
Carlyle  visiting,  i.  204  et  seq., 
ii.  30;  takes  offence,  i.  227;  a 
new  book  by,  i.  238,  242;  her 
Zoe,  i.  242;  her  Half -Sisters,  i. 


244 ;  a  serial  in  the  Manchester 
Examiner,  ii.  9 ;  her  sister-in- 
law,  ii.  62;  at  The  Messiah, 
ii.  99;  an  intrigue,  ii.  105;  her 
letter-writing  propensity,  ii. 
126;  vivid  imagination,  ii. 
127;  untactful  letters,  ii.  150; 
weakness  for  the  grande  pas- 
sion, ii.  172;  "a  flimsy  tatter 
of  a  creature,"  ii.  217;  fussi- 
ness,  ii.  233 

Johnson,  Dr.,  Carlyle's  article  on, 
i.  38 

Johnston,  Mr.  and  Mrs.,  of  An- 
nandale,  i.  7 

Johnstone,  James,  i.  13,  15 

Journal,  Mrs.  Carlyle's,  ii.  87  et 
seq. 

KELHEAD  KILNS,  i.  3 

Kelty,  Miss,  ii.  104 

Kensington  Palace,  a  visit  to,  ii. 

107 
Kingsley,  Charles,  his  Alton  Locke, 

ii.  21;  preaching  at  Chelsea, 

ii.  95 

Kinloch  Luichart,  ii.  118,  120 
Kirkpatrick,   Miss  Kittie,  i.  115. 

(See  hereafter  under  Phillips, 

Mrs.  James) 

Knight,  the  publisher,  ii.  4 
Krasinski,  i.  109,  128 

LABLACHE,  M.,  a  story  about,  ii. 

113 

Lamb,  Charles,  i.  34 
Lambert,  Mr.,  a  neighbour  of  the 

Carlyles,  i.  112,  113 
Landon,  Letitia  E.,  ii.  33 
Lann  Hall,  ii.  86 
Larry,  Carlyle's  horse,  i.  21,  33 
Latrade,  dining  with  the  Carlyles, 

i.  74 

Latter-Day  Pamphlets,  ii.  14,  20 
Launcelot  of  tlie  Lake,  by  J.  Rieth- 

muller,  i.  113 


356 


Index 


Laurence's  portraits  of  Carlyle,  i. 
69 ;  his  portrait  of  Mrs.  Car- 
lyle, i.  258 

Lea,  Mr.,  i.  267 

Lectures,  Carlyle's,  i.  68,  79;  pro- 
poses an  American  tour,  i.  80 

Legitimate  drama,  i.  131 

Letters  of  TJiomas  Carlyle,  i.  27 

Lewald,  Miss  Fanny,  ii.  21 

Liddle,  Mr.,  i.  140 

Life  in  London,  by  James  Froude, 
i.  24 

Life  of  John  Sterling,  by  Archdea- 
con Hare,  i.  242;  by  Thomas 
Carlyle,  ii.  35,  36 

London,  the  Carlyles'  early  life 
in,  i.  34;  at  Ampton  St.,  i.  35. 
(See  also  under  Cheyne  Row) 

London  Library,  scheme  for,  i.  80 

Lonsdale,  Dr.,  ii.  197 

Lothian,  Lord,  ii.  292,  344 

Love  Story,  Mrs.  Carlyle's,  ii.  47- 
57 

Lucan,  Lord,  ii.  90 

Lumsden,  Mr.  George  A.,  ii.  162 

Lushington,  Miss,  ii.  104 

Lyon,  Mr.,  ii.  122 

MACDIARMID,  of  the  Dumfries 
Courier,  i.  113 

Macleay,  i.  258 

Macmillan,  Mrs.,  ii.  324 

Macready,  Mrs.,  dining  with  the 
Carlyles,  i.  75;  illness  of,  ii. 
39,  40,  45 

Macready,  in  Richelieu,  Count 
d'Orsay's  remark  on,  i.  77;  an 
invitation  from,  ii.  194 

Mainhill,  i.  5 

Manderstone,  Miss  Marion,  ii.  209 

Manning  murder,  the,  ii.  6 

Mantell,  Mr.,  ii.  217 

Margaret  (Hiddlestone),  Mrs. 
Welsh's  servant,  i.  97;  re- 
membrances from  Mrs.  Car- 


lyle, i.  99,  103,  114,  133,  156, 
162,  222,  242,  250,  251;  ii.  26; 
her  admiration  for  Carlyle,  ii. 
295 

Marriage,  Mrs.  Carlyle's  views  on, 
ii.  45,  101 

Marsh,  Mrs.,  i.  119 

Martha,  one  of  the  Carlyles'  ser- 
vants, ii.  39,  41 

Martin,  Miss  Sophy,  i.  225;  her 
marriage,  i.  244 

Martin,  Mrs.,  i.  137 

Martineau,  Dr.  James,  Mrs.  Car- 
lyle's acquaintance  with,  i. 
150,  155;  a  sermon  by,  i.  213 

Martineau,  Harriet,  Mrs.  Carlyle's 
opinion  of  her  Deerbrook,  i.  75 ; 
Uhe  Carlyles'  visit  to  Tyne- 
mouth,  i.  94;  her  disposition 
of  the  donation  made  to  her, 
i.  119,  120;  on  Animal  Mag- 
netism, i.  158;  troubled  by 
lion-hunters,  i.  216 ;  fractious- 
ness,  ii.  4;  exaggeration,  ii. 
159 

Mary  (Mills),  Mrs.  Welsh's  ser- 
vant, i.  97;  remembrances 
from  Mrs.  Carlyle,  i.  99,  103, 
114,  133,  156,  162,  222,  242, 
250;  ii.  12,  26,  58,  64;  death 
of,  ii.  77 

Masson,  Prof.,  i.  124 

Mazzini,  his  intercourse  with  the 
Carlyles,  i.  123,  129,  151,  240; 
ii.  9,  14,  33,  39;  agitating,  ii. 
68 

M'Corkindale  of  Ballantynes,  i.  !?• 

Memoirs,  Blanco  White's,  i.  176 

Memoirs  of  Lady  Blessington,  ii.  79 

Menteith,  William,  i.  60 

Mercer,  Mrs.,  her  article  on  Blu- 
mine  in  the  'Westminster  He- 
view,  i.  115 

Messiah,  The,  ii.  98,  99 

Mildmay,  Mrs.,  ii.  191 


Index 


357 


Miles,  Miss  Eliza,  letter  from  Mrs. 
Carlyle,  i.  41 

Mill,  John,  i.  50,  60,  183;  his  Ar- 
mandel  Carrel,  ii.  11 

Mills.     See  Mary  (Mills) 

Milnes,  Richard  Monckton  (Lord 
Houghton),  i.  175,  184.  See 
also  Houghton,  Lord 

Minto,  Lord,  ii.  104 

Montagu,  Mrs.  Basil,  early  friends 
of  the  Carlyles  in  London,  i. 
36,  38,  56;  Mrs.  Carlyle's  re- 
newal of  acquaintance  with, 
ii.  75,  108 

Morrah,  Dr.,  ii.  133,  153 

M'Turk,  Mr.  Robert,  ii.  220,  225 

NANCY,  one  of  the  Carlyles'  maids, 

i.  38,  45 
Napier,  Sir  Charles,  an  anecdote 

concerning,  ii.  98 
Nation,  The,  Carlyle's  article  on 

Trees  in,  ii.  8 

"Nero,"  Mrs.  Carlyle's  little  dog, 
ii.  6, 10, 16,  42,  61,  67,  81,  189, 
220,  222;  his  death,  ii.  223 
Neuberg,  Mr.,  i.  258,  259,  261;  ii. 
7;   companionship  with  Car- 
lyle, ii.  42  et  seq.,  92;    Mrs. 
Carlyle  staying  with,  at  Wil- 
lesden,  ii.  79  et  seq. 
Newby  Cottage,  the  Carlyles'  visit 

at,  i.  91,  93 

Newton,  Mrs.,  Mrs.  Carlyle  visit- 
ing, i.  230,  260 ;  back  from  the 
East,  ii.  107 
Nineteenth  Century,  Mr.  Strachey's 

article  in,  i.  115 

Northampton,  late  Marchioness 
of.  See  under  Baring,  Hon. 
Mary 

Note  Book,  Mrs.  Carlyle's,  ii.  109- 
115 

OLIPHANT,  MRS.,  ii.  322 


d'Orsay,  Count,  calling   on   the 

Carlyles,  i.  76 
Oxford,  Bishop  of,  ii.  272 

PALMER'S  trial,  ii.  100  et  seq.,  103 

Past  and  Present,  publication  of, 

i.   103,    104;    John  Rumni's 

opinion  of,  i.  123 ;  an  incident, 

i.  125,  128 

Paterson,  Mrs.,  ii.  149 
Paulet,  Mr.,  i.  142,  190 
Paulet,  Mrs.,  Mrs.  Carlyle  on  a 
visit  to,  i.  142  et  seq.,  162,  186, 
190;  her  kindness,  i.  173;  lack 
of  tact,  i.  192 ;  staying  at  the 
Newtons,  i.  261 
Pearson,  the  Carlyles'  carpenter, 

i.  112,  122 
"Peesweep,"  ii.  143 
Penfillan,  the  Welshs'  home  at,  i.  4 
Pepoli,   Elizabeth,  Countess  (nee 
Fergus),  i.  77, 107, 113, 174, 181 ; 
ii.  93, 102, 105;  death  of,  ii.  243 
Pepsine,  the  discovery  of,  ii.  163 

et  seq. 

Perforations  of  Latter-Day  Pam- 
phlets, ii.  20 

Perry, the  Carlyles'  carpenter,!.  113 
Pesne,  Antoine,  his  "Little  Drum- 
mer," ii.  187 
Phillips,  Mrs.  James  (Miss  Kittie 

Kirkpatrick),  i.  115 
Plattnauer,   Mr.,  i.  227,  248;  ii. 

68,91 

Portal,  Lady  Charlotte,  ii.  107 
Pringle,  Mrs.,  ii.  86;  a  proposed 
visit    to,   ii.   188,   192;    Mrs. 
Carlyle  visiting,  ii.  195  et  seq.; 
engaged  to  Mr.  Potts,  ii.  216 
Prior,  Mrs.,  i.  126 
Procter,  Mrs.,  ii.  4 
Psychological  Inquiries,  by  Sir  B. 
Brodie,  ii.  131 

QUADRI,  S.,  ii.  33 

Quain,  Dr.,  ii.  292,  308,  319,  338 


358 


Index 


RAMSQATE,  a  visit  to,  ii.  241 

Rawlins,  Mr.,  i.  214 

Rawlinson,  Mr.,  Mrs.  Carlyle's 
opinion  of,  ii.  24 

Redwood,  Mr.  Charles,  i.  104,  110 
et  seq. 

Reichenbach,  Count,  ii.  68 

Reid,  Dr.,  i.  29 

Reminiscences,  the  use  of  Mrs.  Car- 
lyle's Journals  in,  ii.  87 

Rennie,  Mr.  George,  Mrs.  Car- 
lyle  renews  acquaintance 
with,  ii.  93  et  seq.;  intercourse 
with  the  Carlyles,  ii.  103,  106, 
209 

Rhoid,  Mr.,  i.  182 

Richardson,  Mr.,  i.  200;  ii.  104 

Richardson,  Miss,  ii.  260 

RicJielieu,  Count  d'Orsay's  criti- 
cism of  Macready  in,  i.  77 

Richmond,  Duke  of,  his  daughter, 
ii.  86 

Riethmuller,  J.,  his  Launcelot  of 
the  Lake,  i.  113 

Rio,  i.  ISetseq.,  78 

Robertson,  John,  i.  124,  216 

Rogerson,  Mr.,  ii.  257 

Roupelle,  Mr.,  i.  179 

Ross,  Mr.  Hugh,  i.  117 

Rowsley,  Mrs.  Carlyle  at,  i.  259 

Ruffini,  John,  i.  123 

Ruskin,  John,  separation  from  his 
wife,  ii.  76;  intercourse  with 
the  Carlyles,  ii.  97,  335 

Russell,  Lady  William,  ii.  312 

Russell,  Mrs.,  of  Thornhill,  i.  96; 
letters  from  Mrs.  Carlyle,  i. 
97,  99,  114,  132,  156,  158,  217, 
223,  242,  249,  251 ;  ii.  12,  24, 
26,  35,  58,  63,  69,  77,  84,  85, 
115,  121,  123-138,  157,  165, 
171,  174,  192,  201,  210,  220, 
223,  228,  236,  243,  266,  279, 
289,  304,  311,  316,  337 
Mrs.  Carlyle  on  visits  to,  ii. 


198,  249,263,  293  et  seq.,  326; 
her  new  house,  Holm  Hill,  ii. 
254 ;  a  present  from  Mrs.  Car- 
lyle, 267,  270 ;  autographs  for, 
ii.  268 ;  a  hamper  to  Mrs.  Car- 
lyle, ii.  317 

Ryde,  Mrs.  Carlyle  visiting,  i.  106, 
129 

Ryerson,  Mr.,  death  of,  i.  77 

SAFPI,  S.,  ii.  33 

Sandwich,  Lady,  ii.  138 

Sartoi*  Resartus,  i.  18;  the  rejec- 
tion of,  i.  38;  a  new  edition 
of,  i.  88 ;  the  original  charac- 
ter of  Blumine,  i.  115;  Helen 
Mitchell's  appreciation,  i.  125; 
Saunders  and  Otley,  their  of- 
fer for  the  MS.  of  Heroes,  i.  88 

Scholey,  the  name  of  Mrs.  Car- 
lyle's "hero"  in  her  "Love 
Story,  "ii.  48  et  seq. 

Scotsbrig,  i.  21 ;  the  Carlyles  vis- 
iting, i.  80 

Scott,  Rev.  Alexander,  i.  181 

Seaforth  House,  i.  142 

Seaton,  Mr.  James,  ii.  150 

Sebastopol,  the  fall  of,  ii.  83 

"Shandy,"  Mrs.  Carlyle's  little 
dog,  ii.  94 

Shawbrae,  i.  14,  16 

Shirley,  by  Charlotte  Bronte,  ii.  4, 
5 

"ShupingSing,"i.  188 

Shuttleworths,  Kay,  the,  i.  126 

Sinclair,  Sir  George,  ii.  209,  227, 
229;  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Carlyle, 
ii.  231 

Singleton,  Archdeacon,  i.  65 

Sketchley,  Mrs.,  ii.  45 

Skirving,  Mrs.,  ii.  170 

Smith,  Stores,  ii.  29 

Somerville,  Mrs.,  ii.  205 

Spaniards,  The,  an  expedition  to, 
ii.  107 


Index 


359 


Speddings,  the,  i.  179,  211;  ii.  95 

Speke  Hall,  i.  136;  a  visit  to,  i. 
198 

"Squire  Papers,"  the,  i.  241 

Stanley,  Lady,  ii.  31,  96;  Mrs. 
Carlyle  visiting,  ii.  229,  230 

Stanley,  Lord,  Mrs.  Carlyle  visit- 
ing, ii.  31;  her  likeness  to  a 
picture  at  Alderley  Park,  ii.  59 

Stanley,  Hon.  Mary,  ii.  104 

Sterling,  Col.  Anthony,  i.  239 ;  the 
Carlyles  staying  with,  i.  251 ; 
his  printing-press,  ii.  6;  his 
yachts,  ii.  32 ;  his  photograph- 
ing craze,  ii.  59;  at  the  Cri- 
mea, ii.  86;  interruption  of 
friendship,  ii.  101,  106 

Sterling,  Miss  Kate,  ii.  95,  98,  100 

Sterling,  Mr.  and  Mrs.,  Mrs.  Car- 
lyle touring  with,  i.  61 

Sterling,  Mr.  John,  Sr.,  Mrs.  Car- 
lyle's  intercourse  with,  i.  107, 
122;  his  illness,  i.  173,  175, 
177,  182,  215;  Hare's  Life  of, 
i.  242;  Carlyle's  Life  of,  ii. 
35,  36 

Sterling,  Mr.  John,  Jr.,  i.  60;  let- 
ters from  Mrs.  Carlyle,  i.  70, 
128;  his  MS.  the  Election,  i. 
94;  intercourse  with  the  Car- 
lyles, i.  126 

Stodard,  Mr.  John,  ii.  150 

Stodart,  Miss,  i.  31,  32 

Storey,  Mr.,  ii.  272 

Strachey,  Mr.,  his  article  on  Blu- 
mine,  in  the  Nineteenth  Cen- 
tury, i.  115 

Strachey,  Mrs.,  of  Bristol,  Carlyle 
visiting,  i.  106,  108;  a  cousin 
of  Kitty  Kirkpatrick's,  i.  115 

Symington,  Mrs.,  ii.  227 

TAGLIONI,  i.  161 

Talfours  the,  intercourse  with  the 
Carlyles,  ii.  44 


Tait,  of  Edinburgh,  and  the  "  Ger- 
man Romance,"  i.  5 

Tait,  Mr.  R,  the  artist,  ii.  145, 
147,  166,  175,  178,  203 

Taylor,  Mrs.,  i.  49 

Taylor,  Henry,  friendship  for 
Thackeray,  ii.  24 

Templand,  locality  of,  i.  4;  the 
Carlyles  married  from,  i.  16; 
Mrs.  Carlyle's  expedition  to, 
from  Craigenputtock,  i.  30; 
leaving  for  London,  i.  46;  re- 
visiting, i.  80 

Tennyson,  Alfred,  Lord,  his  pen- 
sion, i.  180 

Terrot,  Bishop,  i.  Ill,  125 

Thackeray,  a  letter  from,  i.  129; 
his  friendship  for  Henry  Tay- 
lor, ii.  24;  his  Denis  Duval, 
ii.  245 

Thirlwall,  Bishop,  Carlyle  visit- 
ing, i.  118 

Thorn,  Dr.,  his  surgery  at  Eccle- 
fechan,  i.  71 

Thornhill,  Mrs.  Russell's  affection 
for,  ii.  254 

Tieck,  his  Vittoria  Accorombona, 
i.  109,  114 

Trees  of  Liberty,  an  article  by  Car- 
lyle in  TTie  Nation,  ii.  8 

Triumph  of  Sensibility,  by  Goethe, 
i.  63 

Trollope,  Anthony,  ii.  4 

Twisleton,  Mrs.,  ii.  92,  104 

VAKNHAGEN  VON  ENSE,  GEN.,  i. 

127 

Veitch,  General,  ii.  337,  341 
Veitch,  Mrs.,  ii.  149,  259 
Venturi,  Madame,  ii.  264 
de  Vere,  Aubrey,  i.  257 
Vernay,  Sir  Harry  and  Lady,  i.  241 
Villiers,  Charles,  ii.  90 
Vittoria  Accorombona,  by  Tieck, 

i.  109,  114 


360 


Index 


"WAFFLER,"!.  18 

Wales,  Carlyle  visiting  in,  i.  110 
etseq.,  122 

Wales,  Prince  of  (H.  M.  the  King), 
ii.  286 

Warren,  Mrs.,  ii.  277,  310,  313, 
315,  326 

Waters  of  Comfort,  ii.  105 

Waugh,  Dr.,  i.  10 

Wedgwoods,  the,  i.  119;  ii.  83,  96 

Wellington,  Duke  of,  death  of,  ii.  46 

Welsh,  Alick,  i.  35;  ii.  73;  his 
marriage,  i.  244 

Welsh,  Miss  Anne  (Mrs.  Carlyle 's 
aunt),  letter  from  Mrs.  Car- 
lyle, ii.  310 

Welsh,  Dr.  (Mrs.  Carlyle's  father), 
settlement  of  his  affairs,  i.  1, 
2;  his  frugality,  i.  226;  a 
transcript  from  his  account- 
book,  ii.  207 

Welsh,  Miss  Elizabeth  (Mrs.  Car- 
lyle's aunt),  ii.  78 

Welsh,  Mrs.  George,  ii.  78,  102, 
181,  202 

Welsh,  Mrs.  (Mrs.  Carlyle's 
mother),  her  daughter's  con- 
veyance of  the  Haddington 
and  Craigenputtock  proper- 
ties to,  i.  2,  3;  her  various 
homes,  i.  4 ;  Mrs.  Carlyle  vis- 
iting at  Templand,  i.  27  et 
seq.,  54,  57;  letters  from  Mrs. 
Carlyle,  i.  72,  78;  her  trying 
temper,  i.  84 ;  a  letter  to  Mrs. 
Carlyle,  senior,  i.  90 ;  the  Car- 
lyles'  visit  to,  at  Newby  Cot- 
tage, i.  91;  her  death,  i.  97, 
101;  photograph  of  minia- 
ture, ii.  25 

Welsh,  Miss  Grace  (Mrs.  Carlyle's 
aunt),  letter  from  Mrs.  Car- 
lyle, ii.  287 

Welsh,  Miss  Helen  (Mrs.  Carlyle's 
cousin),  i.  145,  220;  letter  from 


Mrs.  Carlyle,  i.  225;  ii.  30; 
staying  with  the  Carlyles,  ii. 
27;  her  death,  ii.  74 

Welsh,  Miss  ( Jackie), ii.  140, 340, 344 

Welsh,  Jane.  See  under  Carlyle, 
Jane  Welsh 

Welsh,  Miss  Jeannie  (Mrs.  Car- 
lyle's aunt),  i.  4,  23 

Welsh,  Miss  Jeannie  (cousin  of 
Mrs.  Carlyle),  i.  131,  162 

Welsh,  Mr.  John,  Sr.,  Mrs.  Car- 
lyle's grandfather,  i.  4 

Welsh,  Mr.  John,  Jr.,  ii.  181,  202 

Welsh,  Mr.  Robert  (Mrs.  Carlyle's 
uncle),  i.  2, 101;  Mrs.  Carlyle 
staying  with,  i.  136  et  seq., 
151,  211;  ii.  1  et  seq. 

Welsh,  Mr.  Walter,  Sr.  (Mrs.  Car- 
lyle's grandfather),  i.  4 

Welsh,  Mr.  Walter,  Jr.,  ii.  2,  161 

Westminster  Eeview,  Mrs.  Mercer's 
article  in,  i.  115 ;  John  Robert- 
son of,  i.  124 

Whitworth,  Mr.,  i.  209,  210 

Wigham,  Miss,  ii.  256 

Willesden,  Mrs.  Carlyle  staying 
with  the  Neubergs  at,  ii.  79 
et  seq. 

Wilson,  Mr.  David,  his  Mr.  Froude 
and  Carlyle,  i.  27 

Wilson,  Miss,  i.  121 

Wilson,  Mr.  Thomas,  i.  180 

de  Winton,  Madame,  ii.  97,  100 

Woodcockair,  i.  6 

Woolner,  T.,  ii.  307 

Wotten  Eeinfred,  i.  17,  18 

Wright,  Elizur,  ii.  20 

Wynn,  Miss  Williams,  i.  239,  255; 
ii.  4,  89 

YORKSHIRE,  the  Carlyles  on  a  tour 
in,  i.  227 

Yorstoun,  Rev.  James,  some  say- 
ings of,  i.  7;  ii.  114 

Zoe,  by  Geraldine  Jewsbury,  i.  242 


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