CORNELL.. 
 UNIVERSITY 
 LIBRARY 
 
 BOUGHT W^ITH THE INCOME 
 OF THE SAGE ENDOWMENT 
 FUND GIVEN IN 189I BY 
 
 HENRY" WILLIAMS SAGE 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PR 4825. J7 ASS 1892 
 
 Selections from the letters of Geraldine 
 
 3 1924 013 489 061 
 
The original of tliis book is in 
 tlie Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013489061 
 
MISS JEWSBURY'S LETTERS 
 
ritlN'PED BY 
 
 SFO'ITISWOODK AND CO., KKW-STllKET SQUARE 
 
 f^ON])OX 
 
SELECTIONS EEOM THE LETTEES 
 
 OF 
 
 GERALDINE ENDSOE JEWSBURY 
 
 TO 
 
 JANE WELSH OARLYLE 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 MES. ALEXANDER IRELAND 
 
 AUTHOR OF 'THE LIFE OF JANE WELSH OARLYLe' 
 
 PREFACED BY 
 
 A MONOGBAPS ON MISS JEWSBUBY, BY THE EDITOB 
 
 LONDON 
 LONGMANS, GEEEN, AND CO. 
 
 AND NEW YOEK: 15 EAST 16"" STEEET 
 1892 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
INTEODUCTION 
 
 Feibndships between , women have occasionally furnished 
 material for ignorant sneers. ' A sudden thought strikes 
 me. Let us swear an eternal friendship ! ' was not a 
 kind hit, though it bore within it a grain of truth. 
 Women are impulsive, and must have some object for 
 their love. Even school-girls conceive almost a passion 
 one for another, until ' deep calls unto deep,' and they 
 learn life's truest need. The memorable and touching 
 friendships of mature women for each other are too well 
 known to need proof of their existence. If they are, in a 
 sense, a compromise, what then ? In these undying, cling- 
 ing attachments, it may sometimes be noted that one of the 
 women is masculine in her very womanhood, dominating in 
 intellect or will, or possessed of some subtle force of which 
 we know nothing, and the other is ' a woman indeed ' — 
 defenceless, tender, instinctively craving after that ' shadow 
 of the substance ' for which she was made to long. At 
 times, two women, each isolated as to the natural relation 
 with the other sex, will turn blindly to each other, and fling 
 their lavish and uncared-for wealth of love into each other's 
 hearts. The bosom where no child ever nestled will draw 
 unto itself some nature where a heart-hunger has been left 
 unfed, and clasp it close. Again, the woman who has loved, 
 and has drawn back with a sick dissatisfaction from the 
 
VI INTRODUCTION 
 
 S2anty fare man's love has meted out to her, will turn despe- 
 rately to one of her own sex, and pour out the unappreciated 
 treasure of her heart. And again, the woman who knows 
 man's love, and must forego to bask in its warm, glowing 
 beams, will rest on another woman's love as on something 
 safe — something that shall not wound, nor cut, nor pierce, 
 nor leave her stranded. She may even find an avenue for 
 a confidence the craving for which is eating into her heart, 
 and, in trust and sympathy, she may heal her own wounds 
 while she pours oil and balm into those of another. Such 
 was the friendship between Miss Jewsbury and Mrs. Carlyle. 
 If it did not 'pass the love of woman,' it certainly reached 
 the utmost boundary of which that sacred 'relationship of the 
 spirit ' is capable. Each woman bore with her, as a birth- 
 right, love itself ; but the one was married and lonely, the 
 other was wremarried and lonely. Over each had the ' car of 
 Juggernaut ' passed with searing bruise. Each knew the 
 meaning of the words ' Thou shalt not have ' ! Each knew 
 precisely what each wanted, but had not. The one was 
 masculine in many ways, and she it was who bore the yoke 
 of marriage, and the deeper cross of wedded loneliness. The 
 other, feminine to the heart's core, seemed to have the full 
 cup of love ever at her Ups, yet by some irony of fate was left 
 lonely— died lonely, in one sense ; and the two women loved 
 each other passionately. Their correspondence, so glowing 
 with hfe that it is still warm to the touch of the spirit, 
 breathes no ordinary friendship and needs no comment. 
 That it is fragmentary is inevitable ; but it is carved out of 
 the living rock, and tells more of Jane Welsh Carlyle than 
 of Geraldine Jewsbury. Of the latter, I subjoin a few 
 biographical particulars. I knew her weU, and loved her 
 much. It was not then given me to understand over what 
 tragic depths the bright ever-changing ripples of her lively 
 and witty manifestations played with such inextinguishable 
 
INTEODUCTION vii 
 
 archness. But she is at rest ; her beloved friend is at rest ; 
 and these letters, which I edit with a pain at my heart, 
 tell their own tale, and confirm the words of him who said, 
 ' Wise judges are we one of another ! ' 
 
 Geraldine Endsor Jewsbury was born at Measham, in 
 Derbyshire, in the year 1812. Her father, Thomas Jewsbury, 
 left Derbyshire, where business had not prospered well with 
 him, about 1818, and settled in Manchester as a merchant, 
 uniting with this business the duties of agent to the West of 
 England Insurance Company. The family was rather large, 
 the means rather narrow. One infant was born after the 
 removal from Derbyshire. This was Sydney, who after- 
 wards went to sea. The oldest of the family was Maria, 
 afterwards Mrs. Fletcher, and she was nearly nineteen 
 years of age when the heavy cares of the orphaned family 
 devolved upon her. The latest born, Sydney, was but a 
 month old at the time ; Geraldine, about six years of age ; 
 and there were three other sons — Henry, Tom, and Frank. 
 It was not until 1832 that Geraldine — the bright, fairy-like 
 girl — was placed in the position which her sister vacated on 
 her marriage with Mr. Fletcher ; and in 1840, when Mr. 
 Thomas Jewsbury died, and the household was broken up, 
 Geraldine became housekeeper to her brother Frank, remain- 
 ing with him untU his marriage, which took place in 1853. 
 
 There was always a strong bond between the brother and 
 sister — one that neither marriage, nor separation, nor death 
 could alter. There had been a terrible shock to Geraldine's 
 affections in the death of Mrs. Fletcher, her dear and only 
 sister, who had acted a mother's part to her, and who had 
 died in India when the sensitive Geraldine was only in her 
 twenty-first year. So there was all the more love for 
 Frank, and he had it ! Geraldine's nature was rich in 
 affection, sparkling with light, rapid in forming conclu- 
 sions, which were not always of the wisest. Intellectually 
 
viii INTRODUCTION 
 
 she was a man, but the heart within her was as womanly 
 as ever daughter of Eve could boast. This combination of 
 keen intellect and truly feminine heart— this being, defence- 
 less and tender on the one hand, and strong enough to cleave 
 the very rocks on the other — could never, in truth, grow 
 old, never become hardened by the world's coarse realities. 
 She was generous to a fault, and noble-hearted, yet mentally 
 searching and sounding depths which it were happier for 
 the average woman to leave unsounded. 
 
 It was in 1841 that Miss Jewsbury first met the 
 Carlyles, when the ' sage of Chelsea ' pronounced her to be 
 ' one of the most interesting young women he had seen for 
 years — clear, deUcate sense and courage looking out of her 
 small sylph-like figure.' 
 
 He could not know how intently he was to be regarded, 
 in time, by the * clear, deUcate sense ' which animated that 
 small frame, nor could he then be aware of the links of 
 iron that were forged on the instant between the hearts of 
 the two women — the sparkling, sometimes stern, Jane 
 Welsh Carlyle, and the brilliant, but ever tender, Geraldine 
 Jewsbury. Nor could he know how the one was to uphold 
 the other and turn to her, nor how the two were to exchange 
 letters that were almost love-letters through the long years 
 that were to come. He knew not of the passionate thirst 
 that was unsatisfied in these two fiery natures, nor how each 
 would, at times, look to the other for a straw to hold on to 
 in the tempest of Life. For Miss Jewsbury had cast off 
 ancient anchors, and was drifting wildly about in search of 
 some safe mooring, and Mrs. Carlyle had long tossed on a 
 dark and stormy sea, and knew not peace. A friendship of 
 nearly half a century ended — or, shall I say, only fully began 
 — with Mrs. Carlyle's death. Miss Jewsbury stood by the 
 narrow bed in St. George's Hospital where the friend of her 
 heart lay, struck down by death. On that very night 
 
INTRODUCTIOX ix 
 
 they were to have met in bright and congenial society. 
 ' The book was closed, when she had read but a page.' It 
 was in 1854 that Miss Jewsbury removed to Chelsea, to be 
 near her friend, and the letters show that the two were 
 never apart in spirit. When Mrs. Carlyle died, in April, 
 1866, it was to Geraldine Jewsbury that the stricken man 
 turned for sympathy. She, amongst all women, he felt, 
 could and would give it. And though he characterised 
 some of her dear remembrances of her lost friend as 
 ' apocryphal,' he well knew that the love that had bound 
 the two women together was one in which he had been un- 
 able to share, by reason of the lesser quantity of lovable- 
 ness in himself, or its superabundance in them, or his 
 faulty and mistaken estimate of ma.ny things — all silent 
 when the stern lips of Jane Welsh Carlyle had closed in 
 majestic repose upon the secrets of a woman's heart. 
 
 Miss Jewsbury had most fascinating conversational 
 powers, a fine sense of humour, the most winning of manners, 
 and a generous heart, which often led her straight on until, 
 metaphorically, she dashed her head against a wall. Her 
 sojourn with her brother Frank, before his marriage, was 
 marked by the most delicious little parties, where literary 
 men, and women too, felt at ease in the genial warmth, 
 and, as Carlyle says, ' The burden was rolled from every 
 heart.' But, with all these charming qualities. Miss Jewsbury 
 was distinctly a literary woman, and did much hard work. 
 Amongst her friends was W. E. Forster, with whom she 
 visited Paris during the revolutionary excitement in May, 
 1848. She was a favourite with Sydney, Lady Morgan, 
 with the late Lady Llanover, with Vioountess Combermere, 
 and with many women of literary and artistic taste, who 
 revelled in her bright presence. It was at her suggestion 
 that Lady Martin (Helen Faucit) published her ' Female 
 Characters of Shakespeare,' for which all students are so 
 
X INTRODUCTION 
 
 grateful. She assisted Lady Morgan in the arrangement of 
 her 'Memoirs,' which, later on— namely, in 1868 — were 
 edited and published by William Hepworth Dixon. 
 
 But. this original nature of hers could not for ever find 
 satisfaction in ' arranging ' other people's brain-products. 
 Her own brain teemed with half-formed plots and 
 novels. In 1845 she published her first novel, ' Zoe, 
 the History of Two Lives,' and gave a presentment of 
 Mirabeau as a lover of her heroine. The work was 
 imniature in parts, startling and unique here and there. 
 In 1848 came the publication of ' The Half- Sisters,' which 
 Miss Jewsbury wanted to dedicate to Jane Welsh Carlyle. 
 The readers of Carlyle literature will remember how this 
 wish on her part was received. Her next tale was written 
 for the Manchester Examiner and Times in 1851, and after- 
 wards appeared in book-form. It was called ' Marian 
 Withers,' and dealt ably with much that bears on life in 
 the Lancashire manufacturing districts. There are crudi- 
 ties in the book, strange ' solutions of continuity,' but 
 much that goes to the heart, and much promise of greater 
 things. Her next novel (a little disappointing), dated 
 1855, was ' Constance Herbert,' and the following year 
 saw the publication of a truly well-told tale, ' The Sorrows 
 of Gentility,' which may be read and re-read with ad- 
 vantage. Her last novel was ' Eight or Wrong,' pub- 
 lished in 1859. This list, however, does not nearly repre- 
 sent the extent of her literary labours. She had done other 
 work ; had brought out two stories for children : ' The 
 History of an Adopted Child' in 1852, and ' Angelo, or 
 the Pine Forest in the Alps ' in 1855 ; many contributions 
 she had sent to Mr. S. C. Hall's ' Juvenile Budget ' ; and, 
 what was more significant, she had come into relations 
 with the editor of ' Household Words.' The following 
 letter, of which the original has been in my hands, will 
 
INTRODUCTION xi 
 
 show in what very high esteem Miss Jewsbury stood with 
 Charles Dickens: — 
 
 Copy of Letter from Charles Dickens to Miss Jewshury. 
 ' Devonshire Terrace, London : Feb. 1850. 
 
 ' Dear Miss Jewsbury, — I make no apology for address- 
 ing you thus, for I am a reader of yours, and I hope I 
 have that knowledge of you which may justify a frank 
 approach. 
 
 ' I don't know whether you know that I am about to 
 commence, at the end of next month, a new, cheap, weekly 
 literary journal, intended to displace some of the offensive 
 matter in that form now afloat. Be this as it may, I am 
 steadily and actively engaged in such a design, and if I 
 could induce you to write any papers or short stories for it 
 I should, I sincerely assure you, set great store by your 
 help, and be much gratified in having it. 
 
 ' I purpose publishing none of the writers' names — 
 neither my own nor any others — in the periodical itself, 
 but to give to these parents, in such a case as yours, the 
 power of reclaiming their own children, after a certain 
 time, if they should desire to, do so. The payment, of 
 course, is prompt and good. In no respect, I trust, would 
 you have to regret forming the connection, and in all 
 respects I should be truly earnest in my desire to make it 
 most agreeable to you. 
 
 ' If I were to write a whole book on the subject I hardly 
 know that I could do more than impress you with a sense 
 of my being in want of your aid, because I estimate its 
 value highly. I have a kind of confidence that I cannot 
 mean to do that so steadfastly without doing it somehow, 
 even in this short note. Therefore I leave it here. 
 ' Believe me, faithfully yours, 
 
 ' Charles Dickens. 
 J Miss Jewsbury.' 
 
Xll INTRODUCTION 
 
 It was little to be wondered at that these two quick and 
 ardent natures understood each other ; but the tribute here 
 paid by Dickens to Miss Jewsbury as a writer stands quite 
 apart from the fascination of her womanly nature, which 
 shed a ' glamour ' over men and women alike, and bore 
 with it a sort of enchanted atmosphere — not valuable to 
 the caterer for a weekly journal, though delightful in 
 social life. Miss Jewsbury had an ambition — it was to 
 become a journalist, to move in the world of letters as a 
 man, a good comrade, ' one of the craft.' Except in the 
 case of her close friendship with Jane Welsh Carlyle, the 
 tie of friendship with women did not fetter her, whilst the 
 easy triumph of having a man always in love with her — or, 
 more correctly speaking, several men at a time — did not fill 
 up the wants of a nature which had wings and wished to 
 fly. But she was heavily handicapped in the race. For, 
 added to the fact that she was a woman and not a man — a 
 fact by no means to be overlooked, since woman cannot have, 
 and almost ought not to have, what sportsmen call the 
 ' staying ' qualities — she was of a most delicately-balanced 
 nervous constitution, and entirely unfitted to do her ' tale of 
 bricks ' in the ordinary ' hack '-fashion of the work so 
 regularly and automatically done by male workers. Her 
 slender frame, vibrating with every breeze that blew, was 
 absolutely incapable of the drudgery demanded of a profes- 
 sional literary woman the moment she pretends to enter the 
 lists on an equal footing with man. All her bright abilities 
 failed her at times. And no wonder ! As a well-known 
 writer has said, ' what is woman, regarded as a literary 
 worker? Simply an inferior animal, educated by an in- 
 ferior animal. And what is man ? He is a superior being, 
 educated by a superior being. So how can they ever be 
 equal on that particular line ? ' The theory meets with 
 a constant and crushing contradiction in exceptional cases ; 
 
INTRODUCTION xiii 
 
 but SO much of it is true, that a woman, though she 
 may in certain circumstances understand better, go more 
 rapidly to work, achieve faster, in mental labour of a high 
 order than can her fellow man, is yet liable to collapses, 
 eclipses, failures of power, sad to behold, unfitting her 
 for the steady strain of ever-recurring work, which to the 
 average man is the very ' breath of his nostrils,' and 
 which holds him up while his gentler companion must 
 sink by the wayside, overpowered by some nervous trouble 
 or other complication, which reminds her that, after all, 
 she is a woman. Journalism is rather a stern occupation ; 
 its demands are of the character of the celebrated ' laws of 
 the Medes and Persians,' and their fulfilment is wholly 
 incompatible with a migraine or a ' day off,' unless 
 officially permitted. Yet did this delicate woman for many 
 years contribute constantly to the ' Athenaeum ' — reviewing 
 in its pages, and wielding her strong and subtle pen in 
 various directions, independently of her own books. So 
 she worked, she loved, and cast a colour of rose over 
 other and sadder lives ; she wept, and dried her tears, 
 and she arose again, to work and love once more — 
 and what further fulfilment of a woman's true calling 
 can be looked for in one for whom the closer, more 
 real calling — that of wife and mother — seemed out of 
 reach ? The strong sympathy Miss Jewsbury had with her 
 brother Frank was touching in its undisguised reality. 
 While he was yet unmarried that , bright home at Green- 
 heys, Manchester, attracted many shining spirits — many 
 who could shine there, and not elsewhere. Many an over- 
 laden heart laid down its ' carking care ' on that genial 
 threshold, and, later on, when Miss Jewsbury had left 
 Manchester and gone to reside in London — near that friend 
 of her heart, Jane Welsh Carlyle— she would still come 
 to visit Prank, and the brother and sister seemed, even 
 
xiv INTRODUCTION 
 
 to the outer world, to forget the years and the circum- 
 stances which had placed their lots in different counties. 
 Geraldine Jewsbury had a pretty and harmless pleasure in 
 shocking the feelings of ' Mrs. Grundy,' and when her 
 married brother, who was somewhat precise in his expres- 
 sions and modes of thinking, met her on neutral ground — 
 dining, perhaps, in the house of some common friend — the 
 lively lady would deliberately give rein to her sparkling wit 
 in remarks addressed either directly to her brother, and 
 calculated to make his hair stand on end, or with a grace- 
 ful naivete make them audibly to her hostess, for the 
 benefit of the whole company, and display the most 
 impenetrable unconsciousness of what she had done ! 
 
 Here was a nature with which Mrs. Carlyle, endowed 
 by heredity with a decided strain of ' Bohemianism,' could 
 sympathise keenly enough. The small conventionalities 
 and meaningless proprieties of daily life were as nothing 
 in the eyes of these two. They could laugh together, 
 they could utter to each other the scathing judgments on 
 men and things which neither really felt ; but, what is more, 
 they could weep together, quarrel like lovers, make peace 
 like lovers, despair together when all was dark to both, 
 smile when the smallest ray of sun shone on either ; 
 and show each to the other the wounds which each was too 
 proud to show to the world — those terrible hurts which a 
 woman instinctively hides, and most anxiously from those of 
 her own sex. Each was isolated in many ways, and the 
 stronger one suffered more, needed more, and received 
 more, was less able to bear sympathy, while more utterly 
 incapable of admitting pity— that cruel would-be healer of 
 wounds. Jane Welsh Carlyle, in a fragment of a journal 
 kept by her, under date of March 26, 1856, says : — 
 
 ' To-day it has blown knives and files— a cold, rasping, 
 savage day : excruciating for sick nerves. Dear Geraldine, 
 
INTEODUCTION XV 
 
 as though she could contend with the very elements on my 
 behalf, brought me a bunch of violets, and a bouquet of the 
 loveliest, most fragrant flowers. Talking with her all I 
 have done, or could do. Have mercy upon me, Lord, 
 for I am weak. ... Lord, heal me ! . . .' 
 
 The significant expression, ' Talking with her all I have 
 done, or could do,' tells the tale of that dear friendship. 
 The strangely-assorted friends could minister each to the 
 heart-pain of the other, and on that day it may fairly be 
 concluded that talking with Mrs. Carlyle was probably 
 all Miss Jewsbury had done or could do ! 
 
 So the matter lies in a nutshell. They could not help 
 each other very much, in some senses, but in the highest 
 sense of all they undoubtedly did succour each other. 
 It was the stronger who leaned on the weaker, as we 
 so often see in life. Mrs. Carlyle had iron and steel 
 where Miss Jewsbury had softer substances, yet it was 
 on Geraldine Jewsbury that the reserved wo;iian. poured 
 some of her agony, some of her rare joy ; and th6 attach- , 
 ment was no one-sided affair, if, indeed, that which 
 deserves the name of attachment ever is so ! 
 
 There are some beautiful plants which cannot grow 
 unless trained en espalier, and such was the nature of Miss 
 Jewsbury. Her strength lay largely in her weakness, and 
 vice-versa. That it should have been a woman who gave 
 the needed support was a mere accident of fate, life, 
 Providence — what you will ! 
 
 But this was the fact, and without the feminine sym- 
 pathy of Geraldine Jewsbury it may be doubted if the brave, 
 brilliant, unhappy Mrs. Carlyle would have held on to her 
 cross, would have stilled the beating of those restless wings 
 which always beat against the bars, would have survived 
 the awful moment, which comes at times to the strong, not. 
 so often to the weak — I mean the moment in which the 
 
 a 
 
XVI INTRODUCTION 
 
 spirit seems to ask the question of itself, ' Shall I go on 
 or not ? ' The answer to this query is by no means to be 
 found in encyclopaedias, philosophy, or reason. It must 
 come in a heart-to-heart communion of some kind, and to 
 Mrs. Carlyle it certainly did come in the warm, faithful, 
 undying love of Miss Jewsbury. 
 
 There is a certain armour which proud natures are apt 
 to rivet on themselves, from some motive or other, and 
 which, once assumed, becomes difficult, almost impossible, 
 to lay down, though under it a human heart may all the 
 while be panting for relief. The struggle may or may 
 not be apparent, but it is a desperate matter when there is 
 felt to be no possibility of laying aside the iron links. The 
 longed-for relaxation Mrs. Carlyle found in Miss Jewsbury, 
 in whose intimate presence she could be herself. It was, in 
 some sense, as though the Tragic Muse rested her head on 
 the fairy-like bosom of an ' Ariel,' but this ' Ariel ' had also 
 depths of her own. 
 
 And the two were comforted ! 
 
 It was in 1866, after Mrs. Carlyle's death, that Miss 
 Jewsbury removed to Sevenoaks, Kent. Life had lost one 
 of its greatest charms for her. A violent shock had been 
 given to those" mysterious links which bind men and women 
 to life. The short time spent by that bedside in St. 
 George's Hospital had shorn away much of what remained 
 of the buoyancy of her keen and ardent spirit. The colour 
 had faded from the everlasting rose, and though Miss Jews- 
 bury still wrote at times, still retained the honouring 
 friendship of such men as Carlyle, J. A. Froude, Huxley, 
 and a host of other men and women who loved her, she 
 began that slow process of ceasing to live which is one 
 penalty brilliant natures have to pay, at times, for the 
 superabundance of vitality granted them at an earlier 
 period. She must have longed ' for the touch of a vanished 
 
INTRODUCTION xvii 
 
 hand, and the sound of a voice that is still.' But she 
 said little on the subject. 
 
 Quietly she succumbed to a disease now believed by those 
 most skilled in medical diagnosis to trace its first start 
 very frequently to mental causes — I mean cancer. Thus 
 smitten, she removed to a private hospital in Burwood 
 Place, Edgware Eoad, London, and there went through her 
 martyrdom — a hard, almost cruel, ending to a life with 
 such sunny proclivities. 
 
 But care and kindness never deserted her ; and among 
 her last acts was one of loyalty, for, propped up on her 
 bed of pain, she manfully destroyed, day by day, all the 
 letters from Mrs. Carlyle which were in her possession, 
 having promised that she would do so. Death stopped 
 the process, and the dying hand left one letter, which I 
 printed in my 'Life of Mrs. Carlyle.' In Shakespeare's 
 words, ' The rest is silence.' 
 
 But the beloved friend had not destroyed the letters of 
 Miss Jewsbury. She probably meant to do so, some day. 
 She felt, perhaps, that it was hard to destroy so much love 
 and warmth, and she had no warning given her. Hers was 
 a summons of the sudden kind, which leaves no time for the 
 carrying out of fixed determinations. So the letters 
 survived, and the ' other side ' can only be filled in by the 
 heart. 
 
 During Miss Jewsbury's last illness she often asked me 
 to tell her the little speeches of my children, any little thing 
 about them. And I wrote, receiving and expecting no 
 reply, in the vain hope that these innocent trivialities 
 might beguile her of an hour of her painful change from 
 Life to Death. For she knew the children, and had always a 
 heart for young things. I never knew if these small chroni- 
 cles of mine did her any good. I knew she had brave 
 and noble spirits about her, who watched her last struggle 
 
XVIU INTEODUCTION 
 
 with pain, and could alleviate where I could not. It was on 
 September 23, 1880, that she folded the bright wings so 
 sadly weighted with mortal conflict, closed her once danc- 
 ing eyes, and slept in peace. 
 
 She was sixty-eight years of age at the time of her 
 death, and was buried in Brompton Cemetery, in Lady 
 Morgan's vault. A fitting epitaph for her would have 
 been, ' Qui multum amavit,' for truly she loved much and 
 well. 
 
 It is Dickens who says, ' What the poor are to the poor, 
 only God knows.' 
 
 I would say, ' What a woman is to a woman, only a 
 woman knows.' 
 
 And with these words I close my imperfect record of a 
 woman whom I, too, loved, and whose letters tell what she 
 was to one of the most remarkable women the world has 
 known — or, rather, has not known. 
 
 Annie B. Ireland. 
 
 September, 1892. 
 
SELECTIONS OP LBTTBE8 
 
 MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 
 
 1841. 
 
 LETTEE 1. 
 
 Saturday, April 15, 1841. 
 
 Dbabest Jane, — You will think I am possessed by 
 as great a mania for letter-writing as any of Eichard- 
 son's heroines, but the fact is, I continue unable to see to 
 do anything but what I feel specially inclined for, and 
 I profit by it to write to you, for the time is coming 
 when I must attend to many things which have only 
 their necessity to recommend them. I think of you 
 very often ; indeed, you are scarcely ever out of mind. 
 But I wish I could think of you as strong and well, 
 though then you would no longer be the same person. 
 But I want sadly to know how you are — do write a 
 line, and fill your letter about yourself — I am grow- 
 ing really anxious to know how you are going on in 
 every way — mind, body, and estate. I did a foolish 
 thing yesterday, but it was so pleasant I can't find in 
 
 B 
 
2 SELECTIONS OF LETTEES FROM 
 
 my heart to repent of it. I went to spend the day 
 with a lady who has been very kind to me since I 
 was shut up ; who has nearly read me through your 
 husband's lectures on Hero Worship. She lives at 
 a large pleasant old-fashioned house in a garden with 
 plenty of trees in it (by the way, De Quincey was 
 born there). There was a party in the evening, and a 
 sort of ' Masque ' acted : it was got up for the 
 holidays last Christmas, but as many of her friends 
 had not seen it they repeated it last night. It would 
 have done credit in aU respects to Macready himself. 
 She had provided a pair of queer spectacles for me, 
 but I obstinately refused to look through such a 
 destroying medium. I have only recently formed 
 a personal acquaintance with her, though I have long 
 known her by reputation for all manner of goodness : 
 she is one you would like, and says things which 
 constantly remind me of you. She was left a widow 
 about five years since with a family of boys, and it 
 is quite beautiful to see the way in which she has 
 brought them up. She is a most ardent admirer of 
 your husband, though not just what I should call a 
 disciple ; but she has taken great pains to influence 
 the minds and habits of all the young men who come 
 to her house and who are her sons' companions, and 
 she doses them with your husband's books — by way 
 of giving them right feelings and so forth. She is a 
 Christian by way of belief, and I dare not say a great. 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 3 
 
 deal to her that hes in my heart, but she has a fine 
 mind and fine feelings, and she is an acquisition to be 
 very thankful for. She said something the other day 
 that struck me. We were talking of women, and I 
 said ' the sufferings of any individual woman, how- 
 ever great, seem to be absorbed in that of her sex, 
 and the sufferings of women seem not to be recog- 
 nised as altogether the legitimate evils of life. Pro- 
 vidence does not seem to count them as items in the 
 troubles it imposes on the world, to take no account 
 of them.' She said, ' all must be made perfect 
 through suffering, and a woman's trials are appointed 
 through her affections : it is only through them that 
 she is capable of suffering, at least I think so ' — but 
 you will be tired of hearing so much of one you do 
 not know. (Monday morning.) I was half in hopes of 
 a letter from you yesterday, but instead there came 
 one from an estimable young damsel of my acquaint- 
 ance, who sends me word that by way of a winter 
 occupation she has been reading half a dozen of the 
 stiffest Greek plays in the original ! besides getting 
 through any number of volumes of tough Puritan 
 divinity ! ! and several other items equally ponderous. 
 Well, my dear, it is certainly a great credit to one 
 to have such virtue exemplified by one's acquaint- 
 ances, and I have a great notion that old orthodox 
 doctrine of ' imputed virtues ' is correct. I can't 
 help feeling as if I had deserved a good child's re- 
 
 B 2 
 
4 SELECTIONS OF LETTEES FEOM 
 
 ward myself when any of my friends do right ! Is 
 there any hope of seeing Carlyle on his way home ? 
 or is there any prospect of your coming through 
 Liverpool this year ? I am not going to fill my 
 letter with what I think about those glorious lectures, 
 because I have some questions to ask him, and I can 
 say it then — you would smile if you knew what is at 
 the end of my pen to say, but it would not be in 
 mirth, and I ought to have learned, by this time, that 
 we know not what we do when we envy ; but to tell 
 you the truth, I did for a few minutes feel there was 
 something very dazzling in bearing the name you do ! 
 Now don't misunderstand — and think what I should 
 not wish you to think ! Walking in a triumph must 
 needs be dazzling. It is well for a woman to be, as 
 it were, absorbed, just in proportion to the intense- 
 ness of her passion, though every thought, feeling, and 
 power of intellect is called into perfection, in order 
 that it may be an offering to the one she has made her 
 idol ! A woman cannot, in her turn, be to the man all 
 that he is to her— she cannot (except in rare cases) be 
 the first and last object of life to him. All the great 
 business affairs of the world must get themselves 
 transacted by men, and only occupation that comes 
 by necessity — and not, as a woman's occupation does, 
 from a voluntary setting about something to avoid 
 idleness— will prevent the most desperate devotion 
 and the most sublime affection from being other than 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 5 
 
 secondary to the daily grand business afiairs which 
 keep society in shape and going. Added to which, a 
 man does not, in a general way, understand our re- 
 finements in the matter of love ; owing to our having 
 little real occupation, our own female branch of the 
 subject has been much more highly cultivated and 
 comes to greater perfection than with men ; we love 
 with a desire to give them pleasure — they love us to 
 please themselves. A man who has had le plus grand 
 succes among women, and who was the most pas- 
 sionate and poetically refined lover in his manners 
 and conversation you could wish to find, once said 
 to me in a fit of truth (he was in a £t of remorse for 
 circumstances I well knew, so he had no reason to 
 pretend, and keep up appearances to me — I will tell 
 you the tale some day) : ' But I can form no idea 
 of what women mean by those refined notions of 
 theirs. I like a woman to love me in that way, but 
 I do not in the least understand it. There is nothing 
 but passion, more or less refined, in a man's love for 
 a woman, let him talk as he will, and don't you be 
 ready to believe any man who says the contrary.' 
 
 So, my dear, let us look our lot boldly in the face 
 at once ; if it has been given us to love — for it is not 
 every woman who receives that terrible gift — let us 
 submit without vain struggling as to the conditions. 
 It brings suffering as surely as fife brings death ! 
 We shall have no reward except what our own soul 
 
6 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 gives US. We can never be for a continuance to the 
 one we love what they are to us, and it is very 
 uncertain that we may die when all that has made 
 our life worth living is gone. It takes a great deal 
 of misery to kill ; in all this we fulfil our destiny, 
 and we form no unimportant link in the economy 
 of life. It may be that we women are made as we 
 are in order that they may in some sort fertilise the 
 world ; their passionate afiection, and their devoted- 
 ness, though it brings no good to themselves, yet 
 goes far towards making the world at large a better 
 and more supportable place, and prevents its being 
 altogether a ' den of cruelty and fierce habitations.' 
 Do not aU religions seem to shadow forth an occult 
 law of nature in the notion (common to all) of 
 vicarious sacrifices — the few suffering, undeservedly, 
 to benefit the many ? "We shall go on loving blindly, 
 and making our very souls as the ground for them 
 we love. And yet, after all, let us not forget that 
 they who cause this sufiering are only acting accord- 
 ing to their nature, and are not altogether to be 
 blamed ; they take and make use of what we give, 
 and bring forth the efiects in some other shape ; we 
 centre in them, they centre in what is exterior and 
 Hes without them, and those things of the world 
 which they consider of importance, and for which 
 they weary and waste themselves, hkewise bring no 
 return to them, but work on to some end which we 
 
MISS JEWSBUKY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 7 
 
 do not yet discern. "We shall go on loving, they 
 will go on struggling and toiling, and we are alike 
 mercifully allowed to die — after a while. 
 
 I don't know whether you will agree with this, 
 and I cannot see to argue, for my eyes are very bad 
 and painful. Do write, please. Did you receive a 
 long letter, and a little picture I sent you soon after I 
 
 got home ? Poor dear is rather better, I am 
 
 thankful to say. Take care of yourself. How is Mr. 
 Carlyle? Will you give my love to him, and be- 
 lieve me, dearest, your most faithful and affectionate, 
 
 G. E. Jewsbury. 
 
 You will be just blinded in trying to raake this 
 out. Kind regards to . 
 
 LETTEE 2. 
 Friday— Monday (Postmark, April 19), 1841. 
 
 Dearest Jane, — I don't know that I have anything 
 to tell you, specially worth writing down. But my 
 eyes are still too weak to allow me to read ; writing 
 does not try them so much, and you are the only 
 person I feel tempted to talk to just now! What 
 would I have given to be with you this last week ! 
 though, after all, quietness and rest were the best 
 things for you. Still, I would have liked to join 
 my rest to yours, for I also have attained to the 
 'Giaour's' beatitude, and feel just now uncertain 
 
8 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 whether I am ahve or dead ! Lying on a sofa as I 
 am, half dreaming, half dozing, in a light that is 
 neither light nor darkness — except for occasional 
 twinges of recollection I should have altogether 
 attained to a highly pacified and vegetative state, 
 which will be changed, perhaps not for the better, 
 so soon as I can bear the light of day. This was to 
 have been a gay week. I was engaged to two grand 
 parties — not fine, stilted ' conversation affairs,' but 
 regular unsophisticated dances ! — and I was obliged 
 to send back-word to both. I had rather set my heart 
 on one of them, at the house of one of the nicest 
 women I know down here. It is a German family ; 
 and she is such a charming, natural, kind-hearted 
 creature, just cultivated up (to) the most agreeable 
 point, and stops short of any pretensions ! Only 
 to think what harlequinade tricks fate sometimes 
 
 plays one ! The other day Mr. sent up word 
 
 by my brother that he was in town, and should 
 come up to see me. He has not been since our 
 memorable conversation; and whilst I was rather 
 wondering what turn things would take this time, 
 there arrived, not him, but a most sober and reputable 
 matron of my acquaintance, who came, she said, 
 ' just to teach me how to net,' thinking that it would 
 be a nice amusement for me now that I could not 
 see to read or work ! and she stayed all afternoon. 
 did not come at all for some reason or another, 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 9 
 
 and on the whole I was not sorry, for seeing him 
 now is like the meeting of two ghosts on the other 
 side Styx. Each has been connected so strangely 
 with the history of so many feelings and incidents, 
 which at the time seemed as if their memory could 
 never pass away. And what has been the end of so 
 much passionate suffering, so much love which all 
 the parties thought would endure for ever ? The 
 woman he loved so madly — of whom he declared 
 (to one he trusted) that he would rather obtain her 
 friendship even, than have possession of her whole 
 sex — died of a broken heart, or, rather, of a cancer, 
 which Sir Astley Cooper said had been brought 
 on by grief and anxiety of mind. She was a fine 
 creature. I never saw her but once ; but I heard 
 of her from many quarters, and from those who 
 knew her best. She was married to a man who did 
 
 not care for her, and she, till she met , did not 
 
 know what affection meant. His own testimony, and 
 the way he spoke of her to me (that time we had 
 our conversation), was enough to absolve her from 
 all censure except the deepest commiseration. Her 
 sister (who knew nothing of the matter) said, after 
 her death, that she used to sit for hours gazing on 
 the wall without seeing anything or speaking a word. 
 When asked, "What are you thinking about ? — ' Oh, 
 many things ; don't talk to me ! ' He, for whom she 
 had risked everything — very soon after he had ob- 
 
10 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 tained everything — began to grow, not indifferent 
 exactly, but satisfied. Unfortunately for her, she 
 and her husband were obliged to leave this country ; 
 in absence she lost her influence over him. In a 
 very short time he forced her to break with him ; 
 he married for convenance, and is now the father of 
 a family, is a respectable man, and in prosperous cir- 
 cumstances. Since her death he professes, to those 
 who knew the facts, bitterly to regret the past ; but 
 it is somewhat dubious whether these brave senti- 
 ments are real, or assumed as a piece of his respect- 
 ability. 
 
 I, who was a bystander, have the recollection of 
 the faith I then had in his good qualities, and the 
 strong feeling I had for him, and the firm .belief in 
 his chivalrous, honourable dealing towards her, and 
 the undoubting trust in her submission to duty, 
 honour, and so forth. I did believe, then, in many 
 fine things, and even now I only doubt their dura- 
 bihty, or rather it now seems unreasonable to 
 expect high-pressure efforts except from a steam- 
 engine, and even that wears out ; and why should we 
 regret that things are so constituted ? The fact of 
 all that is worth having, and even life itself, being 
 precarious, gives it a value beyond its own, and 
 those who have an eternity to trust to, Uttle know 
 the desperate tenacity of those who have to make the 
 most of Time ! I cannot explain to you the super- 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH OARLYLE 11 
 
 stitious value I set on those I ever love, and the sort 
 of rehgious feeling with which I try to guard 
 every word or thought which might raise a shade 
 between us. 
 
 No, my dear, you must first have no hope of any- 
 thing beyond this world, before you can know how 
 very precious is a friend we really love. This letter 
 has been written a plusieurs reprises, for my eyes 
 are rather worse, if anything, to-day than they were 
 this day week, so that now I can hardly write, and 
 what is to become of me I don't know ! 
 
 I have more time for thinking than is at all 
 agreeable. All this while I have never thanked you 
 for your letter — it made me feel very sad. Those 
 efforts after strength are weary things, and I doubt 
 whether they do much good. They go to exhaust 
 what strength we may possess. On the whole, I 
 cannot help thinking it is the wisest to let ourselves 
 be drifted along. Time brings quiet and strength 
 naturally ; in fact, the very change he works in us 
 and in our feelings is equivalent to strength. There 
 are two lines in Coleridge's translation of ' WaUen- 
 stein' that haunt me from morning to night, and 
 have done so ever since I began to know what 
 endurance meant. ' What pang is permanent with 
 man ? From the highest as from the vilest things he 
 learns to wean himself, and the strong hours conquer 
 him!' 
 
12 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 If you will, from time to time, send me word how 
 you go on, it will be a great favour. Just now I 
 am especially anxious to hear from you ; if you 
 cannot guess why, I won't tell you. Do not plague 
 yourself to write long letters, but say how you are 
 in every way ; patronise the pronoun ' I ' as much as 
 I do myself! Never mind telling me anything, 
 except inasmuch as it affects or interests you ! I 
 have not said a tithe of what I have thought of when 
 lying on the sofa. You little know the comfort it is 
 to me to have you to think of, nor how much I 
 think of you. If you take an interest in my friend 
 
 , she is rather better, at least was last Tuesday. 
 
 She had a scheme in her head which had quite 
 roused her. Heaven only knows whether it wiU 
 prove wise and feasible, but even the power of 
 hoping is no small blessing to her ! 
 
 She did talk of going to the seaside in a few 
 weeks, and it was settled that I should go with her 
 when she went, but all is yet in a state of uncertainty. 
 
 Is your husband returned from his excursion ? 
 
 I heartily hope he will be the better for it. 
 
 Will you give my love to him? He has had 
 splendid weather. So soon as I have eyes to see to 
 write a reputable letter, there are several knotty 
 points I want him to solve for me, but I cannot 
 venture to send him the sort of scrawl I bestow on 
 you. ' Les sept cordes ' are waiting for me at the 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE WELSH CAELYLE ]3 
 
 bookseller's, I expect, but they will not get toucbed 
 yet awhile, hflas ! I am too cross this morning to 
 write any more. I am in an ill humour with my 
 doctor, too, which is almost as bad in a patient as it 
 would be for a hungry man to quarrel with his 
 bread and butter ! Offer my respects to your 
 brother-in-law, and you may tell him that I have 
 about as little to contend with as a young woman of 
 ' my sort ' could hope to find anywhere. To the 
 immortal credit of all the people here be it spoken, 
 they take me as I am, which is a great virtue in my 
 eyes of course ; and then they hang up Nymphs, 
 and Cupids, and Psyches, &c., &c., in their dining- 
 rooms, so that, ' sans peur et sans reproche,' as I 
 told you before, I have said ten thousand things to 
 j'ou in my own mind which are not written in this 
 letter. I wish you were here to-day. An individual 
 I once named to you is coming here this evening. 
 It is well for us that we cannot solve all the problems 
 presented to us in this world ; for my own part, I 
 am quite reconciled that my heart should be deceit- 
 ful sometimes. I don't want to know the truth of 
 what it means, and if ' Job ' had been a wise man he 
 would never have asked the question. Give my 
 remembrances to , your damsel, and believe me, 
 
 most affectionately yours, 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 p.S. — I began a little tale called the ' Lune de 
 
14 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 Lait ' in one of your French newspapers. Could you 
 spare me some of the succeeding numbers to finish 
 it ? for I took great interest in it. I will return 
 them by post — if it is not convenient, never mind, 
 however. 
 
 LETTER 3. 
 Tuesday (Date of Postmark, May 6, 1841). 
 
 Dearest Jane, — You must take up with scraps till 
 I can see to indite a regular reputably written letter. 
 I have been doing something, and I half fear that, like 
 most busybodies, I have been doing wrong. Some 
 friends of mine are gone up to London this week — 
 
 Mrs. and her father. This father is a great 
 
 collector of pictures, and is considered one of 
 the first judges in the county ; he has a valuable 
 collection of works of art. It struck me that he 
 would be a most likely person to do something if he 
 could see Count Peppoli's pictures, even if he did 
 not buy; his word and judgment would do good 
 
 (down here, at least). I wrote a line to to 
 
 tell him to get him to see them if possible, but 
 
 as I recollected that has not the entree, will 
 
 you (if you think the thing worth the trouble) 
 send any sort of a talisman to him which may open 
 the door ; understand that I do not want you to be 
 plagued with the people in any shape or way, but ' 
 Mr. , great, rough, and sooty-looking man as he 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLLYE 15 
 
 is, has done the work of two generations towards 
 civihsing the town he Hves in, is always buying 
 pictures himself, and making other people buy them 
 too. Do not think me taking a liberty, and don't 
 plague yourself in any way. How are you ? are you 
 going on getting strong? Heaven knows when I 
 shaU see again fairly ! Is Carlyle come back ? A 
 friend has been good enough to come and read to 
 me all day in ' Hero-Worship ' ; but I cannot write 
 any more now. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 LETTER 4. 
 
 Monday, June 15, 1841. 
 
 Dearest Jane, — There is a great deal I want to 
 say to you, but when I begin to write to you it 
 seems difficult, almost impossible, to put it down as 
 it really is. 
 
 I would give the world — that is, all my expecta- 
 tions in it — for the space between four walls where I 
 might talk to you in peace for an hour, so many 
 things occur every day which I should like you to 
 know at the time, but I cannot patronise ' small 
 beer ' so far as to chronicle them, and besides, they 
 are only in,teresting for the minute — like newspapers. 
 But there is not a day that I do not most sadly 
 want you. Your letters tell me little or nothing 
 about yourself, and, besides, you don't like writing, 
 
16 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 and I cannot find the heart to plague you to write, 
 and then there is so httle connection between the 
 world you live in and that which I live in, every day 
 seems to separate us more, and these stifi" documents 
 are the only substitute for speech and sight ; I want 
 to see you more than I can tell you. I cannot write 
 half I want to say, and I dare not write even a 
 quarter of what could be written, so these letters are 
 very unsatisfactory all ways. One thing you may do, 
 however — tell me how you are, and how you go on ; 
 never mind other people or news of any sort, it is 
 you I want to hear about. I think of you a great 
 deal, and with an anxiety I cannot account for. I 
 can't express my feelings even to myself, only by 
 tears ; but I am no good to you, and I, who wish to 
 be and do anything that might be a comfort to you, 
 can give you nothing but vague, undefined yearnings 
 to be yours in some way. I can use no expressions 
 of affection. I don't like using them. I am jealous 
 of giving you what I have ever offered to another, 
 and, besides, talk as much as I will, it's the same 
 thing said over and over ; you wiU let me be yours, 
 and think of me as such, will you not ? How are 
 you ? Do you sleep well still ? That is my summum 
 bonum of felicity. I can get through any given 
 amount of plague if I may sleep all night without 
 dreaming. I am come home again ten days since, 
 and, after all, I am best here, though it is not much 
 
MISS JEWSBUKY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 17 
 
 I do. My eyes are, I suppose, well, but I cannot 
 use them for long together, and the green spectacles 
 are still in requisition. They are weak, my dear, 
 and weakness in all things is the worst sort of 
 ailment ; au reste I am well and have nothing to 
 plague me just now, but I suppose that is a beatific 
 state which never lasts long. 
 
 My friend is much better, and I am relieved 
 
 from much anxiety about her. I have begun to do 
 something, and I have a strong notion that it will 
 have to be undone again. I think we are both of us 
 mad ; but there is a sort of instinct sometimes which 
 leads one to do things that seem to have no profit in 
 them beyond the fact that they ought not to be done ! 
 What I am after now is something of the kind you 
 once suggested. One day, as we were walking in 
 
 the grounds, Mrs. exclaimed, looking at the 
 
 house, ' If we could but make those walls tell all they 
 have ever seen or heard for the last seven years, they 
 would teach (to women especially) more than they 
 have ever been taught yet.' This had no reference 
 to anything previous, but we began settling all the 
 various afiairs that had been transacted there, and 
 the fierce passages of life and suffering we had seen 
 pass, and our philosophy on the same ! Well, we 
 agreed to make it into a history in letters.' The actual 
 letters that were written from time to time have been 
 destroyed ; but now that some of the persons are 
 
 c 
 
18 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 dead, and others married or removed far away, there 
 is a strange sort of pleasure in working out one's 
 own peculiar notions on certain subjects. I should 
 like you to see it, but I much fear that it would be 
 objected to if I asked leave. I wonder whether you 
 would agree with us ! Do you remember in one of 
 your letters you tell me that ' I am clever, but wrong 
 on certain points ' ? How much I wish that you 
 would give me some of your own philosophy some 
 time ! One day, whilst at Seaforth, a youth I have 
 known a long time took it into his head to be very 
 confidential, and preached his own gospel for the 
 space of a whole afternoon ! He had been thrown 
 on the world very young to shift for himself, and a 
 real little youth of the world he had become. He 
 looked so young — though he is twenty-five — that one 
 could not call him a man ! The mere facts that he 
 told me were not disguised and beautified, yet the 
 morale that stood out clear was to the efiect that men 
 cannot afford to be very long or very much in earnest 
 in their intercourse with women ; that when a woman 
 got thoroughly earnest and engl-ossed, a man who 
 had any regard for himself or her would break off at 
 once ! That une grande passion ' was an embarrassing 
 affair, and was very dangerous to people who had to 
 get a living,' and that he had always ' broken off' as 
 soon as he came to his senses ; that women seemed to 
 think it was the only object of interest in Hfe, and 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 19 
 
 it was a desperate thing to let them go too far. One 
 thing specially struck me — though this was not said 
 to me, only repeated to me — viz., that all men who 
 have received an English education hate a woman 
 in proportion as she commits herself for them, though 
 a woman cares for a man exactly in the proportion 
 in which she has made sacrifices for him, evidently 
 thinking and showing, he thought, that all that was 
 in the world — business and riches and success and 
 so forth — were the only realities, and the only things 
 worth making objects ! He is neither better nor 
 worse, but an average specimen of the generality of 
 men. He once did me a material piece of kindness, 
 and he was not in love with me ; he had taken a fit of 
 kindness to a friend of mine, and he raised himself 
 in my opinion, and showed more real feeling than I 
 had supposed in him. To be sure, the fact that my 
 friend did not care about him would account for his 
 good behaviour ; it was not put in his power to behave 
 ill ! This will seem stupid to you, not knowing the 
 people and the circumstances ; but it had a great 
 interest for me, and it set me moralising to think 
 how much more miserable we should be than we are 
 if we had our eyes opened to discern always true 
 from make-believe. I have great sympathy with that 
 prayer of the Ancient Mariner, ' let me be awake, 
 my God, or let me sleep alway ! ' There is some- 
 
 c 2 
 
20 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 thing else I long very much to tell you, but I dare 
 not in a letter. 
 
 I wish there were some photographic process by 
 which one's mind could be struck off and transferred 
 to that of the friend we wish to know it, without the 
 medium of this confounded letter-writing ! 
 
 I want your counsel, and I cannot even ask for 
 it ! Well, my dear, I must not omit to tell you that, 
 by way of natural female occupation, I am engaged 
 in preparing a 'baby basket' for my sister-in-law, 
 who is expecting her first httle one next month. 
 This is the ' ha'penny worth of bread to so much sack.' 
 
 I am going to drink tea and take my work to 
 a very nice lady, one who interests me much — a 
 real specimen of an English woman. She is married, 
 and devoted to her husband, who is also a real 
 specimen of an English mari. I am sure she is not 
 happy, by several little observations she has dropped, 
 though she would start to think she had given such 
 an impression ; but there is a great deal that wants 
 saying about matrimony. Who dare say it ? I have 
 read the ' Sept Cordes ' at last, and full of genius it 
 is — more so, I think, than any other of the writer's 
 works. No one but herself could have written it ; 
 but what a pity that such splendid truths should be 
 buried in the earth ! She might do so much more 
 than she has done. 
 
 Wliy will she do nothing but write novels? I 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CART.YLE 21 
 
 am also deep in a very different book, and am 
 equally chained to it, though I had to begin by an 
 odd volume. It is altogether fascinating, and there 
 is such a fine, healthy feeling through it all, and so 
 much human sympathy, and wit enough to endow 
 all the libraries of useful (?) knowledge ' ever inflicted 
 on the world.' 
 
 It was a volume of ' Eabelais ' I got hold of the 
 other day, and shall not rest till I have got the 
 beginning of him. I cannot give you an idea of 
 the delight it has given me. The Old French is a 
 great bore ; but it is well worth the plague of it. 
 
 A poor lady of my acquaintance is in great trouble ; 
 she has just lost a daughter, of whom I was very 
 fond, under most painful circumstances, and I must 
 go and see her. It makes my heart sick to see her. 
 Her husband is a great scoundrel ; he left his family, 
 after tormenting them to death, and now he increases 
 their trouble by aU sorts of vexations, and it makes 
 me mad to hear people coolly say, ' I understand 
 
 Mrs. has a violent temper,' as if a woman 
 
 was to be steel and marble under the most un- 
 provoked outrages ! I wish I might say my say 
 about matrimony. This is a tremendously long letter. 
 
 God bless you, dear love. Take care of yourself, 
 and write as soon as you can. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
22 SELECTIONS OF LETTEES FROM 
 
 LETTER 5. 
 
 Addressed to Mrs. Carlyle when she was at Templand, on her last 
 visit to her mother, Mrs. Welsh. 
 
 Thursday (Postmark, July, 1841). 
 
 Carissima mia, — I am not going to write you a 
 
 long letter ; I only want to teU you that I hope all 
 
 your perils and annoyances are over. Your cousins 
 
 promised to send me word when they received tidings 
 
 of your safe arrival. You will have plenty to do, 
 
 so do not, my darling, plague yourself to write to me 
 
 just yet. To have seen you has given me enough to 
 
 think about, and you are never out of either my 
 
 head or my heart. After you left on Tuesday I felt 
 
 so horribly wretched, too miserable even to cry, and 
 
 what could be done ? I was obliged to go back into 
 
 the drawing-room, and listen to that doctor talk 
 
 about the transmigration of souls across me to that 
 
 sedate-looking young damsel, who rephed, like Mrs. 
 
 Chapone and Hannah More ' rolled into one,' and I 
 
 had taken up Mrs. Ellis's ' Women of England,' 
 
 which made the oddest running commentary you 
 
 can imagine, till the whole thing became so 
 
 exquisitely absurd that, in spite of everything, I began 
 
 to laugh, and so immoderately that neither the lady 
 
 nor gentleman considered me worth speaking to for 
 
 the rest of the evening. When your cousins returned, 
 
 it gave me great comfort to hear that the Captain 
 
 was such a respectable man, and your cousin Alick 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 23 
 
 quite won my heart by the judicious things he said 
 to satisfy me that, on the whole, you would have had 
 more annoyances by land, in changing carriages, &c., 
 than even by sea. I don't know whether it really 
 would have been so, but I felt glad for anyone to say 
 so, and to try to make me believe it. He is a very 
 nice youth indeed, and seems so fond of you. Your 
 cousins were exceedingly kind to me, and the eldest, 
 with the young lady who had stayed aU. night, 
 escorted me to the railway next morning. I found a 
 letter from ' my papa ' waiting for me, saying that he 
 was to be in Liverpool yesterday, and giving his 
 address, so I suppose I am restored to favour again. 
 I felt very vexed that I should have just missed 
 seeing him ; however, I suppose he will come over. 
 Take care of yourself, dear love. Write to me when 
 you are settled, and tell me how aU goes with you, 
 and whether you are materially worse for being in 
 the open air aU night, and whether it rained, &c. — 
 tell me everything about you. This is not intended 
 for a letter, but I could not rest without writing to 
 ask you how you did, though I cannot have the 
 answer for a long time. 
 
 I have no time to say more just now, except that 
 I am ever and always yours, 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 P.S. — ^You will offer my respects to your husband> 
 
24 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 and tell him that I tried to remember one of the 
 young lady's speeches, thinking it would be a good 
 epigraph for his article on ' George Sandism,' only I 
 despair of doing it justice — the manner in which it 
 was debite — ' I think decidedly that all novels — 
 modern ones especially — ought to be burnt.' ' What ! ' 
 said I, ' aU of them ? ' ' Yes, let them all go together. 
 People would do far better to study history, and if 
 they were properly trained to it they would find it 
 quite as amusing. I could not read a novel for half 
 an hour ! ' It reads flat, but as she said it, it was 
 impayable. Good-bye, dear one ! 
 
 LETTER 6. 
 
 (Postmark, July 6, 1841.) 
 
 Dearest Jane, — ^Your note, which by some extra- 
 ordinary chance has come to hand to-day, has almost 
 driven me crazy with delight at the idea of seeing 
 you so soon ; but why are you obliged to go straight 
 to Liverpool? Why can you not come and spend 
 a few days here ? 
 
 I have plenty of accommodation for you, for 
 
 , the baggage and all. I will go on with you 
 
 to Liverpool, if you like, afterwards ; but come to 
 me first. It will make scarcely any difierence in the 
 
 expense ; or, if you wiU not bring and the 
 
 baggage, bring yourself and send her on to announce 
 your arrival. 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 25 
 
 Come ; I can discern no reason why you should 
 not. You do not like anyone in your room, I 
 know, so you shall have one all to yourself, I am 
 just wild to see you. There is so much for you to 
 teU. me. Don't plague yourself to write a letter. 
 Just write ' Yes ' on a piece of paper, and I shall know 
 that I may expect you — that all is well with you. 
 I can guess : your happiness will be no dream ; you 
 have earned it by doing and suffering like no other 
 woman, and I have great faith in the doctrine of 
 recompense or retribution. I never knew it fail, and 
 I have seen scores of instances. You have not yet 
 gathered the harvest of your self-sacrifices, but it 
 wiU come, and be worth the long patience you have 
 had for it. Mine is not a vain theory. It is as true 
 as cause and effect can make it. We cannot avoid 
 or avert the consequences of our actions, whether 
 " they be good or bad. But I am too happy to 
 philosophise. I shall see you in a few days. Till 
 I do see you, I cannot believe the fact. In a paren- 
 thesis — your husband's taking himself off round 
 by Newcastle wiU sadly damage the plans of our 
 Eoyal Institution directors. Now that they are clear 
 of the election they were purposing to invite him to 
 visit us in March, and to give us a lecture, and they 
 would have made aU sorts of fuss with him. I had 
 
 told Mrs. , who is the mother of one of the 
 
 directors, and she had told them that you would 
 
26 SELECTIONS OF LETTEES FROM 
 
 be at Liverpool on your way to Scotland, and they 
 intended to try to catch him en route. But they must 
 be disappointed this time ; but, so that you come, 
 I care for nothing and no one else. It is only 
 yourself I want to see. 
 
 Ever, dear love, your most affectionate 
 
 Gekaldine. 
 
 (In tremendous haste.) 
 
 LETTER 7. 
 
 Tuesday (Postmark, August 4, 1841). 
 
 My darling Jane, — ^I thank God that you are safe 
 on dry ground once more, and if ever you go on 
 board a steamer again you shall have a strait- 
 waistcoat and a commission of lunacy shall be issued 
 against you ! Your long letter left me rather uneasy 
 about you, and I was very glad of your cousin's little 
 note ; pray thank her for it ! How very kind of you 
 to get her to write it ! I am as busy as any old fairy 
 godmother ; whether I am doing good or harm 
 heaven and the event only know, or whether I shaU 
 prove a most magnanimous and devoted friend or a 
 great rascal I am sure I can't predict. But have you 
 never noticed that when one has been trying to do 
 something really good one is much nearer com- 
 mitting some special sin than when one keeps on in 
 the selfish, matter-of-fact prudence of minding one's 
 
mSS JEA^'SBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 27 
 
 own business, and that alone ? I would give a great 
 deal to see you just now. 
 
 My own affairs have now, I think, come to a 
 crisis. I was first driven half-mad, what between 
 real emotion and rage and indignation, and now I 
 have, I think, subsided into a calm which, it is to be 
 hoped, will be final on this point at least. Last 
 Monday I was invited to a christening, and requested 
 to stand proxy for a relative who lives at a distance ; 
 my friend was one of the sponsors, and by some 
 chance we were left tete-a-tete for more than an 
 hour. Well, my dear, nothing heroic passed ; when 
 he entered the drawing-room of the house where the 
 christening was, I was lying on the sofa in that state 
 of weariness when one feels as if one were sinking 
 into it. (I had been walking a great deal.) In a 
 few minutes the only other person in the room left 
 to dress. 
 
 I did not rise — I could not, and because it was 
 easier to he still. At first he tried to make a sort of 
 general common-place conversation about the pretty 
 houses that are building in the neighbourhood, and 
 some compliments on my improved appearance, 
 made exactly in the sort of half-gallant manner in 
 which the most ordinary acquaintance could be 
 addressed — one in the habit of being seen every day 
 — for there was no strangership in the tone. I could 
 have stood anything but civility, and I am afraid I 
 
28 SELECTIONvS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 uttered an ejaculation mucli stronger than became 
 the hps of a young lady. 
 
 I was much more astonished at myself than he 
 seemed to be, for he continued for a minute in the 
 most composed and gentle strain, and then, professing 
 to think that I seemed fatigued, took up a book. I 
 kept my eyes shut, and lay as still as if I had been 
 dead, instead of feeling every vein beating within me 
 like a sledge-hammer ; after a while other people 
 came into the room, and he said, ' You have been 
 asleep, I think ! ! ! ' I said, ' you know that I have 
 not.' I was sorry I said anything, afterwards. As if 
 Fate had determined to mock us with opportunities 
 which would have made a pair of lovers happy for a 
 month, it was fixed that we were to walk home in 
 the evening, and after we had all started some change 
 in the procession made it necessary for him to offer 
 me his arm. There was no possibility of avoiding it, 
 and we walked more than a mile together. He still 
 seemed as unconscious as ever, but this time he 
 began to tell me of some of his affairs, and especially 
 of the prosperity of a scheme he has been long 
 engaged in, and from his anxiety about which I know 
 dates the beginning of his indifference to myself. 
 He calmly went on to teU me of all the hindrances 
 and disappointments and difficulties of all sorts he 
 had had to encounter, that he wondered he had been 
 able to persevere, but that now he thought things 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 29 
 
 would go on well. No more notice, interest, or 
 reference shown or made towards myself than if I 
 had not existed ! I never felt till then how utterly 
 useless and valueless I was to him, and how unin- 
 telligible to him is all I have suffered for the last 
 three years ; and yet he is a man, walking about 
 and looking like other men, and seems on excellent 
 terms with himself besides ! 
 
 I was too oppressed and too helpless to cry, 
 and besides, now I know that what my lot has been 
 is, in the main, that of every woman who does 
 as I have done — for those who try to make their 
 lot contrary to custom, are always broken in the 
 attempt. 
 
 I might have been spared many aggravating- 
 circumstances, but the end must soon come. I have 
 been made more melancholy by a speech last Satur- 
 day my papa made at random, which seemed to shew 
 the end that must needs come to all these things. I 
 cannot teU you how good and kind he was — he is a 
 man worth calling a man, he is strong enough to be 
 trusted — and yet, if one knew the secrets of his life, 
 how much misery he may have caused ! It seems as 
 if when one loved another thoroughly, it only gives 
 them the power of making us suffer. I have just 
 received two letters which have quite bewildered me, 
 
 one from poor and the other from Betsy. I 
 
 fear much that wiU not live long, and I could 
 
30 SELECTIONS OF LETTEES FROM 
 
 find in my heart to wish her dead ; she wants that 
 element of resistance which is indispensable if people 
 are to get through the world — she is a weed, drifted 
 by the current — and yet how gloriously well she has 
 been treated. 
 
 has been spending a couple of days with 
 
 her. He called on me as he passed through, but 
 I was not at home. I wish I could send you her 
 real letter about what passed; however, the one 
 
 she has written for is quite to the life. I 
 
 like it much ; what do you think of it ? Some of the 
 doctrine I should have wished insisted on more; 
 however, it is all as true as a copy from the life can 
 be I She has written a great deal more of the tale, 
 and I think she improves. I am not allowed to do 
 anything just now, my eyes are so very weak. ' 
 
 This letter is not hah" what I intended it to be 
 when I sat down. I have said little or nothing that 
 I wanted to say. How are you ? Do write me a 
 good account of yourself. I think of you as Cathohcs 
 think of their saints, to keep them out of evil ; as 
 regards me, the odds are in the devil's favour, for I 
 am obliged to be idle, and, though a sober matron 
 told me this morning that it was very beneficial to 
 retire within ourselves and meditate, c'est selon, and 
 
 it does not agree with me just now ! ! Does 
 
 take care of you? Thank Heaven you are within 
 reach of your mother ! I have a most superstitious 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 31 
 
 faith in a mother, and I feel glad every day to think 
 that you are not far from yours. 
 
 Do you know, my love, that I have actually been 
 resolving to try to be conformable and more proper- 
 behaved in my manners and conversation, in order to 
 be more of a credit to you ! If I am to be your 
 friend I must, and ought to, be a more responsible 
 and less whimsical person than I am ! ! 
 
 I would wish to be worth something for you. 
 Thank Carlyle for the French newspaper, and give 
 my best respects to him. I am anxiously looking 
 for his ' George Sand ' article, in the hope of a 
 word in season. I will write to you again — I am 
 too harassed just now, and I have been besides 
 much annoyed by something since I began this 
 letter. . . . 
 
 LETTER 8. 
 Seaforth House (Date probably August, 1841). 
 
 Dearest Jane, — Your most welcome letter was 
 forwarded me here when I came last week. 
 
 I made up my mind to start suddenly at the last, 
 having made the brilliant discovery that I might as 
 weU. transact my idleness in company as in solitude. 
 And there was another reason too. I feared being 
 alone any longer : it is no fancy one can be stronger 
 and braver when with others. Do you remember 
 
32 SELECTIONS OP LETTERS FROM 
 
 the Story of Blue Beard's key — how, when the stain 
 was scoured out on one side it reappeared on the 
 other? Well, it is true of many things besides. 
 This is a most beautiful place close by the sea, and 
 I am with the friend you have so often heard me 
 name, and I have the respectable comfort of feeling 
 sans gene in every respect. We are something like 
 that piece of science which says that ' two substances 
 made perfectly smooth by grinding together wiU 
 adhere without any cement.' She was the first inti- 
 mate friend I ever made, and we have been gradually 
 grinding together for the last seven years. She 
 takes as much interest in all that interests me as if 
 it were herself, and vice versd. She is a splendid 
 creature in every way, except that she cannot keep 
 counsel. 
 
 Of course, I never trust her except with what 
 concerns myself ; and I run the risk, for she is so 
 true and generous that her sympathy quite out- 
 balances the inconvenience. She comes nearer to 
 my notion of a woman of genius than any other 
 I have yet seen. She has a fine creative faculty, 
 which is my notion of genius, and she is strong, 
 can live without either the afiection or sympathy of 
 others — ^live on her own resources in a way I cannot 
 understand; but when she does care for anyone it 
 is an afiection that is as strong and enduring as a 
 rock. 
 
MISS JEWSBUKY TO JANE ^\ELSH CAELYLE 33 
 
 She is wild after your husband's books, and I 
 have been saving up my eyes to read the lectures. 
 Her sister, a inost fine character also, is here too, 
 so we are quite a party, and you would laugh to see 
 us getting half crazy about the book. I have con- 
 trived to get the ' Sept Cordes ' at last, but all my 
 eyesight has so far been spent on the lectures. They 
 are all gone to Liverpool this morning, but I begged 
 to be left behind. I cannot tell you how glad I am to 
 hear that you keep well. Don't plague yourself about 
 anything. Your letter has made me quite happy, 
 for I was beginning to feel the want of hearing from 
 you. Nevertheless, I like better to think of you as 
 well and keeping quiet, than that you should exert 
 yourself to indite letters and tell me what you are 
 about, and so interrupt the process. 
 
 My eyes you ask after. Helas! they are weak, 
 very weak still, and I am become a connoisseur in 
 the different shades of green spectacles. I can do 
 nothing without them, and have no less than three 
 
 pairs at this minute. Give my kind regards to , 
 
 and tell her that the garment is actually in my 
 drawer at home, that its appearance here has caused 
 me as much speculation as its disappearance did her ; 
 but I, being a philosopher, concluded that some 
 inquiry would in time be made after it, when the 
 owner discovered the loss. I send you some German 
 newspapers. I don't know whether you care about 
 
34 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 those things, but the people here tell me it is a very 
 fine article. I, having only had an account of it in 
 broken English, don't know much about the matter, 
 but the writer seems to have some notion of proper 
 reverence ; only, on the whole, I have a great deal 
 of the Catholic in me, and I don't approve of people 
 sitting in judgment on my popes, even to admire 
 them. They ought to ' hear and obey,' and ' anathe- 
 matise those who do not.' This paper is too thin, 
 so that I dare not write on each side of it, and I can't 
 see to read over what is written, and the governess 
 is going to the post and will take this. So good-bye, 
 my dear love. Take care of yourself. How is 
 Carlyle after his journey? Write when you have 
 nothing better to do and are up to it. Eemember 
 that I love you always. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 35 
 
 LETTER 9. 
 
 Addressed to Mrs. Carlyle, under cover to Mrs. "Welsh, Templand. 
 
 [Fragment.] 
 
 (Date, September.) 
 
 . . . Whether it will ever subside, I don't know. 
 I think not. He has wearied me out, and I feel almost 
 to despise him ; he has destroyed all interest in him- 
 self. So, my dear, your counsel is very easy to 
 practise just now; and yet, up to that day, a word, 
 a look, or even less, would have made me more his 
 than ever. 
 
 There is but a point between ' too late ' and 
 ' there is yet time ' — that once passed, it is for ever 
 after nothing but too late ! I have been in this place 
 — a beautiful sea-bathing place — about a fortnight. I 
 am staying with a very old friend, who has been 
 ordered here for her health ; but I hope now that the 
 danger is in great measure over. You have heard me 
 speak of her as being such a sweet specimen of an 
 Enghsh lady, and also as being so desperate about a 
 disagreeable un-English husband, who did not under- 
 stand anything desperate ; however, he has found 
 great favour in my eyes of late for his real, thought- 
 ful kindness, and the thorough healthy affection he 
 has shown through all her illness. I quite repent 
 sundry disagreeable speeches I have made about 
 
 D 2 
 
36 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 him, so this is a sort of amende to satisfy my con- 
 science ! 
 
 , I am glad to say, was getting better in 
 
 every way the last letter I had from her. It is a 
 great relief to me, for I was getting really uneasy. 
 Do write, dear love, soon. I am more anxious than 
 you can tell to know all prospers with you. I am 
 glad you are at Templand. May I send love to your 
 mother ? I cannot help loving all that belongs to 
 you. Eespects to your husband. In tremendous 
 haste, 
 
 Your most affectionate 
 
 G. 
 Direct to me, under cover, to 
 
 Mrs. John Haegreaves, 
 
 Lytham, near Preston, 
 
 Lancashire. 
 
 LETTER 10. 
 Wednesday morning (Postmark, October 29, 1841). 
 
 Dearest Jane, — Your letter arrived yesterday. I 
 don't know that I am glad of it, for it has created a 
 painful yearning to see you and talk to you. 
 
 I have such a thousand things I want to say to 
 you, it has made me very melancholy. 
 
 Do not, my love, speak of yourself in such 
 tones. You are not a judge of yourself, or your 
 own case. You have neither failed nor fallen 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLVLE 37 
 
 sliort in an}'thing you have proposed to yourself. 
 You are only worn by the daily struggle of life. It 
 is the weight of hfe that at times presses on us too 
 grievously to be borne, and then one asks oneself, 
 Why must we go on enduring ? to what purpose is 
 all this waste ? and one feels tempted to throw up 
 the game altogether. Even I (who have had com- 
 paratively little to endure) have known what it is to 
 feel all the motives, which had once seemed as im- 
 perative as necessity, suddenly begin to look like 
 mere fancies, which I had imposed on myself; and 
 when I have looked round there has seemed no real 
 cause why I should go on doing and enduring, when 
 my own suffering seemed the only reality left. At 
 such times one feels almost mad, for there is none to 
 appeal to, and none to answer when one calls. If 
 one begins to stand still in one's course to question, it 
 is like trying to stop in a crowd when all are hurry- 
 ing the same way — we are only thrown off our 
 balance, and trampled on and bruised. We must 
 allow ourselves to be carried along ; the impulse of 
 one day carries us through the next. So long as we 
 live we must go on struggling, according to the 
 strength that is in us, against the forces that would 
 overwhelm us. It is no voluntary thing : it is the 
 instinct of Hfe. Everything in the world has a 
 tendency to run into dissolution, and life is a fight- 
 ing against it. So long as we are alive must we go 
 
38 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 on without resting : the only comfort I know is that, 
 eventually, we must die. There are times when we 
 are more than usually oppressed and wearied, and 
 then there is no word that can be spoken to refresh 
 us : it passes partially away of itself. JSTothing re- 
 mains in the same form long together ; but if we are 
 to begin to doubt the course we have pursued — the 
 reasons which induced us to take it — there is nothing 
 but madness for it. What we call madness, that is ; 
 for whether it is the most mad to do or to abstain 
 from doing I know not, nor can teU ; but go on we 
 must while we live. You, my love, have been true 
 to your own self in all you have done, and that, as 
 a mere matter of cause and effect, must bring good. 
 I feel more and more how little it is that the most 
 devoted love can do towards giving comfort or doing 
 any real good. Suffering is suffering, and affection 
 is but ' a vainly precious thing.' 
 
 I love you, my darling, more than I can express, 
 more than I am conscious of myself, and yet I can do 
 nothing for you, not even help you to sew up one of 
 your interminable seams ! 
 
 A good evangelical once said to me that the great 
 comfort of going to Heaven would be the unrufHed 
 self-complacency in which we might then indulge! 
 and it seems, in truth, a great element of comfort. So 
 I counsel you, my dearest, to cultivate a complacent 
 view of yourself, and do not run down your own 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 39 
 
 character by accusing it of vanity and all sorts of 
 hard things ! I feel to love you more and more 
 every day, and you will laugh, but I feel towards you 
 much more like a lover than a female friend ! 
 What would I give to see you for an hour ! for in 
 writing it is vain to attempt giving you anything 
 like a true account of myself. As to my confounded 
 eyes, they are not well, but advancing by slow 
 degrees. I myself have subsided into a sort of 
 chronic laziness, and achieve nothing beyond a stray 
 row of my Turkish stitch ; in fact, I cannot yet see 
 to do much, and I have begun to find out the superior 
 pleasure of doing nothing ! Even writing a common 
 note requires a greater effort than I feel inclined to 
 make ! ! I am grown dreadfully stupid, and alto- 
 gether am in a sort of ' dead thaw,' which I try to 
 represent to my conscience as a step achieved to- 
 wards repose and equanimity ! ! 
 
 Mr. . has been painting here and in Liver- 
 pool for the last three months. I have seen a great 
 deal of him. He is returning to London next week. 
 I have told him to caU on you. He can tell you 
 more about me than anybody else ; will you let me 
 commend him to you ? Will you allow him to call on 
 you from time to time ? Till I see you I can tell you 
 nothing ; all my drama seems winding up. Though 
 the denouement has been neither matrimony nor 
 death, everything has settled itself in the best 
 
40 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 possible way as regards everybody with whom I 
 have been connected. 
 
 I have not done being astonished at the comfort 
 and order which have resulted from what at one time 
 seemed a very chaos. 
 
 I told you in my last that it was well with me, and 
 I can say so still. I think my laziness arises in part 
 from the perfect state of contentment in which I am. 
 An odd circumstance I must tell you — my ci-devant 
 friend has taken it into his head to fall in love afresh ! 
 There was no previous notice ; he called suddenly 
 (he had not been to see me since our breach), and as 
 quietly as if we had parted the day before wished to 
 put things on their old footing, to take matters up 
 from where we left off. At first he offered no expla- 
 nation, or attempt at explanation, himself, but seemed 
 quite to think that my affection had been kept at 
 boiling point for his benefit ; but I suppose I am a 
 woman, for all the tears and sighs I had bestowed on 
 him seemed to have become so many petrifactions ! ! 
 
 My heart was hardened ; I told him that no one 
 but himself could have estranged me, but that now it 
 was too late. I could feel neither pain nor pleasure 
 on his account ; his behaviour all through was of a 
 piece with the last two years and a half. He shewed 
 a little emotion, but very httle, and was only earnest 
 in entreating that I woiild leave off making such 
 bitter speeches to him, which I promised to do, and 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH OARLYLE 41 
 
 he also asked leave to come and see me occasionally, 
 whicli I also agreed to. . . . He still calls, but 
 seldom. Well, my dear, what do you say to this ? 
 I hope you don't think me very fickle. Will you 
 offer my best regards to Mr. Carlyle ? An ' Athen- 
 asum,' directed by him, has just been delivered to me ; 
 pray thank him for remembering me. I shall read 
 the article with great interest. A French lady of my 
 acquaintance has just lent me Mme. Lafaye's Memoires. 
 I cannot say that I have been taken with them, 
 amusing as they are. She was not half genuine 
 enough to commit crimes a la Medea, and that is the 
 only reason I fancy she may be innocent ; au reste, 
 there is such a Mme. de Genlis flavour through 
 it all, that I have no patience. I cannot write any 
 more just now ; this is hardly worth your reading. 
 En attendant mieux, it will tell you that I love you, 
 that I think of you, that I try to imitate you. Write 
 to me, dear love, when you can find time from sitting 
 on a cushion and sewing up a seam ! I know the full 
 amount of virtue it requires, yet half-a-day's sewing 
 would give me such a fit of depression and ennui as 
 a week's idleness would not repair. In my eyes you 
 weU deserve a niche in the Calendar. I had rather 
 wear a hair shirt than make a linen one, or alter a 
 ' winter shawl.' By the way, I contemplate achiev- 
 ing a tippet for you to wear under that said shawl, 
 but when it will be finished I am not rash enough to 
 
42 SELECTIONS OF LETTBES FROM 
 
 guess. Mrs. has been having a grand dinner- 
 party; I was invited over to it, but I could not 
 
 well leave home for one or two reasons. is 
 
 come to stay with her own family in Manchester, 
 
 which rejoices me much. Mrs. inquires after 
 
 you in every letter ; she has been in a sort of domestic 
 disquietude — her cook, who has lived with her since 
 her marriage, has thought fit suddenly to get married 
 herself. 
 
 Good bye, dear love. 
 
 Ever your own 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
MISS JEW8BURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 4; 
 
 1842. 
 
 LETTER 11. 
 
 January 1, 1841, or 1842.i 
 
 Dearest Jane, — A happy new year to you, and no 
 more of them than you desire ! I don't Hke having 
 time measured by such set horizons so that we can- 
 not help knowing how it goes, or seeing how very 
 httle worth anything fills the space between. This 
 last year has been the best I ever have had ; it has 
 brought me much good, on the strength of which I 
 feel able to go on many days. I have found you, 
 and now I wonder how I ever lived without you, and 
 it is strange, but you are of infinitely more worth 
 and importance in my eyes than ' my new friend.' 
 
 You come nearer to me ; I don't feel towards you 
 as if you were a woman. What wiU to-day bring 
 you ? Comfort that you had not last year — and yet, 
 dear love, there seems to me a want of security in 
 your lot, as if the thing you loved never stood stiU 
 beside you. You seem to live in a sort of a passionate 
 kaleidoscope, never able either to know, or to con- 
 trol, the next change, but obliged to endure what- 
 
 '■ I am inclined to date this letter January 1, 1842, from close 
 reference and internal evidence alike. — A. E. I. 
 
44 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 ever comes. It would not suit me, whatever fun you 
 may make of my present way of going on. There is 
 a rehef in the entire absence of all strong emotion ' et 
 I'un vaut bien I'autre.' I would not exchange with 
 you. Nay ! if I could transmigrate into a duckpond, 
 I would sell my hopes of a reversionary paradise for 
 a very small consideration ! 
 
 I cannot feel up to anything very desperate — and 
 if ' my new friend ' took to tormenting me I should 
 actually dissolve under it ! I could not oppose even 
 the resistance of endurance. So you see, my darling, 
 matters are better arranged for me than you imagine, 
 on the whole. You say one thing which is true, to a 
 degree — but more witty than true, nevertheless. You 
 say ' the sentimental is always a got-up thing,' a 
 ' do at the bottom of it.' Now, selon moi, the senti- 
 ment is an instinct with us women. It is religion to 
 us. It is what chemists would call the 'menstruum' in 
 which all our qualities are worked and made mani- 
 fest, which holds them together, There is nothing 
 got-up in the real sentiment which lies within us, 
 but helas ! the real ' do ' begins when we have to try 
 to be satisfied with the very pitiful gods and shrines 
 at which, /m«fe de mieiu, we have to worship. It is 
 when we have to shut our eyes and pray that' they 
 may not be opened for us — that is the unreal, make- 
 beUeve part of the business! We know, at the 
 bottom of our hearts, the exalted qualities we fancy 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 45 
 
 we are yielding to are not inherent in our idols, and 
 we do like poor Don Quixote, who first expected that 
 his helmet would turn the blow of a sword — and, 
 trying the experiment honestly, he demolished it 
 altogether. After repairing the damage he tried it 
 again, but this time he took care not to hit it so 
 hard ! Well, my dear, but let me tell you this much 
 about myself — I really and truly care a great deal 
 more about ' my new friend' than you seem to fancy. 
 I could at one time have been yet more attached to 
 him if he would have let me, but somehow he has 
 always seemed to put himself between us. All you 
 say of him and his way of speaking of me is true 
 enough, but I explain it differently. He does not 
 love me thoroughly, he does not care for me, as he 
 
 did, as he does for , separated as they are, and 
 
 though of necessity all is at an end between them, 
 yet she is deified in his eyes ! 
 
 He loves her as if she were dead ; that was a 
 genuine passion, and I don't think it is in man to feel 
 the same twice ! I know that he is capable of loving 
 as I never believed a man could before. Our relation 
 is made up of other things as well as love. I have 
 begun, and I must go on ! I feel almost as much 
 bound to him as if I were his wife. At present I am 
 necessary to him. As long as I continue to be so, 
 nothing would tempt me to break with him. As a 
 friend, when I see you I can tell you many circum- 
 
46 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 stances which placed us in our present position with 
 each other, but which I cannot well write down. 
 Whether my affection for him will cool down into a 
 mere friendship, or will increase till it comes to a 
 specimen of ' la grande passion,' I do not know. It 
 must take its chance ! Magnanimity is not my voca- 
 tion, and I am beginning to feel dreadfully annoyed 
 at being so completely degraded to a second place 
 by the ' souvenir de Julie.' It cools me down ! I 
 cannot be desperately in love on such meagre fare : 
 but I should as soon think of leaving a husband if I 
 were married, as of contemplating the idea of find- 
 ing a more convenable friend. It wiU be he who 
 dissolves the friendship if it is ever done, not me, and 
 he behaved reaUy well when I went into such a rage 
 about that letter I told you of, and he is coming 
 again into this part of the world very soon, and I 
 never feel any of his faults when he is with me ! 
 
 I have been practical with a vengeance all this 
 week. I could face Ehadamanthus himself with bold- 
 ness. Listen ! When I got home from Leeds I found 
 my servant ill, and I had to find a substitute in an 
 instant ! Well, this unlucky substitute left me at a 
 minute's notice on Christmas Day, and there was I, 
 left with a servant ill in bed and eight people to pro- 
 vide a dinner for, nothing but myself to stand between 
 them and starvation ! Well, I made the plum-pud- 
 ding and stuffed the turkey, and got them to begin 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CAELYLB 47 
 
 to cook, and I borrowed my sister-in-law's servant for 
 an hour as soon as she came from church, and the 
 dinner was handsomely achieved, and an old ' gour- 
 mand ' who was here to dinner declared that the 
 sauces were all excellent, and my pudding was every 
 morsel eaten ! So there was un grand succes for you ! 
 But the next day was Sunday, and I could not go out 
 to look for another servant, and I could not borrow 
 one either, so I was obliged to light the fires and work 
 till Monday morning, at one o'clock, a beneficent 
 angel in the shape of my sister's old servant came to 
 see how I was getting on, so I was able to get out, 
 and find a help on my own account, and I have made 
 a vow never to work again when I can be lazy ! for 
 I never knew the comfort of laziness tiU now — and, 
 to make matters better, it was a bitter frost all the 
 time ! Well, my love, I have since then knitted you 
 the enclosed ruff as a specimen of my Turkish stitch ! 
 It is not very nice, but will do, however, at night, 
 when you go out in the cold ; and pray consider its 
 imperfections as so many autograph proofs that it is 
 reaUy and truly my own work ! I have a dreadful 
 headache, and I cannot see any more, except to tell 
 you that I love you, and should much like to see you 
 in your ' piquante ' costume. I have set up a lovely 
 embroidered merino, which people tell me looks well ; 
 I can only hope so. How is Mr. Carlyle ? Give him 
 
48 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 my best regards, and all sorts of good Christmas 
 
 wishes ! Your own 
 
 G . 
 
 P.S. — Mrs. ! I have heard of her books. 
 
 I have not seen any. From what I have been told I 
 am not much inclined to fall in love with her ; she 
 seems one of those didactic women, and she expresses 
 a great disapprobation of Unitarians ! as to ' hiding 
 under a bushel,' though any light worth lighting up 
 the world with will burn up or shine through the 
 bushel stupid enough to stand over it ; but if you are 
 disposed to be actively benevolent, God forbid /should 
 hinder you ! So you know ' Paracelsus ' ! I have been 
 more pleased with that book than any for a long 
 time, and have read it over and over again. There is 
 an inarticulate power in it — a something greater 
 than the man himself could comprehend struggling 
 
 to get itself said ! lent it to me, and I have 
 
 not found in my heart to return it yet. Once more, 
 good-bye. Write very soon ! 
 
 LETTER 12. 
 Monday (Date on Postmark, January 25, 1842). 
 
 My darling Jane, — A thousand thanks for your 
 kindness in writing so soon ! Your letter made me 
 happy, for I could not help almost fearing that you 
 would be out of all patience with me. 
 
 I had half written a long letter to you two days 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE WELSH OARLYLE 49 
 
 ago, but by some accident it got burned by mistake 
 with some other papers, and I am sorry for it, because 
 I said many things I am not in a humour to say this 
 morning. 
 
 I had a letter from my friend ; he will be here, 
 I expect, in the course of a week or ten days. There 
 was a something through it all which would have 
 cost me many tears had you not given me the 
 courage to look and see how matters really stand 
 with me, though he evidently intended to be most 
 affectionate and so forth. . . . The process of being 
 harried out of a charming delusion with beautiful 
 blue in it is painful, and no wonder we try to make 
 it hold round us as long as possible ; and, besides, as 
 far as certain peculiarly charming delusions are con- 
 cerned, there are many feelings which induce a 
 woman to cling to the one she has chosen long after 
 she begins to suspect his unsuitability. We always 
 want to persuade ourselves that one we love is the 
 very first we have felt for. We regret every word 
 and look of kindness which has been bestowed on 
 another. We would wish to be perfect and entire in 
 aU our thoughts for him we choose, and flatter our- 
 selves that he will be the only, one, and then when it 
 comes to be seen that the friendship must cease — 
 that we have fancied a reality when it was none — 
 no woman can help feeling degraded in her own 
 eyes, and less worthy of finding one who will love as 
 
50 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 she desires, for she has given her first feelings already ! 
 A man may make it a source of complacency to have 
 had the love of many women, but a woman must feel 
 painfully humbled at having to alter her choice once. 
 As to my actual position with my friend, that must 
 be guided by circumstances. So long as I can be of 
 any comfort or service to him, I wiU. I must abide 
 by the step I have taken ; he is now what he was 
 then, and I have no right to punish him for my own 
 want of penetration. And besides, I have great faith 
 in things settling themselves naturally. I am free 
 (thanks to you), and the rest must take its chance ! 
 
 I have had a small adventure since I wrote last 
 to you. Fate seems raining adventures on me just 
 now, and is giving me a parody on the wishes and 
 hopes of the very best four years of my life. 
 
 I told you of the sort of expla,nation come to 
 about a year ago. I have hardly seen him since, and 
 never once alone. He neglected to come many times 
 when he might have done, and I began to think all 
 that passed then was a mere piece of acting to make 
 himself interesting, but on Wednesday night last he 
 came up. I was alone (he had ascertained that I 
 should be), and at first we talked about natural 
 things, but gradually he led back the conversation to 
 that night, and spoke bitterly of the regret and shame 
 he felt at what he was and what he might have been, 
 and what he had thrown away, and then he dashed at 
 
MISS JEWSBUR\ TO JANE WELSH CARLVLE 51 
 
 once.m medias res, saying that he once cared for me, 
 and if he could only have believed he had had a 
 chance of success, he should never have loved anyone 
 else ; and then he rushed from the other side of the 
 room, and fell down, selon les regies, at my feet, begging 
 that I would try to care for him again, as I had once 
 done. And all this time I was as cold and calm as 
 marble ! I could not even feel agitated, or em- 
 barrassed, and yet he was the very first I ever cared 
 for, and though he never said, in so many words, 
 that he had any regard for me, there were a hundred 
 things which made me hope it ; but I was so really 
 engrossed by caring for him that I did not much 
 trouble myself about what he thought of me. I felt 
 content to wait, but when he married, there was so 
 much that was pitiful and bad, that it gave me a real 
 disgust. If he had married for real reasons, I could 
 have forgiven him, but . . . since that period he 
 has been out of the pale of all those who used to 
 be his best friends, and now he is bitterly feeling the 
 consequences of his own deeds. He might have been 
 such a glorious creature. Even now, knowing him 
 as I do, I cannot help having a degree of interest in 
 him I never suspected. If he is sincere, and really 
 desirous to come back to us, and be one of us, as 
 he used to be, I can be a friend for him, out of whom 
 he may get good. Surely such passionate sensibility 
 was never given for nothing ; and he must have 
 
52 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 some good left ; all his gifts can never have been 
 utterly wasted. I have felt more since he went than 
 I did at the time. I shall not choose ever to see much 
 of him. I don't think it is in him to care for a 
 woman except as she would wish, and no woman 
 ever stood a chance with him yet, and I have thought 
 since that there was mere presumptive goodness in 
 my offer to be his friend ; he is more likely to do me 
 harm than I to do him good. I am afraid of having 
 much to do with him. If it had come six years ago, 
 we might both have been better worth than we are. 
 Well, my dear, to talk of something else. . . . 
 
 I am hoping to go to Seaforth next Monday to 
 stay as long as I can, and I shall only be too glad to 
 call on your cousins ; would that you were in Liver- 
 pool, or any hope of getting you there ! You must 
 think of Seaforth as your natural home when you 
 visit that region. I have had a parcel of callers and 
 a bad headache since beginning this, so excuse all 
 imperfections and write very soon, please. By' the 
 way, I had Emerson's 'Essays' lent me on Satur- 
 day, and I have read nearly half through them. 
 
 I like the one on ' Spiritual Laws ' much, but I 
 don't take to the man — ^he is a dry, cold, sententious 
 Yankee ; he spiritualises profit and loss, and strikes 
 a very fair balance, and says many true and many 
 sensible things, but he owes himself to your husband, 
 I think, and has not a grain of his passionate elo- 
 quence, which makes one's heart burn within one. 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 53 
 
 I can profit by him now, but I might have read 
 him till doomsday before I knew your husband, and 
 been neither better nor worse. I don't take to the 
 man at all ; he is sober, honest, and so forth, because 
 he clearly sees he gets more by it. It is the most 
 profitable and safe investment he can make of his 
 faculties. 
 
 Your husband would be rather aghast if he 
 suspected what I do — ^viz., that the opening of his 
 eyes to my manifold perfections has happened to 
 
 , from the fact that your husband has honoured 
 
 me enough to take any notice of me ; he is a great 
 admirer of his, and I feel pretty certain that his 
 having taken any interest in me has been the means 
 of quickening my friends' perceptions. 
 
 Mrs. has determined to have a repetition of 
 
 our play to-morrow night, as it went so well before, 
 
 and Mrs. has lent me a dress so beautiful that 
 
 no lover or love could enter my heart when I had 
 the prospect of wearing it, and I have got a cap as 
 pretty as your. Greek one, and I intend to have a 
 brilliant evening to-morrow, and forget everything 
 else ; if ever I get my eyesight well I will try if I 
 cannot work you a dress like mine — it is an invention 
 of Mrs. 's own. Now I must go out, so good- 
 bye, dear love. Write very soon, please, and tell me 
 what you think of all I have told you 
 
 Ever your own 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
54 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 LETTER 13. 
 Thursday night (Postmark, February 19, 1842). 
 
 My dearest Jane, — I have begun one or two notes 
 to you and accomplished none, for, though I want to 
 write to you, I don't too well know what to say, or, 
 rather, how to say it. Your last came just as the 
 car came to the door to take me to the railway — 1 
 wish it had been to take me within reach of you. I 
 cannot tell you how your letter made me feel ; you 
 have not been out of my mind many minutes together 
 since I read it. I am very anxious about you, but 
 do not either plague yourself to write or to make any 
 detail or explanations. There are times certainly 
 when it is a comfort to talk, but more often it is a 
 nuisance, and you know that it needs no interesting 
 particulars to rouse my sympathy then (that is a 
 ' Minerva Press ' word I don't like, but I know no 
 other). Those headaches of yours are real nasty 
 things, and God knows what they may end in! I 
 wish you had not received my two last letters when 
 you did ; how selfish and egotistic those pitiful 
 details must have seemed, but yet I have no instinct 
 to know that you were ' all right.' I see how it will 
 be ; you and your kaleidoscope will be both shattered 
 together some of these days, and then there will come 
 passionate regrets and useless endeavours to make 
 you what you were before, and then the astonishing 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 55 
 
 discovery will come that the past cannot be undone, 
 though sought earnestly with tears. Do not write 
 till you quite feel inclined ; no fear that I shall set it 
 down to a fit of anything. You know I love you as 
 nobody else can, and everything you do is right in 
 my eyes. I went to town yesterday for the first time 
 since I came here. Among others I called on your 
 cousins, but none of them were at home. I shall 
 call again before I leave. Mrs. is as hand- 
 some and kind as ever ; she often talks and wishes 
 either fit or chance would send you here again. I 
 think it would make her perfectly happy. I have 
 had a visit from my friend since I wrote. I really 
 repent of all the ill-natured things I have said about 
 
 him. He behaved so really well. As to Mrs. 's 
 
 brother , he has turned out a very promising 
 
 scoundrel. I have thought out tlie mischief he was 
 nearly doing. I am not clear of him yet, but I hope 
 in a fair way of being so ; he did all he could to 
 make a break between his sister and me by saying 
 the most shameful things to each of us. He was 
 horrified lest I should tell her our last interview, 
 for fear of our comparing notes, but the first thing I 
 did was to tell her everything, for the more I reflected 
 on what had passed I felt he was not to be trusted. 
 And, my word ! the pitiful spectacle he made, when 
 we came to talk him over, was enough to put one out 
 of conceit with mankind now and evermore. I wrote 
 
56 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 to tell him what I had done in a most civil and, 
 indeed, kind letter, if he will but take it so ; I don't 
 want to vex him, because he has not the gift of telling 
 anything but lies, as I and his sister know to our 
 cost. So this is the state of my affairs at present. I am 
 
 taking German lessons again from Mrs. 's tutor. 
 
 I shall remain here I daresay for three weeks longer. 
 I wish you were here to have splendid air and perfect 
 quiet, and to join us in our walks on the top of the 
 house, and to lie on the sofa ' in the little dim room.' 
 This is a most stupid letter, but I had not the heart 
 
 to write about anything. Mrs. has gone to a 
 
 singing lecture, and I have stayed at home to finish 
 this. She told me to send her love. Once more — do 
 not plague yourself in any way about me. I would 
 give the world to see you, if only for an hour. Do 
 take care of yourself as well as you can. 
 
 Ever, dear love, your own 
 
 G. 
 
 P.S.— What do you try for your headaches ? Cold 
 water to the top of my head does me good always. 
 If they are very acute, hot turpentine. It ' does not 
 injure the most dehcate fabric,' as they say of mark- 
 ing-ink, and I have seen it perform wonderful cures. 
 Put it on the head, not the forehead. The next time 
 you write let me hear a better account of you. 
 
 I fear my visit to town is put off for good and all. 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE "WELSH CARLYLE 57 
 
 The lady I was to have visited has had several 
 domestic troubles ; how can people sell their souls 
 for the sake of furniture and respectability ? She 
 has made me register a vow against keeping up 
 appearances. 
 
 Mr. has just come in, and desires his kind 
 
 regards. 
 
 LETTER 14. 
 
 Written when Mrs. Carlyle was suffering from the death of her 
 mother.' 
 
 Sunday Afternoon (Dated May, 1842). 
 
 Dear Love, — I am become very anxious to hear 
 something about you ; it does not seem natural to 
 have you silent so long. Even your cousin has not 
 written to me, and I miss tidings of you more than I 
 can tell you. I feel as if I were separated from you. 
 I want to know what you are doing, how you are. 
 There are so many things I want to know about you, 
 and yet I don't want to plague you. I reproach 
 myself for even wishing you to write or exert your- 
 self, and yet I cannot help hoping every day at post- 
 time. I don't think you are ever absolutely out of 
 my mind. You are there as a sort of under-current ; 
 other things are like visitors to be attended to, and 
 
 ' Mrs. Welsh, Mrs. Carlyle's beautiful mother, had died on 
 February 26, 1842— too suddenly to allow of her daughter's being 
 with her at the last. The blow was a severe one, and Mrs. Carlyle 
 was stiU smarting under her sorrow when Miss Jewsbury wrote the 
 letter.— A. E. I. 
 
58 SELECTIONS OP LETTERS FROM 
 
 dismissed. If you were happy I don't think I should 
 care for you half so much. I am very anxious about 
 you, and I can do nothing to help you. I love you 
 more than anything else I have in the world, and 
 ■what must I do if you are to go on suiFering in this 
 way ? Take some pity on yourself, and don't spend 
 all your strength on misery ! 
 
 I wish I could see you, if but for an hour. Letters 
 are very good-for-nothing, and never arrive at the ' 
 right time. I love you, my darling ; it may do you no 
 good now, but it may be a comfort some time, it wiU 
 be always there for you. I thought I had a great 
 deal to tell you, but, somehow, I have not the heart 
 to say anything. All my own affairs are much as 
 usual, neither good nor bad ; but I had a visit 
 
 from on Sunday, and he was here again 
 
 yesterday. I can't make him out, nor feel to believe 
 what he says — which is all the better, perhaps. His 
 children are here with his mother, he is to bring them 
 to see me. He is coming to London shortly. He 
 must feel very anxious with such a large family, in 
 these bad times. I had a letter from ' my friend ' 
 about three weeks since, written in very low spirits. 
 I have been much worried, and am getting out of 
 all manner of patience, and yet I can't find in my 
 heart to say or do anything unkind just now, being 
 of ' Mr. Mantalini's ' opinion, that we ' should not 
 scratch or claw, but pet and comfort ' when our 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 59 
 
 friends are not happy. But I was a great fool to set 
 up for being quixotic, and taking the role I did. 
 One's conscience reproaclies one much more stingingly 
 for one's folhes than one's crimes. I am sadly out 
 
 of countenance when I think of myself. Mrs. 
 
 was over here last week for the Association. She 
 inquired very affectionately after you. I am trying 
 to indite wisdom, if I cannot act it. I am hard at 
 work on the said tale I told you of, and when you are 
 well enough I should like you to see what is done, 
 for you have been the imaginary ' chair ' I have 
 addressed myself to. The first sheet of this letter 
 was written on Sunday afternoon, and I could not 
 finish it yesterday. This is Tuesday night. Do, dear 
 love, try to let me know how you go on ! I have no 
 spirit to write to you ; it seems such cold-blooded 
 egotism to tell you my own matters, and to think of 
 you makes me sad any minute. What can I tell you 
 that will do you any good ? If tears would comfort 
 you, you would have felt it long since, for I cannot 
 think of you without them ! You and your lot are a 
 riddle to me. If men reap the things they sow, why 
 are you not happier than you are ? Do, dear love, 
 let me hear something about you ! I will not be long 
 before I write to you again, though it is painful to 
 call and not be heard. Dear, dear love, good-bye ! 
 
 Your very own 
 
 G. 
 
60 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 P.S. — Will you give my best regards to Mr. 
 Carlyle ? I hope he keeps well. How does his book 
 prosper ? My little niece, the other day, offered to 
 make me a book-mark, and asked me what name she 
 should put on it. I told her Jane. So there it is for 
 you, my darling ! 
 
 I like bringing your name in, and yet I cannot 
 talk about you to anyone, except just a short word 
 now and then, and that never seems what I meant to 
 have said. Can you understand that? (Tuesday.) 
 
 LETTER 15.> 
 
 Monday Afternoon, May 20, 1842. 
 
 My darling Love, — ^Your letter came this morning, 
 and has made me more sad than I care to express. 
 
 I am not surprised at anything you say. I should 
 only wonder if it were not so. I know full well that 
 giddy, uprooted feeling that leaves one wondering 
 why one is left on the earth, or why one was ever 
 sent here. Your loss is now what it was five months 
 ago, when it first occurred : the strange thing is, not 
 that we are so long in getting reconciled to our 
 bereavement, but that we [are] able to find life 
 tolerable after the ' desire of our eyes has been taken 
 away by a stroke.' I have often wondered how this 
 could be; but it is so. I suppose we have, with 
 
 ' Again, the subject of the letter is Mrs. Carlyle's grief at her 
 naother's death. — A. B. I. 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH OARLYLE 61 
 
 trees, the property of growing over the deepest in- 
 cisions made in the bark. The only thing that gives 
 me any hope for you is, that I have seen women 
 get cheerful — I mean regain an average degree of 
 pleasure in life — after the death of a child, even 
 when that child has been an only one. There is 
 a woman in this neighbourhood who lost her whole 
 family, consisting of three daughters, one after 
 another, under most distressing circumstances, and 
 yet she has recovered ; and she was a widow, which 
 made her situation still more desolate. If I had not 
 seen such strange power in life to overcome affliction 
 in every imaginable shape I should indeed tremble 
 about you. I cannot think that it will be thus with 
 you always, and yet at times it seems ' hoping against 
 hope,' for why should you take comfort hereafter 
 more than now ? A friend of mine once said to me, 
 after having had to endure intense bodily agony, ' it 
 seemed suddenly to open my eyes to all the misery 
 there was in the world, and of which mine was only 
 a fragment.' Those words have grown on me. 
 Everything suffers — man and beast, and creep- 
 ing thing, and the suffering of each is to the full 
 amount of what they can endure. I don't think 
 there is one living who has not felt at some period 
 that their sufferings were intolerable, too grievous 
 to be borne. You recoUect that expression of terrible 
 agony in the Eevelation, ' they gnawed their tongues 
 
62 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 for pain.' But it is of no use talking about the 
 sufferings allotted to others, for our own portion has 
 an individuality and fits close to us, eating into our 
 souls like fire. We could find some ease under the 
 worst troubles of others if they feU to us. It is only our 
 own that press down upon us on all sides, and from 
 which there is no escape. Still, I don't think, either 
 from what I know myself or have seen in others, that 
 this season lasts very long ; either the sufferers die 
 under it, and so escape themselves, or else they live 
 through it and find calmer days. For there is a better 
 time, if we can only hold out till it comes. But the 
 worst of it is, that in such afflictions as yours is, the 
 idea of ever becoming comforted is altogether loath- 
 some, and so, my darling, I can do you no good. I 
 can but see you struggling in the dark waters, ready 
 to be swallowed up in them, and can help you in 
 no wise. You must ' exploiter ' your sorrow in its 
 length and breadth. It's no use trying to stay you by 
 words without meaning. I never heard of anybody 
 but ' Job ' who could look within himself and find 
 a fair catalogue of virtues when he was in affliction, 
 and that, I fancy, is why nobody feels much sym- 
 pathy with him. Are you, do you think, the only 
 one who feels utterly worthless ? It is in such 
 times as these that one seems made aware of all 
 the unutterable vanity of one's own heart. It is 
 always there, but we do not feel our real worthless- 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 63 
 
 ness till we are brought face to face with such great 
 reahties. 
 
 I have often thought that the grand thing in 
 religion is that we stand naked and open in the ej^es 
 of Him with whom we have to do. Neither appear- 
 ances nor make-believes are of any avail. There is 
 no deceit before Him. I can give you no idea of the 
 relief that thought is to me. What shall be here- 
 after we neither know nor can know, but we shall 
 be in the hands of Him who placed us here, then 
 as now. I have wished so often since you have been 
 in affliction that I could speak to you a single word 
 of all that Christian people comfort themselves with, 
 and find strong consolation in it, too ; but I neither 
 know anything nor believe in anything. But one 
 thing I am quite sure of having proved, that so long 
 as we are in this place " whatsoever our hand finds 
 to do we must do it with all our might.' We must 
 work whilst it is called to-day, for the night cometh. 
 To what our work tends, God knows, and why we 
 must work I cannot give you any reason that would 
 sound logical ; but so long as we do what lies before 
 us to do, so long it is well with us. If we grow 
 weary and faint by the way, the night cometh, and 
 it wiU not be long in coming. We must just have 
 faith enough to strive honestly till then, even though 
 the reason and the motive cannot be spoken in 
 intelligible words. You are broken just now, but 
 
64 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 if your task be not ended fresli strength will come 
 to you ; but, remember, that if you are to be taken 
 away from us, it will make the way of those who 
 remain behind very dismal indeed. Therefore, do 
 not regret staying with us a little longer. 
 
 Do you know that I have found myself more 
 soothed when in trouble by going to the Mass in 
 a Catholic chapel, than by anything else in the world. 
 The doctrines ' may all go hang,' as you once said, 
 but you will find every thought and feeling which 
 you cannot utter even to yourself drawn out, as [it] 
 were, and uttered in aspirations to the same unknown 
 and unseen Power that afflicts us. I can only speak 
 to the effect their Litany has on myself. Only think 
 of the many millions of sufferers that same Catholic 
 Church has given comfort to. There is a Catholic 
 chapel very near you, and, when you feel in the 
 humour, go in by yourself ! I cannot endure having 
 any companion with me at such times. Their talk, 
 whether wise or foolish, spoils all ; and, don't think 
 me cracked for proposing such a thing to you : that 
 ' Agnus Dei ' — ' miserere nobis ' — is the only prayer 
 that ever sounds like the utterance of necessity. 
 Now, dear love, farewell ! So long as you are thus 
 wretched I suffer too, not metaphorically, but in sad 
 earnest. Give my dear love to your husband. 
 
 Ever your own 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 Tuesday Morning. 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE ^^'ELSH CAELYLE 65 
 
 LETTEE 16. 
 Seaforth : Friday (Postmark, May 30, 1842). 
 
 My Darling, — Your note has made me very sad. 
 There is nothing to be said to it, as you cannot be 
 comforted, but time — time, that is the only hope and 
 refuge for all of us ! I know full well what it is to 
 cease to see the necessity of struggling ; it would 
 puzzle the wisest of us to point it out at the best of 
 times, but the inscrutableness does not always press 
 upon us so heavily — it does not come till we see into 
 some deep trouble, and then are like to go mad. To 
 all of us life is a riddle put more or less unintelligibly, 
 and death is the only end we can see — for we may 
 die, and that is a strong consolation, of which nothing 
 can defraud us. We cannot weU be more dark or 
 miserable than we are ; we shall aU die — no excep- 
 tion, no fear of exemption. Every morning I say this 
 to myself. When I am in sorrow, it is the only 
 comfort that has strength in it. Why, indeed, must 
 we go on struggling, rising up early and late and 
 taking rest ? ' Behold, He giveth His beloved sleep ! ' 
 And yet it is not well that you feel this so constantly 
 that it swallows up all other feelings. Life is not 
 strong in you when you are thus — it will not be so 
 always. There is a strength in life to make us 
 endure it. I am astonished sometimes to find that I am 
 glad to be alive — that the instinct of feehng that ' it is 
 
 F 
 
66 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 a pleasant thing to behold the sun, and that light is 
 good.' And this is a feeling that will spring up in 
 your heart after a while, crushed and dead as it seems 
 now. When my father died I cannot tell you the 
 horrible sense of desolateness and insecurity that 
 struck through me. I had friends to love me, who 
 would do anything for me, but I had no right to 
 count on their endurance. I had lost the one 
 on whose love I could depend as on the earth itself 
 — the one whose relationship seemed to revoke the 
 law of change pronounced against aU other things in 
 this world. Our parents and relations are given us by 
 the same unknown Power which sent us into this 
 world, given to us like our own bodies, without our 
 knowing how or where, and when they are taken 
 from us our ties to this life are loosened, and all 
 seems tottering — nothing can supply their place. But 
 yet even this gets blunted after a while ; we can and 
 do live, when we are put to it, on wonderfully little, 
 without all we at &st fancied indispensable, and 
 then for ever after the love of such friends as are left 
 or raised up to us becomes strangely precious in a 
 way no one else can understand. We strain 
 them to us with aU our force, to try to supply the 
 place of that natural necessity which united us with- 
 out effort on our part to those who are. gone ! We 
 have always a fear that the friends we have made 
 for ourselves will leave us ; we were only afraid for 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH OARLYLE 67 
 
 the others that they would be taken away. Dear love, 
 this present strange, stunned state you will recover 
 from. No fear of your sinking down into apathy — 
 there is too much for you to do. You are necessary 
 to the welfare of too many ; your life will take shape 
 again, though now it seems nothing but confused 
 hopelessness. The thought of you brings tears to my 
 eyes any moment it comes. Do not be so very 
 wretched. I can give you no comfort — there is none — 
 but from time to time write when you can, but don't 
 plague yourself. I also will write without waiting. 
 I am most thankful the dear little cousin still stays 
 with you. Give my love to her. I am glad that your 
 husband is well, and that he has his book to busy 
 himself in. It is like a child to him. I am here since 
 
 a week. I go home in a few days. Mrs. 
 
 sends her love to you. I wish you could be within 
 reach of her ; she would be a comfort to you, as she 
 has been to me. Good bye, dear love ; take care of 
 yourself for the sake of others besides yourself! 
 
 LETTER 17. 
 
 Sunday (Postmark, Jime 14, 1842). 
 
 My dear Love, — I am beginning to want to hear 
 something about you again. Has your cousin cut my 
 acquaintance, as she never writes now ? Don't plague 
 yourself to write, for I don't think it is a very good 
 
 !■ 2 
 
68 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 employment for you. If I could be in the place of 
 Providence to you for a few months, I know what 
 you should do ; but you are not likety to realise my 
 castle-building in your behalf, nor are you more 
 likely to guess my schemes for rendering you all 
 that you were meant to be — -all that you even now 
 might be. But ' God is great,' as the poor Mussulman 
 says, and it may be that He intends you better and 
 more than either you or I dare hope ; at least, I will 
 not beheve that you will be left altogether comfort- 
 less ! Is it not Job who says that ' trouble springeth 
 out of the ground ' ? And if so, may not consolation 
 also arise when we see least signs of its coming ? But 
 this is idle talking : what will come must come, and 
 hoping seems a waste of energy. I am really unhappy 
 about you, and I would willingly have some evil laid 
 on myself if so I might hear that you were lightened 
 of your suffering. I am, as you said, very free from 
 aiiything like trouble at present, but I feel as if I had 
 no right to be so when you are as you are ; and 
 besides, my present exemption seems to throw me 
 beyond your pale, as it were. However, as our 
 intervals of ease are only given to get strength for the 
 next trouble, it will not divide us long. If I had 
 had many claims of what you caU natural affection 
 on me I could not have cared for you as I do. At 
 least, those of my friends in whom they are fully filled 
 up are not those who are able to care for any beyond 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JAXE WELSH CAELYLE 69 
 
 them. Their friends are unnecessary, they are never 
 more than ' the stranger that is within the gate,' and 
 this must account to you for what may seem hke ex- 
 aggeration in me. The grand meeting of wise men 
 begins next week ; I suppose the only thing that 
 interests me about it is that it will bring over Mrs. 
 I do not purpose going to any of the lectures. 
 
 but if any companion turns up for the Soiree I will 
 
 not gainsay him. But I shall not let commit 
 
 the extravagance of subscribing. I wish so often 
 
 you could see Mrs. sometimes. She has the 
 
 art of saying comforting things in a way that looks 
 like sorcery, for she somehow makes one feel the 
 better for what she has said. Our 'joint tale' is 
 gettincf on, but I fear we have neither of us the genius of 
 hard work or making haste. Whilst I was at Seaforth 
 the weather was too fine for anything^'but walking in 
 the grounds, and here I have many calls on me 
 that eat up time and yet tell for nothing in the way 
 of work. You will laugh when you hear of one 
 employment that has fallen to me — helping 
 three women who are in spiritual difficulties, and 
 anxious to inquire their way into the Catholic 
 Church? How they got the first start that way I 
 don't know, but they came to me to borrow books, 
 knowing that I am connected with several Catholics. 
 So how they will settle it Heaven knows! Never 
 draw people to doubts, when they have them not. 
 
70 SELECTIONS OF LETTEES FROM 
 
 Talking of Catholics, I met a man the other day you 
 must have heard of, for his reputation as a scholar 
 especially is great. I mean Dr. Wiseman. He is a 
 bishop now, and the President of Upcott. He is 
 quite desperate about the Church. He was the 
 beginning of the Oxford Tract disturbance, and the 
 one object he seems to live for is the bringing back 
 the Supremacy of the Catholic Church in England. 
 He is the very realisation of all you could imagine 
 the Hildebrands and Gregories to have been, who 
 built up the Church in the beginning. I heard him 
 preach from the Altar, or rather I saw him, for though 
 it was a most able and eloquent harangue, he was the 
 more remarkable of the two. There was nothing in 
 the least degree theatrical or savouring of the elocu- 
 tion master ; it was like looking at statuary. Mrs. 
 
 whispered to me ' It's like seeing Pasta.' He 
 
 could not come out to Seaforth as he intended, so we 
 were engaged to meet him after service at a friend's 
 house where we were staying. He loses nothing in 
 a room, though he is an ugly fat man wearing 
 spectacles. He is a man of downright genius for 
 ruhng, and bends and breaks everybody who comes 
 to his own will, and I don't think he would stand at 
 a trifle. I met with a book the other day I should 
 like you to see. You would even now take more 
 interest in it than you would imagine. It was a 
 volume of sermons, of all things, by Newman, of 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARI.YLE 71 
 
 Oxford. I wished for you more than I can tell you ; 
 they are full of the most exquisite things, quite in- 
 dependent of the doctrine he holds. One expression 
 struck me much. He is speaking of the grave as the 
 point at which we seem most sensibly to touch most 
 on the unseen world. He says : ' We lay our brother 
 in that dwelling which is all glorious within, and full 
 of odours, which are the prayers of the saints and 
 holy voices crying, How long, Lord ? ' I have not 
 the book at hand, or I would copy you the whole 
 passage ; it is too beautiful to trust to memory for. I 
 have made this a long letter about many things you 
 will not care about, but, my darling, let me hear of 
 you soon — that is all I want to know about. Give my 
 kind regards to your cousin, if she is still with you. 
 I hope Mr. Carlyle is well. There are a good many 
 things I want to ask him, especially about a book I 
 have got hold of. I have no patience about letter- 
 writing, it takes time and tells nothing ; five minutes' 
 speech is worth a ream of Bath-post paper crossed. 
 Good-bye, dear Love. Ever your own 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
72 SELECTIONS OF LETTEES FROM 
 
 1843. 
 LETTEE 18. 
 
 Probably written in July, 1843, when Mrs. Carlyle had just been under- 
 going house-cleaning at Chejme Eow, with fear of thieves. — A. E. I. 
 
 Wednesday Night (Undated). 
 
 Dearest Jane, — When Mr. Carlyle wrote lie said 
 you had a cold, and were not well. Now, if he says 
 you are not well, I know you must be really ill, and 
 this, together with not hearing of you for so long, 
 makes me uneasy. I have heard nothing about 
 yourself for many weeks now ; your last letter was all 
 about your house and the thieves, not a word about 
 yourself in it. I always grudge your writing about 
 news (or) witty letters like the last. I want to hear 
 about you, and there is nothing else you can tell me 
 that I care to hear. If you are not in the humour, 
 don't plague yourself to write a long letter, but just 
 send me a few lines to say how you are going on, 
 for the more I think about you the more I fear that 
 all is not well. Do write directly, there's a darling, 
 for I am more anxious than you think — getting really 
 fidgety, according to my nature ! I have not been 
 well since I came home from Bowdon, though I 
 suppose it is fancy, for I should be puzzled to say 
 
MISS JEWSBUJRY TO JAKE WELSH CARLYLE 73 
 
 what is the matter — ait, reste, I am singularly free 
 
 from discomfort of any other kind. Mrs. 
 
 wishes me to , go over to Seaforth, and I think of 
 
 doing so. is much better than she was. On 
 
 Sunday an old inonk of an Order of Trappists came 
 
 here— a most reputable old man. He took to a 
 
 monastery from the wish ' to make a. happy death,' 
 
 as he told us. He entered when quite a young man, 
 
 for he was haunted by a fear of death, and he went 
 
 into the most rigid Order he could find in France, 
 
 and he was eloquent about the satisfaction he found 
 
 in the austerities and privations. He is now Prior of 
 
 a monastery in Leicestershire, for they were turned 
 
 out of France in 1830 for some reason or another. 
 
 I was very much interested in him, though he is of a 
 
 ' simplicite sans pared,' and has a look of genuine 
 
 meekness — the very first time I ever saw that virtue 
 
 except in print. I have nothing else to tell you 
 
 about. My life ought to be singularly prosperous, 
 
 for just now it is of one even texture, and has no 
 
 events to puU it to pieces. Will you tell Mr. Carlyle, 
 
 with my love, that I am highly delighted at his 
 
 receiving the tobacco so graciously, and that I have 
 
 had a monomania about illicit tobacco ever since the 
 
 fact of its superiority was revealed to me ? and, by 
 
 the blessing of Providence, I hope to be enabled to 
 
 send him a more satisfactory quantity before long, so 
 
 that he shall have the means of smoking genuine 
 
74 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 tobacco without stint. I rather expect to hear 
 tidings of it to-night — nevertheless, Destiny some- 
 times interferes even about such trifles as these. 
 Eesignation is a grand thing when we can get 
 nothing better : ' The bridge broke down, and they 
 all tumbled in, "We'll find ground at the bottom," 
 said Brian O'Lynn.' Now, dear Love, do send me a 
 line, and that without delay, and believe me 
 
 Ever your own 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 I have got my brother home again, raving about 
 Glencoe and the Highlands. 
 
 LETTER 19. 
 
 (Postmark, October 17, 1843.) 
 
 Dearest Jane, — As you know of old, I generally 
 contrive to get done all I feel disposed to do. You 
 will have decided that I am a most shameful and un- 
 feeling person, but you will be wrong. I shall say 
 nothing of the ' kicks over kicks ' to which we have 
 fallen victims since I wrote last, and especially since 
 your letter came, because those ought not to count 
 for preventive checks. But, to say nothing of my fits 
 of nervous sleeplessness, which have kept me in a 
 sort of mesmeric state when ordinary mortals are 
 alive and brisk, we have had company in the 
 house, who, however, might all (with one exception) 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CAELYLE 75 
 
 have gone and hanged themselves before they should 
 have hindered me. All these have been hmdrances 
 and snares of the Evil One, to keep me from writing 
 to you, and to make you expect and get disap- 
 pointed, but the real cause has been that poor 
 
 has been very ill, and two or three times when I 
 have sat down and fairly begun to write to you she 
 has been so ill and in so much pain that I could not 
 find in my heart to do anything but sit beside her — 
 for, as my father used to say when he was suiFering, 
 ' It is a comfort if you will look at one as if you were 
 sorry ! ' And she has taken a fancy that rubbing her 
 feet and hands soothes the nervous feeling that 
 torments her, and it often gives her ease when 
 nothing else does, and as, from practice, I do not 
 feel tired, I am rather in request. But all this time I 
 have been horribly uneasy about you, for though 
 you laugh and make witty speeches, I know the 
 state you are in. I fear still more the state you will 
 be in, my poor darling. I could have sworn, I was 
 so provoked on reading your letter. You have no 
 one who has any sort of consideration for you, and 
 then, forsooth, you and your comfort are to be sacri- 
 ficed, to getting things made as comfortable as 
 Heaven, and at small outlay of anything besides. 
 My dear child, you ought to know your value better, 
 and not to allow your life to be worried away for no 
 earthly good — it is a sort of quixotism you have for 
 
76 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 sacrificing yourself, never thinking that when you are 
 at last fairly used up the state of ruin and desolation 
 to which all will be reduced that you have most 
 wished to benefit, as ' Faust ' says, will come all the 
 same, and ' cursed be patience ! ' You have had 
 patience and endurance till I am sick of the virtues^ 
 and what have they done for you ? Half-killed you ! 
 I can do you no good, but I am very unhappy about 
 you. I will not plague you to write to me, but if 
 you can get anybody to be scribe enough to indite 
 two lines to say whether you are dead or alive, or 
 quite mad, I shall be very glad and thankful. I had 
 
 a note from yesterday, which I cannot too 
 
 well read, but she talks of getting home this week, so 
 I shall see her before I leave here. We are rather 
 expecting Dr. Wiseman this we^k : this you feel no 
 sympathy with, though I can assure you that the 
 Catholic Church goes for nothing in the matter. But 
 I shall make you laugh if I were with you to tell 
 you all our plots, and schemes, and wickednesses — 
 for it is a sort of historical style of wickedness that 
 pecuharly takes my fancy. Also, on my own 
 account I have indulged in a matrimonial scheme, 
 but the gentleman is so dreadfully in love with 
 himself that I have not patience, energy, hope, or 
 inclination enough to persevere. Indeed, those 
 things are not much in my way ; it was only the 
 eligibility that put it into my head. Sheridan 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CAIILYLE 77 
 
 Knowles is down liere trying to pick up a few 
 pounds by lecturing on oratory. We went to hear 
 him last ni^ht, and I brought back a stiff neck. We 
 have met him several times, and he is by far the 
 most lamentable tragedy I have seen either on or off 
 the stage. He is very good and affectionate in his 
 nature, but so dismally merry. Such deep depression 
 and anxiety under all sorts of puns and jokes ! This 
 letter is written in haste, and is good for nothing, but 
 
 you shall have another soon. has asked me at 
 
 least half a dozen times ' whether I have done yet ? ' 
 and now the man is waiting to take it to the post,. 
 and I am only too lucky to get the chance of its 
 
 going in time. Mrs. is in Liverpool shopping, 
 
 or would send love. 
 God bless you ! 
 
 .Ever your own 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 LETTEE 20. 
 Thursday (Date Uncertain, probably Wliit-week, 1843). 
 
 Dear Jane, — I seem to have lost sight of every- 
 body I care about. The postman has not brought 
 me a single letter for nearly a fortnight; the last 
 time he knocked it was only to bring a letter for the 
 
 damsel who officiates as 'help' till comes 
 
 back, which was an aggravation after the ' Griselda ' 
 fashion. I want to know how you are, both body 
 
78 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 and soul — whether you have yet fixed any place for 
 your summer proceedings ; whether you are finally 
 delivered from your ' incubus ' ; whether — but, in 
 short, it is like talking in a soliloquy. There is no 
 voice, neither any who answereth ! The weather is 
 atrociously rough, and you may be thankful you 
 have not set out on any summer excursion. It is the 
 race-week here, when all the poor children have a 
 holiday, and walk into the country, and expeditions 
 to Dunham Park — in fact, a whole week's amusement 
 to keep them out of mischief and away from the race- 
 course, and, poor things, if they do not catch ever- 
 lasting colds it will be a miracle. Yesterday I saw 
 the clergyman of our church, who had just been to 
 see his Sunday scholars, who were playing in a per- 
 fect swamp. The rain had soaked the meadow 
 beyond the power of east wind and a short allow- 
 ance of sun to dry it. And it makes one quite grieve 
 for the nice white frocks and decent best clothes — for 
 all make it a point of honour to be in their better- 
 most best — and they go pattering in procession 
 through the streets singing with all their might. It 
 is a sight I should like you to see, for I don't think 
 it is anywhere to be seen except in Manchester and 
 the immediately neighbouring towns. I am pretty 
 decently dull ; nothing happens that would in the 
 least interest you to hear about, which is a sign of 
 moral prosperity. Yesterday I heard an account of 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JAXE WELSPI OARLYLE 79 
 
 a great phreno-magiietic soiree, which is ahogether 
 beyond my comprehension. The lady who told me 
 was present, and saw what she related. A young 
 girl, a dressmaker, was a subject, and her brother 
 was the operator. There seems to be no suspicion of 
 collusion. The girl, poor thing, was in her normal 
 state, a niminy-piminy, affected milliner, and nothing 
 more, only seeming very much overcome by being in 
 company with so man}^ fine people. Her brother |)ut 
 her to sleep, and then pressed the organs of veneration 
 and imitation at the same time. She is a great admirer 
 of McISTeil — and instantly she began to preach in his 
 manner, and to imitate his style and action, every- 
 thing, .... She delivered a most furious anathema 
 against the Catholics, devoting them all to perdition 
 very eloquently. Then she gave several other mani- 
 festations : philoprogenitiveness and veneration, when 
 she devoted a baby, made of two pocket handker- 
 chiefs, to a holy life, in a style that my informant 
 declared was perfectly affecting. Then it was com- 
 bined with combativeness, when she punished her 
 child severely to keep it from evil ; in fact, she was 
 a puppet, moved every way and any way. She re- 
 tained no consciousness of what had taken place 
 when she awoke, which was fortunate, for I think it 
 was abominable cruelty to try experiments of that 
 sort on a human creature. But a poor cook excites 
 my sympathy the most. It seems that if the magne- 
 
80 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 tiser gives them a command during their magnetic 
 state to be performed when they awake, they feel 
 under an irresistible impulse to perform it, though 
 they know not why — a sort of instinct. The master 
 of this said cook told her that he was going to wake 
 her, and then she was to go down stairs and get her 
 supper, but first she must bring him into the drawing- 
 room some bread and water ! She went down- 
 stairs accordingly, and, as one of the other servants 
 testified, she sat down to her supper as usual, and 
 suddenly she seemed to recollect that she had some- 
 thing to do first, asked for the bread and water, 
 saying her master would want it, carried it up 
 where he was, amid a room full of people. He 
 asked her why she brought it. She could not give 
 any account of the reason : she only said, ' You 
 want it : I am sure it will do you good,' looking all 
 the time dreadfully perplexed. He, to try her, said : 
 ' No ; you see I have wine here.' She insisted, how- 
 ever, on leaving it, to the great edification of the 
 company, who had heard the order given. The 
 gentleman is very well known in Liverpool, a man 
 of sober reputation, and in a general way of reason- 
 able humanity. When people are in love, they are in 
 a magnetic state, and are very much astonished at 
 themselves when they come to their senses. The 
 other night the man who caused me more good and 
 evil feeling than I ever knew before or since the 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE WELSH CAELYLE 81 
 
 three years his influence lasted, , called here. I 
 
 am frightened when I think of the last year, and yet 
 even that one is now like a tale I have read — has no 
 more to do with me, my present me, than the woes 
 of Dido ! Well, as I said, that very man came in the 
 other evening, and stayed some time ; he is really 
 the most prosy, wearisome, commonplace person 
 Nature ever created. Once, and not so long ago, 
 that hour would have gilded a week ; and now it 
 required an effort of pohteness not to give an intel- 
 ligible hint to shorten his visit ! . . . 
 
 No more at present. Take care of yourself, and 
 believe me, 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 LETTEE 21. 
 Monday Morning (Undated Fragment of 1843). 
 
 Dearest Jane, — I began a letter to you yesterday, 
 but was so much interrupted that I got out of 
 patience, and preferred beginning a fresh one this 
 morning. I hope this brilliant weather is bringing you 
 to hfe, as well as the trees and the flowers ! Are you 
 coming to Liverpool this spring ? If so, of course, I 
 count on you for a visit, both here and at Seaforth ; 
 anyway, I hope you have something better in store 
 for yourself than to look at the sunshine on the glaring 
 
 flags. Mrs. was here last week, and says that 
 
 Seaforth looks lovely, so do, my dear, begin to think 
 
 G 
 
82 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 about rural life and getting pure air, at least, for it 
 takes some indefinite quantity of thinking before any- 
 thing gets done. I am beginning to feel better than 
 I have done, and reaUy I hope to be up to doing some- 
 thing. You must have thought my letter strangely 
 cold and indifierent, and that I made but a poor 
 return for aU the pains and trouble you had bestowed 
 on my concerns. But, indeed, my dear, I could not 
 help it. I could not feel any ' appropriate sentiment ' 
 "whatever ; there was such a complete bankruptcy of 
 vitality that I had not energy to wish myself dead, 
 and out of this ' coil.' My strongest emotion was a 
 resigned inclination for the rites of Christian burial 
 — if anybody would have bestowed them without ask- 
 ing questions ! So, my dear, I can only hope you 
 have had just faith enough in me not to set me down 
 as irredeemedly unthankful ; for all along during the 
 nervous attacks which alternated with the weakness 
 I was tormented with the idea that I must seem so to 
 you. Have you (of course you have) felt in dreams 
 that odd sensation of doing the most foolish, unwise 
 things in some critical emergency, conscious all the 
 while that they were foolish, but not able to help 
 yourself ? That has been my state for the last month, 
 till sometimes I have hoped I should awake to my 
 natural senses and find I had been dreaming. I am 
 quite sure of one thing, and that is, that rational con- 
 duct must be formed on the basis of good beef and 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 83 
 
 mutton; nothing energetic or any way good can 
 come from a diet of boiled rice and batter-pudding. 
 That is a physical conclusion I have settled by my 
 own experience, though abstinence from animal food 
 might do for the intellect in a hot cUmate ! . . . 
 
 [Fragment.] 
 
 LETTER 22. 
 
 Thursday (Undated Fragment, 1843). 
 
 Dearest Jane, — I must seem to you very stupid- 
 hearted to keep sending you so often the accounts of 
 the little odds and ends which make up my life down 
 here, expecting you to feel an interest in them. It is 
 not that I do not feel that they are altogether of 
 another world, and another complexion, from what 
 occupies you, but if I were with you and beside you 
 all day long I doubt whether I could come nearer to 
 you. I think I know in my heart what is in yours. 
 I feel that I know what you are feeling and thinking ; 
 but there it must stay, for I can say nothing that will 
 not be altogether foolish, utterly unprofitable, and 
 unlike what is only dimly known at best. If it were 
 not that you are now, even more than ever you were, 
 the first thought on waking (as if you had been in my 
 dreams) and the last at night, I should fancy that 
 some separation had come between us, that we had 
 fallen asunder in some way, for, as far as letters go, 
 at any rate, those you get from. me would fit anybody 
 
84 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 else as well. And yet it is a comfort to write to 
 you, to be occupied with you anyway, though the 
 thing done has so little in it that it would re- 
 quire more than a Hebrew imagination to see the 
 resemblance between the type and the thing signified. 
 Even when I am with you, I can never tell you an 
 intelligible word of what is in my heart about you. 
 I have often thought since that I must have seemed 
 to you either very indifferent, or else altogether taken 
 up with myself — very unsatisfactory, in short ; but 
 you must have patience with me. I do so love you, 
 and that you know ; but it is not in me to do you 
 any good, though I would put my hands under your 
 feet to keep you from a minute's pain. I cannot give 
 you a stroke of gladness. But you have seen on a dull 
 November day, when there is neither fog nor rain, 
 but a quiet day without sun, and the sky aU one 
 cloud, and no change all the day, just before night 
 there is always a bright gleam, the sky is lit with 
 light. It is true of other things besides those lead- 
 coloured, monotonous skies. 
 
 Do not vex yourself about not being in a writing 
 humour. When you have anything to say, the 
 humour will come too, and I shall know almost with- 
 out your telling me. I have found an outline Mrs. 
 
 once copied for me — one of Thorwaldsen's 
 
 outlines. It is not so much finished as I thought it 
 had been, and will give you but a faint idea. . . . 
 
 [Fragment.] 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH OAKLYLE 85 
 
 LETTEE 23. 
 
 [Undated Fragment, 1843.] 
 
 I sat awake last nigM for nearly three hours, and 
 I thought of you. How do you manage to keep up 
 anything like a sound judgment in your unblessed 
 sleeplessness? I might as soon live in a magic- 
 lanthorn— everything I think about assumes such 
 fantastic colours, and slips so from side to side, that, 
 whether I am in my senses I cannot tell, or whether 
 I am out of my senses I cannot tell, but all the next 
 day, after a sleepless night, I go like ' one that has 
 been stunned and is of sense forlorn.' I gave you a 
 deal of sympathy last night ; you have the length of 
 two lives to live in one, which is more than one 
 
 bargains for. Poor Mrs. once said to me, 
 
 ' It is no use talking ; in those sort of afiairs woman 
 must go the wall. And we cannot help it.' In 
 Sir Astley Cooper's life there is an account of an 
 operation he performed of taking up the aorta (the 
 great artery that conveys the blood from the heart), 
 knowing, as he said, that the compensating powers 
 of Nature were such that she would supply its office 
 by some other channel, and accommodate the system 
 to it in a short time. In fact, there was no organ 
 so absolutely indispensable but that its functions 
 might be carried on by some other part of the 
 machinery. I positively shivered to think of the 
 
86 SELECTIONS OF LETTEES FROM 
 
 morale that lay in that law of physique. 's 
 
 wife, poor thing, is still in the asylum, and very 
 httle chance she will ever be well enough to come 
 out. I have bestowed a great deal of comfort 
 and sympathy upon him, but he is one of those 
 'who, with the best intentions, are always un- 
 fortunate,' and I am got to the fag-end of my 
 powers of commiseration. He seems to run a neck- 
 and-neck race with Fortune, and lose it by a fraction 
 of an inch. It goes through everything. He has 
 had some of his patent pumps (which another would 
 make a fortune out of) made without seeing to his 
 patent-right, and has so ingeniously contrived it as 
 not to be able to obtain legal redress. The other day 
 we invited him to dinner, and I had gone down to 
 the kitchen and skimied and cut up the fowl for the 
 curry with my own imperial hands, and helped to 
 concoct the lemon pudding besides. Well, though 
 he had ample notice, he contrived to get involved in 
 another dinner engagement, and so spoiled both ! He 
 hammers, blundering, against a stone wall and never 
 hits the point. My Christian sympathy is quite worn 
 out, and if he ever comes to me again with his lament 
 against Fortune, I shall certainly stare at him for a 
 fool instead of condoling with him for a martyr. 
 
 There is a wholesome instinct at the bottom of 
 our dislike to unfortunate people. I am still in a 
 stupid and virtuous state. I cannot do two things at 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 87 
 
 once. All my wits are gone wool-gathering for the 
 benefit of my book, and I have none to spare for 
 other things ; so, my dear, if my letters to you fall 
 off in both quantity and quality, don't go beating 
 your brains for a more abstruse theory than Cuvier 
 set up for the Deluge — viz., that as there is not water 
 enough to cover all the earth at one time, when it 
 flows over one place it ebbs from the opposite. A 
 lady said to me the other day, 'Mrs. So-and-So is 
 grown delightful. The last time she was here she 
 was as quiet as you are ! ! ! ' That reminds me not to 
 forget something. A man who has been here to tea 
 to-night told me a person he knows well, and who is 
 a great, stupid fellow, was asked what he intended 
 to make of his son, as he was old enough to follow 
 some calling. He said : ' Why, I have some thoughts 
 of sending him to Mr. Brittle, the Calvinist minister, 
 to make him a poet.' A fact, upon my honour ! I 
 have been scribbling this because I could not well go 
 to bed tin the man who told me this tale has taken 
 his departure ! He is just gone, so I will say good- 
 night too, having to make up for lost time ! Do take 
 
 care of yourself. If leaves you a desultory 
 
 ' widow ' whilst he goes into Wales, can you not 
 come down here — i.e. if you like to leave London 
 ataU? 
 
 For I have what he would call a most wholesome 
 desire to see you established in my pretty drawing- 
 
88 SELECTIONS OF LETTEKS EKOM 
 
 room, which you shall have all to yourself ; and Frank 
 has jast been buying a most recherche bed of an 
 original design, and that shall be made over to you ! 
 In short, if I could see you and speak to you, I should 
 have no tragic mood for a year to come, I think, 
 and really that ,is saying no httle, for I have had a 
 strong inclination to hang myself oftener than once 
 within the last month. God bless you, and ever take 
 care of you ! 
 
 Ever your own 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 Tuesday Night, 1843. 
 
 LETTEE 24. 
 Tuesday Morning (Incomplete, Date doubtful), 1843-4. 
 
 Dearest Jane, — What wiU you have thought of 
 me for being able to abstain so long from writing to 
 you ? And yet, my darling, if it had not been for a 
 piece of conscientiousness you would have had a 
 letter a fortnight ago, for there was a long one 
 actually written. It had taken several days to do. 
 Part of it was occupied in abusing a visitor who had 
 come to torment us and destroy all our pleasant 
 dolce far niente days, and my impatience was at the 
 height, and I had relieved my heart by teUing you 
 my grievances. But before the letter was finished 
 she had done one or two really good-natured things, 
 and though I should have felt more at my ease under 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 89 
 
 the civilities of a she tiger, I burnt my letter with a 
 sort of compunction, and a letter to me now is a 
 piece of work not to be lightly thought of. So, my 
 dear, you have had to wait till another opportunity 
 sprang up to replace what was so untimely destroyed. 
 I am very anxious to hear and know how you have 
 been prospering since you wrote last. Are you well 
 settled again in London? I feel to rejoice that one 
 can think of you as in a civilised region that requires 
 no knowledge of geography to know whereabouts it 
 is. But how are you, body and mind ? Have you 
 any near sources of annoyance ? for one grows an 
 ' amateur ' in endurance, and able to distinguish nice 
 shades in better and worse. I don't want you to be 
 plagued, but if you would write soon it would be a 
 great comfort. Tell me as much about yourself as 
 can be said in a letter. I never keep very private 
 letters, but destroy them at once, having the fear of 
 a coroner's inquest before my eyes, and a great 
 horror of all executors who can pry into secrets 
 from a sense of duty ! So you have a fancy for 
 wishing to see Algiers ? The Morning Chronicle 
 spoiled all rose-coloured imaginings when it spoke of 
 long rows of showy shops and abundance of second- 
 rate French jewellery as being the principal features 
 in it, and I never could get up any sentiment for that 
 part of the world again ! And yet, though a place 
 may be nothing per se, yet I can understand how 
 
90 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 Botany Bay might become a point of interest ! I am 
 come home again. I left Lytham last week after a 
 stay of five weeks. It took my fancy exceedingly. 
 I felt at the end as if awaking from a long, placid 
 sleep. It is a very small, quiet place, not at all 
 fashionable — has not even a circulating library, and 
 only two donkeys ; but it is a great place for boat- 
 building, and the vessels and the sea and the moun- 
 tains beyond used to look hke some of Turner's 
 pictures, and at times I was reminded, I don't know 
 why, of some of the scenes in the 'Mysteries of 
 Udolpho.' ^ If complete idleness can make people 
 tranquil, I have achieved the supreme bliss of 
 'Buddhism,' or perhaps a duckpond would be a 
 more graphic comparison. I have learned to knit — to 
 the everlasting honour of the lady who achieved the 
 teaching ! I am even becoming aspiring enough to 
 contemplate a Turkish cushion ; if it is ever realised 
 you shall have it. Somehow, it is soothing to me to 
 contemplate myself as more efficient in such matters 
 than you, my dear. You will not grudge me such a 
 small solace ? My eyes are much better than they 
 were, only I cannot see yet to any purpose, and am 
 consoled by hearing that these chronic inflammations 
 are to continue ad infinitum, and that there is no 
 knowing when my eyes will be available for every- 
 day use. But I am now trying something that has 
 
 1 Mrs. Radcliffe's. 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 91 
 
 been highly recommended, and as there is no real 
 disease in the organ itself, no doubt it will get 
 stronger by time, which seems to do and undo every- 
 thing. Meanwhile, I have got frightened enough to 
 be prudent. I cannot bear to write with pen and 
 ink yet, so you must excuse pencil. The black and 
 white dazzles. By the way, I have a State letter on 
 the stocks to your husband, which is only waiting 
 tin it can be properly indited (for I dare not send 
 him a scrawl) ! I have been applied to for counsel 
 on a matter far beyond my reach, and I must submit 
 it to him, for I really dare say nothing. It is a nice 
 point to settle. As you will have the benefit of the 
 whole affair, there is no need to state it now. I had 
 
 a letter from Mrs. yesterday. She has been 
 
 in Wales for the last month, and she is now settled at 
 home for the winter. She seems very inclined to go 
 on with the book now that -she is set at ease about 
 you. By the way, I never thanked you for your 
 patience in reading and criticising, but both were 
 gratefully appreciated, and the criticism comforted 
 us all ; but I have lost my taste for writing, every- 
 thing like desperation has faded away. What shall 
 I say for myself? Even philosophising has departed 
 from me .... 
 
 [Fragment.] 
 
92 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 LETTER 25. 
 
 ThMsday (Date doubtful, 1843-4). 
 
 Dearest Jane, — When your letter was brought 
 me I was in the act of looking for a sheet of paper to 
 write to you. I am very thankful to know what it 
 is you are really doing, for you are never out of my 
 head an hour together. It is not your breaking 
 down, I fear — so long as you have anything to do you 
 will never fail — but what is to be left of you in the 
 end ? But God made you to be the stay and help of 
 everybody you love ! It is your destiny, and you 
 must do it ! However, you seem to have had 
 strength in a miraculous manner, and it will not fail 
 you to the end. If you are to die in the end, you 
 win have filled up your life, and filled it thoroughly ; 
 from neither the living nor the dying will you need 
 any pity, but all honour and reverence instead. I 
 am at this moment much more inclined to cry than 
 to write this letter, when I feel and know that you 
 are suiFering ; and stiU more when I think of the 
 reaction that is to come, when all the active doing is 
 taken into other hands, and you are left to be quiet. 
 It is no use saying anything, I am as miserable about 
 you as I can be ; but there is no healing either 
 wounds or sorrow by power of sympathy in these 
 days — the more one loves, the more helpless one feels, 
 for one's love is the best thing one has to give, and 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CAELYLE 93 
 
 one sees of how very little use it is for all the 
 practical purposes of lightening sorrow ; and a great 
 deal of what I suffer for you is at bottom for myself, 
 for if you fell down dead or worn-out, what is to 
 become of me ? What am I to do without you ; so 
 you see the beautiful disinterestedness of human 
 nature ! By nature, at any rate, we are always 
 unable to share our sorrows with the world in general. 
 Carlyle is magnificent, and you are not wasted upon 
 him, and that will be a consolation to feel some day. 
 He is much too grand for everyday life. A sphinx 
 does not fit in comfortably to our parlour-life arrange- 
 ments, but seen from a proper point of view it is a 
 supernaturaUy grand thing ! You must feel proud 
 of belonging to him, after all, and he deserves to have 
 you ! Mortal praise can go no higher ! I humbly 
 beg to make an offering of a morsel of ' Cavendish ' 
 which I had given me yesterday, and which I have 
 cut and prepared my own self ! I must tell you an 
 anecdote I heard the other day, and which is Gospel 
 true. A man not far from here, who is very 
 rich, took a fancy to fit up a little chapel in his 
 parish church, in order that he and his family might 
 worship with an imposing appearance. He went to 
 a clever stonemason at Sadleworth, and told him 
 to sculpture him some ' ancestors ' to put on some 
 monuments he was going to build in his chapel, and 
 to cross their legs, that they might look as if they 
 
94 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 liad been to the Crusades ; he bought a quantity of 
 banners at the same time ! ! This is the last absurd 
 thing I have heard. Will you forgive me for trying 
 to make you laugh, which, God knows why, one's 
 friends seem to consider it a point of honour to 
 attempt whenever we feel the most disinclined for 
 such a performance ! I have nothing to tell you 
 about myself. My life is prosaic enough — ingrained 
 prose, in fact (I wish, j^ours were more like it) — but it 
 is the only point in which I can oiFer it for your 
 admiration. I am taking lessons in being good- 
 humoured, and even placid, in temper, under the 
 discipline of the worst-tempered and most irritable 
 man in Christendom, who resents the concatenations 
 of vexations and annoyances of a residence in Man- 
 chester, down to the very smoke and dust and rain, 
 as offences committed by me ! I have the comfort of 
 being a compendious and tangible type of all his 
 woes, an epitome of all the vexations that exist for 
 him under the sun ! As there is no appeal — except 
 to the justice of Heaven, which is both vague and un- 
 certain in its administration — I am learning to take 
 it quietly without any protest, and have actually 
 began to doubt whether, after all, I may not be an 
 annoyance ! ' He that is down need fear no fall, he 
 that is low no pride,' as old John Bunyan says.! 
 And one may as well begin one's stage through the 
 ' valley of humiliation ' soon as late, and I have a 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 95 
 
 theory that ' the patient Griselda ' was me, in a 
 previous existence. Write to me, dear love, when it 
 is not a weariness, and the more minute j^ou can be 
 the more you will satisfy me ! You cannot tell me 
 too much. Now God bless you. I can only love you, 
 but that yoii know I do, and always will. Good 
 bye ! and believe your own 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 Mrs. leaves Liverpool to-day. She said 
 
 she feared she could not get to see you till she 
 returned. 
 
96 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 1844. 
 
 LETTER 26. 
 Tuesday Night (Postmark, January 10, 1844). 
 
 Dearest Jane, — I am very much disturbed to 
 have excited so much of your sympathy, though I am 
 at this moment suffering all the fright I should have 
 endured had I known the appearance things were 
 presenting. Would you believe it ! That inestimable 
 parcel was sent off on Wednesday last, and a receipt 
 for it given and taken ! And how it contrived to be 
 so long on its journey, the saints above only know ! 
 It was actually sealed up when that note to you was 
 indited, and I suppose the fact was so vividly im- 
 pressed upon me that all words to explain to others 
 stayed away from the sense of not being required. 
 But I am very vexed that you have been kept in any 
 sort of discomfort. However, let it mollify you to 
 know that if I could have suspected the state of 
 things I should have been in the extremity of despair. 
 But I have such a Mohammedan faith in the unerring 
 decrees of post-offices and railways, that I never for a 
 moment should have suspected them of overlooking 
 any mortal mixture of sealing-wax and brown paper 
 
MISS JE^^'SBUEY TO JANE \^'ELSH CARLYLE 97 
 
 committed to their care, but, for the future, all my 
 despatches shall be sent per post, even if it cost a 
 sheet full of stamps ! However, ' all's well that ends 
 well ! ' and even of the sympathy there has been none 
 lost, or altogether thrown away, for it has made 
 me love you even better than I did before, though I 
 wish it could have been given without any sort of 
 worry to you. But then it would not have been 
 sympathy, and I am too much obliged and needy 
 of it altogether to have the grace to wish it undone ! 
 Only don't let there come a reaction ! I always feel in- 
 clined to revenge myself when I have felt too much — 
 by rushing an equal distance in the opposite extreme. 
 So don't have to pay a fine for my ' treasure-trove,' 
 as lawyers call it. I always chronicle my goings-on 
 — for your edification ! And where do you think I 
 went to on Monday night ? To the circus ! ! And 
 1 am afraid that a person of your refinement will for 
 evermore consider me unworthy of sympathy, or 
 dehcate sensibility of any sort, when I own to have 
 been decidedly amused and pleased to a degree 
 approaching the superlative ! I am half-ashamed of 
 myself, or rather have a sneaking consciousness that 
 I ought to be. There was Van Amburgh and all his 
 beasts for one thing, but I did not care about them. 
 They came quite at the last and were the least part 
 of the entertainment ; only I could not help feeling 
 very sorry that such aristocratic animals as lions and 
 
 H 
 
98 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 tigers should so far forget their dignity as to act 
 pretty-behaved ferocity for the amusement of a 
 rabble ; there was an elephant turned loose into the 
 circle, a good-natured, peaceable creature, but I did 
 really feel nervous lest, without any ill intention, he 
 should go a few feet too far either to the right or left, 
 and so get amongst the indulgent public ! For there 
 was only two feet in height of a deal board between 
 him and it ! However, he behaved exceedingly well. 
 He lay down and stretched himself, and trotted, and 
 carried his keeper, and opened his mouth, and finally 
 disappeared — to my great relief. Then there was the 
 poor pretty giraffe, looking like a captive princess ; 
 there was something quite pathetic in her appearance, 
 and I wished her well dead, with all my heart ! But 
 she was apparently in the enjoyment of excellent 
 health and resignation. Did you ever see a giraffe ? 
 If not, pray be on the watch for an opportunity ; it 
 is well worth some pains to accomplish ! It is like 
 seeing something from between the regions of truth 
 and fiction: and now I have great hope to behold 
 both a ' phoenix ' and a ' grifiin ' before I die, for I am 
 sure they all come from the same debatable land ! 
 
 Lions and tigers and elephants one can understand 
 without much stretch of imagination. One can fancy 
 their ways of living, their manners and customs, and 
 morality ! But giraffes are from an unknown region ! 
 One does not know anything of their associations, 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 99 
 
 one cannot imagine what they do ' in their own 
 country,' but it must have been a stray stroke of 
 fortune to bring one of them to tread the sawdust of 
 a circus. But the attraction of the evening was the 
 vaulting, and ' horsemanship,' and very impossible 
 and incomprehensible it looked. But all my sym- 
 pathies would wander behind a certain embroidered 
 pink silk curtain, behind which men and horses 
 vanished. I like to know the processes of things, 
 and I was curious to know how the Apollo-like 
 appearance we beheld had been produced, and still 
 more curious to know what sort of souls resided in 
 bodies of men who spent their whole lives in turning 
 forty-four somersaults in succession. I would have 
 given anything to go behind the scenes. All those 
 riders and tumblers ' were men once,' and there was 
 a darling little boy, not more than six years old — who 
 stimulated my benevolent sensibility. If one could 
 only take him away from such a life ! If I were a 
 Sultan, all children in his situation should be 
 kiUed mercifully out of harm's way. You will be 
 tired to death hearing all this, but it is the last and 
 newest thing I have to amuse you ! Let me see — 
 yes! there is something else that will amuse you, 
 too, as our sympathies run so well together. ' Men 
 and Women,' by the author of ' Susan Hopley,' is a 
 capital book with abundance of plots in it, and it 
 kept even a hard-hearted novel-reader Uke me in a 
 
100 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FEOM 
 
 State of high excitement from the beginning to the 
 end. It is quite a Godsend, for if you begin it you 
 cannot put it down ! At least I could not, and I 
 neither skipped, nor yet looked on, to see what was 
 coming, but went step by step, cutting my leaves as 
 I went on ! — and if that is not a compliment, what is ? 
 So do you get it, while this horrid thaw continues ! 
 This is a long letter all about nothing, but nothings 
 make the sum of female life! I only hope the 
 prospect from your window is pleasanter than it is 
 from mine at this moment. Dirty, half-melted snow 
 and fog, a swampy meadow, set oif by a creeping cold 
 damp, which gets into one's bones and nerves, and 
 freezes there, utterly impossible to stir out, and no 
 book in the house ! So when this letter is sealed up 
 I shall have to set to work in sheer despair, and 
 perhaps if I can get another chapter finished, it may 
 please my restless conscience to glow with virtuous 
 complacency. Anyway, I must not stay making 
 this epistle any longer. It was half written last 
 night, after my return home, and the rest has got 
 itself ' shiveringly ' done this morning since breakfast. 
 How is Mr. Carlyle ? and how is ' Oliver Cromwell ' ? 
 I am inclined to wish that worthy had never been 
 born, for your sake. Take care of yourself ! If I had 
 a wishing-cap at this moment, I would wish for an 
 eider-down coverlet to keep your feet warm. I 
 saw one yesterday, and the comfort is indescribable, 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSPI OARLYLE 101 
 
 and I thought how nice it would be for you ! I am 
 sure it is something hke an angel's wing, so light and 
 soft. There ! after that stroke of imagination I shall 
 enter on nothing more prosaic, so good bye ! and God 
 bless you, dear love ! 
 
 Ever your own 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 [Wednesday morning. Begun on Tuesday, and finished the 
 following day. — A. E. I.] 
 
 LETTER 27. 
 
 [Postmark, February 12, 1844.] 
 
 Dearest Jane, — ^What is the matter with you ? 
 What has been ? Thank God that there is a ' has been ' 
 in the case ! But what have you been doing ? I hope 
 the cruel cold weather goes for something in it — for 
 I have felt it most sympathetically. However, I am 
 manufacturing a small piece of comfort for you, 
 which you would have received along with this if I 
 had not been obliged to go to a concert last night. 
 It is an eider-down quilt for your feet. I have had a 
 ■ floating vision of it for some time, but your letter of 
 yesterday fired me up to go out in search of the means 
 of realising it. I have sacrificed a rose-coloured 
 imagination for fear you should fancy it too delicate 
 for daily wear and tear, and have substituted a sober 
 brown covering without the least touch of ' charming 
 delusion ' about it — for which piece of virtue I exact 
 
102 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM. 
 
 that you shall use it every day whilst winter lasts. 
 I expect you will receive it on Wednesday, and I 
 trust it will prove emblematic, ' significant of much,' 
 as Carlyle has it. My dear child, have you had a 
 medical man, or have you been consigned to the 
 attentive care of John Carlyle ? ^ Do try to take care 
 
 of yourself. I am thankful to hear of aU has 
 
 done in the way of virtue, and I hope it will continue. 
 After aU, there is always a sort of excellence that 
 discovers itself when, to ordinary lookers-on, the 
 character seems worn to the bone. Certainly, if the 
 doctrine of consequence has any truth in it, you 
 ought to reap the good effects of your long-suffering 
 and tender mercy towards her — and as the sailor 
 contrived to make very decent soup from stones by 
 adding good ingredients to them, it is possible that 
 
 a good result may be obtained out of by a 
 
 similar process. The tenderness you have heaped 
 upon her must tell somewhere. 
 
 So my store of philosophy surprises you? My 
 dear child, if I had enamelled myself with my own 
 wisdom, the pores of my character would have been 
 so effectually stopped that I could neither have taken 
 anything in nor thrown anything out. Do not you 
 recollect what St. Paul says, ' endure fools gladly : 
 seeing you yourself are wise'? but I do not 
 claim the benefit of the latter part of the Apostle's 
 
 1 Dr. John Carlyle, brother of Thomas Carlyle A. E. I. 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE M^LSH CARLYI.E 103 
 
 axiom, for I have a great notion that I really am a 
 great fool, without any mitigating features — and so 
 I can judge of wisdom like a disinterested spectator 
 who is not a shareholder. As to ' that scene,' my 
 dear — ^Icame to the requisite knowledge very honestly, 
 if you will but believe it — indeed I could not help it. 
 I took a fit of studying metaphysics before I was 
 16, and would not have given a straw to read any 
 book whose meaning did not lay at an unfathomable 
 depth ; and when I had gone through a course of 
 those, I was fired with a glorious ambition to say my 
 say on the much-vexed question of 'matter and 
 spirit,' and, save the- mark ! the nature of life, and 
 I accordingly set to work on physiology, and for 
 nearly two years I read nothing else. There is at 
 this moment a box upstairs full of extracts, and 
 abstracts, and conclusions. I have a more than 
 feminine ignorance of anatomy — I don't feel too sure 
 on which side the heart lies — but, en revanche, I have 
 physical philosophy enough now to stock the College 
 of Surgeons. I have forgotten a great deal of it, and 
 the taste for that sort of reading has gone by me — • 
 but out of such a decoction of Blumenbach-Magendie- 
 Tiedemann-Cabanis, and ever so many more, it would 
 be hard indeed if I had not gathered a few theories. 
 And without any detriment to my fair fame, either, 
 for I assure you I did not get the said books sur- 
 reptitiously, but borrowed them from responsible 
 
104 SELECTIONS OF LETTEES FROM 
 
 persons, and read tliem before men and angels, and by 
 way of climax, when I got into my desperate condi- 
 tion, from which. 1 was barely emerging when you first 
 saw me, I endeavoured to drown my pain, not by in- 
 diting a ' diary of an ennuyee,' but by writing an essay 
 
 on materialism, which is or was in Mrs. 's hands. 
 
 I fagged through Cudworth's foho before I finally 
 abandoned myself to despair and hysterics ; from all 
 which it may be seen, that when people have cause 
 for unhappiness, it is no good for them to try and cheat 
 themselves. It must come on and be regularly worn 
 out — ' exploited,' as you call it. So you see there is 
 nothing marvellous in my philosophy ! I learnt the 
 best part of it when I was very miserable, more 
 miserable than one human being can be twice in one 
 lifetime. As to the ' scene,' if it really is too bad it 
 must be exchanged for something more placid. But 
 I am sure I have read things far fiercer in Miss 
 Porter's novels. The practical matter of getting the 
 book printed drives me to despair. I don't in the 
 least know how to do, or what to do. I will inquire 
 about Wesley, the man who was Mrs. Hall's publisher, 
 but I have an idea he may have died or transmigrated 
 into some other form, and be no longer a serviceable 
 publisher. However, to-day is Sunday, on which no 
 manner of work can be done, so it is of no use 
 bothering now. Tell Mazzini, however, that if he 
 reviews it (no matter whether his article gets accepted 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 105 
 
 or not) I shall consider it a.n ample harvest of re- 
 putation — in fact, quite worth writing the book to 
 obtain. I wish he would write another article and 
 let me translate it, for I am just in the humour for 
 such work. I was at a party the other night when 
 a man came in with a most peculiar physiognomy, an 
 expression I could not comprehend at all. I asked 
 the master of the house, ' who is that ? ' ' Oh, that is 
 
 Mr. , the most proper man I knew in my life.' 
 
 He never committed an indiscretion or got into a 
 scrape of any sort, and never will.' I insisted on 
 being introduced, and I studied him during the 
 quadrille (for I could not make him talk), and I 
 watched him all night (everybody gives him the same 
 character)! There was a grave, Chinese look about 
 him — au reste, he is a sort of cross between a Methodist 
 parson and the genius of a white cravat. He came in a 
 cab, and went away in a cab, and he always spoke in a 
 low, even tone of voice. In short, he was like nothing 
 else I ever saw. Last night I was at such a glorious 
 concert. It was an amateur affair, given by a set of 
 young Germans in this town. They sang quartets 
 and duets, but I never knew what music was before. 
 It was mostly German, one felt it to mean so much ! 
 It was like standing on the edge of another world and 
 looking into it — you might have fancied you were 
 listening to the ' Psalms of Heaven.' As you liked 
 the notice of the ' Sphinx,' I have got two other 
 
106 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 passages whicli have taken my fancy. Always out 
 of my dearly beloved — who is the most practical old 
 soul you can imagine, and in such a grave, un- 
 conscious way, though it must be owned that he is a 
 sad infidel, and explains the mysteries of the old gods 
 in a way to raise on end the hair of a devout believer 
 in them, like myself. He tells us in one place quite 
 coolly that ' Bacchus was a very spruce young 
 man ' ! ! ! But to make amends, listen to the following 
 account of Arabia, and figure to yourself getting 
 hold of such a book for the first time in this year of 
 our Lord : ' Next to these inhabit the Homeritse, and 
 next to them the Sabseans. They possess " Arabia the 
 Happy," and are exceeding rich in all those things 
 which we esteem most precious, for the whole country 
 is naturally perfumed all over, everything almost grow- 
 ing there, and sending forth continually most excel- 
 lent odours ; on the sea coast grow balsam and cassia. 
 Higher in the heart of the country are shady woods 
 and forests, graced and beautified with stately trees 
 of frankincense and myrrh, palm trees, cinnamon and 
 such-like odoriferous plants ; for none can enumerate 
 the several natures and properties of so great a 
 multitude, or the excellency of those sweet odours 
 that breathe out of every one of them, for their 
 excellency is such that it even ravishes the senses 
 with delight, as a thing divine and unutterable, and 
 these spices have nothing of a faint and languishing 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 107 
 
 smell, as those that come to our hands, but a strong 
 and vigorous odour that strongly pierces all the 
 senses to the utmost of their capacity. So they that 
 have the advantage of these sweet odours are fit for 
 that feigned meat of the gods called "Ambrosia," 
 since those excellent perfumes cannot have a name 
 assigned to them transcending their worth and dignity. 
 Yet fortune has not imparted to men an entire and 
 unmixed fehcity in these things, but has joined 
 some inconveniences to correct them, who, through a 
 constant confluence of earthly blessings, have despised 
 and slighted the gods, for these fragrant forests 
 abound with red serpents of a span long, whose bite 
 is deadly and incurable.' Then he goes on to another 
 and less favoured part of Arabia, and says that in the 
 desert a strange and wonderful thing often happens — 
 ' for sometimes, commonly in calm weather, there 
 appear in the air shapes of divers hving creatures, 
 some standing still, others moving, some flying, others 
 pursuing, and these are of a monstrous bigness, so that 
 they greatly terrify such as are ignorant of the nature 
 of them. Some of them pursue men, and when they 
 take hold of them a trembling and a chilliness seizes 
 upon all parts of their bodies, and therefore strangers 
 unaccustomed to such things are ready to fall down 
 dead with fear ; but the natural inhabitants, being 
 used to them, regard them not.' Now, my dear, you 
 need not read all this ; indeed it is an MS., and 
 
108 SELECTIONS OF LETTEES FROM 
 
 not a letter. I have been writing all afternoon, partly 
 because I am in a humour to talk to you, and partly 
 because when I am ill reading letters is a sort of 
 gentle, lazy dulness, in which my soul takes delight. 
 But recollect, my child, that though I write I am 
 not so unconscionable as to expect you to read it aU. 
 That is quite optional, and not an article of obliga- 
 tion! I hope Mrs. is coming this week. So 
 
 God bless you, my dear child! and let the next 
 account of you be better, and believe me ever your 
 own 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 Simclay Afternoon. 
 
 LETTEE 28. 
 
 Friday, March 2, 1844. 
 
 Dearest Jane, — Thank you, thank you, for all the 
 plague you have taken about that MS. I could not 
 have done it for myself ! I well know the nuisance 
 of it, so, raj dear, pray believe that your labour of 
 love is appreciated, and thank Carlyle for his letter 
 of recommendation, whicih I don't value the less 
 because I laughed at your account of it. If you 
 could get me the original out of the hands of Messrs. 
 Chapman and Hall, I would treasure it up and put 
 it safe into my solitary drawer that rejoices in a lock 
 and key. Whether your efforts in my behalf succeed 
 or not, your goodness has been all the ^ame, and I 
 recollect my metaphysics too well not to know that 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 109 
 
 success is an accident. I did read that dreadful 
 trial, and I cannot tell you liow sick at heart it 
 
 made me. had been reading a newspaper at 
 
 breakfast with vehement expressions of indignation, 
 and finally gave it to me, with, ' There, Geraldine ! 
 read that ! It is the most abominable thing I ever 
 heard of — and if it be any sort of consolation to 
 
 poor Mrs. , she may know that the small 
 
 portion of the public I have heard mention the 
 matter are unanimous in declaring that it is a got- 
 up case by her husband. Her guilt or innocence 
 never comes to question. I read the whole, and the 
 possibility of her being guilty never occurred to me ; 
 and I was ready to scratch the stupid old judge for 
 his qualifying assertions about her. Nothing came 
 out to injure her more than might be asserted of 
 three-fourths of the innocent, respectable women in 
 the world, and I feel quite thankful to you for your 
 generous sympathy towards her. It was what I 
 would have done myself, and if the sympathy of a 
 stranger can do her any good, pray tell her that one 
 woman at least both sympathises with and believes 
 in her, though at the same time I would have 
 heartily forgiven her if she had revenged herself. 
 But I feel convinced that she has been faithful, as the 
 phrase goes, and perhaps this is the most comforting 
 assertion the poor woman could receive ; but, my 
 dear, I could not help feeling sorry for the two poor 
 
110 SELECTIONS OF LETTEES FROM 
 
 heedless girls mixed up in the matter. What a scene 
 of horror was disclosed ! I have not got rid of the 
 effect it had on me yet. What unmitigated misery 
 for so many persons, and what an irredeemable 
 poltroon and scoundrel the man is to bring such 
 things to the light of day, and involve so many. If 
 his wife had a hundred lovers he ought to have been 
 silent. I shall try to believe in the day of judgment, 
 if it is only for his special benefit ! One consolation 
 is, that there is no escape from the consequences of 
 our actions, and so he is provided for. I feel, my 
 dear, quite as if I were personally obliged for what 
 you have done for that poor woman. This is not 
 intended for a letter, only just a word to save 
 Sunday's post. I can't bear yours to wait so long 
 for an answer of some sort. I fear you will not be 
 better tiU the weather changes. The influenza hangs 
 over one like an evil conscience ! Nothing tangible, 
 only a general sense of something wrong. Take care 
 of yourself is all I can say. As to my household, 
 
 , the servant, is able to crawl about her work, 
 
 coughing as if- within an inch of strangulation. 
 
 's throat very little better, but he too goes 
 
 about his work without eating anything but mutton 
 broth. For me, I suppose there is nothing the 
 matter with me ; but I am so weak and languid I can 
 hardly walk, and to do anything is far beyond my 
 capability. 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 111 
 
 I am thorouglily uncomfortable. I can hardly 
 scrawl this without feeling sick to death. By the 
 way, I hope I made it clear that we went out to dine 
 on the strength of a solemn invitation, given, however, 
 as an act of Christian consideration. Anyway, the 
 idea of either going without dinner — of buying myself 
 a quarter of a pound of cold meat — would never 
 have occurred to me ! I certainly am destitute of 
 what the Margravine of Anspach calls 'negative 
 virtues, which redeemed her from many mischiefs.' 
 1 wish in my heart you had less patience, it would be 
 better for you ! Only imagine that the horrid Goths 
 are making preparations to build eighteen houses in 
 the meadows before our house ! and they have dug a 
 pump ! You don't imagine that I am going to put 
 up with eighteen opposite neighbours, not a bit 
 of it! Though it is provoking that we are just 
 painted and papered so beautifully. Now, my 
 darhng, good-bye and God bless you ; take care of 
 yourself, and put up with nothing, but apply as 
 many positive remedies as may be worth while. 
 I shall write again on Sunday; meanwhile, believe 
 
 me 
 
 Ever your own 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
112 SELECTIONS OF LETTEES FROM 
 
 LETTEE 29. 
 Sunday and Monday, March 2 and 3, 1844. 
 
 Dearest Jane, — Will you condescend to look on 
 this cheesemonger-like note ? But the truth is I 
 have no other sort of paper, and I fear I have not ink 
 enough to see me to the end of my letter. So I have 
 just taken the precaution to direct my envelope first. 
 How are you by this time ? I have had a very bad 
 
 week, being in bed nearly all the day, but Mr. 
 
 promises me that I shall be better soon, so be hanged 
 to complainings ! I am just tired to death, and only 
 wish matters were settled one way or other. It is ter- 
 rible to be so good for nothing. Mrs. is coming 
 
 here to-morrow, and I quite am looking forward to 
 seeing her. She is very far from well. I am sure 
 the race of doctors must be thriving apace. Whilst 
 lying in bed I thought of a great many things to tell 
 you, and now that I want to write them down, they 
 are all gone. Do you recollect my telling you of 
 the dreadful bore that a small youth had thought 
 proper to become? Well, my dear, by a httle thought 
 and some good luck, I have transformed this bore 
 into a blessing — not to myself but to a neighbour. I 
 introduced him to a lady who wanted an eligible 
 companion for her only son, and as I could give the 
 youth a capital character, he is received with open 
 arms, and I have watered the budding friendship, or 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH OARLYLE 113 
 
 rather — tea'd and coffee'd it. And lie has taken root 
 there in the most promising fashion, and he has re- 
 moved his lodgings to a greater- distance from here, 
 so that now I am restored to my pristine amiabihty, 
 and I feel as if I had done a very good deed to all 
 parties. I have been revelling in the most queer 
 old book ! I had read it before, some years ago, but 
 it is better than when new. It is ' The History of 
 John Buncle.' 
 
 FuU, as the title-page says, of the most wonderful 
 revelations, it is very curious to read it parallel with 
 Horace Walpole's or George Selwyn's Letters. The 
 country is England in both, and I must copy you a 
 passage — written, recollect, not a hundred and twenty 
 years ago — 'And now, reader, as to Stonemoor 
 country. If ever it should come into your head to 
 wander over this wide and romantic part of our 
 world at the Hazard of your neck, and the danger 
 of being starved to death, your road is ... . 
 This is one way into the heart of Stonemoor in 
 Eichmondshire, and wiU bring you by the way among 
 the dreadful northern fells of Westmorland, a fright- 
 ful country, and a fatiguing march.' Then he goes 
 on to describe a ' sandy valley, where cliffs are 
 rising from the ground, a grand and amazing scene.' 
 Then he is constantly falling in with more wonderful 
 damsels than ever the Arabian Nights furnished 
 (Zobeide and the Porter were nothing to him). He 
 
 I 
 
114 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 travelled for a whole day through a hole which led to 
 some wonderful cavern, and through the said cavern, 
 ' full of beautiful concretions on the rising way, which 
 formed the most beautiful piUars, walls, and figures 
 of the finest carved work.' And they work their 
 way out at the top of an exceeding high mountain, 
 and have to clamber down a precipice, and instead of 
 breaking their necks (he and his servant), as they 
 ought in reason to have done, he discovers a fine 
 country house and gardens in a delightful vaUey that 
 extended with all the beauties of wood, and laAvn, 
 meadow and water from the foot of the mountain, 
 a,nd he is met by an elderly gentleman — ' and a most 
 beautiful young lady, whose eyes were vastly fine, 
 large and long, black as night and had a sparkling 
 brightness, as great as appears from the refraction of 
 diamonds, and her whole behaviour was in the highest 
 degree charming.' 
 
 She could talk Latin and any other tongue, and 
 was a miracle of genius — ^but the entertainments are 
 the best part of the business. There is something so 
 hearty and rich in his pictures of the inside of these 
 houses — the ' shady walks, playing fountains, and 
 flowing tide ' is quite as grand as anything in the 
 ' Decameron.' There is a fresh air and pure, breezy 
 feeling about the book that makes you feel as if you 
 had been a journey into the country on a spring day 
 yourself! There are disquisitions about every subject 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 115 
 
 under Heaven. He once gets into a grand park, and 
 finds a young lady in a romantic arbour writing from 
 a Hebrew Bible ! He is always on all occasions well 
 received, and he is invited into the house to have 
 some breakfast, 'and the lovely Harriott made tea 
 for me, and had such plenty of fine cream and extra- 
 ordinary bread and butter set before me that I 
 breakfasted with uncommon pleasure.' Then he 
 makes a declaration to the said Harriott, who con- 
 siders it premature, as he had only been two hours in 
 her company, and turns the conversation on to the 
 probable language Adam and Eve spoke in Paradise, 
 which they discuss as gravely as if nothing had 
 happened. It was Hazlitt who first put me up to read- 
 ing it ; he mentions John Buncle in one of his essays ; 
 and certainly it ought to be counted to him for a 
 good deed. Yesterday a man — who is — never mind 
 what — brought me a curious treatise on alchemy. 
 The book itself was printed in 1671, and professes to 
 be, and there is no reason to doubt is, the last will 
 and testament of Basil Valentine, monk of the Order of 
 St. Benedict, ' which being alone, he hid under a table 
 of marble behind the High Altar of the Cathedral 
 Church, in the Imperial City of Erford, leaving it 
 there to be found by him whom God's Providence 
 should make worthy of it.' I have not had time to 
 read much of it yet, but I daresay I shall find some 
 very choice morsels for you before I have done. That 
 
 I 2 
 
116 SELECTIONS OF LETTEES FROM 
 
 is, if you care about hearing about such things, for 
 as I don't go out, the diflFerent books I get hold of 
 are all the worldly things I can give account of. By 
 the way, did you ever write a book called ' Wedlock ' ? 
 ' It is a novel in three volumes — and it is so like your 
 conversation sometimes, that you have been in my 
 mind from the beginning to the end, and I actually 
 sat down to ask you the question one day last week, 
 only had not energy to write a note. . . . 
 
 [Fragment.] 
 
 LETTER 30. 
 
 Simday (Postmark, March 5, 1844). 
 
 Dearest Jane, — If there is one thing more than 
 another that I specially ought not to do, it is writing 
 a letter to-day. So of course I feel a particular call to 
 do it, but whether it wiU be long or short, or in any 
 wise worth reading, is entirely unknown to me. The 
 fact is, that my influenza, or whatever the thing may 
 be, has settled in my eyes, which at this moment are 
 no more like eyes than they are like angels, being 
 swelled and inflamed till they won't open, except just 
 set themselves ajar, as one may say. Eeally, another 
 time before I begin to complain I will wait a little, 
 and ascertain how far the grievances are likely to 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE WELSH CAELYLE 117 
 
 extend, and so not waste all my eloquent complain- 
 ings on the beginning. 
 
 The doctor has given me some medicine which is 
 seemingly an importation from the bottomless pit — 
 for it tastes like fire, and leaves a taste and smell as 
 if a whole legion of devils had evaporated. Now, how 
 are you ? For the worse I get, the more I think of 
 you and your ailments — a fellow-feeling, my dear — 
 for I have the grace to believe that you are far worse 
 off than I am. But as I am tired already of people 
 asking me how I do, I won't torment you in the 
 same way. Only recollect that you will confer a real 
 comfort on me when you send word : ' I am better, on 
 the road to be well.' When I wrote the other day I 
 don't think I told you, or rather made you understand, 
 how really grateful I am for all the trouble you have 
 taken about me. I never can return thanks, and the 
 more cause there is for thankfulness the more un- 
 gracious do I seem. I know so thoroughly all the 
 disagreeableness of what you have just been doing — 
 to say nothing of the danger, for it is a quicksand that 
 has swallowed up more friendships than any Slough 
 of Despond ever did — and I am so anxious you should 
 understand that whether the thing succeeds ultimately 
 or not is now quite beyond your care. You have 
 done all and more than I could have expected in 
 reason and conscience, even from the categories of 
 
118 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 love and friendship : so, my dear love, if the serious 
 consideration ' of Messrs. Chapman and Hall ' prove 
 to be a rejection of the MSS., do not torment your- 
 self by fancying that I shaU. attribute it to this, that, 
 or the other cause — to anything, in short, beyond 
 the simple fact that the said MSS. will not suit ! 
 which is a highly reasonable probability. The other 
 week, at a concert, I heard a dissertation on the 
 failure of many singers of decided talent. It came 
 from a professional man, and had much practical 
 meaning for decided talent in other things, and I laid 
 it to heart. Anyway, this is only to beg you not to 
 make, as you phrase it, ' a tether of hair to hang 
 yourself,' and it is to get this said — that I am writing 
 to-day ! If ' Chapman and Hall ' won't have it, give 
 me as much sympathy as you will — but don't worry 
 yourself by thinking you might have done anything 
 more or different than you have done. I have got 
 a confounded steel pen, which wiU hardly mark, and 
 makes me fit to swear. I hate inflexible things of all 
 sorts. By the way, I must tell you something that 
 tickled my fancy in a novel the other day. Speaking 
 of the hero, who is in some grievous distress, it says — 
 ' The tears of anguish coursed each other gracefully 
 down his cheeks ! ! ! ' Beat that in the course of 
 your reading if you can ! I have been reading 
 Isaak Walton's ' Lives,' and in the life of George 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 119 
 
 Herbert there are a few lines that in case the MSS. 
 ever gets printed I should like on the title-page :— 
 
 Now I am here, what wilt thou do with me ? 
 
 None of my books will show. 
 I read, and sigh, and wish I were a tree, 
 
 For then I sure should grow 
 To fruit or shade; at least 
 
 Some bird would trust 
 Her household with me, and 
 
 I would be just. 
 
 Can you make it out ? Is there not something 
 very quaint and beautiful in it ? How is poor Mrs. 
 
 ? If women would stand by each other, on 
 
 the strength of sisterhood, as you have done by her, 
 how much happier would it be in the world for all of 
 them. I feel as if you had done me a favour. My 
 wrath had been raised against the cruelty women 
 show so often to each other very much of late, and I 
 have very nearly broken off an acquaintance with one 
 woman, for no other reason than that she said bitter 
 things of a poor young creature who has no relations 
 to stand up for her. I don't care whether they were 
 true or false. They were what one woman has no 
 business to say of another. I cannot send you any 
 flowers, but I found this little book in my drawer the 
 other day, and send it with aU. its imperfections. So 
 good-bye, my dear love, and God bless you ! 
 
 I cannot write any longer. Ever your 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
120 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FEOM 
 
 LETTEB 31. 
 
 Friday (Postmark, April 20, 1844). 
 
 Dearest Jane,— Many thanks for your very kind 
 letter, which is just come. I lose no time in setting 
 your sensitive soul to rest as to the annoyance I 
 have sustained. Of course one always feels a little 
 sheepish at finding one has failed, but I feel so per- 
 fectly convinced that in this instance I deserved to 
 
 do so that himself would be charmed with 
 
 my perfect acquiescence in his rejection. 1 have a 
 great deal too much virtue to be amused with what 
 he says, but I have every intention of profiting by it, 
 and I have a great idea that he will have done me a 
 world of good. Only please explain to him that the 
 books in question are not immoral, but only absurd. 
 However, I will indite him a respectable article, and 
 take great pains with it in every way. Tou soften 
 down the sharp edges most tenderly, and your letter 
 is quite worth my writing an article and having it 
 refused, for you are more than good, my dear, 
 and the quantity of this disagreeable trouble 
 you have taken for me is ' deep in my heart.' 
 Eeally, I was more touched by your trying 
 
 to comfort me by talking of than I can tell 
 
 you. As to the article itself, it is of no value, and 
 the public will be no better or worse whether the 
 thing is bestowed upon it or not ; but as I know 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CAELYLE 121 
 
 definitely the objections it lies open to, and especially 
 after Carlyle has taken the trouble of listening to it, 
 I will re- write it, and try to make it as good as my 
 capability wiU allow. It will be good practice at 
 any rate, but don't consider yourself bound to plague 
 yourself with it in any way. A long time ago a 
 friend said ' that an artist who set great store by his 
 work never came to anything good,' and I am sure 
 it is true ! 
 
 Dear me ! one does not write with diamond dust 
 that one should gather up all one's fragments so 
 frugally ! WeU, my dear, and I have got to teU you 
 that your representations about ' stops ' and ' capital 
 letters ' is telling upon me slowly. I have borrowed 
 Blair's lectures, and I expect my sentences will soon 
 be on more creditable principles of composition, and 
 I have already felt respectabihty dawning on my 
 soul from this contemplation of the Doctor's immacu- 
 late wig and weU-balanced visage. I was interrupted 
 by dinner, and during dinner I have had a bright 
 thought — viz., to go to school for my composition. 
 
 A lady I know, no less than 's Mrs. , 
 
 has had a monomania for teaching all her life. She 
 set up a school for the real love of the thing, and 
 English composition — i.e. grammar and syntax — was 
 what she specially shone in. WeU, she has written 
 several httle books for children, the English style of 
 which is reaUy beautiful, and I will go to her, and 
 
122 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 get her to teach me. She is a fierce evangelical, but 
 we get on together notwithstanding, for she has 
 a great deal of sense. She wiU not help me either to 
 thoughts or opinions, but she can teach me what I 
 want a great deal more — viz., the common rules of 
 writing — for, however I may make a joke of the 
 matter, I really know nothing at all about the com- 
 monest rules of English syntax, and always thought 
 they came by nature, and the Devil is in it if I do not 
 contrive to mend my faults. Whether what I write 
 gets printed or not, it shall be done, and properly 
 done too, or — hem ! My dear, before I quit my 
 egotism, wiU you teU me what egotism reaUy is? 
 
 says I have a tendency that way. It is an 
 
 ' asses-bridge ' of a problem I cannot be expected 
 to pass. I am rattling on under the inspiration of 
 your letter, and yet I am dished to a degree that is 
 not marked in a moral thermometer. I am suffering 
 from Mudieism, but it is the result of successful 
 
 labours. I told you the place I had got for 
 
 had fallen through, and a horrid woman would make 
 me go to a tea-drinking there to show that I under- 
 stood her conduct in nothing but a Pickwickian 
 sense. Well, it was a good miss, and Providential as 
 she says, but last Monday I heard of a lady's maid's 
 place for her and went after it, and was asked to sit 
 down in the haU ' par parenthese.' However, I saw 
 the old lady, and a very stiff old lady she was, 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 123 
 
 and the place seemed a very eligible one, 
 
 the only bugbear being that would have 
 
 to clear-starch the collars, but Mrs. pro- 
 mised to teach her that, from the first principles. 
 
 Yesterday was to go and speak to the lady (for 
 
 there are two — the mother and daughter). Well, the 
 place seemed highly advantageous, for I sent my 
 
 servant with her, who told me that 
 
 might manage everything but the clear-starching 
 (the Devil take it !). There were petticoats, besides, 
 
 to wash and iron, and 's heart failed, but there 
 
 were too many advantages, and it was altogether too 
 good to be lost, so after six o'clock last night I 
 saUied out and paid them a visit. The daughter is a 
 very reasonable and considerate person, and both are 
 ladies, and I talked, and the result is they will ' put 
 out ' the petticoats, leaving only the collars and frills 
 
 and her own clothes for , and they wiU bear with 
 
 her shortcomings at first, and not expect perfection 
 of clearness to begin with. She will have a parlour to 
 herself, which she will not have to clean, and she 
 will have to dre.ss these two ladies, and do the plain 
 sewing, according to her capacity, of which I spoke 
 eloquently. She is to go in a fortnight from next 
 Wednesday, and she is to have a week for herself to 
 learn this said clear-starching, and my own milliner 
 has promised to give her a few lessons in quilling 
 and trimming, and cap-making. She is to begin at 
 
124 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 ten guineas, and to be ' raised.' If you will indite a 
 
 letter to , putting spirit into her, and telling her 
 
 that this horrid ironing and starching is very post 
 
 sible, you will do a great good, for, as said, 
 
 ' Poor thing, she is not spiritful, and is easily fright- 
 ened.' Mrs. has been like a mother to her. 
 
 To be sure, she gives more good advice than enough, 
 
 but she is a friend may kneel down and thank 
 
 God for finding. So, my dear, will you put pen to 
 
 paper, and tell she has capacity for sewing, and 
 
 can learn everything else that is needed ? The result 
 is that what with walking and talking, and the 
 anxiety, I am in a mesmeric sleep to-day. I did 
 not get up till twelve o'clock, and if it had not been 
 for your packet I should have lain on the sofa and 
 
 slept till night. I hope Mr. is out of danger 
 
 now. I have a tale for you, but it is too long to 
 write now. Perhaps . I will write on Sunday — any- 
 way, you shall hear soon. By the way, many, many 
 
 thanks for your sense about . I had half a 
 
 mind to burn that nonsense about the shawl, for fear 
 you might mistake it, but on second thoughts I had 
 faith in you, and beheved that you would have faith 
 
 enough in me to see that I referred to as 
 
 the source I was thinking of getting it from. I 
 wish to Heaven he would not think it needful 
 to pay me at all. He does good with his money. 
 I am only a woman, and spend it, and the thought 
 
MISS JEWSBUKY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 125 
 
 of being paid by goes against tlie grain 
 
 terribly. I got more good in translating the article 
 than he is aware of — anyway, I see that he only 
 sends me part of the identical money he receives. 
 The fancy for the shawl is gone by, and I have 
 bought a sober and dowager-like black mantle, 
 which, as an evangelical dressmaker insisted, was 
 'just in my style.' ISTow good-bye, and God bless you ! 
 Take care of yourself, and get as happy and amused 
 as the devoted affection of your friends can make 
 you, and pray accept my contribution to such a good 
 purpose. Seriousl}^ my darling, be a good child, 
 and take care of yourself for my sake if nothing else. 
 
 Your own 
 G. E. J. 
 
 LETTEE 32. 
 Sunday Afternoon (Postmark, June 5, 1844). 
 
 Dearest Jane, — You wiU never guess the cause 
 that hindered your having a letter last week. A 
 lady about whom, on her own account, it would be 
 in vain to attempt to interest you ; there never was a 
 person with whom it was so unlikely you should 
 have anything to do. This said lady came to dinner 
 last Sunday, remained the afternoon (which is the 
 time I take for writing to you), and the letter, of 
 course, did not get written, and the Devil has been in 
 
126 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FEOM 
 
 it ever since. I began on Thursday, but in an access 
 of toothache, and between the pain and the laudanum, 
 I was fairly conquered and sent off to bed — the half- 
 written page remaining as a monument of my helpless- 
 ness. So you see the concatenation of events is very 
 subtle, and there is ' more than is dreamed of in our 
 philosophy.' At least, a great deal more than is to 
 be explained ! First, let me thank you for your last. 
 You little know how glad I was to get it. As to 
 your aunt, you may depend upon my turning every 
 stone that lies within my reach. For some days after 
 your letter came the weather was too bad for any- 
 thing. The streets were impassable, even with the 
 aid of all the virtues of the street-sweeping machine. 
 Like other pieces of perfection, it depends for success 
 upon not being too much tried ! However, I have 
 interested several worthy people, who are very likely 
 to hear of something. , I entertain no doubt of ulti- 
 mate success, but there seems in these days a certain 
 portion of waiting and searching that must be gone 
 through and then something turns up. I never knew an 
 ultimate failure, and I have watched a good many 
 similar affairs ; so don't worry yourself. If old 
 
 has gone back to the ' Times,' he has as much 
 
 patronage as a Prime Minister — viz., there are nearly 
 as many persons who would be thankful to oblige 
 
 him anyway he wishes, and if old wore my 
 
 chains, I would make the boasting, vainglorious old 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 127 
 
 soul be of some use in this matter The wit 
 
 of man is ' indite,' so do not fancy I shall fidget my- 
 self or think this, that, or the other disagreeable 
 thing about it if I don't hear any tidings for the next 
 
 six months of its fate. Mrs. is chained to 
 
 ' Consuelo ' and can look ofi" for no sublunary things. 
 "With difficulty I have roused her, and she says that 
 ' she hopes your " substitute servant " and your 
 ever-staying visitor will make your house so intoler- 
 able that, what between one thing and another, you 
 will be obliged to accept her invitation in self- 
 defence ! ' 
 
 LETTEE 33. 
 
 Monday (Postmark, June 11, 1844). 
 
 Dearest Jane, — How are you and all your 
 worries ? I have no time to indite a Christian-hke 
 
 note, but I am not going to let .'s packet go 
 
 without my having at least a word in the business. 
 I hope the flowers will bear their journey well, 
 
 especially the yellow rose, which has been 
 
 watching with quiet anxiety to see when it would be 
 in fit state to travel. I am leaving here on Thursday, 
 but as I have another fortnight to look forward to 
 before summer is over, I shall make it fall when 
 you come this way, which we are all counting upon 
 as sure as on sunrise and sunset. Don't you go and 
 be a tiresome ' Joshua,' and disappoint us by ' stand- 
 
128 SELECTIONS OF LETTEES FROM 
 
 ing still.' My brother has set his heart on going to 
 Spain the second week in July, and if you can manage 
 your journey then, why the house will be as quiet as 
 the Sleeping Beauty's Palace, and you can stay with 
 me as long as you can find in your heart to do so, and 
 then we will come on together to Liverpool. I want to 
 see you very much ; more than I have any chance of 
 making you understand. I am tired to death of 
 writing letters into space ; the best of letters are 
 fractions of fragments, and deceive one by pretend- 
 ing to do away with the inconveniences of absence — 
 whereas one only writes, after a long separation, to 
 oneself, instead of one's friend. Letters between 
 people who have not seen each other for so long 
 as we have, too, never are the exact signs of the 
 things signified. One gets into a ' falsetto,' and 
 altogether I am in a very bad humour, and don't 
 feel at all inclined to write another letter this side 
 Doomsday, except to people with whom there is 
 some chance of getting the speech of in ordinary 
 course of human probabihty ! that is, chances that 
 are likely to fall due within the mystical ' threescore- 
 and-ten years.' I want to see you so much that I 
 can write about nothing, tell you nothing, for what 
 on earth do I know about you at this blessed 
 moment ? Nothing ! I might just as well be writing 
 a supposititious letter for a new edition of the ' Com- 
 plete Letter-writer' from a lady to her female friend 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CAELYLE 129 
 
 whom she has not seen for a long time ! Do, my dear 
 love, come ! Leave the things at home to find their own 
 
 level ! That confounded ! I have suppressed a 
 
 very energetic curse that was at the tip of my pen, 
 
 but it is in my heart for her all the same ! 
 
 has gone catching cold over cold all through the 
 winter, and has now a severe attack of what learned 
 men call ' bronchitis ' : she is not at all in a good 
 state of health, and she won't take any care of her- 
 self. Did you ever hear of Miss — — ? Of course 
 you have, because you once sent me an anecdote 
 about her being left sitting by herself in the theatre 
 because nobody came to carry her away ! Well, she 
 is now living in Liverpool in a state of wretched 
 desolation ; the brute she married treated her in- 
 famously, spent all her money, beat her, and actually 
 when he was in a worse temper than usual used to 
 put her at the top of the stairs and roll her down all 
 the way to the bottom. She got separated from him 
 at last, and the Devil knows what has become of him. 
 But she, poor thing, is trying to keep herself from 
 starving by painting miniatures at two guineas 
 apiece. And she also gives lessons. A friend of 
 ours, hearing of her quite by chance, went straight 
 away to sit to her, and the servant who takes care of 
 
 Miss said, 'Eh ! ma'am, I am so thankful a 
 
 sitter has come, for we had not bread in the house I ' 
 
 Miss , however, in spite of all her troubles, is 
 
 K 
 
130 SELECTIONS OP LETTERS FROM 
 
 strong and active, I was going to say — ^but she would 
 be so if she had the wherewith ! She converses very 
 intelligently, and has a great love for music, sings 
 well herself, with a fine contralto voice, starting 
 from G — which, I suppose, is somewhere in the 
 musical depths — and, would you believe it, she has 
 had more than forty offers of marriage ! Certainly 
 
 the baseness of man is inscrutable. Mrs. only 
 
 heard about her on Saturday, and she is not up to 
 the magnanimity of sitting to her, but she is interest- 
 ing herself about her very much, and she sent her a 
 splendid bunch of flowers, which would be a little bit 
 of sunshine for her. I have no time to say more now, 
 except God bless you, and do come soon ! Write, 
 anyway, and say how you are, mind and body, and 
 
 also how the flowers are. How does sro on ? 
 
 and have you seen lately ? In short, teU me a 
 
 great deal, and believe me, 
 
 Ever your own, 
 
 G. E. Jewsbuey. 
 
 LETTER 34. 
 
 Friday, June 14, 1844. 
 
 Dearest Jane, — ^I came in from Liverpool only an 
 hour ago, and was sitting very disconsolate, refresh- 
 ing my exhausted nature with the debris of a grand 
 dinner my brother thought proper to give yester- 
 day, when your note was brought in, and it has given 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 131 
 
 me an actual indigestion with joy. Mj dear, is it a 
 real, sober fact that j^ou will be here next week? 
 Never mind your gown; we have milliners here 
 endowed with an average of taste and imagination 
 equal to constructing one for you. So let me have 
 every minute of you that is possible. I am really 
 just stunned, and can hardly get my breath ! If you 
 do disappoint me, and don't come, I shall do some 
 deed of dreadful note ! All the house has just been 
 cleaned down for the summer, so you will have the 
 benefit of it. Nobody worth a house of ten pounds 
 is insensible to the pleasure of having it in order for a 
 ' distinguished guest,' and actually it was the second 
 thought that came into my head ; so you see you 
 have the very purest human nature undiluted with 
 the faintest tinge of propriety. I can't write to you 
 to-day, I am in too great a flutter. Perhaps by 
 Sunday I shall be more composed, and I will try to 
 write to you then. My dear, ' Chapman and Hall ' 
 may just go to their own ' devils ' and carry MSS. and 
 all with them, before I will bother myself with any- 
 thing belonging to prosperity whilst you are in this 
 part of the world. And so. . . . My dear child, are 
 you quite sure that you are coming ? I fear some- 
 thing will happen to the railway, or the house, or 
 ' Oliver Cromwell,' and when there is anything good 
 before me at a distance of a few days I always get 
 afraid that I shall die before it comes close to me. 
 
 a. 2 
 
132 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FKOM 
 
 Now do make haste ! I am in a fever already, so 
 what shall I be if you delay long ? I am very glad 
 
 about Mrs. 's flowers. You may thank me you 
 
 got them at last, for she turned modest, as she always 
 does, and would have it that you would think them 
 silly, and I had to swear and better swear that you 
 were sillier than even myself, for that you would 
 care for them even more than I should. This 
 
 morning, before I came away, that good Mrs. 
 
 had sent me a bunch of such geraniums I was in a 
 great mind to pack them up and send them to you, 
 but human nature carried it. I cannot find in my 
 heart to send them, but you will be here before they 
 are dead. I can hardly persuade myself that I am 
 hoping for a sober fact, and not ' a castle in the air.' 
 By the way, I feel strongly tempted to take a fit to 
 
 , on the strength of his letter, there is something 
 
 so very — good — about it. The sort of good that 
 takes my fancy. Thanks for your good deed about 
 
 ■ , and pray tell Carlyle how very sensible I am 
 
 of his note. It is no use trying to write more just 
 now. God bless jou dear, dear love, and send you 
 safe here ! 
 
 Ever your own 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 133 
 
 LETTER 35. 
 
 Thursday (Postmark, June 21, 1844). 
 
 Dearest Jane, — Thank heaven ! the day for your 
 coming into this quarter of this world is finally settled. 
 You are quite right in what you say about going first 
 to Liverpool, which shows a degree of openness to 
 conviction which I find very praiseworthy, especially 
 as I had made the programme of your visitings very 
 smooth to my own notions. However, as I shall get 
 no good out of you whatever, when surrounded, as 
 you will be there, you need not expect to see me 
 come over to you. I shall wait in pure confidence 
 of seeing you here when you can achieve it, and, 
 provided I get my fair share of you, I will promise 
 not to torment you, which is promising a great deal, 
 for I am as jealous as a Turk, and don't, besides, care 
 half a straw for seeing my friends except tete-a-tete, 
 when I feel strongly disposed to assassinate every- 
 body who does not keep out of reach ! Eeally, if it 
 were not that I am much humanised by the lessons 
 which have so painfully been instilled into me, I fear 
 I should be a great savage ; anyway, I am sure that 
 when one loves either man or woman it rouses all 
 the ferocity that was calmly slumbering till then in 
 the profound depths of indilFerence. So there's a piece 
 of philosophy for you, if you have leisure to examine 
 it. You may believe it, for it is Gospel true ! I am 
 
134 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 just at this instant undergoing the torture of having 
 my hair dressed, and I can hardly form my letters, 
 besides every now and then having a lug enough to 
 tear one's hair and ideas up by the roots. What is 
 
 this about ? I had not seen a newspaper for 
 
 weeks till the other day, and then the first thing that 
 
 caught my eye was Mr. 's application to 
 
 Sir J. Graham and his reply, which roused me. 
 What possible excuse can they make ? However, 
 all that when you come. I am just at my wits' end 
 about that horrid MS. ; the seven chapters are far 
 heavier to me than they can be to a reader with the 
 privilege of skipping. I cannot materially alter, but 
 I am cutting short, which will do just as well. Next 
 Monday ! I shall be thinking of you all the day. 
 Heaven send you safe without accident ! When one 
 has anything precious, either in the post or coming 
 like a Christian, one always fears a suspension of the 
 course of Nature not in their favour ! Do take care 
 of yourself, and send me word as soon as you get in, 
 and say how you bore the journey. Don't bother 
 yourself about sending a calm word before then ; I 
 don't want your journey delayed a minute — even to 
 write to me. God bless you, my dear love. Do try 
 to take care of yourself, and don't get worried by any 
 considerations of either love or benevolence. I am not 
 disposed to let anybody plague you but— myself ! I 
 shall feel easier when you are fairly in Liverpool — 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH OARLYLE 135 
 
 you will be within reach. But recollect, not a step 
 will I stir more than the wooden image of a saint 
 out of its niche ! Come to me, for I want you sadly 
 in peace and quiet all to myself; so good-bye to 
 Cheyne Eow for the present. 
 
 Your own 
 G. E. J. 
 This ink will hardly mark ; it is thick copying 
 ink, and the pen is worse. 
 
 LETTER 36. 
 
 Sunday (Postmark, June 24, 1844). 
 
 Dearest Jane, — This is only a hasty kiss on your 
 safe arrival, for you will be too tired for more, dear 
 love ; how glad I feel to know that you are so near ! 
 I wish I were with you to welcome you, but you are 
 with those who love you. I hope you will have a 
 bright day for your journey. Do write me a line when 
 you are up to it to say how you are, bodily and 
 spiritually ! I think much of you ; if you are not 
 
 able to write, tell to send me a line to say how 
 
 you are. I shall feel very anxious tiU I get it. Poor 
 
 unfortunate Mrs. ! Go and see her as soon as 
 
 you can, for she will not be able to come to you. 
 Her doctor — (may he be condemned to the first circle 
 of Inferno for it !) has salivated her in a mistake ! ! ! 
 She entreated he would not give her mercury — he 
 said he would not — that there was none in the 
 
13G SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 medicine she was taking four times a day, and when 
 the symptoms could not be mistaken he instituted an 
 inquiry, and found that the surgery-boy had made up 
 the wrong prescription and given calomel instead of 
 
 ipecacuanha ! " Did you ever ? came last 
 
 night, and told me all this. He saw her on 
 Friday, and he says she is in a dismal state, quite 
 pulled down and altered already. I am in such a 
 fury about it ! If she had been an ugly woman, one 
 would not have cared so much, though it would have 
 been provoking ; but for a handsome creature like 
 her to have her beauty put in peril by such an 
 atrocious piece of carelessness is something to make 
 one's blood boil ! Do, my dear love, comfort her as 
 much as you can. I have no other news of any 
 sort — and if I had, I have not patience to write. I 
 don't know the length of time you intend to be away 
 from home, so can make no definite petition ; I trust 
 to your honour to give me a fair proportion of your 
 time. I don't want to worry you, but if you don't 
 stay to the utmost moment with me it will take more 
 magnanimity than I possess to forgive you, and so I 
 feel as jealous as a tiger, and not at all friendly or 
 amiable. God bless you, my dear love ! and beUeve 
 me your own 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE WELSH OARLYLE 137 
 
 LETTEE 37. 
 Date doubtful (Probably July 4, 1844). 
 
 Dearest Jane, — This is Sunday, and thougli I 
 have nothing to say I have got in the habit of writing 
 to you on this day. Eeal habit is as mysterious and 
 magnetic as example ! How are you ? Have you 
 enjoyed your holidays ? I am looking forward to 
 having you here so much, but it seems fated we are 
 
 to meet in a crowd first ! will be put out of 
 
 the way if I don't go to Seaforth, so I shall be there 
 with you for all or part of the time. I don't want to 
 
 leave home before goes, and then, you know, 
 
 3"0u come back with me for as long as you can 
 contrive. I have so many things to tell you, and 
 having you there at Liverpool is tantalising to death ! 
 How do they go on without you at home? Don't 
 worry yourself to write me notes to Liverpool ; no- 
 thing is such a bore when one is visiting, and, 
 besides, I am too desperate to see you to be able to 
 stay my heart — with letters ! They are only good 
 
 starvation diet, at best ! How is ? I want 
 
 to know whether any mischief has_ followed the 
 opening of his letters. Actually, the other day I 
 heard a man defending the practice ! ! It was in 
 company, but I got into a fit of inexpressible rage, 
 and if words and looks and thoughts would do a 
 man 'grievous bodily harm,' or harm of any sort. 
 
138 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 this man did not escape scathless, and I have had 
 my cheeks tinged with a chronic blush ever since, 
 to think that the wretch who uttered such base 
 and cringing words was the identical man I once 
 .... the man I almost worshipped as a god ! ! ! 
 Merciful Heaven-! Does one get wise as time passes 
 on, or is it only that one's old folly goes out of 
 fashion and looks as unbecoming as an antiquated 
 ball-dress ? I had such a beautiful Greek drinking 
 tea here last night. Poor fellow ! he has roused my 
 sympathy most painfully. He is only twenty-two, 
 and has just had two paralytic strokes within the 
 last month, and it is grievous to see such a glorious 
 creature hardly able to move. He is going to France 
 to recruit, but I don't think he will live, and I would 
 much rather die at once than live in fear of such a 
 fate. I will write and tell you when I come to Liver- 
 pool, but it will depend on you and Mrs. . Take 
 
 care and aUow plenty of time for me. We shall 
 have the house all to ourselves, and I think the 
 winding up with perfect quiet wiU be a good finale to 
 your visit. 
 
 Ever your own 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
MISS JE^^'SBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 139 
 
 LETTER 38. 
 
 [Dated July, 1844, probably the 1st or 2nd instant, after a visit to 
 Seaforth.— A. E. I.] 
 
 Dearest Jane, — I don't like sending on your letter 
 witliout a word from myself, and yet what have I to 
 say to you ? I did not reach home last night till 
 half-past eight. Three mortal hours on the road ! I 
 felt quite pleased you had escaped a horrible sickness 
 and headache which fell even on me, who am by 
 no means a susceptible traveller. The house was 
 looking so nice, and tea all set out, like a wedding- 
 breakfast with the principal character absent. I 
 have been very lonely all day, but, thanks to a 
 salutary fright at the prospect of the work lying 
 before me, I have been too busy to be melancholy. 
 But, my dear, it is all a pack of ' Unitarian stuff' 
 when people say that when j'^ou are occupied you 
 are happy, for I am not happy in the least, and 
 though my very back aches keeping my heart com- 
 pany — my conscience is as sulky as a mule, and does 
 not say a word of a civil thing to me. So, my dear, 
 don't you be beguiled into working hard under false 
 pretences ! I could not help being diverted by my 
 travelling companions yesterday. There was a Sara- 
 cen's head in one corner looking so ridiculously like 
 a sign-board, and dressed, like Hamlet, in inky 
 black ! It turned its eyes on me from time to time 
 
140 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FKOM 
 
 till I got half-mesmerised. I think the head must 
 have belonged to some heathen — a Christian could 
 not have looked so ; then there was the editor of the 
 ' Liverpool Times,' who read the ' Athenseum ' with 
 a grim, ' tomahawk look,' and there was a small 
 specimen of Young England who talked incessantly 
 in a way altogether ' impayabLe ' till his uncle, a 
 mild, elderly man, said : ' All peas grow above their 
 sticks ' — which set me off laughing till I had the 
 comfort to see the Young England fairly out of 
 countenance. The uncle in question was cousin to 
 
 good Mrs. . I am going to drink tea with her 
 
 this afternoon, though I don't feel half-tempted to 
 turn out. 
 
 The instant I got in I fell foul of my cigars, and 
 I never felt the want of them or the good of them so 
 much. I am sure Providence itself put it into my 
 head to smoke. ' It soothes our sorrows, heals our 
 wounds, and wipes away our tears,' as one of Dr. 
 Watts's hymns says. I send you a few of them to 
 comfort you. I was just interrupted here by Mrs. 
 
 's son, who called to say tea was waiting, so what 
 
 the sentence begun was to have been I don't know, 
 and perhaps it will be lost for ever — unless it is 
 thrown back like the spoiled glass into the furnace 
 to be melted over again. I had a very pleasant 
 
 evening ; we talked over Seaforth and you. Mrs. ■ 
 
 told me that she would send her love if she dared, 
 
MISS JE^VSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 141 
 
 and that slie often tliouglit of the kiss you used to 
 give her at night. You would hke her if you could 
 onty be surrounded by her sons. The more I think 
 of it, the more thankful I am for the friendship you 
 
 feel for . You will get a great deal of good 
 
 out of it. I feel much more inclined to be jealous of 
 the impression you have made on her than of that 
 she has made on you, because I know how slow she 
 is to care for anyone, especially a woman, and she 
 loves you already ; but I think you can stand a great 
 deal of love. Yesterday, when I left you, I did not 
 realise that I was reall}' saying a final good-bye. 
 The sudden surprise of not taking you with me 
 prevented my feeling anything else, arid it was not 
 till I got home that it struck me, and I did not just 
 then need anything to make me more melancholy. 
 Write to me as soon as you can, and teU me that you 
 love me, for that is a word one cannot hear too often 
 repeated, and I don't get feeling any remorse or evil 
 fancies about j'ou — circumstanced as you are. I 
 would not have you with me on any consideration. 
 If anything were to happen to your uncle before you 
 see him again you would never have forgiven your- 
 self for grieving him by coming to me, and I would 
 do more to save you from five minutes' remorse than 
 I would to keep you off any other pain. There is 
 no armour for the soul against it, and Harriet 
 Martineau herself could not reason you out of it. 
 
142 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 You have a horribly tender conscience, and I fear 
 3'ou will, in some of your sleepless nights, go and 
 torment yourself by fancying me pained or grieved 
 
 in my mind. knows me better in some things 
 
 than even you do ; believe what she teUs you in this 
 matter rather than your own fancy ; and besides, 
 when I saw poor old Mr. Welsh's brightened-up face 
 I was quite contented you should remain with him 
 instead of me. Can I say more or think more ? I 
 am interrupted again. It is no use to try to get 
 more said. God bless you, dear love ! 
 
 Ever you own, 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 I have kept Mr. Carlyle's letter separate. 
 
 July, 1844. 
 
 [Written after Mrs. Carlyle's stay with her tmcle, in Maryland 
 Street, and after her visit to Seaforth. — A. E. I.] 
 
 LETTER 39. 
 Sunday Morning, September 17, 1844. 
 
 Dear Jane, — This week is at an end, and how has 
 it left you ? I have thought of you every day, and I 
 am much more anxious about you now that I suppose 
 all is over, than when matters were going on ! One 
 always seems to fall into dissolution when one has 
 come to a stand, and there is nothing more to do. 
 I suppose one must be a sort of god before one can 
 
MISS JETS'SBURY TO JANE WELSH CAELYLE 143 
 
 rest with, safety, or even satisfaction. I liad a letter 
 from Mrs. the other day ; she is enjoying her- 
 self much — she has made , she saj^s, ' swear 
 
 that she will spend two days in London as they 
 return,' that she may get to see you, and I fancy that 
 will be before long, as they were only to remain three 
 weeks or thereabouts in Paris. She will be so 
 pleased with, that introduction to G. Sand, for her 
 letter was full of schemings how it would be possible 
 
 to contrive it. Mrs. , it seems, knows a person 
 
 who knows G. S., but then there were doubts 
 whether she was get-at-able for everybody, and so 
 many had left town ; so I am thankful she will go 
 now properly accredited, even if it should bore G. Sand 
 to be visited. It will only be for half an hour, and 
 the pleasure to — ^ — ■ will last for life ; so, on the 
 whole, you may set it down as one of the best good 
 deeds you ever did — quite a ' Sunday best.' She 
 
 (Mrs. ) had been to see ' Eachel,' and had not got 
 
 struck ! She likes 's acting better than any 
 
 she has seen; there's a delicate conjugal compli- 
 ment — to which, of course, he will feel sensible, 
 especially as he is kept on a short allowance of them ! 
 
 is much astonished at the killing looks given 
 
 by everybody to everybody, even by the veriest old 
 hags of fish-women to equally old and ugly liommes 
 du peuple. In short, love-making and eating seem the 
 grave occupations of life ; but the eating comes first. 
 
144 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 In fact, she seems singularly struck with the Land of 
 Goshen, with the abundance of ' dainty dishes ' that 
 are always in progress of being either cooked or eaten. 
 The cooking is evidently the great mystery that has 
 
 impressed her. I have written to for her letters, 
 
 and when they come I will send them if there is any- 
 thing very amusing in them. I must now go and get 
 ready for my ill-advised expedition, que diahle allait 
 il faire dans cette galere ! I had little to do to be 
 beguiled with rural notions of a farm in Cheshire ; but 
 really I am so tired and worried with work that I 
 jumped at the idea, and how I shall jump to find 
 myself safe back again, and my feet on my fender ; it 
 is a lovely day, that is one comfort. This letter is not 
 intrinsically worth the stamp that carries it, but there 
 is always an excitement in opening a letter, and you 
 will go on hoping for something till you get to the 
 end, when it will be too much trouble to feel dis- 
 appointed. How is Mazzini ? If you are disinchned 
 to write, do not worry yourself, it is an angelic in- 
 firmity I can sympathise with, but recollect that I am 
 really in a bad way about you, and I think of you 
 much more than if you were my lover. So God 
 bless yoii, my dear love, and take care of you ! 
 
 Ever your own 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 P.S. — I am a great deal better than when I wrote 
 last. 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 145 
 
 LETTER 40. 
 
 [Without date, referring to the novel of ' Zoe,' which was 
 published in 1845.] 
 
 Tuesday Night. 
 
 Dearest Jane, — And you have actually, with all 
 your pain in your side, and pain all over, read through 
 our manuscript ! I could find in my heart to scold 
 you, if it were not that I am so much obUged to you. 
 I wrote last night, and you will get it all in good 
 time, if the Fates have not moved my brother to 
 forgetfulness and he brings it back in his pocket ; and 
 pray, profit by as many of the injunctions as yet 
 remain possible. A thousand thanks for your real 
 kindness ! Your criticism made me laugh till I was 
 half-dead, for you little know all our strivings after 
 decency. If you had seen the work as it was first 
 schemed, you would have had something to complain 
 of; indeed, it struck us that people might get 
 scandalised. So there have we been softening it down, 
 and doing our very best to make it proper-behaved, 
 and fancied we had succeeded to a miracle. You 
 don't know the trouble we have taken to see what 
 would look decent at a distance. It is a clear case 
 we have no vocation for propriety, as such. As Iheard 
 to-day of an old doctor who said to a very delicate 
 fragile young thing, an acquaintance of mine, ' My 
 
 dear Miss : , I wiU order you some strengthening 
 
 medicine, I will order you anything, but it is of no 
 
 L 
 
146 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 use ; I can't put in what Nature has left out,' and so, 
 my dear, I say we will try to be pretty-rbehaved, 
 but it will be of no use. It will be like Sir E. L. 
 Bulwer's morality : we want the natural perception 
 for it ! In the scene which I fancy is the • one in 
 which the objection is most tangible, you don't know 
 how I begged that you might have on the ' velvet 
 cloak lined with fur,' but Betsy said that when people 
 woke out of their sleep, they did not . . . 
 
 However, my dear, there shall be a liberal dis- 
 tribution of spotted muslin ! only, will you teU me 
 where it is to be applied ? It is no use ' leaving it to 
 our own consciences.' Our sympathies are imperfect 
 on that point. I was told the other day, by a man 
 who realty was present in a Methodist chapel in 
 Birmingham that the preacher, who was settling 
 our parents before the Fall, said : ' It has been sup- 
 posed by many learned divines that when Adam and 
 Eve left the hands of their Maker they were guarded 
 against the inclemency of the seasons by a sort of 
 natural soft white down, in which their lower limbs 
 were clothed, very similar to the plush of the present 
 day ! ' Now, my dear, is our tale really true, or are 
 we destitute of such a beneficent provision? Are 
 there no traces of it to be discerned by spiritual 
 eyes ? For mercy's sake do send us some pattern or 
 fashion by which to shape our garments, and they 
 shall be dutifully worn ! I think we have a natural 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE AVELSII CARLXLE 147 
 
 hankering after the privileges of the state of inno- 
 cence, for I once knew a man, rather a clever one, 
 who set up to be an esprit fort a la Voltaire, and his 
 grand complaint was, ' you see. Miss Jewsbury, that 
 as society is at present constituted, man cannot be 
 free ; he could not even take off his pantaloons 
 without being thought to commit himself ! ' As the 
 grievance about ' the pantaloons ' seemed a fixed idea, 
 I at length suggested that he might enlist in a High- 
 land regiment ! One thing I have observed in my 
 experience — viz., that if we are thrown among people 
 totally dissimilar in their ways of thought and 
 feeling to ourselves, we are tolerated, and we do not 
 raise up any angry feeling ; but the instant we begin 
 to try to conform, everybody gets indignant that 
 it should all be natural to us, and each one sets 
 about examining and criticising whether the acquired 
 thoughts and feelings are of the lawful fashion, and 
 they are much more inveterate against a false copy 
 of their dearly beloved gods than if we paid them no 
 attention at all. It is impossible to catch any 
 ' shibboleth.' You know it was a herb-woman who 
 discovered that Themistocles was not an Athenian — 
 ' thy speech bewrayeth thee ! ' And this is true all 
 the world over. 1 think there is something truly 
 touching in our destitution of what is caUed decency 
 
 an irresistible appeal to the merciful consideration 
 
 of those who are gifted Avith it — a throwing ourselves 
 
148 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 on the charity of those more richly endowed. We 
 make no profession : we clearly ' know no better.' 
 Do you not think this will be taken in extenuation ? 
 Still, we will do our best to mend it ! Now about 
 the conclusion. I am at this present busy on the 
 chapter where he comes to the conclusion of giving 
 up his college. When a man has been born and 
 educated in one idea, it is wonderful how impossible 
 it seems to him to get out of it. ' Everard ' found 
 infinitely less of difficulty in getting out of his faith 
 than in throwing himself out of his Church. I have 
 been told that if you draw a circle of chalk round 
 a goose it will starve to death before it will cross the 
 line, and we have all of us more or less affinity with 
 the goose ; besides, the grand fault in Everard's 
 character is indolence — a slowness to act. He is 
 conscientious, but it takes time to rouse it up to the 
 pitch of moving him. He has had feelings, but from 
 time to time he quiets himself, as the greater number 
 of all the priests and clergymen I ever knew quiet 
 themselves. Indeed, how could they do more good 
 if they were less human ? And then, E.'s atheism is 
 not a vulgar ' Tom Paine ' hatred to religion ? It is 
 only the seeing a little further into it. 
 
 He sees that doctrines inculcated by religion 
 stand on their own account, and that the religious 
 mythology is only the coarse form in which they are 
 made tangible, so that at first and for a time he 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE WELSH CAELYLE 149 
 
 niiglit easily reconcile it to liis feelings to stay where 
 he was, especially till he saw his own way a little bit 
 clearer. And then, the Catholic Church is not like 
 one of the little, pert, prosing, Protestant sects ! No 
 man could remain in one of them a day after he 
 ceased to believe ; but there is room in the Catholic 
 Church, when you are once fairly in it, for almost 
 anything ! It may be said of it, that ' in my Father's 
 house are many mansions ' ; and he is a Jesuit, too, 
 and a man cannot readily make up his mind to leave 
 such an Order as that. I do not want to make it out 
 a virtue in Everard that he remained for a while 
 after he ceased to believe. I only want to make it 
 out that it was highly natural. His real, true passion 
 for Zoe opens his eyes to the littleness of all the 
 motives which have held him, and you will see all 
 the misery and shame and self-contempt he reaps, and 
 the houleversement he has sustained works him up to 
 the point of decision. He writes to Eome and turns 
 his back on all the honours and consideration he is 
 enjoying, and you can hardly enter into what it costs 
 even a common priest to leave the Church, so that to 
 E., in spite of his atheism, it would be a heart- 
 breaking affair. And it is just at that point, after the 
 preparations for his departure are made, his successor 
 appointed (only not generally known), that we thought 
 of bringing home Schultz ill, and then all the dying ! 
 We once thought of making E. live on as he could in 
 
150 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 the world for some years after, but Betsy said — and 
 I came into her opinion — ' no, let it be as you at first 
 schemed it ; let it be a lost life ! What are we to do 
 with him in the world ? Nobody can feel the least 
 interest in him after he ceases to be a priest, and 
 there is something more touching in his dying just 
 when his eyes are open to the fuU worthlessness of 
 all he has been living for. Let him die, and let them 
 say Mass for his soul ! for the Church would never 
 go publishing that he had turned atheist ! ' And I 
 must say this accords with my own feelings the most. 
 The other day, reading ' Jeremy Taylor,' I found this 
 quotation from some old Greek : ' Our wisdom never 
 comes till we are past the using of it — that is, till we 
 are going to die.' What are we sent into this world 
 at all for ? What ought we to do with our life ? 
 The whole book is to ask that question, or rather 
 suggest it. I am sure I know of nothing that is 
 worth doing. What can we set Everard to work 
 upon ? I have taken him as far as I can. I can tell 
 him nothing more. I can give him no new faith. 
 I can set him up with no new doctrines to begin to 
 lead the remainder of his .life-time. My dear love, 
 what can any of us do ? What do any of us know ? 
 'For man walketh in darkness, and knoweth not 
 whither he goeth. He walketh in a vain show, and 
 disquieteth himself in vain.' 
 
 No, no ! let him die, die in the consciousness 
 
MISS JEWSBUKY TO JANE WELSH OAELYLE 151 
 
 that he has failed in his task ; that his task is over, 
 that his chance is over, that the significance of his 
 life is sealed from him, and, passing along with the 
 rest of nature into darkness where 'the light is as 
 darkness,' let him sleep ! I cannot make Everard 
 up into any theory of utility or usefulness to man- 
 kind. I cannot even make out his scheme of morality 
 for him. He must grow shapeless and vague, and 
 pass away, leaving all sorts of inconsistencies to be 
 reconciled. What can we know tiU we are dead, and 
 ' the end is not by-and-bye.' 
 
 My God ! I would give the rest of the years of 
 my life to be able to know why it is that Life is 
 given us, and I would say it and leave it behind 
 me. 
 
 Now, my darling, I have explained at very full 
 length my ideas on the matter, to give you grounds 
 for judging from. It would require working out still 
 more clearly, of course, if I took this tack, but what I 
 want to know is, do you agree to it ? Do you think 
 I am right ? Do not fancy I have said all this to 
 justify myself ! I have only wished to make my 
 views clear to you, and now I want your notions 
 before I go on any further. I don't care what trouble 
 I take, or what work is to be done or undone ; I only 
 want to be, as St. Paul says, ' thoroughly persuaded in 
 my own mind.' I shall send your letter off to Betsy 
 to-night, for she will be anxious to see it. If there 
 
152 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 is anything entertaining in the tale it is thanks to 
 her ! If it had been left to me to manage it would 
 have been very ' dree,' the tale parts that I attempted 
 to tell were dreadfully long-winded. I always stuck 
 fast among the ancestors. Ton may thank heaven 
 that you do not know the biographical details you have 
 been spared. However, it wants, as you say, rewriting 
 altogether, and it shall be done, whether or no. But 
 do you really, in sober earnest, think it wiU ever do 
 to be printed and published ? Now if I had been 
 with you for half an hour it would have saved aU 
 this writing, and I could have had your counsel warm 
 and at once, without having it cut short by the 
 plague of refractory pens. I cannot write well by 
 candle-light : my eyes are burning now, so good 
 night, love ! You have long since left the region of 
 thanks behind ! Still I can say ' thank you ' for the 
 ' feather ' — thanks are adequate to express female 
 feelings about that. You don't know how I was 
 tempted to buy one some time since, and I was 
 actually prudent enough to buy my velvet bonnet 
 without one because I could not afford it. So let no 
 one say that virtue does not get rewarded. 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH OARLYLE 153 
 
 LETTER 41. 
 [Fragment, undated, probably under date of 1844.] 
 
 ... A time may come when my ' elective affini- 
 ties ' will break their bonds, and I shall find myself 
 resolved into the elements some fine morning. I feel 
 as if I wanted a leaden weight of some twenty 
 pounds melted into my body to give it a due propor- 
 tion of gravity. Miss came to me last Satur- 
 day. I admire her very much. She has escaped all 
 the defects which I feared she must have had from 
 her peculiar qualities. Escaped is not the word — 
 they are neutralised rather. She is very agreeable, 
 pleasant to look at, dresses very nicely, is rather 
 stylish in appearance, and has a ' repose,' as one of my 
 friends says, which is very soothing to me. I feel 
 very comfortable with her, and there is a reality in 
 her speech which is very good. almost wor- 
 ships her. You cannot think how charming he is 
 with her ! It is a position to test a man, and show 
 whether he is a gentleman 'ingrain,' and I never 
 liked him so much, or thought so highly of him, as 
 
 since Miss came here. A man must be 
 
 thoroughly good to keep up such a frank and in- 
 timate relationship with two women, not only at the 
 
 same time, but in each other's presence. Miss 
 
 deserves the influence she has over him ; and if I feel 
 this you may believe this. The other day I received 
 
154 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 a letter from Egypt, and I think that possibly may 
 be the reason of the questionable state of my nerves, 
 for it startled me horribly. I had been writing all 
 day and had gone out for a while, and when I came 
 back I had my tea and read Mazzini's article on 
 ' George Sand,' and was in the most comfortable, 
 innocent sort of spirit, and when I sat down to my 
 desk again this cursed letter lay there ! If I had 
 seen a ghost I could not have been more upset. 
 However, the letter itself is transcendental enough, 
 and I could make neither head nor tail of it ; it quite 
 passes my understanding! At the same time I feel 
 very gladhe has written again, as it is some consolation 
 to my outraged dignity. For however little one may 
 hold to one's vanity, still I suppose there must be 
 some leaven of it in one's human heart. All this 
 time I am forgetting a most important event that has 
 befallen me, which is a grand epoch in a woman's 
 life. I have had — what ? Guess. An oiFer of mar- 
 riage ? Never a bit of it. No man of my acquaint- 
 ance has been so far abandoned by Providence. A 
 lover, then ? Still less. I am in no humour for human 
 valentines ; but what I have had is actually a real 
 Cashmere shawl given me last week ! ! And upon my 
 honour, a great many disagreeable things might 
 come upon me which I should not feel now that I 
 can wrap myself round with this mysterious and 
 almost unknown production. It was reading the 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 155 
 
 memoirs of ' Madame Lafarge ' which first inspired 
 me with an ardent passion for the unknown article. 
 Ever since I have had a secret aspiration after one, 
 and, lo, last Wednesday one gently and most unex- 
 pectedly descended to my arms. It is an immense 
 size, and not at all to be called pretty, but it has 
 occult properties far beyond beauty. It seemed to 
 me to want cleaning, and I went to a large shawl 
 shop to inquire about it. The man in the shop, a 
 sober Scotchman, grew quite enthusiastic. He would 
 not let me have it touched, and said his only desire 
 was to go into that branch of business (it is evidently 
 the poetical side of the shawl trade), and then he 
 sighed and said, ' So few ladies here know how to 
 appreciate them.' Like the lamentations after high 
 art ! You never told me how the plaid dress looked 
 when it was made up. I have nothing more to tell 
 you, except that I want to hear how you are going on. 
 
 is, you will be sorr}^ to hear, verj^ unwell. His 
 
 cough and cold keep hanging on him. Miss 
 
 has made him promise to go to the doctor. If 
 
 were as ill I should be miserable. I am not happy as 
 it is ? Finally, good-bye. God only knows when the 
 
 Devil wiU let me get to London. Miss now 
 
 cannot do with me till the end of April because her 
 blessed nephew is with her, out of real vicious per- 
 verseness, because we want him elsewhere. Miss 
 has asked me to return with her ; indeed I 
 
156 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 proposed it before I knew of this change, so now, 
 whether I shall come or how it will fall out I don't 
 know. When do you want me ? How does your 
 convenience lie ? I shall not be able to remain more 
 than a week or ten days. So, my dear, fix your own 
 times and seasons, tell me when you wish me to 
 
 come. About Miss . I was so sorry I had 
 
 bothered you ! Somebody said to me afterwards, ' it 
 is like meddling with a porcupine to introduce any 
 one to her,' and then I felt vexed I had asked you, 
 and all my interest in her is gone. Write soon. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 The visit came off, but mistakes and misunder- 
 standings on both sides clouded it over. The Cash- 
 mere I gave finally to a young friend who lived at 
 the Court of Hanover, and it did her more service 
 than it could do me, and her mother had been, and 
 stiU is, very good to me. — G. E. J. 1872. 
 
MISS .TEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 157 
 
 1845. 
 
 LETTER 42. 
 
 Tuesday, March 20, 1845. 
 
 Dearest Jane, — ^Eeally you contrive tliat your sins 
 of omission should look so much, more like the best 
 ' Sunday virtues ' of other people, that when the 
 time comes for your modesty to own to having done 
 something excellent you will have to dress your head 
 in a veil and turban a la Moses, or we, your con- 
 temporaries, shaU not be able to ' view the mild rays 
 and bless the useful light.' You have been better 
 than good about that MS. Only to think of your 
 streaming off to ' Chapman & Hall,' ill as you were ! 
 Eeally, my dear, I feel sensibly touched by it, and 
 cannot resist scrawling this to tell you so. I had so 
 carefuUy pruned any exuberance of imagination and 
 all sorts of sanguine expectations — indeed, I had not 
 ventured even on the smallest shade of rose-pink in 
 my hopes — that the bare fact of getting the book 
 printed without cost has, ever since the possibility of 
 getting it published at all, been tangibly before me as 
 the utmost stretch of my hopes. I mean, I would 
 have been quite satisfied with that, and waited for 
 
158 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 money to another time. So you may judge that I 
 will very thankfully conclude the present bargain. 
 You mention the plague John Mill's ' Logic ' and 
 Carlyle's ' Sartor ' had, to become successful ! My 
 dear, if I had deserved to succeed the least bit 
 more than I do, I should have had to wait like 
 
 other people of merit ; as Mr. said to me, 
 
 in our memorable conversation across his counter, 
 ' The more nonsense there is in a book the better it 
 sells ; people can't stand sense, they want something 
 racy.' But you don't need me to make more ex- 
 pounding to prove that I thinkmyself very fortunate, 
 and that I am profoundly satisfied, though I am too 
 sick, and ' dished,' and miserable, and cross, and in 
 such a concatenation of abominations to-day that I 
 can hardly put my words together. God help the 
 spelling ! But I cannot wait till to-morrow to say the 
 thanks for all your goodness. I will try what I can 
 do with those horrid seven chapters, but I have not 
 an idea at present to bless either myself or my book. 
 I feel more inclined to die than do anything else just 
 now. By the way, there is one thing that one may 
 speak about now, and that is, I had rather not have 
 my name stuck to the thing. First, because there are 
 many things said in it that I don't want to walk 
 about amongst some of my reputable friends as being 
 guilty of holding. There are several I am very fond 
 of, and I should be sorry to hurt their feeUngs ; 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE WELSH OARLYLE 159 
 
 and another reason is, that I myself have a general 
 sort of prejudice against women's novels, with very 
 few exceptions. I mean, I would not on any account 
 take up a woman's novel at a venture, unless I knew 
 something about the writer. Now, I don't suppose 
 ' Chapman & Hall ' care one scrap about a name being 
 tacked to it, or, if they do, may I not put some other 
 name than the one under which I appear in society ? 
 There is my second name, for instance, ' Endsor ' ; 
 that would do just as well, and if I miglit cut off the 
 feminine termination to ' Geraldine ' I should feel 
 much more comfortable. You will perhaps laugh at 
 me, and call it affectation. I only say that I should 
 like it infinitely better. But I am not going to make 
 a fuss about the matter, and will be settled by your 
 opinion ; only I hope jou will feel as I do. As to the 
 spelling and grammar, I will have it all copied in a 
 clerkly hand. I know my cousin, whose matrimonial 
 affair I have advised and sympathised upon, would 
 copy it every word. Only within the last three 
 weeks he has entered into a business which does not ' 
 let him be idle, as he has been hitherto ; however, 
 
 I shall make him help. Mrs. brought me a 
 
 beautiful print of ' Ary Scheffer's ' the other day, 
 ' Christus Consolator,' the picture that Miss Martineau 
 speaks of, and it moved me to tears. I wish I could 
 transfuse it to you. Her speech about it gives no 
 idea of its overpowering influence. There is the 
 
160 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 figure of a mother over her dead child — that is wonder- 
 ful The face is swollen with grief, and yet there is 
 an ineffable beauty and rest about it which almost 
 consoles one. I shall buy it on the speculation of my 
 ' profits.' I can write no more ! God bless you, and 
 take care of yourself. 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 LETTER 43. 
 
 Brussels, Thursday, June 4, 1845. 
 
 Dearest Jane, — I did once in our wanderings get 
 up energy enough to write you a letter, which I hope 
 you received, otherwise you wiU think me lost. But 
 you know I cannot do two things at once, and all 
 my energy has been taken up in travelling every day 
 almost without intermission. If we ever rested for a 
 full day in a place without sight-seeing it was too 
 great a luxury to be spent in writing letters, even to 
 you, and besides, I had turned my mind out to grass, 
 • and all my wits were wool-gathering, and I don't 
 think I could have written you a letter worth 
 postage if I had tried, so I trusted to your faith in 
 me to believe it was sheer laziness, and nothing 
 
 worse. I sent Mrs. a letter last week (if she 
 
 got it) ; it was begun a month ago, and has been 
 travelling ever since in the pocket of my gown, 
 waiting for a convenient season, tiU the poor thino- 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE WELSH CABLYLE 161 
 
 was almost in tatters ; so if she sends it to you you 
 will know something, of course, of my proceedings, 
 and if she does not, you must wait tiU I see you, and 
 then you shall have it all, or as much as can be put 
 in the mortal space of a few hours. This note is 
 only to say that I hope to be in London on Saturday 
 night next, and that if I am able to move after the 
 sea-sickness and other ' devilments,' I will be with 
 you on Sunday morning. But if that would interrupt 
 any church-going, let me know. Let me have the 
 glad sight of your handwriting when I get in. Tell 
 me whether you will be at home on Sunday ; address 
 
 to the care of -, Messrs. Guest & Co., Loth- 
 
 bury, and I shall have it as soon as I get in. I 
 cannot tell you how much I want to see you. Tell 
 me what sort of health I shall find you in, and how 
 things are with you, for I have thought of you a 
 great deal, and in a ' dihgence ' have often said to 
 myself such nice letters for you ; which, not having 
 ever got tangibly expressed, must remain in their 
 unknown fate, and you know Carlyle declares that 
 unuttered thoughts are infinitely more valuable than 
 those which are reduced to the parts of speech. I 
 have been in splendid health, and was getting quite 
 fat till within the last few days, when I caught cold 
 on the stupid Ehine, and I am looking as ugly as is 
 within the limits of my capacity that way, which is 
 saying a good deal, and just now I am very ' dished ' 
 
 M 
 
162 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 indeed. However, I am enjoying my journey more 
 than I can express ; it is something to be thankful 
 for all my days. I have a great deal to tell you, and 
 it is no good trying to write it; and adventures 
 enough to fill a ream of paper. But they must all 
 remain till I see you. I have had not a single line 
 from anybody since I left, so you may fancy whether 
 I am hungry to get some tidings of you ; I cannot 
 make this letter long now, as I am pressed for time. 
 There are a set of beauty-sights to be seen, so, God 
 bless you, my dear Jane ! Let me find a letter when 
 I get in on Saturday, and believe me, 
 
 Ever your most afiectionate 
 
 G. E. Jewsbtjey. 
 
 LETTER 44. 
 
 Monday (Postmark, June 25, 1845). 
 
 Dearest Jane, — I want very much to know how 
 you are, and how you are going on, though if you 
 are in anything like my own state of body and soul 
 letter-writing is precisely the most unpleasant thing 
 in life. I think of you much. Those two weeks I 
 spent with you are a great comfort to me. They 
 seemed to give you back to me with all the freshness 
 of the time when you wrote the first letter you ever 
 wrote me. For the moment one says, ' I will be 
 your friend,' and you accept it, it is an era quite 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 163 
 
 as notable, and as much to be accounted of, as if it 
 were the lover to whom one gave oneself, body and 
 soul, for ever ! I was going to say perhaps it should 
 be as long as he can retain one. However, I cannot 
 teU you how thankful I feel to have you safe once 
 more, because at one time I feared that perhaps the 
 best period of our intercourse might be past ; but 
 you have shown both faith and patience towards me, 
 and the time I was last with you seemed not the 
 beginning of a new friendship, but rather what one 
 might imagine to be the way we might meet in 
 another life, after one had had the experience of a 
 hfetime here to erdighten us on the follies and short- 
 comings of our friends. I care for you now more 
 than ever I did, though I don't know why I am 
 writing to teU you so ; but I was lying on the sofa, 
 where I have been all day, when an impulse stronger 
 than my laziness made me get up. I could not help 
 writing this to you. I know your birthday is either 
 to-day or next Monday, but I have forgotten the 
 exact day of the month, and I have been puzzling 
 myself for the last three days ; I think it wiU be next 
 Monday, because says it will be, next Satur- 
 day, twelve months and a day since he sailed for 
 Spain, and I know your birthday was the day but 
 one following. So if I have mistaken, I have not 
 forgotten. 
 
 It is an old proverb, ' As the year begins with 
 
 M 2 
 
164 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 you, SO it will end.' So, my love, for the sake of 
 superstition, try to keep that one day as free from 
 sorrow and annoyance as you can. It is a sort of 
 moral ' St. Swithin,' and no rain should fall upon it. 
 I have not been well yesterday or to-day ; indeed, 
 to-day I am in one of my old nervous stupors, broken 
 by the necessity of going into the kitchen to see to 
 the dinner, for I let Mary go out for the day, and 
 the charwoman cannot cook. So I first woke up 
 with a sense of guilt, and rushed into the kitchen 
 and made a gooseberry-pudding, set a ' poulet au 
 riz, en train,' then I fell off in a strange sort of 
 half-dream for another while, and then my con- 
 science roused me to go and see into their progress, 
 and then I relapsed into my doze, and that was 
 broken by the desire to have a talk with you. 
 Otherwise I could have lain very comfortably from 
 after breakfast till teatime, as this is the present 
 state of my soul, or as my virtues are in a dormant 
 state, whichever you please to fancy. I am rather 
 uneasy at the continued silence of my Eastern friend, 
 and begin to fear he is ill, especially as his last letter 
 was written in a state of great bodily, as well as 
 mental, suffering. By the way, that reminds me, did 
 I ever tell you a horrible piece of consolation that I 
 heard the conductor of a ' dihgence ' apply to one of 
 his horses which seemed rather unhappy about 
 something ? ' Ah, viens,' said he, lashing it with his 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 165 
 
 whip, ' tant que tu souffres, tu n'es pas mort,' and 
 that is comfort for Christians as well as for horses ! 
 How is Mazzini ? If he has any sort of translation 
 he wants to get done, I shall be glad if he will 
 command my services, and he may depend on me 
 not bolting off again. Now, my dear love, good-bye, 
 and God bless 3'ou, and send you well through this 
 next year and all future years that are appointed 
 you. 
 
 Ever your own 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 LETTER 45. 
 Saturday (dated on postmark, July 14, 1845). 
 
 My dear Love, — Come to me directly, directly, 
 do you hear ? You must come to see me before you 
 go to Liverpool ! Tou may stay as short a time as 
 you Hke, and come and finish your visit after your 
 cousins are safe in Scotland, but you will never be 
 able to go through all their small life details if you 
 go there straight. They cannot (even if they get to 
 know it) make case to any great grievance, as I 
 earned the right last year to have you the next time 
 you came, without opposition on their part. I tell 
 you that you shall be free to do just as you like ; you 
 shaU not be plagued to stay if you come, but if you 
 want to get any good from your journey do not go 
 there direct ! My dear ! I know from horrible expe- 
 
166 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FEOM 
 
 nence all you are suffering. That depression which, 
 falls upon one in a moment, enveloping one, "body and 
 soul, for hours or days, as it may be, and the horrid 
 lucid interval which we spend in dread of its return, 
 knowing full weU that it will come. It is not sorrow ; 
 one could endure that. Oh ! it is too frightful to talk 
 about ! For two years I lived only in short respites 
 from this blackness of darkness. StruggUng is of no 
 use ; you are doing the only thing for it in changing- 
 the scene. If the most intense fellow-feeling can be 
 any comfort, you may have plenty from me. For 
 the last three or four years I have been comparatively 
 free from this visitation, but God only knows whether 
 I am fairly through this ' valley of the shadow of 
 death.' Oh ! my dear Jane ! do come to me directly ! 
 I shall leave here to-morrow. Write me a line to say 
 what day I may look for you, or if I do not hear before 
 I will expect you on Thursday, if you can get off; 
 if on Wednesday, so much the better. I have faith 
 that I can do you good. Now, do not let anything 
 hinder your coming. It is no good to waste your 
 strength in strugghng, you must try to cheat it. I 
 am thankful there is Seaforth for you. It is a 
 capital place, but not just at first. Poor Jane ! you 
 have been tried beyond even the ordinary extent of 
 the torture of this life, but the hour-glass will be 
 reversed. You will be taken off the rack. But I 
 cannot tell you how much I suffer for you and with 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 167 
 
 you ! Oh ! come to me ! You may go, do, be, what- 
 ever you like ; only come, and that directly ! You 
 know I love 3'ou, and if I were to write for ever I 
 could say no more than is contained in that one 
 word. You will have no sort of gene with me, for 
 there is a sitting-room for yourself, as well as a bed- 
 room, and it will be such a comfort to me to have 
 you, for I have many things to tell you on my own 
 account. To have you just now is the greatest 
 blessing that could befaU me, and I will meet you at 
 the railway if you can say the train ; and you may 
 set off as soon as you receive this, if you will, for I am 
 not good housekeeper enough to be put out of my 
 way. Only come, and God bless you ! I have so 
 much to tell you that wiU not come out in a letter. 
 
 Ever j^our own 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 Your letter was sent here to me last night. I 
 shall hope for you Wednesday, and expect you 
 Thursday. 
 
 LETTEE 46. 
 
 [Undated, but assigned to the year 1845.] 
 
 Warrington. 
 
 You perhaps do not know where that is, 
 and yet it is a town of no little importance in its own 
 eyes, and some antiquity ; many generations of com- 
 
168 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 fortable people have lived and flourished here. I 
 came here last Saturday, and have an idea I must 
 have died and transmigrated into a mite and am 
 living in the heart of a large fat Cheshire cheese ! 
 My environments are altogether so different to what 
 I ever knew them ! Everybody is sleek and com- 
 fortable, and seems as if Hfe for them were paved 
 with feather-beds ; only imagine a man saying quite 
 seriously to me, 'Miss Jewsbury, you see us just as 
 we are ; I and aU my friends are people of ample 
 means, and we make up our minds to enjoy life ! 
 We none of us want to be grand, but we lay our- 
 selves out to be comfortable, for, to my thinking, 
 comfort is the best thing to be got for money. Some 
 people have all they can wish for, and yet they can- 
 not enjoy it ; but I do enjoy myself, Miss Jewsbury, 
 we all enjoy ourselves.' Oh, dear me ! my dear ! I 
 have always made it a rule never to mention, under 
 any temptation, what passes in a house where I visit, 
 so I am obliged to refrain from making you laugh, 
 and I am sure that is an effort of morality. But I 
 have strengthened mine by reading Mrs. Chapone, 
 and looking at the outside of Dr. Gregory, since I 
 came here. But if I were only to describe all I have 
 seen and heard said since I came, it would be a phase of 
 social life you have not met with. I have thought of 
 Carlyle's counsel to write a book about things I see, 
 but I have shut mine eyes that I may not be tempted. 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CAELYLE 169 
 
 I had a long letter from the other day ! He 
 
 arrived safely at home, and found all well. Every- 
 thing was right. All that had been written to him had 
 been founded on mistakes ! I feel so thankful. I 
 cannot express the release to me, for I should have 
 been deeply pained had it been otherwise ! . . . 
 
 [Fragment.] 
 
 LETTER 47. 
 [Undated, but assigned to the year 1845.] 
 
 Sunday night. 
 
 Dearest Jane, — Thanks for your letter yesterday, 
 but what have you been doing with yourself that 
 }'0u are not well yet ? But I will not bore you with 
 asking questions ; only it will be a real consolation to 
 me when I hear you are in a more Christian-like 
 fashion. This letter must, of necessity, be very dry, 
 so do not begin to read it under any hallucination. I 
 am just beginning with the influenza, and am as 
 stupid as an owl ; besides, my ears having begun on 
 the ' singing for the million ' system, I am quite 
 bothered. I am more obliged than I can tell you for 
 your promise to take the MS. to Chapman & Hall, 
 which is exactly the thing of all others I was wishing 
 for ; but do not go till you are quite up to the nuisance 
 of it, for I assure you my ' constitutional patience ' 
 never feels delay when there is any prospect of 
 
170 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 eventual success. I am not impatient, except about 
 little things ; so, my dear, do not work yourself up 
 into any fever of friendship, and go out before you 
 are fit for it under the impression I am worrying 
 myself. Eeally, there is very little temptation to be 
 moral in this world. Only to think of my ' question- 
 able ' chapter being a bait for the whole book ! 
 Surely nobody indulges in enthusiasm except candi- 
 dates for a strait-waistcoat. Anyway, it is well 
 there are some readers as conscientious as a lady I 
 heard of the other day, who, if she has proceeded to 
 the third page in a book, fancies she has gone too far 
 to retract, and whether amused or not reads resolutely 
 on to the close. So you see the cardinal virtues are 
 not altogether extinct, but en revanche. One day last 
 summer I called on the man I get my books from, 
 and we had a long chat over the counter. ' Ah,' said 
 lie, ' if only half the number of books that are sold in 
 Manchester were read, it would be a different place.' 
 'Why,' said I, 'how do you know they are not 
 read ? ' ' Oh, only last week, for instance, a gentle- 
 man came to me and brought me the measure of a 
 new bookcase he had bought, and told me to fill it 
 properly with books and to see that the bindings 
 matched, so I just sent him safe works such as all 
 libraries must have.' ' What are those ? ' ' Oh, 
 Johnson's Dictionary, Scott's novels, Shakespeare, a 
 Cyclopedia, and Hume's " History of England," and 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 171 
 
 such like. The man will never open them, but he 
 would be very angry if any of his friends sliould ever 
 say, " Why did you buy this rubbish ? " So you see, 
 Ma'am, I am put on my honour what to send.' He 
 told me many vastly curious things which would 
 have made me laugh, if they had not really made me 
 cry. I have just finished the life of ' Gerald Griffin,' 
 the most tragical thing I have read for many a day. 
 Such a fine character and a powerful genius ground 
 to powder, writing little tales and ' beating his poor 
 brains,' as he says, for articles to gain daily bread, 
 and ' you cannot conceive the intense drudgery,' he 
 says in one of his letters ; and his end is even more 
 crushingly mournful. He was haunted ' by the 
 terrible idea that it might possibly be he was mis- 
 spending his time,' and all the rich amount of per- 
 severance and endurance of hardship all wasted, and 
 the ' half-name,' as he calls it, that he won in the 
 struggle only came to make him feel its worthless- 
 ness, and when all desire for it had fled. In the life 
 you only read his character through a veil, for he 
 evidently let no one into his inmost heart, but that 
 only makes the whole book inexpressibly mournful. 
 I don't know when I have shed so many tears over 
 any sort of biography. . . . 
 
 [Fragment.] 
 
172 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 LETTER 48. 
 
 My dear Jane, — I wrote you a letter yesterday, 
 but it was so dead stupid I could not find in my 
 heart to send it. And yet to send you none at aU 
 I don't like to, though, selon moi, simple starvation is 
 better than indigestion from bad diet. This morning 
 my time is limited. I have a sewing- woman to 
 provide for, and the clothes to send to the wash, and 
 a variety of ' Monday ' things to do, and I go out to 
 
 dine with Mrs. at one o'clock, and to a lecture 
 
 after, on what earthly subject I am in vast ignorance, 
 and don't feel any great excitement to be enlightened. 
 I was sorry to miss Mr. Scott's lecture, and to miss 
 himself too, for I feel a great desire to know him ; 
 but lectures in general are a sort of purgatory, and 
 I look at the clock very often. But I go to Mrs. 
 
 as often as I can, for she is very lonely without her 
 
 daughter, and! am sure she has well earned all the 
 comfort or good I can be of her. She threw that 
 'bread on the water ' many days ago, long before there 
 was any prospect of my turning out either useful or 
 ornamental, and I feel a special and peculiar affection 
 to her that no testimony to my merits could elicit in 
 these latter days'. I wdsh, after keeping me waiting 
 for news of you so long, you could have told me a 
 little more of what concerns yourself.- I can get 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH OARLYLE 173 
 
 little good out of that letter, and I fear, from a 
 certain tone in it, that all is not well with you. I 
 mean the average wellness. So write again soon. 
 
 Poor has had another relapse ; they sent for 
 
 another physician, whose remedies were of the 
 strongest, and I am not at all easy as to the result. 
 I have had no letter now for some days, for which I 
 am a little uneasy ; as to the Chevalier,^ he goes on 
 charmingly, and is to take a drive to-day for the first 
 time. I was there on Saturday. He looked at me 
 with the new eye, and it is actually the first sight he 
 has had of what I am like. But he is to have his 
 glasses soon, and then he will be able to, discover 
 whether I am what you say he is ; though, by the 
 way, I never discovered it myself. For one thing, he 
 has always been like Milton's ' Parent of good, to 
 us invisible or dimly seen.' The room has always 
 been so shady with a quantity of green blinds and 
 curtains ; and, besides, when we like people, they 
 are always beautiful to us. At least, I never liked 
 anyone, man or woman, without finding them very 
 
 handsome indeed. Have you seen 's last 
 
 lecture ? It is very clever, I think, and there is at 
 least a clutch at the practical in it ; but one thing I 
 protest against, and that is the audacity of his pro- 
 fession of inability to find any son of Adam who is a 
 Prench tailor capable of making trousers worthy of 
 
 ' The Chevalier Neukomm. 
 
174 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS EROM 
 
 his wearing. He who never had on a Christian pair 
 since he came into the world! It is the coolest 
 piece of impudence ever perpetrated. However, 
 the lecture is very good for all that. I have set 
 
 up a superb velvet mantle that Mrs. bought 
 
 the materials for, and made up with her own hands, 
 and put on the Emperor to make him hold up his 
 head under his cloth-of-gold canopy ; coaxing, per- 
 suading, and making me begin again. It seemed all 
 part of the Drama, and you could not tell which 
 were the real people or the actors. Then there was 
 a meeting amongst the ballet-girls, very promptly 
 and summarily disposed of, and finally the Jewess 
 herself had to rehearse her execution twice, and that 
 was by far the most exciting scene in the play. 
 Altogether I have never been so far below where Don 
 Giovanni goes to. Then we had to go up another 
 pair of stairs as steep as if they were taking us to 
 Heaven, and then through dark passages which 
 finally led us into the lower boxes, and there we 
 found about half a dozen people come by invitation 
 like ourselves. The theatre very dark, only the 
 stage all light ; upon my word, I felt a respect for aU 
 the pains and trouble I saw taken, and the ridiculous 
 little dramas that were going on along with the play. 
 The stage manager, who never either swore or lost 
 his temper, worked away in an energetic, spirit- 
 pushing, reaUy historical looking, and not theatrical 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 175 
 
 manner. I wanted to see it, but liad no mind or 
 strength for the worry and heat of the theatre. 
 Well, there was to be a dress-rehearsal, and somehow, 
 I hardly know how, I received a most civil invitation 
 
 for and me to go and see it. We went, but 
 
 on arrival in the hall, the stage was so full of men in 
 armour that all getting in was impossible, and the 
 regular entrance was not open. So one of the satellites 
 took a lantern and opened a door in a wall, and told 
 us to go down some steps there were, and this led us 
 to the strangest subterranean world . . . Here is 
 
 something to make one shut one's ears. Poor 
 
 said so naively the other day, ' What reason has she 
 to speak ill of me ? I am sure if I bore with her four 
 years and a half, it ought to be a certificate of my 
 amiability, so that no other woman need be afraid of 
 her.' I am very poorly indeed ; to-day I have been 
 rather brisker, but in general I am only half alive. 
 I had such a curious escapade the other night. 
 There is a very grand spectacle got up here at the 
 theatre ; a procession that looks as if it had come 
 out of Froissart. I could not realise that they were 
 
 substantial people ; and little looked very 
 
 pretty. She is a sweet little darling, and 
 
 looks like a man of genius incompris. We were aU 
 
 to have dined at Mrs. 's to-day, but this morning 
 
 a cold, miserable, raw frost. must needs take 
 
 a shower-bath, and the pipe, being frozen, burst, and 
 
176 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 all the water of the cistern broke over poor 's 
 
 devoted head and deluged the whole house. So, 
 instead of our going there everybody had to come to 
 us, and I had to turn out to order in dinner, much to 
 my disgust, for we had had a large family party only 
 a few days previously. This letter was only begun 
 on the First, and now this is the Sixth, so I may tell 
 
 you that when we went to 's the ensuing day 
 
 the house was dry, but the whole party was stupid 
 
 and disorganised to a degree. — — and had 
 
 a grand quarrel — he does not know what he wants 
 or who he wants. He is ill and miserable, and very 
 much changed, and I am very unhappy about him. 
 
 As to , she has no feeling except through her 
 
 vanity. No one teUs me anything, and so how it 
 will all end I cannot guess. I wish he could find 
 
 some nice, good girl to have him. was 
 
 in my mind as I wrote what was to have been the 
 ' leading article,' and I got a most depressing letter 
 from , making a shuffling excuse, that the ' West- 
 minster ' was bound to aid and comfort sufferers for 
 conscience' sake, so that, therefore, my article was 
 rendered ' incomplete.' However, it is, I hope, the 
 last time I shall have dealings with him. If you do 
 
 not see the 's in the course of nature, I will 
 
 tell him to send you a copy, which is little enough 
 for him to do, and I want you very much to read 
 the article, because I took a great deal of trouble 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 177 
 
 over it. It is the one on ' Faith and Scepticism.' T 
 have just had a note inviting me to go with 
 
 to see some Eagged School to-morrow morning, 
 
 so we shall have a tete-a-tete after all, for Mrs. , 
 
 having a ball in the evening, cannot go very well. 
 I will send you word aU that happens. The more I 
 think of you the more anxious I feel about you. Dear 
 child, do take care of yourself. If anything happens 
 to you, what am I to do ? I cannot lose you again. 
 Do not worry yourself to write to me. I know the 
 difficulty of it, and you must spare yourself. How 
 
 does go on ? was inquiring after you 
 
 very tenderly yesterday. How is Nero ^ ? I had a 
 deal more to say, but somehow it is gone from me. 
 
 Ever your affectionate 
 
 a E. J. 
 
 LETTEE 49. 
 [Undated, but assigned to the year 1845.J 
 
 My dear Jane, — This is not intended for a letter, 
 but only to say, how are you ? though I don't expect 
 to receive an answer. But whatever you do, keep 
 chewing the cud of the idea of going from home, and 
 it wiU take a practicable shape before long. I have 
 many things to say, but this morning I cannot say 
 anything except that I am stupid, for the fatigue of 
 
 ^ The little dog.— A. B. I. 
 
178 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 the last two months seems all making itself felt at 
 once. I can hardly move from my chair, or keep my 
 eyes open ; but I can love you with them shut, though 
 
 I cannot write to you. I send you 's letter — is 
 
 it not touching ? And the idea of that man presuming 
 to judge and punish her, forsooth ! JBah ! if he lives 
 to the end of his tether without becoming a ' hissing 
 and a bye- word,' justice is not executed, in this 
 world at any rate ! However, she is a deal too good 
 for him, and he would only break her heart. He will 
 never have anything a millionth part as good thrown 
 in his way again, and, on the whole, it is rather a 
 satisfaction to think his infatuation has made him 
 throw it away ! One might get into a magnanimous 
 rage when one thinks of certain things — what he 
 told me about his conduct to her, for example. But 
 can one say, even, ' let alone ' doing, anything ? The 
 weakest must go to the wall ! I suppose by way of 
 calming down my troubled philosophy, according to 
 the most approved ' Goethe ' recipe, I am this very 
 day going (with my own hands) to do a wardrobe 
 hke your cabinet. ^ It has long perplexed me — for 
 there it has stood, at the bottom of my bed, painted 
 a clean sickly looking cream-colour, a beautiful 
 emblem of innocence and negation ! I grew sicker 
 and sicker when I looked at it, but could think of no 
 remedy till your example suggested one ; so you see 
 
 ^ Mrs. Carlyle had been painting a wardrobe at this time. — A. E. I. 
 
MISS JEWSBUKY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 179 
 
 no deed can be transacted without bringing a familj^ 
 of consequences, and I am going now in search of 
 some Manchester print, an humble imitation of Indian 
 taiFety. I have Hterally no news — neither spiritual nor 
 worldly. I will write again soon as I can. God bless 
 you, my darling ! You are ever much on my mind. 
 
 Ever your own 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 ' All things are possible ' — a text that came this 
 minute jingling into my head. I send it you by wa,j 
 of a ' sortes,' and the Bible has as much virtue — that 
 way — as Virgil ! 
 
 LETTER 50. 
 
 [Without date, but assigned to the year 1845.] 
 
 Tuesday Night, Wednesday Morning. 
 
 Ma tres chere Jeanne, — Heaven knows what sort 
 of a letter this will turn out to be, for I have been 
 walking nearly all day, and am cross and tired — if 
 you know what that is — and not inclined to do any 
 sort of useful or virtuous work. So whether any good 
 thing can come out of what is good-for-nothing 
 remains to be seen ! I am really vexed : and reflect 
 how my carelessness must have annoyed you, for it is 
 just the sort of thing that would have set me swearing ! 
 However, in the nightmare of annoyances under 
 which you are suffering, it is the most wholesome 
 
 N 2 
 
180 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 thing you can do to give ' shrewings ' right and left. 
 It is far better to work off your irritation in the due 
 course of nature, and let it evaporate, than to 
 suppress it, and allow it to work in the system, from 
 no matter what ' Unitarian ' motive, universal bene- 
 volence, and ' welfare of others ' principle ! Depend 
 upon it, that suppressed irritation and suppressed 
 perspiration are both equally injurious ! Better to 
 scold, scold, scold ! My dear ! is there no prospect of 
 deliverance from your iU-advised good deed ? Because 
 you have had patience for three weeks, must you go 
 on having patience for an unlimited time ? When 
 one goes to Heaven one must go on being good to all 
 eternity, but surely we have troubles enough in this 
 world without taking up that one. My child, do, for 
 God's sake, pitch your virtue in a lower key ! An 
 archangel could not go on performing such feats of 
 self-abnegation as you lay upon yourself. If you 
 worry yourself to death it will be a much greater 
 loss than if you had left a few weariful things undone. 
 Do reflect upon this ! ' Au reste,' I can picture your 
 present condition quite as well as if I felt it in my 
 own person. I know full well the weariful feeling of 
 being dragged along the ground that one always has 
 at the end of a series of worries. Would to Heaven 
 you could get away from home ! It is the only cure for 
 you, but, like all cures, it is just now precisely the 
 one thing unattainable to you, something like the 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE WELSH CAKLYLE 181 
 
 prescription I once had : ' tachez de bien digerer, and 
 
 portez vous bien ' ! Poor ! I am really 
 
 sorry for the vexation he has had. I can fancy 
 nothing more mortifjdng to the person concerned, for 
 he cannot be expected to realise how very much alike 
 the successful and unsuccessful candidate looks in the 
 eyes of the world ; but I feel real sympathy for the 
 waste of so much good trouble and money. I know 
 nothing likely to make a man a misanthrope more 
 surely than to hear himself constantly sneered at. It 
 is enough to provoke a man to turn rascal, in order 
 to force people to be serious about him. I have 
 been so much used to people speaking of me with a 
 sort of half-contemptuous smile, that I can have real 
 sympathy for anybody else in a like case. It is no 
 good to feel one does not deserve it. One's ' milk of 
 human kindness' is sadly curdled by it, and I do 
 believe that is the secret of my spite against ' too 
 respectable people,' ' if they had been good, I would 
 have been good too ' — as the little girl said when she 
 was whipped. After all, there is something in 're- 
 pectabihty ' that nobody can heartily sympathise with. 
 It is like a ' set of best china,' never used but in fear 
 and trembling — ^because if there is a breakage 'it 
 cannot be matched again.' Eespectability does not 
 appeal to any common feeling of human nature ; it is 
 not a bond of brotherhood, but a ' sunk fence ' of 
 separation. No noble or generous thought ever had 
 
182 SELECTIONS OF LETTEES FROM 
 
 its sole root in respectability. It is a sort of antiseptic 
 principle, which makes the world a safer place to live 
 in, clears away a few obtruding nuisances, and 
 puts down a few annoyances — -in short, it acts like 
 Eowland's Kalydor. But, if the world were really 
 good for anything, there would be no such thing as 
 rdere respectability in it ! It is a morality invented 
 for the good of overflowing wickedness. However, I 
 intend by the blessing of. . . . (I am sure I don't 
 know whether it is presided over by God or the other 
 person), but I am fully purposed to master the mystery 
 of respectability, for it is a craft of which no woman 
 ought to be ignorant, and I will dedicate the first 
 fruits of it to the confoundedly respectable Glasgow 
 gentleman. In the meanwhile, do you console poor 
 
 for his vexations. Your consideration ought 
 
 to console him for all the ill-natured speeches 
 he can either overhear or imagine to his own annoy- 
 ance. There was a speech in that tale of ' L'homme 
 de rien et l'homme du bien' which has graved itself 
 on my heart ' il faut se defier les mauvaises langues.' 
 I am not clear that those are the precise words, but 
 they did me a world of good when I read them. 
 They seemed to set me free from all sorts of vague 
 obligations. I am very glad you think the last 
 article an improvement ! Do just what seems good 
 in your eyes with it, but don't plague , for 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 183 
 
 he lias a store of worry to last for the next two years. 
 Still less plague yourself, for your daily bread just 
 now is unprofitable worry, and I would not add a 
 feather's weight to it for all the articles that were 
 ever written. . . . 
 
 [Fragment.] 
 
184 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 1846. 
 
 LETTER 51. 
 Sunday (Postmark, February 23, 1846). 
 
 Dearest Jane, — When I wrote to you last I had 
 not received any message from you, but got it a few 
 days after from Betsy. But that did not hinder me 
 from hoping for one every day last week, because I 
 fancied the cause had ceased by the time I got the 
 message. Your letter of this morning has given me 
 a headache. I have heaps of things to say, but 
 there would be little good in saying them even were 
 it practicable, for the best words are but clumsy in- 
 dications of what we really mean. All my life long I 
 have been very unlucky in making my words and 
 meanings bear a true resemblance : they have so often 
 guided clever people contrary to what I intended. I 
 do hope there will be a ' day of judgment,' when 
 there will shine a light, clearer than what we get 
 now, and when we shall know things as they really 
 are. It is the only thing I desire as a future at all ! 
 It would be so charming to be able to have a settle 
 with people one has loved here, and to say to each 
 other, ' Ah, you were mistaken there, but I can see 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE WELSH OARLYLE 185 
 
 how you got wrong. I can quite see now how all 
 seemed to you ' ; and that will have all the effect of 
 being just of the same opinion. But it cannot be 
 now, to any extent, because — because, I suppose, it 
 is, as metaphysicians say, ' that two bodies can never 
 be in the same place at the same time,' and, as things 
 shift every moment, no two people can see any one 
 thing under the same aspect. We cannot ourselves 
 see the same object twice. We only recollect how 
 it seemed. So you see what a clumsy process has to 
 be gone through, even when there is least refraction 
 
 from unkind motives or wrong feelings. Dr. 
 
 told me the other day that he had been trying ex- 
 periments in microscopes with all his might and 
 main in the hope of seeing that which is invisible, 
 and he says he took a number of strong magnifying- 
 glasses and placed them duly, and the consequence 
 was that the object to be scrutinised was diminished 
 to an infinitesimal amount, and turned upside down. 
 So much for scrutiny and judgment ! I almost 
 laughed when he told me, for it applied so well to 
 other things. As to my getting knowledge, and judg- 
 ing you, my dear, that is just one of the things we 
 will clear up after the ' Day of Judgment,' and then 
 you will see how much more my dark lantern was 
 turned to throw light on myself than on you, and 
 you will see that to judge me by rules made for 
 things in general will get neither shape nor make 
 
186 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FRO.M 
 
 sense out of me ! So, finally, I am come back to 
 my old doctrine that knowledge in this world is not 
 intended for men, let alone woman, and that faith is 
 all we can have to supply its place. My dear 
 child, I don't feel in the least in the world as if I 
 
 were going to fall in love with . The old ' Pere ' 
 
 is more cute than you are. He says of a changed 
 affection, ' qu'il ne revenait jamais, dans la m^me 
 place,' and, though attracted ten years ago, he is the 
 last who would speak to me now. I doubt even if 
 he could amuse me more than once or twice ! He 
 always reminds me of a man I once heard a surgeon 
 talking about. He had that morning been present at 
 an operation, and the man was in such a horrible 
 state that when they came to tie the arteries they 
 were so softened that the ligatures went through 
 
 them. And has nothing to hold by ; he has 
 
 nothing sound in him ; au reste, I don't think Pro- 
 vidence quite means to abandon me, for last week it 
 was pleased to scour up my virtues till now they 
 stand shining like a row of brass candlesticks ! It 
 came in the shape of an old lady whom I knew 
 years ago, when she was in prosperity and I a 
 small, miserable, neglected, child whom she helped to 
 torment out of her own heart, and ' Locke ' and ' Miss 
 Edgeworth.' If not imbecile, at least her intellect is 
 choked up to a single spark, and she is very infirm, 
 and has had paralytic strokes, and all sorts of hor- 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 187 
 
 rible things. Well, this same old lady invited her- 
 self to come and stay all last week with me. At first I 
 ■was excessively annoyed at such an inroad on my time 
 and comfort (for I was in a most perverse humour 
 to be industrious just then). I felt in a very bad 
 humour, when the thought of my friend at Cairo 
 came into my mind like the inspiration of a good 
 angel, and all he had ever said to me, and the 
 desire to do something that would have pleased him 
 had he been here ; and you cannot think the change 
 that came over me from that instant. I am sure I 
 was very good to the old lady, but that was nothing. 
 I began to feel a sort of pleasure in it, and when she 
 left me yesterday I felt I could have gone on another 
 week ; only every morning I swore in my heart when 
 the postman came and brought me no letter from 
 you ! It is very miserable to have Grand Cairo so 
 far off, and in a sort of fabulous region, too, quite 
 out of the' pale of one's sympathies ; but I would 
 not be without it for the world ! You know better 
 than anyone how strengthening it is to care for one 
 who desires to help us onward, to see us stronger and 
 better, one who is better than ourselves. My friend 
 is a long way off, and he plagues me to death by 
 writing so seldom ; still, the certainty that every 
 better sort of impulse that comes to me would be 
 approved of and sympathised with by him gives me 
 a sort of inner life, and leads me to him in a manner 
 
188 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 I cannot express. The flesli is very weak, and I am 
 quite capable of amusing myself in a moment of 
 ' ennui ' with somebody close at hand ; but he is the 
 first one to whom I would name it, and he would 
 wait very patiently till the humour was over, and if 
 I were to do anything unwise would be the first to 
 forgive me and comfort. And if one believe all this, it 
 makes one care a great deal for a man, and even put 
 up with his being so far out of the way ! So you 
 
 never told me of Lady , for fear of boring 
 
 me ! How many more things are lying blue- 
 moulding for want of being asked for ? Do, for 
 God's sake, teU me all that interests you or amuses 
 you in any way. First, I wiU guarantee you that it 
 will please me more than anything else you can do, 
 and next, if it does bore me, depend on it you will 
 soon find it out ; so don't worry me by keeping me in 
 the dark about yourself as you have done lately ! 
 
 But about Lady ; as I am not on the spot to see 
 
 1 can be most magnanimously disinterested ; and 
 
 I do really feel pleased that you have someone near 
 at hand to love, and who desires to be loved by you. 
 What you tell me interests me very much about her. 
 I can so well understand how she seems to you of 
 that ' inner circle ' you describe ; in short, you have 
 made me understand her as well, perhaps, and 
 better, than if I had seen her, which still I should 
 much like to do ! Tell me a great deal how you go 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JAA^E WELSH OARLYLE 189 
 
 on with her, and don't fear making an explosion of 
 jealousy. I tell you I am not on the spot to see, and 
 can therefore stand a great deal more ; it makes all 
 the difierence. Some fine day she will let you inside 
 that moral mystery, and will hate you for it after- 
 wards. She was not brought up by a mother, you 
 once told me, and that's the secret of her ! She was 
 not treated kindly, and was driven within herself, 
 and then she had no one to trust. She learned to 
 look through everybody, and her own thoughts have 
 ever been a secret. If she once brought herself to 
 speak of them she would feel as if she had been a 
 fool ! There is something hard, not natural, in all 
 women who have had no mother ! You got bored 
 
 about Miss because I had not skill to tell you 
 
 of her, and I did bore you about her, in short ; but 
 
 I am not bored about Lady , nor hkely to be, 
 
 and I want to be told about her, which is just all the 
 difference in life. I would give anything to see her. 
 Hem ! my well of love is not exactly ' perennial,' and 
 I think I already love all I have the power to love. 
 All our capacities are merely mortal, and I have 
 already given all I possess. One cannot have one's 
 cake and eat it — ^both ! I am so glad you like that 
 little essay — more glad than I can tell you, not because 
 it is my own inditing, but because I was afraid you 
 did not care for that sort of subject, and now I shall 
 send you everything without misgiving. I am in a 
 
190 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 much better humour to write about those things than 
 to hammer at a novel. I had something else to send 
 you, but on reading it over next day I did not like it, 
 so threw it away and began again, and should have 
 finished days ago if my old lady had not descended 
 upon me. She was anything but an inspiration. 
 Don't, if you can help it, be so long without writing 
 to me again. You don't know how it fidgets me. If 
 I make up my mind and I get no letter, it spoils the 
 whole day. I can't tell you how I have watched the 
 postman for the last ten days, and if you could know 
 how disappointed I have been you would feel some 
 
 pity. I had a note from yesterday, a very 
 
 short one. He seems to have been dismally tor- 
 mented, poor fellow. I wish he would leave London, 
 and take a journey for change of air ; he would find 
 the state of his soul much mended by it. My cold 
 
 is not well yet, but I am better in myself. 
 
 has bought me the most lovely little lamp ; it gives a 
 charming light, and I am ' set up ' with it. Since I 
 took to rehabilitation I have got a great many pretty 
 
 things. I have not heard a word from for 
 
 nearly a week. She is not in her natural element in 
 London, or rather, not in the element in which you 
 and I have known her, and I can easily fancy you get 
 little good out of each other. She complains of the 
 short and unsatisfactory interviews she gets with you. 
 It will be better next summer, when you go to Sea- 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE ^^LSH CARLYLE 191 
 
 forth. That place was intended as a refuge for the 
 
 worried ; and ought to sta}- and preside over it. 
 
 I wish I could see you for an hour, it would be good 
 for us both. I feel a need to see you, such as I have 
 not done this long while, but write to me very soon. 
 Do that at least, and do not, unless you wish to 
 pain me, allude to what is past. Oblivion contrives 
 to swaUow up man}' excellent things one would 
 willingly preserve ; and it is hard and very perverse 
 if it will allow such a poor little morsel to stick in 
 its throat. It is a straining at a gnat with a ven- 
 geance. I cannot tell you the pain you give me 
 when you make any allusion to the past. It is not 
 civil to contradict people, but so far as I am con- 
 cerned you are wrong, mistaken. Your compass is 
 turned completely round, and points to nothing 
 right. It is no good your getting up a theory about 
 me. I was born to drive theories and rules to dis- 
 traction, and I want to beat yours to powder and 
 then stamp upon it. The only effect the past has on 
 me is to make me more sure-footed in regard to you. 
 If the gulf between us had been filled with Birming- 
 ham ' solder ' — what you say would have been highly 
 sensible; but I believe, from my heart, that it is 
 drawn together and closed by the same process that 
 first drew us together. I suppose that in all human 
 connections there is at first a sort of exaltation. 
 There has been no strain, no trial of the strength of 
 
192 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 the bond, and when that does come (as come it in- 
 evitably must if it is to be a real connection and not 
 a hohday sentiment), it is a much more ' tickle ' crisis 
 than the ' grand projection ' in alchemy to resolve 
 the glow and colouring and fancy part of the attach- 
 ment into a living fact of mixed, good, questionable, 
 and a residue of what may not be owned, which 
 makes up a real human being. If the friendship 
 can stand this crisis (and thousands perish in it !), 
 depend upon it the basis is more stable than 
 before, and the nature is not changed. The know- 
 ledge is not of good and evil. It is of good only : 
 it does not injure love. One has a surer light to 
 walk by. It is not a question of thinking better or 
 thinking worse ; it is a fact of being placed closer 
 together, of seeing each other close to. Much as I 
 have suffered, I would not for any consideration have 
 had the last four months undone ; it is not a crisis 
 pecuUar to friendship alone, it happens in aU things of 
 any value. In religion, no man ever properly believes 
 or gets any stable principles until all the unquestion- 
 ing faith of his youth be broken up, and he has 
 passed through a sharp period of doubt and dark- 
 ness, and worked his way through that to trust and 
 belief. He cannot have anything to depend on tiU 
 then, nothing that, if leaned on, was not liable to 
 bend beneath him ; but if he gets through the 
 crisis, he knows in what he has trusted, he knows what 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH OARLYLE 193 
 
 he believes. I feel too thankful to be safe on the 
 other side — to have got it over — to be able to 
 complain of the soreness and exhaustion one 
 naturally feels after a severe operation ; but I know 
 that will pass away. I grasp your hand more surely 
 than I did before. You will have no more of those 
 explosions of temper which horrified you so much, 
 and which arose from my not being able to reconcile 
 certain things — frombeing perplexed betweenmy own 
 fancies and real things. No, my love, your theory, 
 begging your pardon, is very commonplace, and not 
 the least in the world true ; so pray renounce it, or 
 keep it to yourself, for you see what a preachment it 
 brings about your ears ! Your notion is true — when 
 people who have quarrelled say they will be friends, 
 and have ceased to care for each other, the friend- 
 ship is dead, and there is no healing a wound in a 
 dead body. But I feel quite lively, and hope you do 
 too, in spite of all this long letter ! Eemember your 
 theory is to submit to be buried quietly under the 
 weight of it, and to lie quiet there, and not rise 
 again — a ghost. You are to renounce it like the 
 Devil and his works, and you are to write to me very 
 soon, or else I shaU take up the Devil and swear; and 
 if you vex me my wrath will most likely be visited 
 
 on that poor unoffending , so be merciful, and 
 
 write soon to your very fun-cleaving 
 
 G. E. J. 
 o 
 
194 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 LETTER 52. 
 
 (Postmark, February 26, 1846.) 
 
 Dearest Jane, — Do you know whether Miss 
 
 intends to leave Mrs. on account of the 
 
 devihsh sHght and malice they have shown her? 
 
 Because Mrs. asked me to ascertain whether she 
 
 was at liberty just now. So please let me know, as 
 somebody down here wants a first-rate governess. 
 How are you, at all, to-day ? I am poorly and 
 trembling enough, and off to get a warm bath, which 
 is my panacea for all ills my flesh falls heir to. I 
 have been to two very ' still-life ' parties this week, 
 and what between the elaborate dulness and the late 
 hours I am distressed, and feel as I should fancy the 
 men feel the morning after they have been drunk — 
 there's a respectable imagination for you ! I am in 
 a very bad humour, too. I made sure (more fool 
 me) of a letter this week, and none came, and the 
 field of speculation thereby opened on me is one of 
 the widest and full of the most luxuriant possibihties 
 of evil — ranging from the ' Plague ' down to smaller 
 evils — and all sorts of intermediate casualties. Bah ! 
 some of these fine days I swear I'll throw away all 
 my heavy luggage in the shape of hopes and expect- 
 ations, and walk the rest of my way with free limbs. 
 I have been reading, or rather am reading, a book 
 that has excited more sympathy than I have felt for 
 
MISS JEWSBDRY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE ] 95 
 
 ages — it is the 'Life of Dr. Arnold.' It has made 
 me earnestly wish I had been born a boy and 
 been educated by him. I would thankfully have 
 ' fagged up ' from the bottom of the school. I can't 
 tell how it is, for he believed heaps of things that I 
 neither do nor can, but the spirit of a man giveth 
 understanding, and it was that which in him was so 
 noble. I am in no humour for letter-writing this 
 morning, so adieu ! State some case of yourself. I am 
 writing of myself, for you are mine, and when you 
 suffer I suffer too ; so just have a little consideration 
 
 for people's feelings. I had a letter from this 
 
 morning ; she made me almost laugh at the philo- 
 sophical way she spoke of all things ; she says she 
 feels like King Solomon without the wishing. I 
 shall be very glad to get her home again. Now, 
 finally, good-bye, and God bless you ! Write as soon 
 as you can, but don't worry yourself to do any- 
 thing. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 LETTER 53. 
 Saturday Night (Postmark, March 8, 1846). 
 
 Dearest Jane, — Thanks and better thanks for 
 your letter. I went to town this morning with 
 
 , and what between the heat and the dirt I 
 
 had come home ' dished ' to a degree, so you may 
 
 2 
 
196 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 fancy the blessing it was to find your letter waiting 
 for me. The moral fitness of things could not have 
 fallen out better; anyway, it gladdened my heart, 
 which has been very anxious about you for some 
 time past. But now you can go to sleep and are 
 grown stupid, I hope great things for you. I am 
 never witty (save the mark !) except when I am 
 ready to cut my throat ; when I am at ease I am 
 stupid and content. Whatever you have, my only 
 light is a species of combustion. Finally, your letter 
 has done me more good than I can tell you — there 
 are things in it I am glad to read. I like specially 
 
 what you say about the Lady , and I can 
 
 understand it, which says a great deal for my intelli- 
 gence. But though you have given me a real interest 
 in her, and I like hearing of her as much as you will 
 tell me, yet just at present I feel at times when I 
 think about her much as the old-established member 
 of Austen's happy family may be supposed to do 
 when he increases their circle and introduces a new 
 member. What you tell me of her now just squares 
 with what I had figured to myself from your former 
 letter, and I am very thankful you have got her. 
 She is good for you ; she has had long practice in 
 standing on her own basis — and it's like learning to 
 stand on ship-board, one's ' life- legs ' are as apt to 
 come to one as one's ' sea-legs,' and a monstrous deal 
 of sickness has to be transacted before we succeed 
 
MISS JE^^■SEURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 197 
 
 in either. I fancy if she ever lets you into her inner 
 case, you would only find just what has been tor- 
 menting and dragging 3'our own life out of you— the 
 same sort of things— only ' her great dragon under- 
 ground, in straiter fetters bound,' had not been let 
 loose for a long time. I often think of that ansel in 
 the Eevelation who came out of heaven having a 
 great chain in his hand, wherewith he laid hold of the 
 dragon, i.e. the Devil, and bound him for a thousand 
 years. It would be such a blessed state of things to 
 live under ! ' Au reste ! ' I cannot help fancying that 
 
 Lady cares a great deal more for you than 
 
 you suspect, and a great deal more, too, than accords 
 with her general theory of things. Go on telling me 
 about her, because I feel as if anybody who belongs 
 to you concerns me too, in a sort of way. ' A broad 
 basis of veracity ! ' Ah, my dear love ! is it not a 
 deal harder to be true and to tell true than anybody 
 beheves till they try? You know that the manu- 
 script of the ' JSTouvelle Heloise,' preserved in the 
 museum, has hardly a blot or an erasure in it, whilst 
 the MS. of the ' Confessions,' which profess to be 
 gospel, is interlined, altered, and cancelled from one 
 end to the other, and so I don't believe in human 
 nature ! I think men are born ' artistes,' and we 
 can't help embellishing everything we touch — I 
 believe that is the true original sin, the iniquity in 
 which we are conceived. King David was in search 
 
198 SELECTIOXS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 of a ' broad basis of veracity ' for ' the sole of his 
 
 royal foot "when he said that ! As to , I feel 
 
 ^vhat you mean, but I can do nothiDg that way ; I 
 have tried, and better tried, if I can succeed (and 
 God knows that, just now, I have the desire) in 
 making something more rational, industrious, and 
 good for something half my own hfe. The example 
 may have influence on her. She, too, feels vague 
 desires that way, but precepts or words, however 
 eloquent, would do nothing ; she has no faculty for 
 generalising anything one says. One no sooner tries 
 to point out any tendency, or practise it as an indica- 
 tion of one's meaning, than she bolts ofi" into some 
 special individual instance, and begins justifying 
 herself instead of trying to see what one means ; she 
 always seems counsel for herself to disprove what 
 one is trying to make her understand, instead of 
 using her own conscience to throw light on the 
 matter for her own guidance. God knows one does 
 not want people to plead guilty — only to try to un- 
 derstand ; to examine their own hearts for their own 
 edification, to see how matters reaUy are. But Betsy 
 seems to think that if she can out-talk one, the fault 
 itself is done away with, like a piece of false logic. 
 That sort of thing has tried me very much, and then, 
 to mend the matter, she retains a sort of vague idea 
 that one wants to think a lot of her ! That is the 
 side of her that has vexed and worried me ; but the 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 199 
 
 people who educated her had no coherence or con- 
 sistence of character, and, with all her strength, she 
 wanted something able to bind her together ; she 
 must weave up her ' thrums ' herself, and she might 
 make them into cloth-of-gold ! By the way, she has 
 spoken most warmly of all the kindness and attention 
 you have shown her. One thing she said touching 
 me — namely, that you continued just as kind to her 
 since we (viz. you and I) had got comfortable 
 again as you were before — that it made no difference 
 with you, and that, though she thought you had 
 
 begun to care for Lady , she felt sure you could 
 
 care for us all the same. I have not got the letter 
 by me, or I would give you words which were very 
 nicely said, and showed a real warm feeling of satis- 
 faction at the fact. As to my poor Egyptian friend, 
 those things always find their own level ; whilst one 
 has to lead one's actual life, it always rubs smooth, 
 to some sort of surface at least. The gaps in things 
 wanting always get filled with something, so that no 
 chasms are to be seen on the surface ; at any rate, 
 one's life rounds itself off somehow, and so my 
 Egyptian is a thing altogether apart. I cannot 
 waste much faculty upon him, because he is too far 
 off, but it has been good for me — it is good for me. 
 If I could lead my life beside him I should be a 
 world better in all ways than I am, and it is some- 
 thing to know that there is in the world a man who 
 
200 SELECTIONS OF LETTEES FROM 
 
 -would suit US, and to feel sure that man cares for us ; 
 it is like having the receipt for the ' philosopher's 
 stone ' in one's pocket, though one may have no means 
 of realising it. Still, it has come to be a possibility. 
 He seems to realise things as they are much more 
 than I do, but still the little he expresses is like a 
 ' chink,' letting me see how much lies beneath. Any- 
 way, when our friendship does die, it shall be a 
 mutual death. I cannot find in my heart to poison 
 it with reason, even if I had the strength, but it 
 is next to an impossibility to summon resolution 
 deliberately to hurt oneself. Now for matters of 
 business. Thanks for your hint about ' Chapman & 
 Hall ' ; once on a time I was wound up to the pitch of 
 writing them an imperious letter, and it did wonders, 
 and I'll try again, wearing my leek ' with a differ- 
 ence ' this time. I am more pleased than I can teU 
 you that you like that last essay, because it is the 
 first attempt I ever made to say anything practically. 
 I feel a real want just now to indite essays. God 
 knows if anybody will read them, and it is a pre- 
 tentious thing, too ; but a volume of essays I could 
 get done very soon, seeing I have already accom- 
 phshed several. By the way, Douglas Jerrold has 
 behaved like a Briton in printing the little paper I 
 sent him, written without changing a word, as far as 
 I can recollect, and he has taken the one I wanted 
 printing— viz., ' To-day.' But articles run up in print 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CAELYLE 201 
 
 are like flannels the first time they are washed — this 
 only fills about two pages ! Whether he will behave 
 like a brick and pay me, I cannot speculate, but as I 
 am like the ghost in ' Hamlet,' and ' want a hearing,' 
 I am content either way. I shall send him the 
 second part — the one you have — unless you counsel 
 the contrary. I suppose I can reprint it again if I 
 want to, and, as it is questionable matter, I had 
 rather it had an introduction from somebody respon- 
 sible. But this number is woefully inferior to all its 
 predecessors. I don't wonder the least in the world 
 that Carljde saw no reason for my ' printing all 
 that ' ; an individual attempt at a conclusion, how- 
 ever honestly meant, always does look impotent to 
 one always dwelling in large, broad, general prin- 
 ciples. All things in this world are done like Mosaic 
 work, by pin-points of endeavour — each looks of no 
 use by itself. What you say of translations settles 
 the matter ; only it is vexing to see that trashy thing, 
 ' Priests and Women,' run after and nobody troubling 
 themselves ! That book of Quinet's is really worth 
 reading, but I agree in all you say thereanent. Tell 
 me what jou think as to the Douglas Jerrold 
 business, and if you are favourable, send me back 
 the first essay I sent you. I am half-ashamed to 
 make such a long talk about my schemes, but if 1 
 am to work at the practical I can't help making a 
 grating noise just at first. I shall work smoother 
 
202 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FEOM 
 
 after a time. I am reading ' Mebuhr ' very diligently, 
 and now I have got rid of those dreadful Pelasgians 
 I go on very well. Every now and then I come to 
 a little golden passage which leads me hoping for- 
 wards. Likewise, I have got a servant, one who 
 lived twenty years in one family and who snubbed 
 me as a ' little girl.' If she be not too old I shall be 
 well set up, for she is faithful and industrious ; also, 
 I have been beginning to help my next-door neigh- 
 bour, though I had never seen her, but I heard such 
 a pitiful account of the way she was left, with a little 
 baby — the monthly nurse just gone — and no servant 
 in the house. She called next day, and since then I 
 have been very zealous in her service, for she has a 
 look with her eyes like you — in fact, her eyes are 
 like yours, and I ' cottoned ' to her on the strength 
 
 of it. Poor ! I am thankful to say his cough 
 
 is quite gone, but he is not well. He is dreadfully 
 worried — by business, for one thing ; he is going to 
 have some shower-baths if I can persuade him. He 
 has an almost constant headache, but now that he 
 has lost his cough I don't seem to care for the rest. 
 
 is in London, so you will hear his voice again, 
 
 which is better than seeing his face. Oh ! I could 
 
 make you laugh at a conversation repeated to 
 
 me the other night that he had had with (I 
 
 fancy it had been said with that intent) ; it would 
 make a cat laugh ! but it is too long to tell you. 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 203 
 
 Oh, only fancy ! that satin cloak I told you of last 
 week has miscarried on that vile Eastern Counties 
 Eailway, which loses everything and seems born to be 
 unluck}' with packages, and the "pere is not here to 
 see after it. Now good-bye, and God bless you, my 
 darling ! Sleep well, and send me word how you are. 
 By the way, ne^•er fear that I shall discuss you 
 
 with ; it would be Lese-majeste, against my 
 
 creed and inclination, too. There would be a want 
 of reverence in it, if you understand what I mean. 
 Good-bye, once more. 
 
 Ever your own 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 LETTER 54. 
 Thursday (Postmark, March 19, 1846). 
 
 Dearest Jane, — Your letter came just as I was 
 finishing breakfast, and I sat down first thing to 
 thank you for it, and beg you to be pacified and not 
 provoked at the present want of success. What you 
 have done for me is far better, far more really 
 valuable, than if it had been compliments and flying 
 
 colours from ! Thank you for sending me his 
 
 note, whole and entire ; you do not see that, living 
 as I am obliged to do without any professional 
 judgment and advice to guide me, a good, hard, pro- 
 fessional, practical opinion is worth to me, personally, 
 
204 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FKOM 
 
 a great deal more than the most flattering criticism ! 
 
 is a practical man of some years' practical 
 
 knowledge of business, and he knows what he is 
 saying — as far as it goes. If my sister ^ had lived 
 she would have said all these things, and given me 
 the ' drilling ' necessary and taken all the dilettantism 
 out of me. It must be done for everybody if they 
 are to do any good, and I have nobody at my elbow 
 to do it ; therefore, I am on the listen for practical, 
 professional judgment, and thankful when I can get 
 it. I have produced a certain effect of ' maun- 
 dering,' instead of clear, definite conclusion, as I 
 
 intended. may not be a genius, but he can 
 
 speak to facts and impressions produced on himself ; 
 and I am glad to get a definite, practical opinion, 
 not frittered away by civility, or the sort of gallantry 
 (God save the mark !) that adulterates all the little 
 bit of straightforward dealing women meet with from 
 men, and is the reason they do so little that is really 
 worth anything ! 
 
 Another thing you may have found out about me 
 — or not, I can't tell — but it is the truth, namely, I can 
 do no sort of good on praise. I cannot work on it. 
 I require pounding down with criticisms from people 
 
 who know things better than myself. If had 
 
 sent flovirishing compliments and a promise of speedy 
 insertion, I should have done no better next time. 
 
 ' Mrs. Fletcher, Miss Jewsbury's elder sister. — A. E. I. 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 205 
 
 Now I see (though I had a sort of suspicion in my 
 heart all the while) that there is a degree of truth in 
 what he says, and truth must be attended to. At 
 the same time I feel sure and know that the insight 
 you brought to the matter has more of the spirit of 
 truth in it. I know what is wrong with that essay 
 in particular, and with my writing in general, and it 
 shall be mended. I have shut my teeth together, 
 which is my way of ' girding up my loins ' ; but, my 
 
 dear, I would pay infinitely more respect to 's 
 
 fault-finding than I would to his praise. If you tell 
 me a thing is good or has truth in it, I feel confident 
 that it is there, and that you have overlooked and 
 seen through the artistic form and manner and prac- 
 tical shortcomings. But if the good it may contain 
 is not to run into water, I must listen thank- 
 fully to all that and such people can or will 
 
 tell me. So, my dear, if you will tell me plenty of 
 those things that you hear, I will be glad of them. 
 If, instead of running wild and trying to ' make a 
 silk purse out of a sow's ear,' I had kept to a strictly 
 
 professional friendship with , I should have got 
 
 useful hints and good instruction in practical work- 
 manship ; but I made a horrid mistake ! So now, 
 my dear, are you better satisfied that you have done 
 me a real kindness ? You have often wondered — 
 and I daresay have half taken a disgust to me for 
 keeping up an intercourse with . The real hold 
 
206 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 lie has had on me (for the fancy has been of ages and 
 ages, if it ever were a real one) has been, that he has 
 given me a practical insight into the working and 
 practice necessary to make even talent visible and 
 available. I can't put it in words, but if you had 
 any work for a definite purpose to do you would feel 
 what I mean, and see that, with all drawbacks, he 
 has been useful to me, if it were only that he has 
 enabled me to take quietly and in a business-like 
 way the check I have met with and the general dis- 
 appointment in 's note. So, finally, my dear, 
 
 send me back my MS., and Carlyle shall hear what a 
 bonfire I will make of it ; but there is good in that 
 article, and I will work it out. I am not going to 
 throw it away. I will try if by judicious treatment the 
 ' maundering ' may not be made into something worth 
 the hearing. If you, my dear, won't take a disgust, but 
 try to read it when it is done, and not get tired of 
 my steps up the battle of learning — it is all I ask. 
 I must have the encouragement of knowing that you 
 can feel an interest in my things, even in their neither 
 flying nor walking state. Oh, about ' St. Simonism' — 
 let me set your heart at rest (at Seaforth you forbade 
 me, or you might have had it then). I should just 
 as soon think of professing myself an adherent of any 
 of the million dead-and-gone heresies by which people 
 travestied Christianity, and disturbed the peace of the 
 ■Church, and roused the ' Anathemas ' of the Popes 
 
MISS JEA\'SBURY TO JANE A^TLSII CAELYLE 207 
 
 and the squabbles of the Councils, as I should dream 
 of writing myself a ' St. Simonian.' My dear, I have 
 not lost my instinct for the ridiculous ; but in spite 
 of all the theatrical nonsense and dressing up a la 
 Sainte Famille, there is a great deal of beaut}', truth, 
 and excellence of purpose and sagacity too, in many 
 of their views. I like their books, and the men, since 
 la Sainte Famille was dispersed, have shown them- 
 selves men of practical ability. Guizot's ' Civilisa- 
 tion,' which made him famous, is to be found under 
 an unpractical and impossible form, but the whole of 
 it — that is good for anj^thing — is to be found in the 
 ' Exposition Seconde Annee ' that I got from Mazzini ; 
 but it is, as the ' Times ' said of Mr. Villiers's motion, 
 ' the little difference between his will and the plan pro- 
 posed by Government : it makes all the difference be- 
 tween the practicable and the impracticable ; between 
 Sir E. Peel and Mr. Villiers ; between the practical 
 man and the philosopher.' Now, my dear, are you 
 satisfied with this ? I have, and can't help (being a 
 woman) having, a sort of tendresse for the whole set 
 of them. ' Are you a St. Simonian ? ' ' No. But 
 I have a friend who is.' This is a long, rambling 
 letter (I do believe it's the habit of writing long 
 letters that has spoiled my hand for business), but 
 I wanted a ' settle ' with you after yours of this 
 morning, and I want a letter about yourself; and 
 you might just have told me how you were and when 
 
208 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FEOM 
 
 you go to Lady 's, just by way of a spoonful of 
 
 currant jelly, which is always given to children who 
 take their physic well. So give me a kiss and teU me 
 
 some news of yourself. By the way, says she 
 
 has bought (extravagant woman) Douglas Jerrold's 
 Mag. for this month, and I want you to see my article, 
 or particle, of two pages. Now, thanks for all your 
 real, practical, work-a-day friendship. 
 Ever your own 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 I open this to say that on reading your letter over 
 again I found a sentence I had overlooked, viz., 
 Carlyle's good nature about Eraser's Mag. I need 
 not tell you that I am grateful to you — if one goes 
 to the fountain-head, I will shew myself biddable ; 
 but do write me a note about yourself! God bless 
 you, my dear love ! It is worth while to get 
 ' snubbed ' for the sake of getting comforted by you 
 after it. I am like a rhinoceros to snubbing in 
 general — but if the ' snubs ' came from you, they 
 would find me very soft. I am away at old 'Niebuhr,' 
 and it's like getting into a granite pestle and mortar. 
 Doctrines fly like bats ! Anyway, I have put my soul 
 on a course of tonics ! . . . 
 
 [Unfinished.] 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CAELYLE 209 
 
 LETTER 55. 
 
 Sunday (Postmark, June 22, 1846). 
 
 Dearest Jane,- — ^Your letter came to me as I was 
 dressing tliis morning, and very sorry indeed it made 
 me, to find yoa in sucli an unsatisfactory state ! I 
 am really uneasy about you, and the only comfort in 
 your case is, that you will so soon be at Seaforth. It 
 is the only place for you just now. All those grand 
 people may be very well — a great privilege to know, 
 and all that — but just now you want to be out of the 
 hearing of ' wits,' and with somebody that loves you, 
 and to whom you can speak. I have an hypothesis 
 that it's not good to live altogether with highly 
 civihsed people ! After being some time in that sort 
 of society one needs to go out to grass ; it is an 
 instinct of nature, as well as friendship, that moves 
 you to go to Seaforth. It is such a plague to make 
 new friends, or else I guess you would make some- 
 thing of ' Hahn Hahn.' She must have known sorrow ! 
 I feel very interested about her, although I have not 
 read a line of her books. I had the ' Countess 
 Faustin ' ordered the other day, but it is not come 
 yet ! I fancy, after all, the world has sense to know 
 reahties when it actually sees them (though it puts 
 up with make-believes with wonderful faith) — and 
 that ' Hahn Hahn ' and the Baron, being really 
 respectable and neither feeling nor seeming ashamed 
 
 p 
 
210 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 of themselves, it makes no fuss ! I think it is a very 
 good sign of the times, for people just as high in rank 
 have been tabooed, and her being an authoress hardly 
 explains the charitable solecism ! Do tell me some- 
 thing about her ; her experience and history would be 
 worth all the novels — and she could write — if she 
 would speak a word to women good for them to 
 hear. But Carlyle putting up with her is the most 
 wonderful thing possible ; I thought he was of a real 
 Scotch strictness in those matters, and could not 
 stand ' George Sandism ' in theorj'', let alone practice. 
 The real George Sand seems to have got herself 
 ' dished ' (spiritually I mean) in her relations with 
 the sterner sex ! She has been the better of the two 
 always ; and has gone from one to another, finding 
 nothing but disappointment, till now she is ' blasee ' 
 and hardened. ' Hahn Hahn ' has been fortunate. 
 
 I have been working very hard all week. It is only 
 expiating past idleness, or else I am sure the blessing 
 of industry ought to faU on me. But aU I have got yet 
 is a headache and giddiness, anything but encouraging. 
 However, I am working in faith ; the heat is terrible, 
 for our air is so thick and heavy that, when heated, it 
 is like a casing of hot lead. London air is fine and 
 clear compared with ours, which is oppressive to 
 death ! "We have had Ibrahim Pasha, or as people 
 here call him, ' Abraham Parker,' and nearly wore 
 him out with taking him over cotton mills, up and 
 
MISS JEWSBUKY TO JANE WELSH OARLYLE 211 
 
 down flights of stairs that would seem fabulous. It 
 was reported, to the great scandal of aU the women 
 here, that he had brought five wives with him. One 
 good lady was very vehement the other night. I 
 stood up for the poor women's respectability, as they 
 were all wives, and I said his religion allowed them. 
 ' Eeligion ! ' was the reply, ' I suppose he expects to 
 go to heaven in spite of such conduct.' ' Well,' I 
 said, ' he wiU go to one of his own ! ' ' Indeed he 
 had need ! ' But if your breakfast comes off on 
 Wednesday you'll not thank me for hindering you ! 
 I know what it is to give parties myself, with a small 
 estabhshment ! Your breakfast tempts me terribly. 
 I should like to be there, and no doubt there would 
 be many of the same opinion. God bless you ! 
 
 Your affectionate 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 LETTEB 56. 
 
 Tuesday (Postmark, September 2, 1846). 
 
 My Darling, — I am not sitting down comfortably 
 to write to you at all — I am in the empty office, 
 
 keeping it till somebody comes. came directly 
 
 after breakfast, and we have been walking all over 
 the town, and after coming home in a cab I have 
 come here for rest, shelter, and a pot of porter. I am 
 making use of the time to write you a word of 
 welcome ! I should be physically incapable of it if 
 
 p 2 
 
212 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 I waited till I got home. I am thankful beyond 
 measure that you will be home to-morrow, and out 
 of the roast meats and proprieties ! I shall feel more 
 settled now you are at home, for I did not fancy your 
 being in Liverpool at all. I miss you still more than 
 
 I can tell you. I was much struck with this 
 
 morning. I said : ' Mrs. Carlyle is going home to- 
 morrow ! ' ' Ah ! ' she said ' it is weU for her that 
 she has a home to go to,' and then she sighed, poor 
 
 old thing, till it was quite pitiful ! was in an 
 
 ecstasy of astonishment at your brilliant spirits and 
 brilliant appearance on Saturday. She had been 
 puzzled by your manner when she called, and I gave 
 her your message — which I was glad to have, as it 
 evidently comforted her — and then she seemed quite 
 satisfied, only a little — what shall I say ? — a little 
 conscious of a bit of human nature that you have 
 here in Manchester instead of Seaforth. But that 
 nobody can help, only be very glad of! She was 
 
 looking ill, and httle worse with toothache ! I 
 
 came into town with them, and we went to 's, 
 
 and I got a nervous headache with looking at ' casts ' 
 with exaggerated developments, tiU I felt my own 
 brain all contracting and expanding spasmodically. 
 
 had his head examined first — it is very like 
 
 fortune-telling — and then little , and then . 
 
 I refused doggedly. I should have had a brain fever 
 with the painful consciousness of my organs. He — 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH OARLYLE 213 
 
 the phrenologist — said some good things, very good 
 guesses indeed, as to character, &c., to everybody, 
 but it was hke being in a Grerman nightmare, with 
 all the little deformities ranged on shelves and 
 
 labelled ! and I got very little talk ; she did 
 
 not seem natural somehow, and began to explain how 
 it was she had hit on a wrong method of amusing 
 you at Seaforth ; but, as if she felt it required excuse, 
 she spoke very kindly and affectionately of you, and 
 seemed really relieved when I told her you never 
 ' settled ' with me, and had taken a horror of aU that 
 sort of thing. She feared you were vexed ; still she 
 was not natural, though perhaps the prospect of 
 
 having to go to a dentist's with little might 
 
 have somewhat to do with it. was making a 
 
 bust of James Martineau, and said he had great self- 
 esteem, as I suppose all Unitarians have. Your note 
 
 threw poor into such an ecstasy that I have 
 
 received a letter more incoherent than ever on the 
 strength of it. He declares that if he had been a painter 
 he should at that moment only have been able to paint 
 flowers, that his emotion was so indescribable that it 
 overflowed his eyes, and accumulated beyond all his 
 power to express ! For how could the man have 
 power to say what he felt, when he resembled 
 ' a dwarf mushroom to an oak ' ? There, that is aU I 
 can recollect ! No doubt you will receive an exposi- 
 tion of his sensibilities. He has sent me a volume of 
 
214 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 ' George Sand,' which I am in a great humour for 
 reading, instead of an unmanageable History of 
 Sweden, which I have begun. I have finished the 
 Utopian part of my essay, and despatched it, along 
 with a most*seductive note begging for money. If it 
 does not bring me some sovereigns I wiU doubt my 
 powers ! I shall never persuade people to anything 
 if I cannot persuade some money out of his purse 
 
 into mine. declares the Utopian part was very 
 
 good. I am just hungry to set to work on the book, 
 
 but I shall be out again with aU day to-morrow. 
 
 Do, I beseech you, keep up your good intention about 
 one book, our book ! I don't feel up, at this instant, 
 to anything but going home to dinner, for I am 
 ' dished to death,' but as soon as I can get the steam 
 up you shall have an official letter ! — the revising and 
 correcting must come after. Now, my darling love ! 
 good-bye ! and God bless you ! Whenever I say my 
 prayers I put one in for you, and God will bless you 
 and keep you, of that I am sure, and have faith ! Be 
 strong and faithful, and remember always that I love 
 you ! Come to me or send for me whenever you feel 
 that I should be a comfort to you ! I love you 
 always. Ever your own 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 Give my kind regards to , and tell her to 
 
 make much of you. 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 215 
 
 LETTER 57. 
 
 [Beginning fragment.] 
 
 October 19, 1846. 
 
 . . . You must excuse this writing, for I can do 
 no better ! I like your account of your poor street- 
 sweeper beyond everything. I do believe it is an 
 acquaintance that will do you good. The man has 
 got the divine idea of his condition, and he is worth 
 a thousand other people who can speak eloquent 
 speeches and construct theories ! As to that Miss 
 
 , I loathe her heartily from your description. 
 
 I have no patience with theoretical profligacy. It 
 does the heart and soul more harm than a course of 
 blackguardism ! She must be, and cannot help but 
 be, a hypocrite, if she be tempted to death to 
 live ' a free and easy life,' and yet keeps herself strait- 
 laced up in practice to keep in with Emerson & 
 Co. ! I am extremely charitable towards people who 
 honestly work out their own inclinations, but it 
 makes me very poorly to see them putting on a grand 
 fancy dress or transcendental philosophy to dignify 
 their inclination ! Anything else is far more respect- 
 able and honest to my thinking ! And then those 
 doctrines from an irredeemably ugly, uninteresting 
 woman are really ' damnable.' Somebody was talking 
 about that woman here the other night. If she 
 comes to Manchester I shall see her. I had a visit 
 
216 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 yesterday from a man I have taken the greatest 
 possible regard for — and I took his visit (busy as he 
 is) as a real honour ! You will not like him so much 
 as I d&, but to me he is a real God-send. He is Mr. 
 J. J. Taylor, the editor of the ' Prospective Eeview.' 
 He is a Unitarian minister, but not such an one as you 
 ever saw. He is really well read, and so mild and 
 candid and un-pedantic, and so — what shall I say ? — 
 Humble ? — unpretending would be better. But any- 
 how, I can ask him questions and listen to his answers 
 with great comfort and profit. He is worth a bushel 
 
 of s ! He is rather an elderly man, very shy 
 
 and timid in his manner, but he must have something 
 about him to impress me so much. I would not 
 make a scandalising speech to him for the world, and 
 yet I can settle any doctrine, and say anything I 
 want to say, only I feel in earnest with him. I have 
 had a book lent me which I am reading as fast as I 
 can, a few pages at a time, but I am just wild with it ; 
 it is Fichte's 'Nature of the Scholar.' I have only 
 just begun the lectures, but it is the life of Fichte at 
 the beginning of the book that has fascinated me. 
 I know not when I have been so moved ; and yet 
 your poor old blind sweeper has been moved and 
 made on the self-same principle — the one learned his 
 own secret and was a philosopher, and the other 
 only had it in his heart as the ' gift of God,' and has 
 lived on it. I don't think, perhaps, you feel tempted 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE WELSH CAELYLE 217 
 
 at the philosopliy, and yet I don't know. When you 
 found out how it was all hved out and worked out 
 by him on the most trying occasions, with unfaltering 
 faith, even you could hardly help reverencing it. 
 Anyway, read the life. It is in a number of Chapman's 
 ' Cathohc Series.' I am writing away at my book, 
 and have got two or three more chapters done, but 
 I cannot get on fast ; I must go through a certain 
 process, and cannot make haste. I have a great deal 
 made out roughly, but it wants writing again. By 
 
 the way, little Dr. called on me last week, to 
 
 introduce that friend of his — the young lady who 
 wants to come to London to board in a literary 
 family. She has got her wish, for a while, it seems ! 
 She is really a very pretty, nice-looking young woman, 
 
 and I guess Dr. likes her. There is something 
 
 very tender in his tone to her. I don't know whether 
 she is clever, but she seems to think the summit of 
 earthly happiness is — to know clever people. She 
 has not seen much society evidently, and yet she 
 
 seems so nice altogether that I think Dr. will 
 
 be lucky if he marries her, judging from a first 
 appearance. I don't know her name, and could not 
 
 catch it. I wrote a note to Miss yesterday. 
 
 Now guess about what! A friend told me of two 
 
 protegees of who aspire to be governesses, 
 
 and Miss had written to , and I thought 
 
 if one would suit it would be no harm to 
 
218 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 inquire. said he had received your letter, and 
 
 that he proposed writing very soon; he is most 
 discreet about your letters, as all men should be when 
 women do them the honour to write ! He said he 
 wished he had you for a clerk in his warehouse, you 
 were so clever, and would make a first-rate man of 
 business. I had not seen him for nearly two months ! 
 though he has sent me plenty of notes. I thought he 
 would come to-day, but it is such dreadful weather. 
 is reaUy better, if he will only take care of him- 
 self. If his shares would get up you would have a 
 very tender letter, but he has no heart, poor lad, as it 
 is ! He is at church now or would send a message. 
 Write to me soon, there's a darling ! I can see no 
 more now ! God bless you ! 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 LETTER 58. 
 
 [Undated fragment, belonging to the year 1846.J 
 Geraldine Jewsbury to Mrs. Carlyle. 
 
 Dearest ' Kadijah,' — If sympathy, and indignation, 
 and being fit to set off to get a little news about 
 
 that dreadful would do you any good you 
 
 would find yourself solaced directly ! for I am in a 
 fit of excitement. What a shocking woman you 
 teU me about ! There must be some reason why 
 governesses get so badly treated as a race, and people 
 do get as much as they deserve, as Carlyle says. 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 219 
 
 Who could treat and such, people well — viz., like 
 
 ladies and ' one of the family ' ? My old is 
 
 more likely to get well treated than a dozen such. 
 WeU, you will send her off forthwith, of course — and 
 yet, poor thing, what has driven her to it ? Perhaps 
 something that would make us sorry for her if we 
 knew ; but anyhow, pity will not mend her, and she 
 is disreputable — next door to a scamp for drinking, 
 we know that ! I was going to write to you this 
 morning about a heap of things, and your letter has 
 put them out of my head. Primo, I had a ' swarry ' 
 last night on the voluntary system, which went off 
 very well, only like nothing else in this world ! Dr. 
 
 told me at Mrs. 's on Wednesday that he 
 
 wanted to bring Mr. , Mr. , and M. 
 
 on Saturday (they had all made various starts, and 
 finally it was really to come off). So accordingly, about 
 
 five o'clock, M. and another man arrived, whom 
 
 I affectionately greeted for , but it proved to 
 
 be (the other was ill of a fever, and in bed) ; 
 
 then came little Dr. , and we began to talk 
 
 about all sorts of things. They Uke setthng books. 
 But however, we got on Miss Cushman. They like her, 
 but are not wild about her ; people must have time 
 
 before their reputation is settled, and Miss is 
 
 only one year old, in these parts at least. Then 
 
 came in and we had coffee, Ireland ^ talking away as 
 
 ' Mr. Alexander Ireland. 
 
220 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 fast as Carlyle,and speaking Scotch as broad as possible, 
 
 He is 's great friend, they swear by each other; 
 
 but he is a great improvement on , and he is a 
 
 nice comfortable, sensible, fatherly sort of man, and I 
 got at home with him directly. He has black eyes and 
 great strong black bushy eyebrows, such as Carlyle's 
 soul delights in, and is very pleasant and genial 
 — not at all a Unitarian, but a strong, striding, healthy 
 
 man. I want you to know him — make 
 
 bring him ! He has a splendid library, and knows 
 all sorts of nice people, and it's fine making fun of 
 
 & Co. They have all the people worth 
 
 seeing who come to Liverpool ; all their people do 
 something, and though not high grand heroes like 
 Carlyle loves, still wonderfully different to the in- 
 sipid of every name ! Make up to in spite 
 
 of his ' m'ams.' I like Mr. Ireland amazingly. He is 
 just the sort of man for me to know — quite sober 
 and respectable, and therefore to be believed when 
 he fights one's battles, and he is bringing me trans- 
 lations from Fichte and Schiller ; in short you must 
 
 know him ! Tell Mrs. I like him extremely, 
 
 and thank her for speaking of me to him, for she has 
 done me a real good ! In the middle of cofiee every- 
 body began to smoke ! — (one can always get on 
 
 with people who like smoking) — and then Dr. 
 
 said ' I wish were here, I'll go and fetch 
 
 him ! ' Now is staying at the s, and he 
 
MISS JEWSBUJRY TO JANE WELSH CAELYLE 221 
 
 had got Mrs. to bring him to call here in the 
 
 morning. So it was ' un pen fort ' to fetch him at 
 night, but Mr. Ireland could serve him, so it was 
 
 agreed, and Dr. set off and brought him back ! 
 
 Then the room was full, and we all smoked and 
 talked, and settled just what came in our heads ! 
 
 I like much better than I did at first ; still, 
 
 I don't much care about him. He professes to be a 
 
 great friend of 's, but I guess would not 
 
 care much for him. Still, he is evidently pretty 
 intimate with him. He had to go away at ten, 
 because they are early, but the rest were not tempted 
 to go, and sat down again. Mr. Ireland settled Shelley, 
 about whom he is wild, and all manner of queer old 
 books, and mentioned several I ought to read, and 
 has promised to bring me whatever I want ! He is a 
 kind, thorough man, and I am delighted to know him — 
 
 even M. 'came out 'in his presence. In spite 
 
 of his somewhat conceited manner, the latter has read 
 an immense deal, and is a good fellow ! Then as they 
 were nearly aU teetotallers, they got hungry, and we 
 had some supper, and finally, about eleven, they took 
 themselves oflf ! To complicate my afiairs, who should 
 come in about seven o'clock but old Mr. and Mrs. 
 
 , to sleep all night. Only fancy ! ! She is quite 
 
 silly. 
 
 [Unfinished.] 
 
222 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 LETTER 59. 
 
 [Exact date doubtful, but of the year 1846.] 
 
 Friday. 
 
 Dearest Jane, — ^I don't know if smoking be bad 
 for the health, but I am sure swearing is, and my 
 digestion has not got right after the awful — what 
 
 shall I call it ? — ejaculation I bestowed on Miss . 
 
 My dear, I quite think with you, and agree with all 
 you say thereanent, and I believe you too, as firmly 
 as a Mahomedan ! I do the same myself, but the 
 difference is — when I wrote on the subject, you were 
 out of the right perspective to me. Still I am glad you 
 say what you do (though I did not need it) ; it is a 
 written testimony, and the Church, you know (that 
 model of all knowledge), always enlarged her written 
 creed to meet any heresy that might be just then 
 rampant, clinched in a clerical black and white garb. 
 So you have been preaching against my heresy, and 
 articulated your own doctrine ! Had I been always 
 one of the faithful, it might have remained one of the 
 silent celestial harmonies ! Finally, our dispensations 
 have an inverted sympathy, decidedly ! You sat 
 
 down to write to me, and Miss spoilt the 
 
 purposes. I had invited a sort of Miss with 
 
 others to come here this afternoon : she sends me 
 back word — and as the. others were contingent on 
 her, I am free, and give you the benefit of it, being 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 223 
 
 in a great humour for a ' settle,' and all inclination 
 and ability to work were dissipated for the day in 
 search of a large fowl to be roasted ' turkey-fashion,' 
 which my cooking damsel insisted on having for 
 supper. I have plenty of things to say, and don't 
 know where to begin. I never told you properly 
 
 about and his visit. I want to know what you 
 
 think of him — sheep or wolf? Do you like him. He is 
 not what he used to be, and I feel very sorry for him 
 out there with his horrid wife, and all sorts of vulgar 
 wretches — vulgar in their body and estate, and just 
 left to die or drink as the case may be ! I want to 
 get him back into civilised society. I have no 
 vocation for being a saviour, God knows — except 
 unhmited good nature, and that is all the feeling I 
 have for him, really and truly all. And he protested 
 he had subdued his love for me into friendship (I 
 don't believe it was ever anything but pure ' ennui ' 
 and an effort at self-preservation) ; but this time he 
 behaved in a most touchingly discreet way. He sat 
 in the armchair, smoking ; I sat on the other side of 
 the fireplace, doing the same — both in a very com- 
 posed frame of mind apparently — but he suddenly 
 broke silence by saying : ' Geraldine, you ought to 
 have been my wife. I have done no good since, 
 and every step I have taken has been downward. 
 You would have been a hagpier woman, and 
 I should have been a better man ! ' Ten years 
 
224 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 ago that speech would have raised me to the 
 seventh heaven ; now I only said, with a most heart- 
 felt composure, ' God knows ! We never can teU about 
 those things. It is best as it is,' and took up a piece 
 of hemming, and never even pricked my fingers! 
 What fools we are to make ourselves miserable 
 about anything, when we may be quite sure we shall 
 get to care nothing about them in a very little while. 
 I lose all faith in love when I see him ! I did care 
 for him once, long and well — ^better than. I have it 
 in me to care for any man now. He seemed in a 
 capital good humour with me, which I am glad of, 
 because he was very bitter a while since. On the 
 whole, I guess he has not energy enough to come so 
 far out of his way as to come to see me pretty often. 
 His laziness is, was, and always will be, paramount to 
 all other feelings ! So the odds are greatly in favour 
 of my guardian angel, and then I shall only be a 
 memory ! I think he has taken to you, for he spoke 
 
 spitefully of , who, he said, ' threw his eyes on 
 
 you without ceasing ! ' He wanted confidence, in a 
 sort of way, to speak about j^ou, only he said ' one 
 expression of her face {viz. her eyes) is divine!' 
 But he professed to me to think that Carlyle was the 
 only man you really cared for, and I encouraged 
 that, telling him with a most confidential air he was 
 quite right in that surmise, and that as to all the men 
 about you they just were obliged to live together 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 225 
 
 like Austen's ' happy family,' and that you were the 
 innocent little lamb in the midst, to tempt them to 
 death, but which they were none of them to touch ! 
 
 He talked very little about you. The worst of 
 
 is, that he is like spun sugar ! you may draw him out 
 in any shape you will, and then he melts out of it 
 again ! I myself cannot believe now in his dangerous 
 powers, but, ma foi ! it was different once ! So 
 finally, my dear, I fancy old friends are hke old 
 fashion-books, charmingly becoming and tempting at 
 the time — and one wonders afterwards where the 
 beauty lay. Still, it's of no use pretending ! I have a 
 
 great regard for , and when he is with me I 
 
 forget all his sins ! Now, I have told no details, 
 
 so keep all this to yourself. She got me into a 
 quarrel before ; all with good intent, and not at all 
 believing she had done mischief. I told her, in the 
 
 general — ' I think has got, or is inclined to get, 
 
 into trouble again ! ' So give her neither chapter nor 
 
 verse ! Oh that Mrs. ! I heard of that party 
 
 through Mrs. , and wondered if she had cast 
 
 out her net once more, though she had toiled so long 
 and caught nothing ! If people will hunt up lionesses 
 they must make up their mind beforehand to get 
 scratched ! I think she wears an under-jerkin of 
 brass, or leather, or something equally impenetrable. 
 
 Poor Miss is terribly patronised by her, and 
 
 there is a sympathy between them, if you only knew. 
 
 Q 
 
226 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 But Mrs. has been able to serve her, and her 
 
 position is not one of absolute free-will. I can't 
 help hoping you wiU meet with her yet, under better 
 
 auspices than Mrs. 's. It is all very fine to tell 
 
 me to walk a good spell ! The rain has poured down 
 every day for a fortnight. It took to clearing up for 
 two days, and has begun again to-day. The rest' of 
 your prescription I wiU follow, and this, too, as soon 
 as I can. I am seeing after a servant in real earnest, 
 and have heard of a young woman who had expressed 
 a great desire to ' live with Miss Jewsbury,' so whether 
 it will come to pass I don't know. I am in very low 
 
 spirits about another thing. has had a cough for 
 
 a long time, and the other day he told me he had a pain 
 in his side, and what he spit up had for the last day 
 or two been marked with blood. I have put him a 
 plaister on his chest, and he has given up smoking ; 
 but I hear him hacking at night sadly. For the whole 
 day after he told me I went about like one stunned 
 with a blow. I dare not think of it, if anything 
 should happen to him ! I don't know that I can tell 
 you anything more. I will write again soon. Take 
 care of yourself, and don't you get a cough ! God 
 bless you ! Ever your own 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 Have I not a right to feel ajBTronted ? I wrote 
 Mazzini a letter on New Year's Day and sent him his 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 227 
 
 bookseller's accounts, and also a post-office order for 
 eleven shillings (all the poor pamphlet had realised). 
 He has never answered me. I send you the thing to 
 read. Douglas -Terrold has the first part, and has not 
 yet printed it. I suppose editors' promises are like 
 Bank of England notes — it is not expected there 
 should be bullion enough to cash more than one- 
 third. I must teU you something I met with in an 
 Exeter newspaper this week. An old lady of that 
 town died, and there is a row about her will. In 
 proof of her eccentricity one witness said : ' She used 
 often to say that if Jesus Christ came on earth again 
 she would invite Him to dinner, and treat Him like a 
 gentleman, for she had plenty of plate ! ' There is a 
 beautifully respectful notice of ' Oliver Cromwell ' in 
 the ' Shilling Magazine ' for this month. 
 
 tt2 
 
228 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 1847- . 
 LETTER 60. 
 
 (Postmark, April 6, 1847.) 
 
 Dearest Jane, — ^You will not get much good out 
 of me to-day, for I am bilious, and lazy, and good-for- 
 nothing — enough ' to point a moral tale ' about the 
 disadvantages of women who take to sewing and 
 female employments. For it was only the other day 
 that a very wise woman told me she was sure aU my 
 ' ill-regulated nerves ' and illness came from not 
 employing myself regularly, and said if I would do 
 some knitting or sewing I should be • quite another 
 person. I made myself a habit-shirt on the strength 
 of this lecture, but every day I am getting more and 
 more like a lump of sugar that is melting away at 
 the bottom of a cup of weak tea, and all the sewing 
 in the world would not revive me. There now ! I 
 have groaned my groan, like ' Molly Brown ' before 
 she awoke at the ghost of ' Giles Scroggins ' ; so let 
 us see what there is more profitable to tell you. I 
 have learned the mystery of ' Mudieism.' Oh that 
 it. should never have struck any of us before! 
 My dear, Mrs. has no less than three novels 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 229 
 
 written and ready for the press; and Juliet^ has 
 written a novel, too, which has, moreover, been 
 ' spoken of in the highest terms ' by some unknown 
 gentleman of the greatest judgment! Is not that 
 enough to take the shine out of what I once over- 
 heard somebody call the ' purple light of literature ' ? 
 For a minute I felt inclined to place my MS. on the 
 kitchen fire, and let it lie there till utterly consumed. 
 How did I get to know this ? you will ask. Well, 
 
 then, , though very reserved with me, is much 
 
 more confidential with Mrs. , and she told her 
 
 this, and Mrs. • told me. Now it has made me 
 
 think a great deal better of Juliet's sense and good 
 conduct. Ever since we have had to deal with her, 
 certainly nothing can have been more like a good 
 girl and less like a heroine in disguise. Of course I 
 shall not let her know that I have been told of her 
 
 confidence to Mrs. . The place I secured for 
 
 her turns out not to suit. There has been a deal of 
 bother about it. Finally, it is settled that she is to 
 
 remain at present where she is until Mrs. suits 
 
 herself, and my business now is to find something for 
 
 . Everybody does what is right in their own 
 
 eyes, so I suppose does Mrs. ; but I am out of 
 
 patience with her. I cannot make her out. I think 
 she intends to be kind, but it is in such a cold- 
 blooded manner that an interview with her always 
 
 ^ Juliet Mudie, a maid- servant, in whom Miss Jewsbury took an 
 interest. — A. E. I. 
 
230 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 embarrasses me, and yet there is notliing to take 
 exception at ; but I can never do any good with 
 people who have hght flaxen hair and round light- 
 blue eyes. Anyway, I shall not go from home tiU 
 
 is ' fixed.' I am rather anxious to get her away 
 
 from this neighbourhood for another reason. 
 
 told me she had been followed whenever she came from 
 church by a ' gentleman.' It seems to have annoyed 
 her very much, for she was afraid there was some- 
 thing in her manner which might have misled him ; 
 but she never replied to him, and when I asked 
 what he was like, she said she had never looked him 
 in the face. She said he sometimes placed himself 
 right opposite to her in church, and that she felt him 
 staring at her. However, as she wiU come to this 
 end of the town she will be out of his way, as she 
 seems quite to have a notion how to take care of 
 herself ; but it roused a great deal of virtuous indig- 
 nation in my bosom. Women seem sent into the 
 world to be hunted down like hares, and if they are 
 caught they are worried to death without hope. I 
 don't know what else I have got to tell you, for 
 the united demons of a century of Fridays seem let 
 loose on me just now, and I don't know how to 
 exorcise them. I am just at my wits' end with one 
 thing or another. I ought to go to a conversazione 
 to-night to hear a paper read on ' Eremacausis,' 
 which, being interpreted, means slow combustion. 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE WELSH CAELYLE 231 
 
 and it is tlie secret of the process by wliicli we live 
 and at length die — i.e. when we are burnt out ! 
 
 But I have beguiled to go instead, as the paper 
 
 is by an acquaintance. One of us must go, and so 
 I have victimised him. Then, if I escape that, there 
 is a ' Charybdis ' on the other side in the shape of an 
 Evangelical party, and I so seldom get invited to 
 those that I am half-inclined to go if it were not for 
 the bore — my ' eremacausis ' is very low just now. 
 I fear all the fuel is done. By the way, a lady — or 
 rather, a female — has been lecturing here, and to a 
 respectable audience too, on ' Phrenology as applied 
 to Matrimony.' She is the wife of the principal 
 tragedian at the theatre here ; like aU theories, it 
 did not answer in her own case, for she cannot live 
 with her husband. Perhaps her theory is founded 
 
 on experience. And a Mrs. has been lecturing 
 
 at the Hall of Science on the ' Eights of Women.' 
 I believe she is rather an interesting woman, and 
 was described to me as very modest-looking, fat, and 
 self-possessed, and wore a blue dress and a red hand- 
 kerchief, and her hair braided, without cap or bonnet 
 or any such thing. There was a woman some time 
 ago who lectured here — ^I forget her name. The 
 subject was ' Phrenology,' and she stated in her 
 circulars that, as the female part of her audience 
 might be revolted by the sight of real brains, she 
 should fold her pocket-handkerchief so as to resemble 
 
232 SELECTIONS OF LETTEES FROM 
 
 the convolutions of the brain, and lecture on that. 
 I know not what possessed me to let such a choice 
 morceau get destroyed, for I read what I am telling 
 you with my own two eyes ! Well, my dear, I close 
 my anecdotes of illustrious women by sending you a 
 little book I bought for you — 'Cookery Ehymes.' 
 They are written by a lady I know. She has also 
 written one or two polemical tracts. One, called ' A 
 New Tract for the Times,' was commended by several 
 high dignitaries of the Church, who, not knowing it 
 to be a feminine work (God help them !), prophesied 
 great promotion to the unknown Curate who, as they 
 supposed, had uttered the oracle. She is, without 
 controversy, the most triumphantly ugly woman I 
 ever beheld, but excessively witty and agreeable. 
 Another woman has been writing on the ' Millennium,' 
 and settles quite coolly that in the space of a very 
 few years the whole batch of unregenerate and 
 worldly wicked inhabitants of this earth would be 
 destroyed, by some supernatural means, in the 
 twinkling of an eye, the dead saints and ' elect ' all 
 raised up, and a pleasant family party made to reign 
 and have it all their own way on the earth for a 
 thousand years. The Jews all to give up their old 
 clothes to the lawful owners, and be transformed into 
 soft-hearted Christian and respectable freeholders in 
 their own country, which is to be miraculously ex- 
 tended for their reception! There, my dear, the 
 
MISS JEAVSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 233 
 
 force of nonsense can no further go, unless you and 
 I begin to feel uneasy at our chance in this new- 
 dynasty. Certainly it is a poor look-out for us. But 
 just console yourself, and try to get rid of all your 
 illness and biliousness, and write me a line when you 
 are in the humour and say how you are, and let the 
 ' Millennium ' go to the Devil, or the moon, which is 
 the receptacle of all plans and projects that don't 
 prosper here. God bless you and take care of you. 
 
 Ever you own 
 Monday. G. E. J. 
 
 LETTEE 61. 
 [Fragment. Date uncertain, probably 1847.] 
 
 ... I did not believe you. You said he was an 
 ' Egoist,' and now you have the comfort of having 
 been right, and I may save my soul by owning myself 
 wrong. I would send you the letter, but I cannot 
 find it, and fear 1 have dropped it out of the pocket 
 of my dress. Luckily the envelope was not upon it, 
 and no names were mentioned except Christian 
 names. So no one who picks it up will see anything 
 but a letter with most profound worldliness and naive 
 self-complacent sentimentalism mixed up. I have 
 not yet got beyond astonishment ; it is more like a 
 transformation in a pantomime than the act of a 
 rational being. However, one comfort is that I 
 have discerned this last and solitary act of sincerity 
 
234 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 for myself — out of the mass of sentimental melan- 
 choly. The truth has nearly frozen me to death, but 
 thank God it is the real truth I have got at 
 last ! The fact is, that the correspondence has grown 
 to be a terrible bore to him, and he confesses that 
 he has ' long lost the bright hope which he took 
 out with him, that we might some time be some- 
 thing nearer to each other ; but that he did not tell 
 me, because he did not think it would have made 
 me happier to know it beforehand, and before time 
 had lessened my attachment to him ! ' And all the 
 letter is full of explanations how and why it is im- 
 possible, formally setting me at liberty, and finally 
 you never will guess what he falls back upon. My 
 dear, he is a respectable man, ' and it would ruin his 
 reputation with the really good Mussulmans ' if he 
 were to take a European wife, and also be a scandal 
 to the respectable and numerous English with whom 
 he is in contact ! ! 
 
 I wish I had the letter ; in spite of the shock to 
 my tender and lacerated sensibilities I shouted again 
 with laughter over it. It would have made a cat 
 laugh; it was like a man speaking in Madame de 
 Genlis' ' Palace of Truth ' — fancying he is saying the 
 most tender and beautiful things, whilst all the while 
 he is uttering the grossest insults and absurdities. 
 The letter was inefiable. I recollect nearly every 
 word of it, and swear I will put it in a book some 
 
xMISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 235 
 
 day. I could not invent anything so rich. Don't 
 think very ill of me, my dear, but I really cannot 
 make myself unhappy. I am very much ashamed 
 of my romantic faith. I did care for him (for 
 what I fancied him, rather) more than I ever did for 
 any man ; but now it is as if he had vanished into 
 air. It is a clean case of annihilation ! I should tell 
 you there was a P.S. full of compliments and mes- 
 sages to all his acquaintances here by name. I don't 
 think I ever shall have luck with my lovers. God 
 grant I may prosper better with my friends. Other 
 people find the world full of villains and rascals ; for 
 me it is full of respectable people. I thought with 
 a Mussulman I was safe, but respectability, like 
 Monsieur Tonson, ' is come again.' How are you, 
 and where are you going ? And how is j^^our servant ? 
 I have no time to write more. God bless you. Let 
 me hear from you, and believe me, in haste, 
 Tour affectionate and very consolate 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 All right.— G. E. J. 
 
 LETTEE 62. 
 [Fragment.] 
 
 Emerson has taken his departure. He called here 
 on Sunday, but I was out. I don't fancy he took to 
 me. I am too tumultuous for him, and he is not quite 
 
236 SELECTIONS OF LETTEES FROM 
 
 sure but that I am satirical. At least, such is the 
 opinion of one likely to know ! I had far rather the 
 Quaker liked me. He wrote me a very nice note the 
 other day. But, my dear, there is one difficulty in 
 
 my going to . I am not invited yet. He sent 
 
 me some books to read, and I hope he will come and 
 have another ' profitable mutton chop.' As to 
 Hastings, upon my honour I feel it is a relief that it 
 has not to come off ! But still I am vexed you should 
 
 have had any annoyance. I don't think Mrs. 
 
 has been respectful to you, or very polite either, for 
 
 the matter of that. I have very poorly again. 
 
 is ill, too, and in a queer, morbid sort of way. 
 
 He was up here the other night, looking even worse 
 
 than . Now do write to me and say how you 
 
 are. EecoUect I want some sort of ' cordial ' over 
 my work. Do tell me how you are yourself. Please 
 give Carlyle the enclosed note. I have been setting 
 up a thick quilted satin petticoat for this cold 
 weather, and my eyes are not well. This is all the 
 news from 
 
 Ever your affectionate 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 LETTEE 63. 
 [Fragment, assigned to 1847-8.] 
 
 . . . The tears stood in her eyes, and she looked 
 quite handsome. I felt to love her! She is so 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 237 
 
 thoroughly honest — I should say, only too apt to 
 take everything everybody says ' au pied de la 
 lettre ' ! . . . 
 
 It seems like a dream that you have been here. 
 What a short visit it was ! and I can have people I 
 don't care for, and would thankfuUy dispense with, 
 for weeks at a time. EecoUect, there is that room 
 
 always ready for you. We went ( and I) to 
 
 dine with Mr. according to programme. I think 
 
 he had been rather frightened at you, for he would 
 not make up his party until he knew whether you 
 were coming. I don't know who he would have 
 assembled in your honour ; but, though I was suffi- 
 ciently amused, I am glad you were away. It is 
 very odd how one can not only endure but really 
 find amusement on one's own score, whereas the bear- 
 ing of it for another would turn it into Purga- 
 tory. There were two other Aldermen, a Mr. and 
 
 Mrs. , very nice Germans, whom I have known 
 
 a long time, and a young German lady, and 
 
 myself. The dinner was ' aldermanic,' but there was 
 no fire, and the room got very cold. All the 
 talk was about the robes which the ' Mayor and 
 Corporation ' are to wear before the Queen, which 
 had that morning been ordered after a stormy debate. 
 The Queen little knows all the perturbation she 
 causes by her visit. The whole town has gone per- 
 fectly frantic, and what with fiags, and banners, 
 
238 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 platforms, and laying down extra gas-pipes for the 
 illumination, the streets look as if they were ' on the 
 spree ' — quite dissipated, in fact. There were several 
 places we ought to have gone to whilst you were 
 here and we didn't ; and I am quite provoked. The 
 other day I went on an expedition ' to Peel Park,' one 
 of the ' people's parks,' as they are called, and really it 
 was worth seeing. Originally it used to be the family 
 residence of one of our rich men, and when it was 
 bought for the present purpose several fields were 
 added to the grounds and laid out with great taste, 
 and you cannot think what a pretty place it is now. 
 The house is turned into a museum and library, 
 reading-rooms, &c., and dirty-faced, painful-looking 
 mechanics were to be seen through the windows, with 
 a grave attention which showed that to them, at least, 
 books were very reverend realities. I could not go 
 into the room, for ladies, though not absolutely ex- 
 cluded, would be startling novelties, so I contented 
 myself with going into the library, Avhich had a large 
 collection of books of all sorts, from the ' Cyclopaedia ' 
 down to 'Pendennis.' The museum is a capital 
 beginning, and all the people, especially the women 
 and children, seem much attracted by it. The 
 grounds are in beautiful order, and the people 
 behaved just the same as the genteel people in Hyde 
 Park, only that one saw pipes instead of cigars, and 
 fustian jackets, and not at all white hands. On a 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CAELYLE 239 
 
 garden-seat two little dirty, ragged, barefooted urchins 
 la}' stretched at full length, most luxuriously. Had 
 they been dandies born they could not have done it 
 better ; and then the men with their wives, or the 
 women with their children alone, were scattered up 
 and down, looking quite at home. It made me see 
 that the ' people's parks ' are no ' make-believes,' 
 since they use them and enjoy them. I suppose that 
 
 I and Mrs. , who was with me, were the only 
 
 two people there not belonging to the working- 
 classes. In the omnibus, as we were going, there 
 was a fine, intelligent man, dressed in black, with a 
 Peninsular medal, and with at least sis or eight silver 
 bands above it, each inscribed with the battle in which 
 he had served. He was a retired soldier, and he was 
 going to the Park along with his wife, a nice little 
 old woman in a black satin bonnet and close cap- 
 border. They were quite a picture. It had been a 
 sudden thought to go when we saw the omnibus 
 standing, and I felt so provoked I had not thought 
 of if whilst you were here. But you must see it some 
 time. I think I have now told you all I have done 
 
 since you have left, except the tea-drinking at , 
 
 and one that should have come off with Mrs. , 
 
 only I had a headache and could not go. I have 
 
 been mending 's shirts occasionally by way of 
 
 recreation when tired of writing, and all my letters 
 have gone to the dogs. I have not written to 
 
240 SELECTIONS OF LETTEBS FROM 
 
 Mrs. all this month, and naturally she is hurt at 
 
 me. I had a letter from , who is better. He 
 
 went to call upon her, and reaUy it has been almost 
 like seeing him myself again. I could not have 
 believed that second-hand sight could be such a 
 
 comfort. Mrs. wrote to offer me anything to 
 
 finish the ' Sorrows ' for her magazine, but I re- 
 fused. It is now combined with the 'Belle As- 
 semblee,' and if I do finish it, it must be for a 
 better place. I hope you are thinking of our tale. 
 Do make an effort ! It wiU take your thoughts ofl 
 disagreeable things. I can teU you, from experience, 
 that whilst one is in for writing a tale, it becomes 
 the reality for the time being, and all other things 
 grow shadowy, and I don't think it is one bit more 
 wearing than it is to worry one's self about the 
 
 things of one's own life. Have you written to ? 
 
 I wish you would, for he felt very hurt that we did not 
 
 call that day. intends to write and thank you 
 
 for the paper-knife after the fifteen days are expired. 
 At present he has to send 150 letters a day to the 
 post. 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 241 
 
 1848. 
 
 LETTER 64. 
 Wednesday, March (no more exact date) 1848. 
 
 My dear Jane, — I was going to write to you 
 — indeed, I should have written days ago, only just 
 now I have to snatch at my moments as well as I 
 can, and it is like trying to pick up peas with a two- 
 pronged fork, or, to use a more elegant illustration, 
 like the lady in the ' Arabian Nights ' who picked up 
 her rice with a bodkin. The result has been equally 
 meagre. Your letter came this morning, and I had 
 to look at the handwriting twice before I could 
 beheve my eyes. Do you know I feel to have been 
 not well treated. You have been iU for seven weeks, 
 
 and until told me I had not the least idea of 
 
 the fact. Your last letter, which came somewhere 
 about seven weeks ago, stated that you were starting 
 for Alverstoke ^ next day, and in the one pre- 
 vious, which I got on January 3, you entreated me, 
 after finding fault with me for wasting my time 
 (which I was not doing), that I would not write 
 letters, even to you, until I had got out of difficulty. 
 
 A country seat of the Ashburton family. 
 
 R 
 
242 SELECTIONS OF LETTEES FROM 
 
 There was a tone in both letters that very much 
 annoyed me, for, after the very sohd obhgations you 
 had laid me under with regard to the book, I was 
 doubly athirst for a word of affection to take them 
 out of the material region of ' so much value 
 received,' and I never received two such utterly, 
 utterly, unsatisfactory letters from you since I knew 
 you. At that time I was very worried, and I felt as 
 if the least thing would throw me off" the rails. I 
 had no idea but what you were very nearly, if not 
 altogether, restored to your usual average of health,, 
 or I should at once have set down what had pained 
 me to the fact of their being written under diffi- 
 culties which would have been fatal to any mortal 
 attempt at utterance. I only want you to know how 
 it fell out that you got no letter at all for so long,, 
 and then only got one which was good for very little > 
 Your letter of this morning is, I suppose, quite as 
 good as, from your point of view, I seem to deserve,, 
 but to me, knowing myself, I feel it is not any such 
 thing. I do not deserve to be kept in any such 
 ignorance, and if you are not up to writing, you 
 might set some of your people to write me a line. 
 For, to tell the truth, the letter I have just got has a. 
 wonderful funny likeness to one or two I wrote to 
 
 when, without a blow-up, I wanted to put her 
 
 at arm's length, or rather, out of reach. I do not 
 suspect you the least in the world of doing it with 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CAELYEE 243 
 
 such, deadly intent, but it will account for my dislike 
 to it. Besides, even if you did, it would not take 
 effect ; there are two sides to every bargain, and I 
 am not a subject for ' painless extinction.' I should 
 first squeak for my life very sonorously, and try 
 what moving speeches would do, and if they did not 
 answer, I would wait patiently till the tide of things 
 should bring us into our right relation again. Tou 
 may give me pain — you have often done so — to a 
 degree you would hardly believe that one woman 
 could inflict on another — (no one has ever, made me 
 suffer so much). I see now how very much was my 
 fault, and not yours ; but I only say this to make you 
 feel how utterly it is beyond your power to vex or 
 estrange me permanently ; as long as you are in this 
 world the tie exists, with a strength that has been 
 proved, and which is far beyond any control of your 
 own. If David, with all his sin, was called ' a man 
 after God's own heart' because love lay at the 
 bottom of his ' Pandora's box,' I am sure I ought to 
 be called a woman after yours. You know I don't 
 hold to your theory of ' wounds and bruises ' at all. 
 Nature heals soundly over all mortal casualties. 
 There is no such thing, either morally or physically, 
 as living with incurable wounds. And besides, the 
 Bible tells us we are all ' soldiers,' so if we have 
 scars it is all as it must be, under the circumstances. 
 If, however, there has been any reason for the cold- 
 
 E 2 
 
244 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 ness I may have fancied, but which I have suffered 
 from all the same, either kill it yourself, or tell me, 
 that I may destroy it myself. I sin against your 
 notions of good taste very often, and that is quite 
 enough to give you a distaste to me for the time 
 being, but I don't see how it can be anything of a 
 graver nature — anyway, I feel very innocent. All 
 through the spirit has moved me to write, because 
 I do not feel satisfied with your late letters, and 
 it is much more likely that there should have been 
 some fault on my side, or disagreeableness, and so I 
 want to get right with you. Don't bother yourself to 
 write a formal explanation ; I shall feel in a moment 
 the next time you write whether I am as I would 
 
 wish to be with you. As to poor , 
 
 looks very grave about him ; he is here now. Before 
 
 he went to , I asked him if he were out of 
 
 danger ; his reply was distinct enough : ' No, he is 
 not, and he wiU require very great care.' There is 
 no prospect of his getting out of the house for a long 
 time; says he is too thin, which is an un- 
 pleasant sign, but as we have got him safe in the 
 house I begin to feel more at ease. His cough is 
 less troublesome, but his breathing is still difficult 
 and oppressed ; he is very pleased with your kind 
 
 message. was here yesterday ; how very kind 
 
 he is ! He came to carry off and me to ■ • 
 
 he declared change of air was the one thing needful. 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 245 
 
 I cannot tell you how good he was, but when I 
 
 mentioned it to he laughed at the idea of 
 
 sending a patient threatened with inflamed lungs 
 from home in March, and was imperative in his 
 negative. But when warm weather comes I hope we 
 shall get there, and perhaps you will come too ? Oh, 
 have I not from the very beginning lamented after 
 ? It is very mournful that after a life of ex- 
 pectations which looked Utopian, he should have 
 been taken away before the dawning of the day ; but 
 I have great faith that all that is best and noblest of a 
 man hves after him, with wisdom not his own. He has 
 not hved in vain, and, though dead, yet he has not 
 passed away ; his spirit is still working at the events 
 of the day. I have a just faith in the future, and more 
 hope than ever I felt in my life. Are not the people 
 behaving nobly ? I had such a beautiful letter from 
 my old friend the other day, making me feel, for the 
 time at least, so strong and full of noble instincts. 
 I don't know when I have had anything which so 
 has spirited me up. I never told you the escapade 
 I had yesterday after tea. He said he wanted to go 
 and see Emerson, and declared I should go with him. 
 said, ' Go ' ; and so, though it had come on to 
 
 pour down straight with rain, I got ready. 
 
 * * * 
 
 [Fragment.] 
 
246 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 LETTEE 65. 
 
 Greenheys, July 13, 1848. 
 
 It was time you should write to me, and now 
 don't let it be so long again ! EecoUect, that in the 
 course of nature (human nature, at any rate) it is 
 just possible that I as well as yourself may require 
 some patience to make good movements permanent, 
 and to enable those returns to old faith and old 
 affection to go on, as a renewal of early times, with 
 all the advantages of experience added to them. 
 What has pained me most in you has been your in- 
 sensibility to all the pain you inflict yourself, and the 
 absence of all consideration for the natural effects of 
 things on others. No matter how hermetically one's 
 ears may be sealed with a real affection and a faith 
 which, in the main, is proof against even unkindness 
 — stiU, one may get warped, and it may require some 
 gentleness and management to restore the new distor- 
 tion to the old ' squareness.' I am conscious that you 
 must find me unsatisfactory in a thousand ways, from 
 habit, disposition, and natural shortcomings of many 
 kinds. It is an original defect in structure, with which 
 you must have patience ; but stiU, whenever you have 
 any specific point to complain of, you may be quite 
 sure that it is the effect of something on me, and not 
 a cause in me. However, you may be quite satisfied 
 this time that you have made me suffer quite enough, 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARL\LE 247 
 
 not only from your silence and in not knowing what 
 was becoming of you, but in the consciousness that 
 I had given you pain ; for when that happens to me, 
 no process of self-justification or amount of provoca- 
 tion can prevent my suffering more than you do. And 
 so, as it is your birthday, turn over a gracious ' new 
 leaf,' and start fair, for we may have only a very few 
 birthdays left for either of us. ' If crushing your 
 great toe ' may sound an unromantic accident, it is 
 nevertheless a serious one. Do not neglect it, and 
 don't forget to tell me how it goes on. 
 
 is better ; i.e. his cough has disappeared 
 
 this fine weather. But he gets very little strength, 
 and he is working too hard at the office. I think, 
 however, he is to go to Blackpool for a few days 
 on Saturday, and I hope good things from that. 
 
 Miss is to come to me to-morrow, and I am 
 
 very anxious to make her visit pleasant, and I feel an 
 awful responsibility, when people come 200 miles to 
 visit me, how on earth to make it worth their while. 
 But I am quite looking forward to seeing her. AH 
 the good I have in me I owe to her, and she has 
 ■grown to be more like a relation than a friend. I 
 do not remember a mother, but I feel the need of 
 
 one, and I cling to Miss with what I suppose 
 
 is the instinct I should have had for a mother. How 
 K3an that woman's nature be anything but unequal 
 
 ' The lady who educated Miss Jewsbury. 
 
218 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 and unwise who has never known a mother and never 
 had a child (so that she might, as it were, learn 
 backwards) ? There must be moral deserts in the 
 nature amounting to the absence of all balance. I 
 
 had a very nice letter from the other day. I 
 
 fancy there will be what calls a ' metaphysical 
 
 prayer-meeting' to-morrow. Emerson is to spend 
 the day at Seaforth, according to a long-standing 
 promise that he would not leave England without 
 going there again. I have a great affection for 
 Emerson, in spite of the provokingly serene ether 
 he always seems to breathe. He has such a fine 
 spirit in him, and so much humanity, too. I am 
 melting away whilst writing this, and my head 
 aches most stupidly, and I am going ' to do music ' 
 this evening. There is a grand concert, and Mrs, 
 
 is taking me. I had something else to teU you,. 
 
 but I forget what, so 
 
 Believe me ever. 
 
 Your affectionate 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 P.S. — That letter was not an offer of marriage,, 
 only a note from a nice little girl — she who trans- 
 lated the ' Campaner-Thal.' ^ 
 
 [Written after a long misunderstanding.] 
 ' Of Jean Paul Eichter.— A. E. I. 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE WELSH CAELYLE 249 
 
 LETTEB 66. 
 
 Monday night, August 10, 1848. 
 
 Dear Jane, — I was out in the country all yester- 
 day, at Mr. 's new place, and only got home a 
 
 little while since, so was hindered of my letter to 
 you, and I don't want it to go on till next Sunday, 
 when something else may hinder. I never was so 
 glad, for a long time, over a piece of news as I was 
 
 to hear of 's marriage ! I cannot help looking on 
 
 her with a certain respect — to have gathered herself 
 together out of the horrible mess she was in, to say 
 nothing of the suffering she had from all the ' finer 
 
 feelings.' M is a great brute, but surely even 
 
 his infernal vanity will not lead him to be so cowardly 
 as to torment that poor thing any more, unless indeed 
 the Devil inspire him with something that strikes him 
 as a piece of powerful writing — then indeed it will be 
 a bad look-out, for he has not shown himself very 
 strong in the gentlemanly line. . . . 
 
 Wednesday. 
 
 My dear Jane, — The Devil has been in it, as he 
 always is when one wants to do a thing ! He 
 hinders us just out of his own perverseness and 
 nothing else, and this morning, as there is something 
 else I ought to do, he has inspired me to write out 
 this letter. I don't think he will so much hinder me 
 
■250 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 from going to the Kingdom of Heaven as he will 
 make me too late for it ! Last week was smashed 
 into little bits, and this week will be broken into 
 
 bleeding fragments, for I am going with at three 
 
 o'clock to see the Brights, at Eochdale, and stay all 
 
 night ! I was out at Mrs. 's again last week, and 
 
 only came home yesterday. I was fetched, which 
 
 is the surest way of getting hold of me. Miss 
 
 and Miss are staying there. On Monday, who 
 
 should come out in a cab all the way but , 
 
 who has never given me a sign of his existence for 
 near a twelvemonth? I fancy, in spite of all the 
 
 flattering looks, that Miss was the attraction : 
 
 he wants her to come and stay with them. When she 
 was acting there last week he went to fetch her to 
 supper, and introduced her to his wife. All the news 
 of myself I had to tell you has grown out of date. I 
 
 had Miss on the 14th of last month, and she 
 
 stayed some time, to my great comfort. I wish she 
 could live with me, though the amount of church- 
 going she made me do was enormous. StiU, I felt 
 better for her visit ; she did a world of practical good 
 things for me ! One was fitting me up a study — 
 
 had established a ' right of common ' in the 
 
 back-parlour, and it was beyond my force to eject 
 
 her, but Miss set to work in earnest, and now 
 
 I have most comfortable and complete quarters. I 
 wish you could see them, and I want you to send 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 251 
 
 me either a picture or something to put up as a 
 memorial of you. You have many old-fashioned little 
 things, and I want you very much either to give me 
 something that has long belonged to you, or else 
 something you have done yourself, for I am like a cat, 
 and must have my feet rubbed with butter to keep 
 me in a strange place and make me settle to it 
 cordially ! I hate back-parlours, except when they 
 have some special attraction in them, so please send 
 me some scrap for a remembrance. A note from 
 
 yesterday told me jou were going on September 1 
 
 ' to the Grange for an indefinite time.' WeU, God 
 send you weU through with it, and with everything 
 else you have either to do or to sufier, as it may be ! 
 Whether I express it or not, you have my sympathy 
 — very true, and not to be changed either by squalls 
 or foul weather of any sort. I am in the depths of 
 the ' Life of Defoe ' — very stupidly done, but of a most 
 painful interest! By the way, did you ever read 
 his ' Eeligious Courtship ' ? You could not help liking 
 it. The thing that has struck me lately in the course 
 of my reading is, though we are terrible unbelievers 
 in this age, without a rag of a creed to cover us, yet 
 we have a much deeper reverence for religion, a 
 more religious sentiment is spread abroad, than was 
 general in Defoe's days. I am in hopes of going to 
 see Macready on Saturday — in Cardinal Wolsey ! I 
 got a present of two little books on Geology and 
 
252 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 Philosophy, to supersede all received authorities, 
 bound in deep rose-coloured cloth with double-gilt 
 leaves. I have not had courage to read a line in them, 
 nor grace to thank the author ! By the way, I met 
 the author of the ' Life of Mirabeau ' the other day, 
 and I quite repent all my hard speeches. He is quite 
 a boy, not twenty-one, and where all his ' Carlyhsm ' 
 comes from I cannot think. He is the most natural, 
 simple, good-hearted, almost rustic httle feUow one 
 can see — as good-hearted as possible, with a little 
 round, fresh-coloured, beardless face, and sparkling 
 black eyes — as unlike his subject as possible. I was 
 pleased with him, and intend to invite him; he is 
 full of fun, and made me nearly die with laughing at 
 his account of a violent friendship he swore to a 
 German doctor in the belief he was a man of genius, 
 and how he got undeceived by finding him a swindler. 
 He is a very nice lad, and will do something one of 
 these days. I had a very becoming, nice letter from 
 
 the other day. How does go on? I 
 
 must go and pack my carpet-bag, so good-bye. 
 Don't go to that grand place without sending me a 
 line first. The blessing of God and the Virgin go 
 with you. Ever yours, 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 P.S. — I must tell you one thing, George Sand 
 
 corresponds with Miss , and calls her the ' sister 
 
 of her soul.' Ahem ! 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH OARLYLE 253 
 
 LETTER 67, 
 Monday (Postmark, October 10), 1848. 
 
 My dear Jane, — I don't know where this will find 
 you. Indeed, I have a notion that it will not be 
 intrinsically worth the carriage ; only I don't like to 
 miss writing, and feel more inclined to write than to 
 let it alone. I have had a very uneasy, anxious 
 week, and I am not easy yet for the matter of that. 
 My dear old friend the Chevalier ^ has actually gone 
 through the operation for cataract, and God knows 
 how it will end ! Nobody knew of it. I was there all 
 last Monday, and never suspected what he had in his 
 mind. He kept it from everyone, and so wisely saved 
 himself much bother, for no doubt everyone would 
 have had some sort of counsel or entreaty to impart, 
 which he happily escaped. But I must candidly say 
 I would far rather undergo a dozen operations, from 
 tooth-drawing upwards, than suffer all the anxiety I 
 have had lest his should not turn out well. Tour 
 
 friend Mr. is here lecturing on the ' Exciting 
 
 Elements of English Society, Historically Considered.' 
 
 Mrs. is taking me, for, as it is in our 
 
 beautiful ' Eoyal Institution,' none but members can 
 go ; and oh ! if you saw those members ! Lady-like 
 old gentlemen, and evangelical elderly ladies, and 
 depressed-looking young ones, who do not frequent 
 
 ^ Neiikomm. 
 
254 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FEOM 
 
 public amusements, being seriously disposed, make up 
 tlie audience, and a few occasional visitors, exceptions 
 
 to the rule — Mrs. and myself, for example — to 
 
 redeem its character ! I was there at Mr. 's first 
 
 lecture, but just before entering I had heard of the 
 operation, and I got so stifled that everybody seemed 
 to look like a bad dream, and as to hearing a syllable 
 of what was passing I could not — Heaven above only 
 knows what it was all about ! I made a retreat in 
 less than ten minutes — from real failure of my powers- 
 of patience. I hope he did not recognise me, or he 
 would think I was paying him a sorry compliment. 
 
 came here one day last week ; his father and 
 
 mother are still with him, and he is deep in his 
 lectures. His poor mother pitched upon a volume of 
 Eobert Owen one day ; only fancy her horror and 
 dismay ! I am glad he is amusing himself, and doing 
 some good beside, with these lectures, which I dare- 
 say will be as good as lectures can be as a rule! 
 
 is laid up with gout, and I am going to see him 
 
 as soon as I can : they talk of going to some of the 
 
 German baths as soon as he is better. is stiU 
 
 better, but I am anxious for the winter. Tor me, I 
 should be well enough, if only my head would keep 
 from thinking. But that is a great deal to expect 
 from a mortal head — mine, too, of all others. By the 
 way, I must tell you a ridiculous thing I heard the 
 other day at my baker's. A lady was complaining 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH OAELYLE 255' 
 
 that the yeast he had sent her last was bitter, and 
 wanted to know why it was so, and how it had 
 happened ? ' Indeed, ma'am,' he rephed quite gravely, 
 ' I am sure I cannot tell, but it is one of the laws of 
 nature that it should be so sometimes ' — and it is one 
 of the laws of nature that my letters should be stupid 
 sometimes. I am writing this in the hope to have a 
 speedy answer from you, to tell me how you are,, 
 how you are prospering. God bless you ! 
 Ever your affectionate 
 
 G. E. Jewsbury. 
 
 LETTER 68. 
 Wednesday morning, October 4, 1848. 
 
 My dear Jane, — I was very glad to get your 
 letter, though I wish you had told me more definitely 
 about your state of body, if nothing else. I feel in a 
 humour to answer your letter directly. It is more 
 hke talking or dropping in promiscuously, instead of 
 coming to a solemn dinner., I wish you knew how 
 much more pleasure it gives me to have done any- 
 thing you like, than to have the sunniest side in the 
 ' career ' you prophesy for me. 
 
 Sunday morning. 
 
 I got up to write to you before breakfast on 
 Wednesday morning,- intending this to reach you 
 before you start for the Isle of Wight (if it be decreed 
 you go there) ; but I only got so far on the other side. 
 
256 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 SO my good intent is all you have. My life does not 
 get along half so smoothly as it used to do. I get so 
 many more hindrances than I used to have, in all 
 things. I suppose it is more prolific in incidents, and 
 they jostle each other ; but understand that when I 
 do not write to you it is reaUy a hindrance, and not 
 k want of inchnation, that has intervened. I wish 
 you had told me a little more, especially the state of 
 your health, for your letter is as vague as need be 
 about all I want to hear. Do find time to send me 
 half a line, at least, to say how you are. In spite of 
 all the faith I have in your judgment of people, I 
 
 cannot get interested in Sir . He is too like one 
 
 of the heroes in ' May You Like It ' — if you ever read 
 that remarkably good book, written by a young 
 ' cleric,' many years ago now, to circulate in famihes, 
 and as mild as milk-and-water. Perhaps if I saw 
 him now I should take to him better, but I should 
 think better of his theology if he were a Catholic out 
 and out, instead of giving in to dandified ' Church-of- 
 Englandism,' which bears the same relation to ' the 
 Church ' that a polite assemblage of ladies and gentle- 
 men at a ' bal costume ' bears to the countries after 
 which they have dressed themselves, and are at such 
 pains to look in character. It requires the eyes of a 
 milliner to see the resemblance. I do hate all fancy 
 religions, and that sect of the Church of England 
 playing at Eomish rites makes me feel very poorly 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 257 
 
 indeed. It is like a parcel of children making 
 gardens, and sticking jlowers in the ground to make- 
 believe for plants. Let people be Catholic, and 
 welcome, or let them be of no religion at all, if it suits 
 them ; but these half-and-half sects, where there is 
 no more reason for stopping short than there is for 
 ^oing on, are my detestation. They certainly re- 
 semble eternity in one respect, for they have neither 
 an authentic beginning nor a legitimate end ! How- 
 ever, when either a man or a woman has a real 
 genuine love of reHgion in him or her, one can get on 
 with them, whatever crotchets go along with it. Phad 
 such a pleasant day last week. I went to'see my old 
 friend. He took a fancy for me to read to him, and he 
 fetched a book that, on seeing the title-page, struck me 
 as dreadfully dry. It was called Mchol's ' Architecture 
 of the Heavens.' But of course I began it peaceably, 
 and it is long since I have been more entranced. 
 There are no bothering algebraical calculations as far 
 as I went, but glimpses, as it were, into the ' ever- 
 lasting universe of things,' till one is taken out of 
 oneself completely — indeed, it takes away one's 
 breath for a time. The style is majestic and noble, 
 and the man seems to feel what one does oneself. 
 He says what one wants to hear of a subject, and 
 does not show himself at all. I am sure you would 
 not regret reading it, and you will be glad to get 
 out of the reach of all men and women so com- 
 
 s 
 
258 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 pletely. Indeed, how they, the men and women, 
 ever came to pass seems an obscure accident, too 
 small to detail. I thought of you whilst I read it, 
 and determined to tell you about it. And there 
 are the strangest and most mysterious plates in it, 
 at which I sat looking for half an hour, till I felt 
 ' eerie ' — that vague, half-frightened feeling as if 
 something supernatural were about one. After we 
 had closed the book, the old man sat down to the 
 organ, and the music sounded as grand, and infinite, 
 and mysterious as what we had been reading. I 
 would give anything if you could hear him. He is 
 deep in Carlyle just now, and after tea I read to him 
 and Madame Schwabe half the evening. He was 
 highly delighted. By the way — to come down from 
 grand things to very ordinary details, which, how- 
 ever, must still get done or the world would fall to 
 pieces — Mrs. Salis-Schwabe said to me that she had 
 heard you were very good, and would I do her a 
 favour with you? I said I would do anything I 
 could for her. "Well, it was that I would send you 
 the card of one of her 'protegees,' whom she had 
 known many years, and who is now married and 
 settled in London as a nurse. She understands both 
 French and Itahan, and I think German, but of that 
 I am not sure. She is excellent in all ways, and if 
 you have any opportunity I beg you to mention her. 
 She has attended Mrs. , and has very high 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 269 
 
 testimonials from medical men. I know it is not a 
 thing much in your way, but still in the calculation 
 of chances it is possible some occasion may arise when 
 the question, ' Do you know of a good nurse ? ' may be 
 put to you. So I send you the card as requested. In- 
 deed, Mrs. Salis-Schwabe is too good to me for me to 
 decHne doing anything she asks ; and if you knew her, 
 and saw what a good, kind-natured, hearty, handsome 
 creature she is, you would feel, as I do and as her 
 husband does, that you could refuse her nothing. By 
 the way, I must tell you something about her hus- 
 band you will feel sympathy with. He has all his life 
 felt an intense interest in the condition of the insane ; 
 he has travelled abroad and through England to learn 
 the different modes of treatment. He is one of the 
 trustees to our infirmary, and the insane patients 
 have cause to bless him, for until he came the 
 custom of chaining and beating them was kept up. 
 He has collected, almost alone, 25,000/. to build an 
 asylum. He has given immensely to it himself, and 
 taken all the trouble, and now it is finished. You 
 would have almost loved him if you could have 
 heard the wise and kind manner in which he spoke 
 of the sort of superintendent he and the trustees had 
 chosen; he is such a quiet, modest, almost shy 
 man, without one bit of dryness or systematic philan- 
 thropy about him. Both he and his wife are such 
 natural, quiet, unpretending people as I have not seen 
 
260 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 for many a day ! We were talking of the asylum and 
 insane patients, and I told him about you, and the 
 influence you had over insane persons. It seemed 
 to make an impression both on him and on the 
 Chevalier. Well now, my dear child, I have bored 
 you, for I have not, like you, the gift of making 
 people take an interest in those they never saw. I 
 can only tell you of the things and people that interest 
 me, and make up the details of ' my Hfe and errors,' 
 as an old Presbyterian wrote. I sufier from a very 
 nasty feeling in my head, as if a mill-wheel were in it, 
 and all the blood at the top of my head. It makes 
 me very stupid. By the way, on due reflection I 
 cannot see my shortcomings in the way of letter- 
 writing. This is the fourth since you were at ' The 
 Grange.' I think so, at least, for I have written every 
 Sunday but one since you went, and then I did not 
 miss willingly, but I was doing hospitality, and not 
 entertaining angels, nor anything related to them. 
 God bless you ! 
 
 Ever your affectionate 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 LETTER 69. 
 
 Seaforth, Monday, October 17, 1848. 
 
 My dear Jane, — ^Figure to yourself the state of 
 
 things here ! has the gout. He has been very 
 
 dangerously iU ; in fact, when I got here on Thurs- 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 261 
 
 day lie was not out of danger. Two doctors come to 
 him every day, and he cannot be left alone a single 
 moment, night or day. They have got a regular 
 nurse for him. I had no idea I should find him so 
 bad. He is, however, getting round again now, but 
 we are obliged to be very careful, as a relapse would 
 be apt to be fatal. They have been so terrified lest 
 the gout should reach the heart. In addition to all 
 the natural miseries of his condition, he has been 
 severely salivated, and his mouth is quite sore yet 
 from it. He is so weak he cannot bear to hear 
 anyone moving about. I am come at his especial 
 desire, as he had a fancy I could nurse well, which is 
 rather true, it being one of the few useful things I 
 am up to. In addition to aU this the coachman (who 
 had been very delicate for a long time) ruptured 
 a large blood-vessel in the lungs one night last 
 week, and is under severe medical treatment. 
 
 In consequence, I found poor nearly worn 
 
 out, for at the beginning of 's illness (before 
 
 the nurses came) she was in his room all day long, 
 and just on the heels of illness of her own. She has 
 been hardly worked, and is not looking at all weU. 
 
 has just dropped asleep, which enables me to 
 
 write this, and has gone to take a shower-bath. 
 
 I received your letter just before I started to come 
 here. I would have written you a line on the 
 moment, but I had been ill all night — more dead 
 
262 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 than alive — and writing even a word was quite 
 beyond me. So you will have no letter good for any- 
 thing till I get home again. This is only to teU you 
 how matters are. I am in the depths of an infernal 
 cold, which makes me ill, and ugly to boot. Carlyle's 
 letter to Mirabeau came here this morning. I, too, 
 have forgotten his address, but have sent it on to the 
 lady at whose house I met him ; so he will get it in 
 time. I am very glad to know you are safe at home 
 again, and I should much like to see your room 
 under its rehabilitation. I was wondering why I never 
 got those prints you told me you had sent for my 
 room, but I shall see and fetch them before I leave 
 
 this ! Thanks for them. is lecturing in fine style, 
 
 and I fancy finds it ' very amusing,' like your man 
 with the marmalade ! The Socialists have not felt 
 flattered by his portrait of them, and have sent for 
 one of their own men to do it more like ' the angelic 
 original.' I am stiU in great anxieties about my 
 dear old friend. I fear he is suffering from the con- 
 finement to one room, though his sight is now safe. 
 He can see, and the eye is healed, but the notes I re- 
 ceive are so vague that I get little comfort from 
 them. He is not allowed to see anyone yet, and 
 the medical man is such a strong-minded fellow that 
 I know he will hinder anybody from going near him 
 as long as he can. I am glad I am here doing some- 
 thing useful, at any rate. 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 263 
 
 It is a great nuisance people cannot answer plain 
 questions when one asks them. All my notes are 
 written by the English governess, whose specialty is 
 certainly not letter-writing. I suppose I ought to be 
 grateful to her, for she writes a note, such as it is, 
 every day. It is no good trying to send you an 
 amusing letter. I am as little up to one as my 
 governess, but when my friend is wfiU and I am ' at 
 ease in Zion ' once more I will write to better purpose. 
 Don't send that letter till I get home again. I hope 
 you will have comfort of the renewal of your lease 
 ■on , but I fear. How does your new maid- 
 servant go on ? 
 
 Ever your affectionate 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 Has sent you a report of his lectures ? If 
 
 not, I wiU send you the one he sent me. 
 
 LETTER 70. 
 
 Sunday, November 5, 1848. 
 
 My dear Jane, — I wrote you a short note out of a 
 ■dried-up inkstand, and with a pen that would hardly 
 write, a few days before I left Seaforth. But it was 
 
 written in 's room, and at a moment when I 
 
 could not make a bustle by going out to seek better 
 things ; and even this, written under difficulties, I fear 
 never reached you. I gave it to to stamp 
 
264 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 and send, and she ' put it down a moment ' ; so,, 
 unless some special Providence watclied over it, I 
 fear my little venture got swamped amid the chaos 
 of French newspapers, ' Family Heralds,' and busi- 
 ness letters which were piled about. If so, it wiU 
 never be found till there comes a great day of 
 
 investigation and sweeping after 's recovery. 
 
 Not having heard a word from you so long makes 
 me think that this must have happened. I wish you 
 would] write just to say how you are, for it was an 
 entire month last Thursday since I saw the scrape of 
 your pen. So it is my turn this time to complain — 
 if complaining were of any use in this world, except 
 to a very scanty number of primitive souls, who think 
 they must mend when there is any shortcoming- 
 proved against them ; and these elect are dying oft 
 
 daily, leaving no descendants. Before I left 
 
 had begun to take a turn towards recovery, though,. 
 
 by what writes, it still goes on very slowly. 
 
 is there now ; she came to take my place a day 
 
 or two after I left. I did not write to you last 
 Sunday because I was sent for to Cheetham Hill,, 
 the Chevaher ^ being able to see me for the first time 
 since the operation. He progresses very slowly ; it- 
 has shaken him sadly, but I hope all wiU be weU at 
 last. Except his nerves, which have been a good deal 
 weakened, I don't think his bodily health has sufiered 
 
 ■' Neukomm. 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JAKE WELSPI CARLYLE 265 
 
 much ; but, as those who have suffered can testify, 
 nerves are everything in the way of comfort and 
 suffering. I hope he will regain a good average 
 sight. The doctor speaks very hopefully. I went 
 to see him again yesterday, and he was decidedly less 
 of an invalid. EeaUy, I begin to think I would 
 rather be without friends altogether — one feels so 
 horribly anxious when anything ails them. It is like 
 getting a large fortune : one begins straightway to 
 fear robbers, casualties, distress, and destitution, 
 which one never thought of whilst one was poor ; 
 and, in spite of aU the philanthropy one can culti- 
 vate, the whole generation might die in peace with- 
 out disturbing one's sleep in moving anything but 
 one's abstract sympathy. But the instant there is a 
 friend one cares for, the dice are loaded, and one is 
 afraid to trust Providence itself. Have you seen the 
 'M^moires d'Outre Tombe,' by Chateaubriand? It 
 is a pity they were finally destined to an after-life — 
 such a poor, rickety, vain, stupid attempt at a 
 biography, and such a theatrical mise en scene ! I 
 was asking the Chevalier about him ; he knew him 
 wen, and does not seem to have thought much of 
 him. But just as he was beginning to talk I was 
 fetched away, for he is not allowed to see anyone 
 long at a time. Only fancy! he has heard many 
 chapters of Talleyrand's ' Memoires.' These he left 
 not to be published for thirty-one years, and you and I 
 
266 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 will be dead and buried before we can have a chance 
 of seeing them ; he spoke highly of them ; and would 
 they not be worth reading ? I wish the ChevaUer 
 would take a fancy to write his own, for they would 
 be almost as good — rather better, I should think, for 
 he is so simple and direct in all he says. By the 
 way, he has taken a great notion of hearing ' Zoe ' 
 read to him, having heard that it is a most dis- 
 reputable work, and I am to read it to him as soon 
 as he is well enough to stand it. Whilst in Liver- 
 pool I sent for the two prints — for which many 
 thanks. I told you this in my last, but repeat it 
 now, as I want to know whose the portrait is. I 
 admire the look of it. Amongst ' all the chances 
 and changes of this mortal life ' did I ever teU you 
 that has been sent by as his representa- 
 tive to Frankfort, and has been made a Knight of the 
 Order of St. Lazarus and St. Michael ? What a different 
 world it would be if we did the things we leave un- 
 done ! Do you (who hear of everybody) know any- 
 thing of - Jellachick ? ' who somehow interests me. 
 
 (of Bowdon) was here on Thursday. He came 
 
 in late, and my brother made him stay all night. 
 It chanced to be a party, so I saw little of him. He 
 seems very fuU of his lectures, which have been well 
 attended, and there is to be a discussion about them 
 next Tuesday ; he has been expecting Louis Blanc. 
 I wish you would write to me. I seem to have got 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 267 
 
 out of your reach altogether, and I want to know 
 how all things fare with you, from the renewed 
 face of your room down to the doings of your maid- 
 servant's ' second advent.' Do write and tell me as 
 much as you feel you can; at least, let me know 
 how you are. 
 
 Ever yours affectionately, 
 
 G. E. Jewsbuky. 
 
 LETTER 71. 
 
 Sunday, November 13, 1848. 
 
 ' Cara Mia,' — -How do you get on this horrible 
 weather ? It seems there is a perfection in the very 
 detestable, for when I complain I am met with the 
 cry of ' fine seasonable weather.' Perhaps it may be 
 better with you than with us. But I am just getting 
 desperate — my spirits are seasonable too, down, down, 
 far below ' change ' — floundering in the Slough of 
 Despond was a joke to it. There is nothing for it 
 but to go on peaceably sinking, and I will perhaps 
 find ' ground at the bottom,' as Brian O'Lynn says. 
 I have thought a great deal of you, for you always 
 suffer more, every way, than I do. This comes, then, 
 sympathising, for I have no comfort for you, and no 
 news either. I have a vision of you lying curled up 
 on the sofa — pale and miserable-looking, as if the 
 damp had struck into your very soul, and I can only 
 hope that recollects to bring you a tin of hot 
 
268 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 water for your little, cold feet. I wisli I were near 
 you, to make you a little comfortable. I sit roUed 
 
 up in a shawl with my feet one on each hob. 
 
 has bought a new carpet for the other sitting-room 
 where the sofa stands, and I cannot fancy sitting in 
 it, for I am like a cat, and don't take to new furniture 
 — so I sit in an ordinary chair and pity myself ex- 
 ceedingly, Neither can I get any new novels, for 
 which I have a strong appetite now. It is great 
 nonsense when people talk about occupation being 
 a certain method to obtain an always happy result ! 
 It is very much like a receipt that I once saw in some 
 cookery-book for preparing a dinner when friends 
 come in unexpectedly and you have nothing in the 
 house. It begins, ' take a good-sized turkey ! ' Sure 
 enough, a very satisfactory meal is produced. But 
 then, cavilling is contemptible, as all controversialists 
 
 declare ! By the way, I had a letter from the 
 
 other day. She says that she had sent you the cari- 
 catures, and as soon as they were gone she was seized 
 .with qualms — or, as she says, ' got nervous ' — lest you 
 should in the first place think it strange to send you 
 caricatures of people you don't know, and in the next 
 place you' should feel annoyed at seeing me cari- 
 catured, and by her. She entreated me to tell you 
 that ' I asked you to do them ; ' and as by another 
 letter to-day she seems really distressed about what 
 you may chance to think, I beg you will hereby 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 269 
 
 \anderstand that I not only ' aided, complied, and 
 abetted ' — as indictments say — but actually sug- 
 gested the same, and gave her free leave to caricature 
 my illustrious self! Of course you are not to 
 translate caricatures ' au pied de la lettre.' As I 
 have not seen them I don't know what they are like, 
 but if they have made you laugh, it was all they were 
 intended for. When this letter will get itself finished 
 Heaven knows ! It was begun on Sunday, and this 
 is Tuesday, if day it can be called which light has 
 none. I am nearly asleep, and, for my sins, have the 
 prospect of being obliged to turn out to a ' friendly 
 tea,' there to be stupefied and ennuy^e to a pitch 
 that human fortitude shudders to contemplate ; and I 
 am going out to dinner to-morrow, and to a party the 
 night after — and all with the pleasant reflection that, 
 however insipid these ' reunions ' may prove, the 
 people must, one and all, be angels not to have 
 been affronted and cut my acquaintance long since. 
 Before I close this I must not omit to chronicle a 
 great act of heroism that I perpetrated by my own 
 spontaneous impulse the other night. My brother 
 had gone out of town, and only my damsel and myself 
 were left in the house. I don't know what time it was, 
 but I woke with a noise of a saw working steadily, 
 and, as it seemed, stealthily. I lay and listened for a 
 
 while, ' reasoning with myself ' as would say, 
 
 and then it struck me that it was very ridiculous to 
 
270 SELECTIONS OP LETTERS FROM 
 
 let people get into the house just because they felt 
 disposed. So I got up, and, throwing on a shawl, I 
 descended, a grimly ghost, to see for myself what 
 was the matter. The parlours were all safe, and so 
 were the doors. Then I went down into the regions 
 of the kitchen and coal-hole, but aU was quite still, 
 and I could not help thinking that if there had been 
 thieves they would have been quite fools to have 
 been frightened away by me. So I went quietly 
 upstairs again, feeling a little bit nervous. The only 
 neighbour I could have hoped to make hear in an 
 emergency is a neighbour who is lying ill of a 
 nervous fever. I looked out of the window, but neither 
 man nor mortal was to be seen. There were stars 
 shining helplessly, and the gaslights gleaming, but 
 nothing at all ' to the purpose.' So, after a Uttle while, 
 as neither the noise nor the thieves came, I got 
 tired of expecting and went to sleep again. I did not 
 come to the consciousness of my own courage till the 
 next night, when, seeing the active inspection of bolts 
 that my brother instituted on hearing my tale, the 
 soothing sensation of my own virtue arose within me, 
 and I have recorded the fact for your admiration. 
 By the way, as I am in a narrating humour I must 
 tell you a little trait that came before me lately. A 
 young lady of my acquaintance, rather addicted to 
 the tender passion, and whose last lover had set sail 
 for New Zealand, leaving her much afflicted at his 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 271 
 
 departure, is on my mind. The vessel in which he 
 sailed has not been heard of since, and she begged 
 me to make some inquiries, for, said she, ' you know, 
 Geraldine, it is no use wasting my feelings, and I 
 should not like to go thinking about him when it is 
 of no use ; you see, the uncertainty makes me feel so 
 unsettled ! I should like to know one way or other ; 
 but I wiU give him twelve months from the time he 
 sailed, and if he does not write by that time I shall 
 consider myself free, for I should have a very poor 
 opinion of any girl who could go and think of any- 
 body else directly, as it were ! I will be faithful as 
 long as it is of any use.' However, it seems more than 
 probable that the vessel is lost, and she has promptly 
 consoled herself with a ' Whisker ando Pole.' I was 
 put into a pair of scales the other day, and weighed — 
 how much do you think ?- — (surely it was Troy 
 measure, not Avoirdupois) — 98 lbs., including a heavy 
 bonnet and shawl, and a dress that I am sure was 
 exactly as much as I could carry. "What a little grain 
 one is in the world — if one could only think so ! Now 
 really I have no news, and I want this letter to get 
 sealed before I get more hindered. Now good-bye, 
 and God bless you and take care of you. If I hear 
 anything worth telling you, you shall hear it straight 
 away. Now good-bye once more ! 
 
 Tuesday afternoon. 
 
272 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 LETTER 72. 
 Thursday night (Postmark, December 1, 1848). 
 
 Dearest Jane, — I have only time to write a line ; 
 tut if I don't do it now I know I shall be hindered 
 to-morrow. I turned quite sick to read of Charles 
 BuUer's^ death; his poor mother will die of it too. I 
 feel very glad you have all this nursing and comfort- 
 ing laid upon you. It is a comfort of the best sort to 
 find that anything, even a ' cut,' is the better for us ! 
 Don't go letting your poor heart sink, and fancy you 
 would be better dead and out of the way. A great 
 many people are the better for you, and will be the 
 better for you yet. We are no judges of what we are, 
 and just when one is the most broken-u]3 and flung 
 down in one's own eyes, it is just then that something 
 turns up that we are wanted to do ; and I fancy no 
 one who is in readiness to embrace the occasion can 
 say with truth and soberness that they are useless. 
 It is only when no inclination or capacity for good 
 exists that people can be spared, and it is just those 
 who think themselves indispensable that the world 
 would soonest be tired of. One-half of those 
 soi-disant useful people ought to be turned over to 
 a moral nuisance committee ! I could almost be glad 
 of all this trouble which has come to pass ; the 
 comfort you give will be returned an hundredfold. 
 
 1 The pupil of Carlyle, who died, fall of brilliant promise, in his 
 early manhood. — A. E. I. 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 27S 
 
 Do write me a line when you can to say how poor 
 
 Mrs. is ; poor Lady too. I had got 
 
 very weary at the delay in your letter, and fancied 
 you were laid up again. I was just going to write 
 
 again. I have been very uneasy about ; he 
 
 has had a return of his last winter's illness, but I hope 
 it is going off. I am going to Cheetham Hill next 
 week for a few days, if he keeps better, to stay 
 
 with Mrs. . The accounts of poor are 
 
 very unsatisfactory ; he has had relapses again, and 
 is about what he was when I left him a month ago,, 
 but is fearfully low-spirited. He cannot bear even to 
 
 have the paper read to him ; as to , I don't think 
 
 words win ever touch her. I have tried them. She 
 takes all I have said in excellent part ; but in this. 
 world we must have feeling brought home to us, or 
 we do not understand it. Sorrow finds us all out,, 
 and I fear great sorrows are in store for her to break 
 that audacious hardness and mellow it into a virtue. 
 I know that her presumptuous, hard judgment gives- 
 
 both her father and mother great pain. has- 
 
 lamented over it to me, but no exhortations, if even 
 they came from St. Chrysostom himself, would touch 
 her. It must be experience. I have great hope that 
 she will turn out well; she has strength, and that 
 is the main thing. She will have the grace to be 
 ashamed of her childish presumption when she finds- 
 how small a basis of knowledge she has to go on, 
 
 T 
 
274 SELECTIONS OF LETTEES FROM 
 
 and the mistakes she makes. My candle is going 
 ■out. This letter is hardly worth sending, but Heaven 
 knows when I could send a better ! Take care of 
 yourself. God bless you, and Good night. Though 
 I am far from wishing to put any sort of pressure on 
 you, yet I would be glad if you were brought here. 
 It would do you good, and I would rejoice to 
 receive you. 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH OARLYLE 275 
 
 1849. 
 
 LETTER 73. 
 
 (Postmark, January 10, 1849.) 
 
 My dear Jane, — I have just been writing to 
 Carlyle to thank him for his New Year's gift, which 
 it was very good of him to send. If you could have 
 foreseen all the fine new editions it would go through 
 at the time you came up first to London, and nobody 
 would take it ; and yet aU the desire of one's heart 
 seems to come in a shape one cannot make use of. 
 Is it our own want of skiU, or is it the want of in- 
 trinsic value in the things themselves ? I don't know; 
 but I have got up this morning before anybody else, 
 and my fire was not laid last night, so I am writing 
 this under very shivering auspices. But the fact is, 
 I have given in to a shameful, lazy, good-for-nothing- 
 ness lately, and this morning I woke up in a better 
 fashion, and, being minded to get up, I would not let 
 the brisk inspiration be lost for the small want of a 
 fire. But it is cold, so that wiU explain all the jerking 
 shape of my letters. I did not go to my grand ball 
 after aU, and thankful now I am, for my brother has 
 caught another cold, and has been in the house some 
 
 T 2 
 
276 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 days. It came to him whilst he was after his lawful 
 business ; but if it had followed his going out with 
 me, I should have reproached myself. Jenny Lind, 
 who was the great attraction, sang three songs ; but 
 I went to see the Chevalier the day after, and he gave 
 me some music on the organ, which made up for all 
 the songs she could sing. When I hear his music I 
 feel so ashamed of all the little sordid feelings in 
 which I have lived ; both the pleasures and annoy- 
 ances that have moved me seem so little and foohsh, 
 that I wonder how I can ever give in to vain or bitter 
 feelings again. I can quite believe in Saul and David. 
 I am afraid he ^ is going away soon, and then God 
 knows when I shall hear him again ! Do you 
 remember those lines in Milton's ' Hymn on the 
 Nativity ' ? 
 
 For if such heavenly song 
 
 Enwrap our senses long, 
 Time would run back and fetch the age of Gold ; 
 
 And speckled vanity 
 
 Would sicken soon and die, 
 And lep'rous sin would melt from earthly mould. 
 
 I never felt what they meant before. I wish you 
 could hear him; but as you cannot, it is no use 
 talking about it. I want to know how you are — 
 body and soul; is that dreadful sickness gone? 
 
 How are you, in short ? and how is ? and how 
 
 does your servant go on ? I have got a cold and sore- 
 
 ' The Chevalier Neukomm, 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 277 
 
 throat, and if it is not well to-night I shall try what 
 
 a wet bandage will do towards bringing it to its 
 
 senses. I tried one on last night. told 
 
 me vaguely that had left his charge suddenly. 
 
 Is it so ? Have you heard where he is gone ? You 
 
 will feel very anxious if it is so, as I fear from 's 
 
 manner of speaking that it is a return of his old 
 
 wildness. I have often thought of him when hearing 
 
 of those political commotions, and feared for his 
 
 sanity. He is a noble creature, and it is heart-breaking 
 
 that all his fine qualities should have gone into 
 
 chaos ; it seems as if there were only the smallest 
 
 touch needed to make the highest wisdom mad, and 
 
 the wildest madness wise. This, the only thing of 
 
 consequence in this letter, comes, as you see, at the 
 
 tail of all. God bless you, and help you in all your 
 
 need! 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 LETTER 74. 
 Friday (Postmark, January 12, 1849). 
 
 My dear Jane, — Your letter has come, and, of 
 
 course, was burnt directly. I only wish and 
 
 that other person could be served the same. It is 
 something enormous to see how men may lie, and yet 
 keep their fame and go current as ' honourable men.' 
 They cannot know what they do, or surely they 
 would set some limits to their recklessness of speech. 
 
278 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 The world allows them great latitude ; but even so, 
 these men have proved themselves scoundrels, and 
 utterly unfit to be received into the pale of society. 
 I say nothing as to what gentlemen ought to be, but 
 as men they are infamous. The name of one, at 
 least, will suffer, because, as in the chance and change 
 of things, I may come in contact with him ; I shall 
 speak the truth to him if I can only get the chance. 
 
 Why, he is worse than , who had the excuse of 
 
 being more mad than sane. Is there no way of 
 making people amenable to common decency, if no 
 other feeling can touch them ? I do not call it, with 
 you, ' a tempest in a teapot ' ; I am bitterly indig- 
 nant ; I cannot tell you the shock it has given me. 
 It opens up such an abyss of wickedness and cruelty 
 and heartlessness as turns me sick ! How is one to 
 live in such a world ? It seems like a very ' babe 
 in the wood " to wring one's hands over the world's 
 wickedness, but this is something beyond the bounds ; 
 it is at these times that one's own self-respect out- 
 weighs all that man, or woman either, can say. It is 
 not in the power of such coarse, lying natures to do 
 you any outward harm, but I feel bitterly the sting 
 it wiU have for you, of which they do not dream. I 
 have no words to express aU the indignation that is 
 boiling within me. Bah ! that such creatures have a 
 right to decide on a woman's good name ; it is 
 enough to make one trample it under one's feet as 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH OAELYLE 279" 
 
 a thing utterly worthless when held by their per- 
 mission. I am quite sure I feel more about it than 
 you do, not for the slur on female purity, but for 
 the loathsome insight into the position women stand 
 in. Why, the very form of the thing is enough ta 
 make a woman fold her arms and assert her perfect 
 right to dispose of herself in any way she chooses. 
 I have no temper to write ; I feel an intense indig- 
 nation that you have been the subject of such a 
 lying legend, but I feel as if the whole sex had been 
 injured at the same time. I'll be hanged if I don't 
 ease my mind in the next book I write ! I have not 
 felt so indignant in my life, and I wish I were a man 
 for five minutes to kick them — ma foi, ma foi ! I 
 wiU have a little bit of ' settling ' yet ; if I cannot do 
 that I can preach a gospel — a set of lying, hypo- 
 critical beggars ! Well, it's no good swearing — only, 
 I am angry, and it eases my mind. Do not let it 
 make you regret anything you have done which 
 your heart tells you was well and honestly done. 
 The result does not lie in our province : we can only 
 set ourselves in what seems the right path ; the event 
 lies with God, and He accepts the intention, and 
 burns up all that may be defective in the execution. 
 Therefore do not let your heart turn to bitterness 
 against yourself, even though you may see how and 
 where you might have done wiser. Yet true wisdom 
 is not to depreciate what you did believing it to be 
 
280 SELECTIONS OF LETTEES FEOM 
 
 for good, and how can you know that it has not 
 iDeen for such? Be firm and of good courage to 
 abide by your own act. Is there a step we would 
 any of us take over again in precisely the same 
 manner ? I remember once hearing a very good 
 and a very wise woman say, ' I believe God always 
 allows us to suffer by the particular virtue on which 
 we pride ourselves. I used to pride myself on my 
 good-sense, and He has allowed me to fail most 
 signally, so that all my acquaintance can point to me 
 as a warning. But I accepted it as a chastisement for 
 my complacency ! ' She was a woman of very strong 
 mind and singular good-sense, but she made an iU- 
 advised marriage, led by some high, transcendental 
 motive, which she conceived to supersede ordinary 
 rules. My dear child, do not put a sword in your 
 own heart to aggravate anything you have done. 
 Insomuch as you thought it right, it was right. Let 
 me hear from you what were the other things you 
 had to say. I have no news, except that I have got 
 a cold and have deserved it, and I have fairly begun 
 a new book — settled the principle of it, and got it 
 nearly worked clear as a programme, and I shall now 
 work like the Devil. I feel relieved as from a 
 nightmare now my work lies straight ahead. I 
 woke up the other morning with an idea. When I 
 have done a chapter or two I wiU. send them to you. 
 I hope to keep clear of scandal in it, but, in fact, at 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 281 
 
 this moment I feel tempted to go and preach at 
 Paul's Cross many things which would rather startle 
 
 Messrs. & Co. Thanks for the good intentions 
 
 to the . Did I ever tell you that man^ has 
 
 travelled all over Europe to learn details about the 
 ■treatment of insane people, and has built an hospital 
 here, where the treatment is to be quite on new 
 principles ? He collected of his own exertions and 
 -contributions 25,000Z. . . . 
 
 [Unfinished.] 
 
 LETTEB 75. 
 Tuesday (Postmark, February 19, 1849). 
 
 My dear Jane, — It is precious little good you will 
 :get out of a letter from me to-day ! I am mesmerised 
 by my ' entourage,' and feel as if I could not even sit 
 on a chair in peace. I have two visitors, both rela- 
 tions : one a very comfortable, good woman, whom I 
 .hke ; the other a large, bony, uncomfortable person, 
 who never can get into the right place, and is always 
 in the way, and makes a room look untenantable by 
 the mere fact of her being in it. She pulls the chairs 
 and tables out of their places, and is as restless as a 
 great bird fluttering about, so you may fancy if I am 
 possessing my soul either in peace or patience. Lewes 
 is still lecturing here ; I have not been to hear him 
 yet, from having no one to go with me. He went to 
 
 ' Mr. Salis-Sohwabe. 
 
282 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 see Mr. 's works the other day, and stayed there. 
 
 He takes extremely well to the people here, and they 
 all seem to hke him. He and are become very- 
 good friends. I like him so much better than I 
 thought I should in London when I saw him; he' 
 
 really is a good fellow. came over for a day ta 
 
 see me this last week ; she is not yet allowed to read 
 or write, but her eye is quite recovered now, as far- 
 as appearance goes ; it might have been a most 
 
 serious thing. As for poor , he is just at the 
 
 end of another attack. Figure to yourself that he 
 had not been dressed for five months. I do wish 
 
 had more feeling. What trouble lies before her ; 
 
 for those hard natures are always broken sooner or 
 later. She wrote me a letter instead of her mother 
 one day, who could not write, and I was quite pained 
 
 by the callous tone throughout. is very 
 
 poorly, and business worries him. I am trying to per- 
 suade him to go from home for a little while. I want 
 very much to know how you are, in all ways. Do write 
 to me ; you would do so if you knew how much I desire 
 to hear. We are going to a grand concert at Mrs. 
 Salis-Schwabe's ^ to-morrow, given by her in honour of 
 
 ' This honoured lady frequently entertained Jenny Lind (the 
 late Madame Lind-Goldschmidt), with other eminent representatives 
 of music, art, and literature. Her hospitable home at Crumpsall, near 
 Manchester, attracted all the cream of talent which came near enough 
 to enter those princely and cordial gates. Her husband, the late Mr. 
 Salis-Schwabe, sympathised with all his wife's fine tastes, and was 
 much beloved. — A. E. I. 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE WELSH OARLYLE 283 
 
 her husband's birthday, and it is to be a surprise to him. 
 Fancy the poor man going innocently into his draw- 
 ing-room, and finding it full of people, all come to do- 
 him honour, and themselves pleasure ! And he wiU 
 take it as it is meant, and be as pleased as she can wish. 
 This letter is not worth the postage, so I send you a 
 
 note • wrote me, which made me laugh, and will 
 
 perhaps do as much for you. Now good-bye, and 
 beheve me, whether bright or stupid, to remain 
 
 Your affectionate 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 LETTER 76. 
 
 Sunday (Postmark, March 5, 1849). 
 
 My dear Jane, — If you want to know the reason 
 why I have not written, it is that I have been dead- 
 stupid, and as to writing a letter worth reading, I could 
 as soon have 'jumped over the moon,' but not a dog 
 would have laughed at it. It is very odd, but I was 
 
 thinking of only the day, before your letter 
 
 came, and thinking that the Devil had been singularly 
 forbearing if he had not ' marked her for his own ' 
 during her absence. However, you have kept in a 
 state of salvation many years longer than the time 
 
 originally fixed by destiny. The dial of , like 
 
 that of King Ahaz, went ten degrees backward^ 
 but, you see, she has fetched it up. However, as 
 
284 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 you have picked up a jewel by tlie way, I can send 
 you nothing but congratulations, double-edged, at 
 being off with the old and on with the new. Lewes 
 is making a prodigious sensation down here, only his 
 rtioustachios have hurt people's sense of propriety, and 
 nothing but th6 report of his wife, and an unascer- 
 tained amount of family, could have stood against 
 them. People here are morbid about moustachios. 
 He might have brought a ' harem ' with less scandal. 
 StiU, he is a great favourite in spite of them. Dear 
 
 Mrs. has taken him in great favour, and I hke 
 
 him extremely. I think there is a great deal of 
 genuine kindness at the bottom, and there is a 
 
 geniality I enjoy amazingly. He and are great 
 
 friends. He has taken to extremely, and wiU not 
 
 hear one word in qualification, even from me. He 
 
 declares she is ' a rich organisation.' Poor 
 
 is still very ill ; he was on the point of another relapse 
 when Lewes was last there. If you wanted to do a 
 real good deed — from which you might triumphantly 
 appeal to Providence when it ill-treated you — ^you 
 would write him a letter ' all to himself.' They are 
 the only things he cares for ; he is past reading or 
 hearing read the newspapers. I read your last letter 
 to the ' Chevalier,' who, delighted in it, would have 
 it over twice, and declared that it was the best piece 
 
 of description he had ever read. Mrs. gave me 
 
 along message to you, which she insisted on my repeat- 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 285 
 
 ing ' verbatim ' ; but as I can't, you must take the 
 substance, which is that she and Mr. are very- 
 anxious that you and Mr. Carlyle should come and 
 stay with them — that it would do you good ; and I am 
 sure that it would do me good for you to come. So 
 
 send us some sort of hope, please ! was here 
 
 calling on Friday, but I was out at Cheetham Hill, 
 and so did not see him. As to more chapters, the 
 ' Chevalier ' is going away in a few weeks, and then 
 you will get more, but I am with him a good deal at 
 present. I can write books when I cannot have him, 
 and I am getting more than I am losing ; in other 
 words, it is very good for me to go there. I will, 
 however, send you something very soon. The other 
 
 day I received wedding-cards from Madame 
 
 somebody ! She is married, and gone to live in 
 
 Paris, on a basis of ' George Sand.' Ireland^ gave me 
 a picture of Carlyle the other day. What a disagree- 
 able hkeness it is ! I should fancy it is how he looked 
 
 when he came home and would not open the door. 
 
 I flatter myself this would have been a better letter 
 
 than it is, only Mrs. came in — the wife of the 
 
 child born in the Eeign of Terror who never came 
 to his full senses ! He is now travelling in the East, 
 and she came to read a long letter from him, and I 
 think that has absorbed the little sense I had. 
 sends his love to you ; is very poorly. 
 
 ' Mr. Alexander Ireland. 
 
286 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 dined here the other day to meet Lewes. He 
 
 seemed misanthropical and flat, as I am now. 
 
 There is a secret I want dreadfully to teU you, and 
 I must not, and I am like one of those bottles of wine 
 with a cork in the throat of them. It stops the way 
 of everything else ; it is burning my paper, my pen, 
 and my tongue, and it would make this letter explode 
 like detonating powder if I might only put it in the 
 postscript! I can hear the claps with which your 
 two little hands would go together, and the exclama- 
 tions that would follow. sends you his best 
 
 love without qualification. 
 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 LETTER 77. 
 
 [Presumably from Mrs. Salis-Schwabe's house.] 
 
 Crumpsall House, March 29, 1849. 
 
 My dear Jane, — Here is an hour in which I am 
 left to myself entirely, so I give you the benefit of 
 it — to comfort my soul by abusing you ; for if I 
 don't get a better letter from you, or at least a 
 letter with something in it, you may pass ' a month 
 of Sundays' at breakfast without any letter from 
 me. I want to know how you are in bodily health. 
 You are going on pretty well in your worldly 
 matters, I can see ; you always have a certain 
 tone when you are ' well-to-do in Zion ' which is 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH OARLYLE 287 
 
 good for telling that, if it is for nothing else ; but 
 still I would have been as glad to have some news 
 of you after such a long silence as to be scolded 
 about a matter which was a harmless caricature. 
 Never abuse ' surfaces ' ; cream lies at the top, and 
 there is nothing but skimmed milk underneath; 
 -and, besides, the surface is the result of all that 
 is gone before, and is generally the best worth 
 seeing. As far as I am concerned, my surface is 
 like those strata which go down aU the same as 
 deep as people can dig below, so it is not much 
 worth exploring. I could not help laughing at 
 your assertion that I keep all sealed up with Solo- 
 mon's seal. I have actually and literally told you 
 all there has been to teU, what has filled up my 
 days and my hours, and because it has been simply 
 barren, you think I have secreted the crops, when 
 in fact none have been grown. I come here much 
 of my time, and shaU do so as long as the Chevalier ^ 
 stays, and when he goes I shall be very sorry. He 
 has begun the almost impracticable task of making 
 me speak French correctly, a feat I have never 
 achieved in English, and when I am at home I have 
 often been in a dead-fix about my writing. I think 
 the simple mystery of my existence just now — 
 {your letter forced me to a self-examination) — is 
 that I am ' bone lazy,' as my nurse used to phrase 
 
 ' Neukomm. 
 
288 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FKOM 
 
 it. But I have great faith in ' lying fallow,' and 
 when I have a spell of laziness on me I follow it 
 religiously, looking on it as the Orientals do on 
 idiots — as an inscrutalale manifestation of the Deity. 
 I am sure I am glad to hear that a good novel is 
 coming out. I want to read one sadly. I was not 
 grateful for ' Jane Eyre.' I did not take to it some- 
 how. I wishLewes would write another. I likehisvery 
 much. He is coming back again for his play, which 
 is to come out after Easter, and I shall be quite glad 
 to see him again. I took to him like a relation. He 
 
 and have sworn everlasting friendship. You 
 
 really ought to come down amongst us again ; you 
 would see how the warmth of your presence would 
 dry up all the marshy exhalations. And how you 
 would enjoy it ! As for me, be quite sure we should 
 prosper ; we are always glad in each other when we 
 see one another. It is in absence that all the mischief 
 arises — in the night the enemy sows tares ; so just 
 come, and send obstacles to the Devil ; but you will 
 
 be seeing Mrs. . I had an event the other night. 
 
 I went to hear the ' Creation,' the very grandest 
 thing in the shape of music I can conceive. 
 It seemed to take one into a new world of 
 sounds ; it broke one up altogether, and called one 
 out of oneself, possessed one hke a new spirit. It was 
 music that had nothing to do with passion or emotion, 
 but when it was over one felt as if one had been 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH OARLYLE 289 
 
 banislied to a realm of common things, without 
 sunshine, and nothing bat an east wind. I have been 
 miserable ever since, as I used to be, when a child, 
 after a great pleasure. Jenny Lind sang very won- 
 derfully, but the music itself swallowed up all she 
 did. One never thought of her, at least I did not. She 
 seemed to do what she was wanted to do, nothing 
 more. The music was too grand to let anything else be 
 thought of. There was a prayer, an old Catholic one, 
 which I wish you could have heard. It was Per- 
 golesi's ' Lord, have mercy upon me, for I am in 
 trouble.' It went down to one's inmost soul. Jenny 
 sang a very wonderful song, a sort of ' Cheval de 
 BataiUe,' a bout the ' Bright Seraphin,' but it did 
 not touch anything but my organ of wonder. Here 
 I am interrupted, so good-bye, and write me a good 
 letter, and not a perverse one ! 
 
 Yours, 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 LETTER 78. 
 
 August 20, 1849. 
 
 My dear Jane, — When are you coming to me ? I 
 am looking for you, and hoping for you, so do not 
 delay much longer, or I shall be out of all patience ; 
 and why the Devil don't you write to me ! Your 
 letters are always scarce enough, and now you are 
 
 u 
 
290 SELECTIONS OF LETTEES FROM 
 
 making quite a famine of them. Do write, and, 
 above all, say when you can come. I intended to 
 have written yesterday, but was hindered by people to 
 dinner. How are you ? I am not at all well ; I have 
 a constant, dull, heavy pressure on the top and back 
 of my head. I have not felt well this long while, 
 and yet I don't know what can or ought to ail me. 
 My tale is progressing, and says it is interest- 
 ingly innocent. I am sure it is, and I want you to 
 read it, to see if, as the homoeopathic cookery-books 
 assert, ' the most savoury ragouts can be made 
 without pepper.' (A small kitten is running up and 
 down my dress, playing with my pen, and amusing 
 itself in various ways at my expense, and yours too, 
 for you will never read this.) I want very much to 
 know how you are, and how you continue to go on. 
 I wish you would write me a real good proper letter, 
 with some information about yourself in it. Only 
 fancy, in two days it will be my birthday ! Do you 
 remember that one you spent here — when we went 
 to Dunham Park, and in the evening to hear that 
 Delilah-like woman sing? What was her name? 
 She shocked all our notions of womanly decency. 
 I wish you would be here for this birthday, but that 
 cannot be according to the laws of time and space. 
 I am not half so happy as I was this time last year. 
 But bad spirits, like bad weather, do not last for ever, 
 it is a comfort, and I am looking out for a brighter 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 291 
 
 season. Birthdays are nasty high-water marks. 
 One just sees how far the tide has receded, and all 
 the sand-banks on which one has a chance of getting 
 stranded. I am deep in Hungarian reading — such a 
 fine, noble set of people as they are. 
 
 Did I tell you that our meeting of sympathy 
 came off with eclat ? but they were all men. I tried 
 to go, but there was not a woman in the place, so it 
 was too strong for me to go as femme sole, represen- 
 tative of the women of England. But, reaUy, a 
 meeting all of men looks a deal more imposing than 
 when interspersed with white pocket-handkerchiefs. 
 I had just a glimpse (for tickets were sent me), and 
 such a surface of upturned, rough faces was very 
 stirring. They had all left their business to come, 
 and every presence there meant something, for each 
 had come at a personal sacrifice of time and con- 
 venience. The people were very civil, and as I 
 declined going in when I found how it was, a gentle- 
 man most gallantly took me and Mrs. , who was 
 
 with me, into the Council Eoom behind the platform, 
 and opened the door ; but as we could only hear one 
 word in five, we soon retired. I would do anything 
 to help them. Have you heard anything of Mazzini ? 
 
 Mrs. has come home again. I am trying to tempt 
 
 her over for a sort of ' swarry ' in honour of Goethe, 
 which some people are getting up. If she does not 
 come, I have an idea that my headache will be super- 
 
 V 2 
 
292 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 naturally bad for that evening, and that I shall 
 go to bed instead. I wish you would be here for it. 
 I daresay there would be some fun, and, besides, 
 the ' Lieder-tafel ' have promised to sing, and that is 
 worth something. I am going out to-night to meet 
 the author of ' Nemesis of Faith,' a very nice, natural 
 young man, though rather hke ' a lost sheep ' at 
 present. He has only been used to the Oxford part 
 of the world, so that sectarians and unbelievers 
 are strange to him. He is engaged to be married 
 to a very handsome woman of good family and 
 
 good fortune, a sister of 's. is not at 
 
 all well. is gone to see Mr. . Only 
 
 think, a sober, reputable Scotchman — Mr. , no 
 
 less — wrote to me the other day his gratitude for 
 the loan of ' Lucrezia Floriani,' declaring that he had 
 known many Lucrezias, and that Madame Sand had 
 shown her profound knowledge of the human heart. 
 Pretty well, upon my honour ! Codes of morality 
 require revising as well as codes of religion, it seems. 
 My head is so heavy and surging that I must lie 
 down. This letter is only written on the Christian 
 principle of ' heaping coals of fire upon your head,' 
 which I hope will burn bright and make you 
 miserable till you write to say when you are coming 
 to your affectionate 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
MISS JEWSBURif TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 293 
 
 LETTER 79. 
 Queen's Hotel, Saturday (Postmark, September 6, 1849). 
 
 My dear Jane, — I have seen old ; his 
 
 servant was, out, but the nurse let me in. He is not 
 much changed in appearance, but he is very feeble. 
 He spoke quite rationally, and desired me to tell you 
 that he is most grateful to you for sending to inquire 
 after him ; that, of all people, you are the one he 
 most desires to see, but that he is not up to speaking 
 to you, and that he will communicate with you as 
 
 soon as he can. The servant, , says he is much 
 
 better, but that at times he does not recognise him, 
 and though he knows, he cannot express what he 
 means. He is not able to be removed, and will not 
 be for a fortnight at least. Those are his servant's 
 own words. The doctors are very kind to him, and 
 they say a fortnight will decide everything. Captain 
 
 has been down for a day, but was obliged to 
 
 leave again. The old man wants for nothing, and is 
 well attended to. I offered to go and see him from 
 
 time to time, and said that a little company 
 
 did him good occasionally, and that if I would come, 
 I might sit with him when he was ' up to it.' So I 
 am to come on Monday, at eleven o'clock, on specula- 
 tion. Poor old man ! I am really sorry for him, and 
 will do anything I can. One thing I can set at rest 
 for you — viz., do not come over on purpose to see 
 
294 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 him. I don't think he would like to be seen by you 
 in his ' humiliated condition,' as he caUs it, and he 
 is made very comfortable as things go, so there is no 
 
 sort of necessity. Mr. and Mrs. have been 
 
 very kind, but are now out of town. On the whole, 
 
 Mr. 's letter was not so foolish as it seemed. 
 
 He could say nothing more than he did say — viz., 
 that you are not needed. I can speak from my own 
 eyes and positive knowledge to the same effect. . . . 
 
 [Disconnected.] 
 
 ... If you were always here, of course you might 
 see him as much as you liked, but there would be 
 no good in coming over ; and even when he is able 
 to be removed, ' no stranger can go with him,' 
 he is so ill ; so the servant told me. What it is I 
 don't know. I did not remain two minutes in his 
 
 room; he was in bed, but says that he sits 
 
 up a little every day, at eleven o'clock, when his 
 grandson sees him. I will write to you again on 
 Monday, and tell you whether I have seen him. Poor 
 old fellow ! he looked so hke my father when he was 
 lying in bed that I was quite startled. He had, it 
 seems, been over-fatigued with traveUing for several 
 days previously, and the doctors say his attack arose 
 from that. He had been told of your first message, 
 and expressed himself very grateful, but said just 
 what told you. This is a confused letter, but 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JAXE WELSH CARLYLE 295 
 
 two hours on the railway and no dinner have made 
 
 me very faint, and I can write no better. I will 
 
 write again on Monday. God bless you ! 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 LETTER 80. 
 
 Friday (Postmark, September 21, 1849). 
 
 Dearest Jane, — I was looking out for the postman 
 very anxiously, and in due time he brought me my 
 own envelope, as a sign of your safe arrival, somehow, 
 in London. I thought that would pacify me, but it 
 has only made me more impatient and restless to know 
 in what state you arrived. It seems only a moment 
 ago that the train started with you — as if I could put 
 back my hand and snatch your's to me again, and 
 seeing my own writing again was just as if the ghost 
 of yesterday morning had really appeared. I wish 
 you would get someone who knows how to write to 
 me to say how you are, for I don't want you to be 
 bothered with letter-writing, and yet I don't want to 
 wait for tidings. I feel as if I must have seemed very 
 cold and indifferent whilst you were suffering, but you 
 know it was not so. There are many things I wanted 
 to tell you, and I cannot write them this morning. I 
 am. too ' dished,' partly because those people stopped 
 till after twelve last night, and partly that I '■ dished ' 
 myself this morning with strong tea, which has shaken 
 
296 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 out of me all I have thought since you went. 
 
 and were both very anxious about you, and I 
 
 shall call and teU my news as I go into the 
 
 town. I had 's letter after you left, and I sent it 
 
 you, and its enclosure. If you have read Newman's 
 ' Soul,' you will laugh at the notion of Lewes's finding 
 it so sublime. For aU the world, that book is like that 
 story of the lady in captivity who picked to pieces 
 some old tapestry, and with the faded and moulder- 
 ing threads worked an emblem of her own sorrows.^ 
 
 It is the ghost of a book. As to , I hope you 
 
 will get more good out of his philosophy than I do. 
 The fact is, that when Lewes got that cursed article, 
 
 he said it would scandalise every review but 's 
 
 (who, however, pays nothing, or at best next to nothing, 
 for I suppose contraband notions are sold in the same 
 
 market as stolen goods). So, finally, to it was 
 
 sent, and ten pounds asked. He declined it on the 
 score of being full, and that by Christmas the subject 
 would be ' passe,' which it cannot be, for the subject, 
 unhappily, is going on, and the problem won't be 
 solved, this long while, at least, of 'Modern Scepticism 
 and Modern Belief.' So I wrote back to say that as 
 Lewes thought it was the ten pounds which made the 
 obstacle, in the Devil's name to let him have it gratis, 
 on condition it was printed this next number. So 
 
 ' Possibly the daughter of Louis XVI., afterwards ' Duohesse 
 d'Angouleme,' during her cruel imprisonment in the ' Temple.'— A. E.I. 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE WELSH CARL^i^LE 297 
 
 now you may appreciate his ' Dissolving Views.' The 
 article, I know, has some good things in it. I did it 
 as well as I could, although, like young actors and 
 young singers (I mean beginners), I can truly say I 
 wore out a deal more force than the result indicates, 
 and I want an article in print as ' a specimen of 
 
 my handwriting.' I have not let see it, because, 
 
 though I am sure it is all as natural as the day, yet, as 
 the ' Correspondence philosophe et religieuse,' the 
 ' Pere's ' last book, printed for private circulation, is 
 taken as the type of the modern -tendency of 'belief,' 
 and the ' Nemesis of Faith,' and all that sort of thing, 
 as the type of the other, I think he would rather I 
 had not meddled with either ; though it was a comfort 
 to my soul to ' say my say,' and I am sure it was all 
 true, and, to my thinking, more like a sermon than a 
 scandal. So, if it had not been for the vexation of not 
 
 getting more money, I should have laughed at 's 
 
 note, and felt obliged to him for ' doing ' such a 
 correspondence. When I write to him I shall send 
 you the note for counsel. It is a shame to talk on at 
 this rate, and I am haunted by the idea that you are in 
 for another day of suffering. For Heaven's sake, don't 
 waste your strength in struggling against obstacles 
 which seem stronger than you are ! You have enough 
 of all kinds of suffering to endure without cutting 
 yourself to pieces for people who are too idle to 
 amuse themselves, and only want some teetotal sub- 
 
298 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FEOM 
 
 stitute for the excitement of dram-drinking. Let 
 them go to the Devil ! You have enough to bear of 
 your own. Do not, for God's sake, spend all your 
 remaining strength, but retire whilst you have an 
 existence left ! Those who love you don't care a pin 
 for your social excellences. You are you, and that is 
 all they want. As to the others, who only want you 
 to lighten their fog, let them go elsewhere, but do not 
 spend your strength for naught ! I am so thankful 
 for the few days we have had together that I cannot 
 be very troubled by 'anything that may now happen 
 to me. It is like receiving back a loss with compound 
 interest. God bless you, and send you better ! 
 Ever your own, as ever, 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 [September, 1849, after one of Mrs. Carlyle's visits to Manchester.] 
 
 LETTER 81. 
 Sunday (Postmark, September 27, 1849). 
 
 Dearest Jane, — I was very glad to get your tiny 
 note. Don't write till you are quite better. I will not 
 have you waste your little strength in letter-writing. 
 I have thought a great deal about your headache 
 since you were here, and I do most earnestly 
 entreat you to consult either Dr. Elliotson or Locock ; * 
 but Elliotson has an inspiration for knowing what 
 ails people. I don't recommend you to let him try 
 
 ' Sir Charles. 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 299 
 
 to cure you — his treatment is too strong ; but do not 
 go on in ignorance. ' If you must perish, perish in 
 the light.' Do try to get well. I am of Carlyle's 
 persuasion, that the darkest hour is past, and that 
 there is light coming if our mistakes have been 
 cleared up and cleared away, along with their train 
 of aggravations and collateral sufferings. I am sure 
 there is no need to despair of anything, of yourself 
 least of all ; the one thing needful is, that you take 
 care of yourself. I had a great deal I wanted to say, 
 but this morning my head is very painful, as well as 
 stupid ; but that is not supernatural, for we went to 
 Pranconi's last night, and this morning, instead of 
 
 getting up I lay in bed giving wise counsel to , 
 
 who came yesterday. She is a very nice, natural 
 girl, and has a world of good-sense. I do not believe 
 
 she has any more love for than we have ; she 
 
 speaks of him quietly and sensibly, and with no 
 blushes of confusion, that I can see ; in short, she has 
 been looked at through a Seaforth mist, which is re- 
 fracting, as you know. Oh ! I had such a ridiculous 
 
 evening on Friday. I dined at the s, to 
 
 meet Mrs. FoUen — Gambardella's heroine. She is a 
 nice, mild-looking woman, whom Nature once in- 
 tended to be agreeable and good, but her ' circle ' 
 have surrounded her with so much adulation that she 
 can neither move nor speak without an emphasis of 
 'superiority,' which makes the least action look as 
 
300 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FEOM 
 
 if it were a specimen of some ' tesselated pavement ' 
 fit for a museum, and not a pebble is to be found in 
 its natural state. Everything has been weighed, 
 polished, arranged, and labelled. And then her con- 
 versation was elocution, and flowed on like a river of 
 oil, which fairly carried me ' povera ' away in the 
 
 flood. And yet Nature did her best to make Mrs. 
 
 a very charming woman, only poor Nature was sadly 
 thwarted. Only figure to yourself my perplexity 
 
 when Mrs. began to come out strong about 
 
 ' hanging.' Some ' Nemesis ' had driven her to travel 
 in the same train with the man who hanged Gleeson 
 Wilson. He was in the next carriage to her, and, of 
 course, people looked very hard at him. And did she 
 not talk me down because I said I hoped Mrs. Man- 
 ning^ would be safely hanged before the ' drop' was 
 aboHshed. I am sure I felt very sorry for the Jews and 
 heathens who have missionaries sent to preach at them 
 and touch their feelings. I never felt so aggravated 
 in aU my life as I did at her pathetic appeals to my 
 ' sense of humanity,' and her proposal that some 
 humane person should ' take charge ' of Mrs. Man- 
 ning, and bring her to a sense of her conscience. 
 
 hereupon laughed, and said that Mrs. Manning 
 
 had a far better prospect of doing well in the next 
 world than of doing any good in this. Don't say 
 that man has no fun in him. Well, finally, though 
 
 ' The murderess. 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH GARLYLE 301 
 
 this letter was begun on Saturday, it is Wednesday 
 to-day. This time last week you were lying ill with 
 your head. I hope to Heaven that 3'ou are better off 
 to-day ! Carlyle wrote me a very kind note. You 
 see, you might have stopped quite well to the end of 
 the week, and it would have been such a comfort to 
 me. It is so long since we were really together. By 
 
 the way, I have not written to since you left. 
 
 She must get miserable again before I can write ; 
 when she is ' at ease in Zion ' I feel out of all patience 
 
 somehow. I have written to invite little to come 
 
 over for a couple of days, and I am racketing about 
 
 with in grand style. I suppose the exercise 
 
 and air are good for me, and I am so disgusted about 
 my ' tale,' that if I can break the engagement I will. 
 Only fancy, after all the bother they made, and hurry- 
 ing me as they did, they won't now print it till 
 January. I am just disgusted! I was 'left to 
 myself when I undertook to have any dealings with 
 
 them. is not weU, but I suppose he is amused 
 
 at having a visitor, and so is in a better fashion. He 
 regretted your absence, especially when he found you 
 might have stayed. By the way, I must not forget 
 
 one thing I want to tell you. Mrs. said that 
 
 some tribes of Indians want to be civilised, and to 
 have ' constitutions,' and when I said, ' Oh ! I hope 
 they will keep to their costume,' she said, with mild 
 wisdom, ' You surely would not wish them to keep 
 
302 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 their blankets ! Nor will they ever become civilised till 
 they adopt a dress which is not open to such serious 
 objections ; few families would like to admit them to 
 their society in their present costume.' So you see 
 ' breeches ' are the first principle of civilised life ; and 
 at Franconi's I could not help being struck with a 
 slight indication of that ' indispensable ' which satis- 
 fied the ' feelings of society.' This is a stupid letter, 
 but I am not up to writing more, and am vexed and 
 worried ; so good-bye, and God bless you, and send 
 
 you well. 
 
 Ever your affectionate 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 LETTER 82. 
 Friday morning, night, and Saturday. 
 
 My dear Child, — What a wonderful being a clever 
 woman is ! To think that I should just now, ' at this 
 period of the debate,' have discovered for the first 
 time that it was better to wait for the season when 
 time and strength set in for a regular letter. Good 
 Heaven ! if you only knew how anxious I am to 
 know every minute how you go on, and how you 
 feel, and how very little I care for ' good letters,' you 
 would never waste another upon me. Just scratch 
 me a line as often as you can, even if it be only a 
 sentence you want to say, and send it without feeling 
 any .moral obligation to fill the paper. I will send 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 303 
 
 you a quantity of stamped adhesive envelopes, and 
 then all the material bother of sealing, &c., will be 
 done away with. At first I was in a great rage with 
 that remarkable woman for interrupting you in the 
 middle of your letter to me. Then I got into a worse 
 rage at finding it had been burned. Why could you 
 not have begun another, and sent the fragment on its 
 own basis ? Just as if I did not know well enough how 
 gold and purple clouds of sunset change into leaden- 
 coloured mists, and no fault to the sun. And then I 
 thought that perhaps she might have come to you 
 for some comfort in her perplexity, and then I got 
 very placable towards her. I am more shocked at the 
 mode in which she lives with her ' lawful love ' than 
 with anything else. It is the common instinct of human 
 nature to say so. No system of philosophy, either 
 Satanic or transcendental, can make it otherwise. 
 As to the man himself, there is a point at which 
 virtue becomes vice, and vice versct, and his pusil- 
 lanimity in shrinking from the inconvenience and 
 terrible disagreeableness of ' making a row ' coincides 
 with his good-nature. People like him always slide 
 into what comes handiest. And then he has filed 
 down the edge of his feelings by the dreadful 
 promiscuousness of his way of talking of everything 
 to everybody. It is an experience he will put in a 
 novel some day — or might do ! . . . . 
 
 [Disconnected.] 
 
304 SELECTIONS OF LETTEES FROM 
 
 The thing you intended for the best and noblest 
 dedication of yourself has not borne the fruit you 
 have reason to expect. Dear friend, do not let your- 
 self be made bitter by this trial. Yield yourself up, 
 and bow your head to Him who is the Father and 
 Director of all. Don't worry yourself by thinking 
 over all you might have been, if you only can resign 
 yourself into His hands (to no earthly or second 
 cause), but accept as from His hands this humiliation 
 of not having any visible, successful result of the 
 great step of your life. Yield yourself and your 
 sword to Him, and do not fight any more, and all the 
 bitterness and the poisoned sufiering will pass away, 
 and strength and healing wiU descend upon you. It 
 is not with men you have to deal. Look away from 
 human beings. You are in the hands of God, the 
 Master of all, and it is to Him you submit. He is 
 your Judge. It is a small thing to you to be judged 
 of man's judgment, to be understood or misunder- 
 stood. Leave husband, friends, all alone, and resign 
 your destiny to Him, to do with you what seems good 
 unto Him, and you will find your sorrows cease and 
 your way made plain. Do not degrade yourself by any 
 second motive. I cannot describe the state of mind 
 I mean, but I only know that more than once in my 
 life I have thus flung myself, broken, helpless, and 
 prostrate. Destiny only meant that I might be in His 
 hands. I cannot describe ; it has been Hke being 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JAJSfE WELSH CARLYLE ^305 
 
 taken into the invisible world, and all the littlenesses 
 and the pitiful things are broken down which se- 
 parated me from Him. It has been rest and heahng, 
 and everything one's shattered being needed. One 
 gets hard again, and sets up for oneself. One has 
 to come out of this mysterious sanctuary ; but one 
 comes out able to go on, and then it is there, and a 
 time of need opens it to one again. I have tried to 
 say this to you more than once, and I cannot express 
 myself, and you will be weary of hearing it ; but I 
 don't want you to think I am using mere words in a 
 vague sense. If I could only say something which 
 should move your heart to feel as I do ! One hears 
 things very often without attaching any meaning to 
 them, and then, some fine day, after listening for the 
 fifteenth time, a meaning flashes upon one ; and so 
 that is my excuse, but I tell you nothing but the 
 most statistical matter of fact. Do not be out of 
 patience with me, or think I want to preach. . , . 
 
 Saturday night. 
 
 This is the third time I have been interrupted in 
 
 \ this letter. If I were to read it over, no doubt I 
 
 should put it into the fire ; but I shall not do so, and 
 
 you must take what you get. I have been out all 
 
 day. has a whist-party, and I am writing in 
 
 the midst of the aces of diamonds and clubs, and what 
 not ! There is a heap of things I want to say, if I only 
 
306 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 could think of them. I like that poem ; indeed, I 
 
 like all those you ever showed me by . My dear 
 
 child, my conclusion of the whole matter is, that you 
 may be trusted to manage aU your own affairs, and 
 good advice, the very superfinest and best, would 
 only mislead you, if you were to take it. Now, is not 
 that generous, considering my turn for giving advice ? 
 I feel quite easy about what you say, and you wiU and 
 must get good of some sort out of such reaUy generous 
 devotion, which it is, in spite of drawbacks. 
 
 The only thing I don't like in your letters is, that 
 you do not seem disposed to come here to us, and I 
 had made up my mind that you would. It is all non- 
 sense what you say about ' generosity,' and so forth. 
 Don't get that into your head. I want you to come 
 here, so, for God's sake, don't take into account any 
 other consideration than how to get here ! Will you 
 promise me not to do anything till you have been 
 here ? What do you think I am doing in the way of 
 handiwork ? Tou will never guess. I am making 
 blue petticoats to frighten away the cholera. It's 
 not often I do anything for poor people, but my feel- 
 ings were roused to think that the ' house-to-house ' 
 visitation was to give the poor wretches physic, and 
 I thought if one only could go from house to house 
 with clothing it would be more practical 
 
 October 19, 1849. 
 
 [Fragment.] 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CAELYLE 307 
 
 LETTEB 83. 
 Thursday night (Postmark, October 26, 1849). 
 
 How nice it is to get your tiny scrap ! The 
 reason of my Sunday failure? The Devil kept me 
 in bed very late, and then he came in the shape of 
 Dr. — — to take us a long walk, and then the people 
 came without end till bedtime. Among the rest 
 
 came , who was extremely — what shall I say ? — 
 
 companionable and communicative ; and then I went 
 to bed, and ' slept the sleep of the just.' I am 
 obliged to get things done and written as I can, 
 and I think letters to you, and then forget that I 
 have not written them. I want to know how you 
 are. How much I wish we had an electric tele- 
 graph apiece. Well, finally, Mrs. Tom ^ is come home 
 looking really very handsome, and a deal more 
 amiable than when she went away, and Tom told me 
 
 that Miss had made up her mind, and accepted 
 
 , who does not know this exactly, and is still 
 
 balancing in his own mind what he shall do, while 
 the thing is done for him. I feel to like the girl a 
 great deal better now I know this ; indeed, I feel 
 quite amiable towards her. And as to the young man, 
 he is a very good fellow, and I don't know that I 
 would have refused him myself. You are a real dar- 
 ling to like my old friend, though I fancy the love 
 
 ' Her sister-in-law, Mrs. Thomas Jewsbury. 
 
 1 2 
 
308 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 was most on my side. I have actually not written 
 to him this age, but he will stand a little starving. It 
 used to be such a white day for him when I had one 
 of your letters to read to him — he used to appreciate 
 them. He did me a world of good ; but what touched 
 my heart most of ah was a little sentence about 
 
 me in a letter to Mrs. , and not intended for me 
 
 to see. Would it amuse you to see the ' memoirs ' we 
 wrote together ? But had he not used to tell me nice 
 tales, and then wind up with ' Mais, ma chere, ces 
 choses ne s'ecrivent point ' ? He was a darling when 
 he was in a bad temper, because then he used to 
 abuse people so wittily. 
 
 Mr. has begun his paper. Have you seen 
 
 it ? He sent to ask me to write him an article on ' The 
 Influence of Cheap Literature on the Female Mind.' 
 What the Devil is its influence ? I'll send it to you 
 if it turns out anything, but my head is so crazy that 
 I doubt if I can ever write more. It is coming ofi" 
 now : my head, not the article. God bless you, 
 dear love. 
 
 G. 
 
 Yesterday was a public fast-day, and felt to me 
 like Sunday. 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JA^^E WELSH CARLYLE 309 
 
 LETTER 84. 
 Tuesday (Postmark, November 6, 1849). 
 
 My dear Child, — I am very glad that you have 
 
 got back out of the region of lies ; but your 
 
 letter has made me very sad. How is one to do in 
 this world when things are told one, sworn to one — 
 and one is tied hand and foot to secrecy and honour ? 
 I thought I was condemned, of necessity, by hard 
 labour and silence, to get over that tragedy; and when 
 I had, and when all the pain and suffering had done 
 their work, now to find that it was all lying, is 
 
 dreadful ! What a waste of our life ! For 
 
 did tell the truth as regards all I suffered ; and, any- 
 way, she has put us right together, which we could 
 not have got without her, and I am too thankful for 
 that, to be able to get up the steam to be indignant. 
 
 I am very sorry for Miss , because, though 
 
 I have forgotten the details of all the horrible 
 
 allegations, yet I recoUect well how said they 
 
 came about, which no doubt she told you as she 
 told me ; but I have suffered a deal too much in 
 the business to be able to be very sorry for anyone 
 else, for the communications were humihating for 
 me, independent of all the shock with which they 
 
 came. I am very glad that Miss has not 
 
 done this thing, and that you have lost nobody 
 you cared for. In short, I am too thankful alto- 
 
310 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 gether, that it is not true — to have room for any- 
 other feeling. You see, straightforwardness does 
 bring people out of aU difficulties at last, and when 
 the main grievance is set right, all the collateral 
 grievances which arose out of the supposed fact, 
 fall to the ground. One thing I am very thankful 
 for, on my own private account, and that is, that I 
 have not been able to help myself in aU this 
 tangled affair. The cloud settled over us, and the 
 cloud has cleared off", and I have had no part in the 
 matter, except to sit as quiet as I could, as, of 
 course, anything said or thought under such an im- 
 pression is as though it had not been ; and, indeed, 
 it is all a dream together. I am very content now, 
 and the memory of former things has passed away ; 
 
 only as to Miss , I am very glad she has 
 
 cleared herself so soon — she might have been years 
 
 over it, as we have been. As to , we had better 
 
 make no theories about her, except that she is like 
 someone's lawyer, who ' hatched great hens out 
 of little eggs.' She has not answered my last letter. 
 
 She wrote one, but burnt it. told me, and so 
 
 I shall let her run a little more of her present course. 
 I have known her longer than you have, and have 
 suffered more by her ; but, in the face of all the 
 shame and suffering that lie before her, I cannot 
 feel resentment for what is a touch of insanity, 
 unstrengthened and unpurified by any sort of edu- 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 311 
 
 cation, as the wise understand that word. Her in- 
 timacy with her brother during the first part of her 
 married life was disastrous ; but she has fire in her, 
 and the fire she has to pass through must and will 
 purify her, burn up the dross, and leave her less of 
 ' alloy.' But I must give over aU this, and go to 
 work. I send you our friend's modest note. AU last 
 week I could not write a stroke, and I wanted you 
 to see the article before it went back. The Devil fly 
 away with — not it, but other people ! Another mail, 
 and no le:ter from Cairo. If I had one I should be 
 too comfortable to be disturbed by anything. As 
 it is, I am too uneasy to be vexed by anything 
 else. God bless you, and keep us safe together now, 
 henceforth and for ever.^ I promise to make a real 
 ' row,' and no mistake, if ever you give rise to un- 
 pleasant reports again. I will not chew the cud of 
 a grievance any more. 
 
 LETTEE 85. 
 
 [With fragment.] 
 Saturday (Postmark, November 12, 3849). 
 
 Dearest Jane, — In the hope that the ' Desecration 
 of the Sabbath in the Post Office ' may enable you to 
 get this note to-morrow morning, I scrawl this on the 
 spur of the moment (though I hope to write you a 
 
 1 It was so.— A. E. I. 
 
312 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 better to-morrow). I have two of yours to answer. 
 When I came to reflect upon what I had written along 
 
 with 's note, I thought I had spoken foolishly. 
 
 No amount of explanation would ever make her 
 confess herself in the wrong, or would ever make 
 her see the question as a whole : she would go dis- 
 tractedly into details, and I thought with a shudder 
 of all the isolated facts she would dig up ; and all the 
 dreadful things . that always get said, are recollected 
 by her as if she were a demon, and no human being 
 at all, let alone a woman — my experience of aU that 
 is deeper than yours, alas ! It was an abstract sense 
 of justice that made me desire she should know, but 
 the very writing of that note cleared my judgment. 
 No good, but much harm, would come of it. You and 
 she can never be friends again, so that reason for an 
 explanation does not exist. As to me, I know her, 
 and she would only say things that would make me 
 like her less than ever. I feel, besides, quite strong 
 enough to do her justice, and make allowance and 
 aU that, which I should have to do, after aU the 
 affirmations and explanations she could make ; and 
 this is a case for an arbitrary and summary process, 
 rather than the application of any constitutional form, 
 and, besides, it is in reality no concern of mine. She 
 has set me right with you, and in your esteem, for I 
 must have seemed untrustworthy. That is aE. I care 
 for, and that one act may save her life : as they pardon 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JAISTE WELSH OAELYLE 313 
 
 criminals who turn 'approvers' and help to make 
 restitution. I never intended to let her enter on the 
 subject with me — God and the Devil forfend ! — and I 
 am glad your practical sense has hindered your doing 
 it. She is not a subject for ordinary treatment ; it 
 would be like treating savages to a legal constitution. 
 No, let her be ; I don't want even to speak on the 
 matter. I have got all I want ; indeed, that I got, 
 the moment you said ' it is a lie,' and I could feel 
 no interest whatever in any other verdict — ' guilty ' 
 or ' not guilty ' ! I am glad to find a ' rock ' some- 
 where, and I am glad she won't tell what said. 
 
 As to , she is Uke the Goodwin Sands, which at 
 
 high tide are water, and at low tide, shoals and the 
 
 wrecking-place of thousands of ships. never 
 
 hinted to me that she had told anything ; but no 
 
 one who knows her would need to be told that she 
 did. Many years ago, and I had a grave mis- 
 understanding, which broke the neck of my romance 
 for her ; I ought to have withdrawn then ; I foresaw, 
 I felt, I knew — all that has happened since. I shut 
 my eyes weakly and falsely, for I did not deceive 
 myself. But she behaved as one woman should not 
 behave to another ; and other things were mixed up 
 in it which disgusted me, but she pacified me (when 
 she found I was displeased), and one or two instances 
 of singular affection and kindness which she showed 
 afterwards, kept me bound to her ; though I knew 
 
314 SELECTIONS OF I-ETTERS FROM 
 
 where the danger of her lay. And though I have 
 trusted her since I had ' setthngs ' and all that, it has 
 always been with a certain reserve. I had felt 
 bitterly that she was not to be trusted with impunity : 
 everything I had ever said in a moment of ' abandon ' 
 she had always brought up afterwards, like half- 
 digested food, and flung it at me. has trusted 
 
 me implicitly, but I have, to a certain extent, been 
 always on my guard against her. Now, as I did not 
 withdraw when I might have done, when the un- 
 soundness of her character was revealed to an extent 
 that injured aU my intercourse with her — it is not 
 justice to fly off from her now ; so matters must go 
 on in their natural course, and fall, like the leaves in 
 autumn, of their own accord. Can you, and will you, 
 trust me, and not fancy I am double, or inconsistent, 
 or false in any way ? God knows that being ' true ' 
 is not a virtue that ' grows wild ' in anybody, and is 
 not so easy as truth professed in letters would have 
 us believe ; but I wish to do right, which is all I can 
 say for myself, so wiU you let me go on in my own 
 way, according to my own instinct, and not fancy 
 that I am acting a double part in any way ? as ' telling 
 the truth ' and ' a sense of sin ' form no part of my 
 profession. I can only lay hold of the chief thing, and 
 strike the best balance I can, without bothering about 
 minor details, therefore, as the main thing is to put a 
 stop to this bottomless grievance, is as an ' Irish 
 
MISS JEWSBUE.Y TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 315 
 
 Bog,' only to be reclaimed into solid land by some 
 yet unknown process (though in this case the Bog 
 contains materials of much value). Yet I cannot 
 be ever resolving her problem, so therefore I shall not 
 only say nothing of the late ' eclaircissement,' but if 
 it should come to her ears by any other channel, I 
 shall emphatically deny all knowledge of the same ; 
 and if she further inquires of me concerning your 
 silence, I shall reply that you have never mentioned 
 the subject, and that I am altogether ignorant of the 
 reason why you have dropped intercourse with her. 
 
 Sunday morning. 
 
 Here I was interrupted, and have been hindered 
 ever since. I must write my Sundaj^ letter to-morrow, 
 for this is only a word spoken in haste. I feel like a 
 child in the dark, afraid to be left alone. I want to 
 keep hold of your hand, for fear you should again 
 leave me. One thing is very true, you see, namely, 
 that in the long run it is oneself that one blames 
 the most. It may be that in this business the people 
 might have behaved better than they did, but their 
 doings have aU faded away for me ; the only point 
 that stands out is, that I behaved very wrongly in 
 condemning you unquestioned — the more I think of 
 it the worse it seems. I cannot get over it, and the 
 only thing for it is to bury it along with the rest of 
 the wretched business, and to put up a stone over it 
 
316 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 to show it is an accursed place ! One comfort is, 
 that I think I am better worth your having now than 
 I was then. I have seen an example of a friendship 
 between two men which has revised my notion as to 
 what a grand thing real friendship island long ago 
 my conscience made me feel the irreverence and 
 shortcomings of my own attempts that way — my 
 darling ! I will be better for you than ever I was 
 before. Is it not the use of love that it shall fill up 
 gaps, not of centuries alone, but the mistakes of the 
 whole life? Oh! do you forgive me, and love me, and 
 be very sure that even this wretched interval shall 
 have been a golden seedtime. I will write again the 
 first hour I have, but my time is a good deal cut up 
 just now. I am only snatching a moment to finish 
 this. How are you ? God bless you dear, dear love ! 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 LETTER 86. 
 [Written next day .J 
 
 Dearest Jane, — I have received the enclosed this 
 morning, which I have read over four times, and can 
 make neither head nor tail of. You see, there are 
 things I am to tell you, and things I am not to tell you, 
 so I send all just as it stands, for, hang me if I can 
 understand one more than the other ! You must pick 
 them out for your own self. What do you wish me 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE "WELSH CAELYLE 317 
 
 to do about that affair? I think when so much 
 useless suffering has come to pass from my keeping 
 all that in, instead of sending the letter straight on to 
 
 you, that had better be told all that has passed. 
 
 What sort of a memory has Miss ? I think 
 
 could not have invented everything, because 
 
 I most particularly recollect that told me 
 
 Miss said, ' I consider what we have said to 
 
 each other to be a very solemn thing ' ; and then they 
 bound each other under the seven seals to secrecy. 
 
 I know proposed not to tell me one-half, so 
 
 what the suppressed passages must have been the 
 Devil only knows. I ought to have been able to 
 discern the greater from the lesser duty. I ought to 
 have sent you on the letter, and defied the Devil and 
 aU his works. But you cannot know how circum- 
 stantial all the evidence was ; and then I had as great 
 
 an idea of 's ' sense of truth ' (how I hate that 
 
 word truth !) as you had, and even now I think she 
 must forget some of the conversation, for by the 
 
 solemn way in which reported it to me, in the 
 
 heat of the moment, I do not think Miss could 
 
 go away and ' never think of it again.' All my 
 magnanimous holding of my tongue has proved to be 
 like all those virtues which lie out of the way. It 
 has simply been a mistaken view of the matter. I 
 confess that I believed it, but thought it best to say 
 nothing, for fear of making yet more mischief ; so I 
 
318 SELEOTIOlSrS OP LETTERS FROM 
 
 behaved very ill to you in not giving you the chance 
 of contradicting it, for one word from you would 
 have satisfied me. So I have been punished enough 
 by all these years' estrangement — puzzled to death 
 various times at your want of conscience, for, 
 naturally enough, you did not know what you, so 
 far as you believed, had never done. And I had 
 been made so miserable ; all from not trusting to 
 
 my natural instinct. I think you should tell 
 
 frankly what has happened, and let her see 's 
 
 note. I know 's power of reflection well from 
 
 experience. I know her exaggeration, the loose- 
 ness of texture in what she asserts, her want of 
 reticence, her want of common delicacy (all which I 
 have suffered from), but I never yet found her mali- 
 cious, or capable of dehberate mischief-making from 
 bad motives, and she must have been a very devil 
 to have invented all this. She is very real, though 
 she so seldom says things to be depended upon when 
 looked into. She must have deceived herself, or she 
 never would have said all that ; and besides, she said 
 it so guardedly and yet so circumstantially, so afraid 
 to exaggerate, that I am sure she did not mean to 
 lie. How the phantom was raised, the Devil only 
 knows. I need not tell you, my darling, that there 
 does not remain a shadow on my mind. You have 
 been maligned, and I have been imposed on, but, 
 knowing Seaforth, and knowing also how very harm- 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 319 
 
 less speeches have been repeated with a meaning I 
 never dreamed of, and motives lent me I never had — 
 and that I could not act from — I can see how a good 
 
 deal arose ; still, did not know she was wrong. 
 
 She is so fond of acting, that she would set the 
 angels in heaven by the ears ; but to me she has 
 always been good and true, in spite of all the mischief 
 she has done. StiU, tell her what has happened, and 
 
 give her a chance. This connection with wiU 
 
 loosen the intimacy gradually, and bring it to a 
 natural end, for of course I don't choose to be mixed 
 up in such an affair, and, besides, I have all but cut 
 
 . We barely spoke the other night at 's, 
 
 and I know he wiU do all he can to separate us, and 
 I shall not struggle against the stream ; only, if she 
 gets into trouble, I cannot be cold to her. It is not 
 now that I ought to leave her. This is a rambling 
 
 letter, but I am very anxious should know the 
 
 mischief she has done. I am sick to death when I 
 think of aU this ' coil.' I wish you would send me a 
 nice, comfortable note, with nothing of all this in it. 
 My only comfort is that now you know how strange 
 it has all been : and you know that it cannot come 
 again ; and if I could forgive when I believed, you 
 may be sure I love you more now that I know I did 
 you such injustice. . . . 
 
320 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 LETTER 87. 
 Thiarsday (Postmark, November 22, 1849). 
 
 Dearest Jane, — This is only a line written in haste 
 to ask you how you are. There was a chance I 
 might have come up to take a peep at you, but it is 
 
 past. Mrs. was most anxious that we should 
 
 have come up to London with her, but cannot 
 
 arrange it, and I must stop at home with him. Do 
 you know I am very uneasy about him ? He is 
 not only ill in body but he has also a desperately 
 sprained wrist, and he has grown so miserable and 
 
 unsettled since came home, that I am very 
 
 unhappy. If I needed any finishing touch to bring 
 me back to ancient notions of decorum, here it is, with 
 a vengeance. I think his entanglement is now more 
 habit than anything else ; but he is unsettled, and I 
 would give the world to see him married comfortably. 
 As to , there is a mystery there I cannot under- 
 stand. I only know that amongst them all poor is 
 
 in a bad way for his domestic happiness. If he would 
 
 have gone up to town with Mrs. it would have 
 
 been a break for him, and he would have been well 
 taken care of, for she is a real darling, and I am very 
 put out at having lost her. So it is no good ex- 
 pecting an amusing letter, for I have not been in such 
 bad spirits this long time. I am very anxious about 
 you. Do make some of your people write me a line, 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 321 
 
 if you are not up to it yourself. I am not well either ; 
 but just now, being worried, I don't know how far 
 that will go towards accounting for it. To make this 
 letter worth the stamp, I send you the proof of a 
 
 shght thing I wrote for Mr. . It is too short for 
 
 such a long subject ; but some day I hope to be able 
 to have a ' say ' at Mrs. Ellis and aU her school, and 
 develop my own theory more at length. We only 
 want to be let alone, and then we shall neither be 
 ' strong-miuded ' women nor yet dolls. I have not 
 
 written to , nor have I heard from her either. 
 
 She seems quite willing to let us go. By the way, 
 
 when was here she one night launched out 
 
 against in the most ridiculous style, making 
 
 fun of him like a girl, with a genuine fun and hearti- 
 ness which kept us all laughing. Nothing was said 
 but what was quite true, and nothing that would 
 break bones ; but certainly she was very sarcastic. 
 
 Well, was here amongst the rest, and he went 
 
 and repeated everything to a friend of his who 
 
 was going to see , and this iU-advised friend 
 
 went and repeated aU to , with the addition that 
 
 I said it all (certainly, in these cases, the receiver is 
 
 as bad as the thief), and went and complained 
 
 to ; so there is a ' kettle of fish ' which wiU tend 
 
 to separate us aU. I am not sorry for the result, but 
 
 I am very displeased with (he has owned to his 
 
 fault). People must learn a certain tact en attendant 
 
 T 
 
322 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 that ' reign of peace ' upon the world, when people 
 will no more make fun of their neighbours. TiU the 
 armour is strong enough to stand heavy blows — we 
 must be careful to hit it gently, as Don Quixote 
 treated his patched helmet. I cannot write any 
 more ; my eyes are heavy, and I am not weU, and 
 too desperately out of spirits to say anything worth 
 reading. Send me word how you are, and God bless 
 you, dearest. 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 LETTER 88. 
 
 Christmas Eve, 1849. 
 
 Dearest Jane, — ^It is so great a comfort to sit down 
 and write to you after all the bothering things I have 
 had to do to-day ! But I shall have to hurry to be 
 in time for the post, as I would not have Christmas 
 day shine or snow without bringing you a word from 
 me. It is the best Christmas I have had for a long 
 while, and being right with you makes up for a great 
 many things that are plagueing me. I enclose you a 
 
 note from in reply to my refusal to go to their 
 
 party, and inviting her to come here. I can see 
 
 traces of in it. The tone is very different to 
 
 the two last. The more I reflect, the more content I 
 feel to have done with Seaforth ; and yet I used to 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 323 
 
 wonder how I should Uve without it. I want to 
 know how you are going on. It seems a long time 
 since I heard from you. Lewes turned up again 
 last week. . . . 
 
 [Disconnected.] 
 
 Be very sure you will have me to the uttermost 
 moment. I want sadly to see you. Where on earth 
 do you think I am going to-night ? I will give you 
 as many guesses as you like, and you never will hit 
 upon it. 
 
 WeU, then, I am going to the gate of Heaven. 
 I am actually going to turn out to hear the ' Mid- 
 night Mass.' 
 
 EeaUy, it sounds anything but decent, and yet one 
 goes to balls at equally untimely hours. However, I 
 
 am going with and his wife and a servant, so 
 
 we shall keep each other in countenance. I will 
 send you word what it is like. I was very bothered 
 not to get a letter from Cairo either last mail or the 
 one before. You don't know how much those letters 
 are to me. WeU, I shed plenty of tears — enough to 
 have turned the tide, and last night I had a nice 
 dream. I thought I was at Cairo, and that I was in 
 his house, and that we were all at supper. I sat 
 
 beside Madame , who was a handsome woman 
 
 Hke , only with a snub nose. It was very light, 
 
 and I saw my dear friend looking so radiant and so 
 
 Y 2 
 
324 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 happy — liis face seemed to have a light within it — 
 and I just got one look of such intense content and 
 pleasure that I awoke quite happy. I so seldom see 
 anything in my dreams (they are, in general, only 
 half-consciousness), that this real glimpse has had all 
 the effect of a real occurrence. You wiU only laugh 
 
 at me for this. Have you read ? I got it 
 
 yesterday, and began it. It is a strange, tragical sort 
 of thing, and has taken my fancy very much. I have 
 always had queer, dreamy fancies about those huge 
 monsters who had the world aU to themselves, and 
 there are the most vivid descriptions of the earth as 
 it was, according to geology, in those days. I wish 
 you would get it. It is so different to any other 
 book I know. I had other things to tell you, but 
 I shall be late for the post. Grod bless you, dear 
 love. 
 
 Ever your affectionate 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 I have for you Mr. Neuberg's ^ address, and this 
 letter ought to have been written a fortnight since. 
 It is about a young German he wrote to me to speak 
 to about. ... 
 
 [Disconnected.] 
 ' Carlyle's friend.— A. E. I. 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CAELYLE 325 
 
 LETTER 89. 
 
 (Postmark, December 28, 1849.) 
 
 Dearest Jane, — I send you a 'golden letter' to 
 begin tlie New Year. It is not such, a horrid anni- 
 versary as Christmas Day, for one always feels glad to 
 see the milestones getting behind one. A thousand 
 thanks for the little cross. It is indeed an inscrutable 
 imagination ; one wonders how the Devil it came 
 there. StiU more for your long letter and little note 
 I thank you. It does me more good to be praised 
 by you than anything else in life, or perhaps I should 
 say it is just the pleasantest thing for me in life. I 
 could hardly help laughing at your definition of me. 
 It is possibly a couleur de rose version of the fact ; for 
 one night lately I was at a dance, and there was a 
 great philosopher, phrenologist, and mechanics-insti- 
 tute man present, when a friend of mine, who has 
 great faith in his infallibility, said, pointing to me, 
 who was dancing in the innocence of my heart, 
 ' Look at that young lady, and tell me what you would 
 judge of her by her head ? ' ' FuU of inconsistencies ' 
 was the laconic reply, which my friend thought fit to 
 report to me. I cannot express the comfort it was 
 to come to the end of your story about Mazzini, for 
 the shock your beginning gave, is indescribable ; that 
 would indeed have been a climax in sad keeping 
 with the rest of his life. I was talking about the 
 
326 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 dreadful disease that is worse than ' a possession of 
 a devil ' to a surgeon, and he said that it was wonder- 
 ful to him that, under such hopeless torment, people 
 lived on to the last ; and yet, strangely enough, there 
 is no record of anyone committing suicide under 
 those circumstances. At which I marvelled greatly, 
 for certainly it would be the first thing I should do 
 if I were once assured that one had declared itself 
 in me. He little knew how nearly I was interested 
 in the subject. Pray send me frequent news of him. 
 Juliet Mudie ^ duly received your packet on Tuesday. 
 
 I was driving with Mrs. 's mother the next day, 
 
 who expressed much interest in her. It seems that 
 
 on that Christmas day had been invited to 
 
 spend the day with Mrs. , but was obliged 
 
 instead to go with her mistress and the children else- 
 where. There was a large party and numerous 
 
 assembly of servants. Mrs. 's servant-of-aU- 
 
 work, seeing poor Juliet looking very shy and un- 
 comfortable, came up and shook hands with her, 
 saying, ' I am very glad to see you.' ' Everybody 
 
 else was in their best,' said she to Mrs. , 
 
 ' and I was not over clean, having had to help the 
 cook, but I did not mind that. I went and sat by 
 
 at dinner, and talked to her, and she soon got 
 
 as friendly as possible, and we had a great deal of 
 
 ' A servant-maid. — A. B. I. 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 327 
 
 talk before dinner was over ; she was quite at her 
 ease. She is a nice, good girl, and I like her.' Now, 
 if that was not true good breeding, I should like to 
 know what is. By the way, that horrid Mrs. Mudie 
 has contrived to drain her of all she has earned, and 
 is constantly writing for money ; however, I am 
 
 thankful to hear that Mrs. now refuses to give 
 
 her any, but has undertaken to spend it for her, and 
 
 that is living in idleness. If you want to 
 
 communicate with the creature, you had better 
 address her through a certain brother-in-law, who 
 seems a decent sort of man. His address is 
 22 Lower Kennington Lane, Kennington Cross. . . . 
 Juhet told me herself that I had better write to 
 him, as her mother's address was not certain for long 
 together. Pray, if you write to Juliet again, warn 
 her, under your displeasure, to send no more money 
 to that wretch of a mother. I am very glad that 
 
 Mrs. is in harbour for the present, even though 
 
 it be only a ' lodge in a garden of cucumbers ' ; it 
 wiU give us breathing-time, but I will not rest till 
 something really eligible turns up. I have got into 
 a horrible strait — in fact, I have committed a sort of 
 lese-majeste against good breeding. A lady wrote 
 to me months ago to beg some autographs, and I 
 have never either answered her letter or compUed 
 with her request, and she has written to Mrs. , 
 
328 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 saying that she has no words to express what she 
 thinks of such manners ; so, my dear, if, without 
 worrying yourself, you can send me a signature of 
 Harriet Martineau and a specimen of Carlyle's cali- 
 graphy, you may save me from a torrent of abuse, 
 and it is as well to stop crevices when they fall under 
 one's hands. By the way, please send me a good 
 large piece of Carlyle, because I promised a very 
 nice little damsel, who just worships the sound of 
 his name, that I would try to get her a piece, and I 
 don't want to disappoint her, partly because I hke 
 her, and also because she is my sheet-anchor about 
 
 Mrs. . By the way, Mrs. is intending to 
 
 return the visit you paid her months ago, about the 
 Mudies (she has been from home nearly ever since). 
 I wish you would mention the matter to her, because 
 she is a very likely person to be useful, and has, I 
 know, all sorts of good intentions. I was upset in a 
 cab the other night, in the middle of a dark lane 
 with a ditch on each side and mudholes every- 
 where, and I actually perpetrated" the heroism of 
 walking home by myself, all in pitchy darkness, and 
 sending assistance to man and horse. I had no idea 
 how utterly helpless a woman feels on such occasions. 
 Well, my eyes are stiff with candlehght, and this 
 letter is too stupid to be redeemed by any addition, 
 so the only thing is not to make it any heavier. So 
 God bless you, my darling, and may the New Year 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CAELYLE 329 
 
 bring you good — the sort of good you need! If 
 wishes were helpful at all, you would prosper indeed. 
 I can only say God bless you and keep you. 
 
 Ever your own 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 Saturday night. 
 
 LETTER 90. 
 [Fragment, apparently dated 1849.] 
 
 ... I had a genteel ' swarry ' the other night 
 of respectable married people, clearing the old scores 
 of civility due for all manner of respectable tea- 
 drinkings. I was disappointed of half my men, who 
 all had such valid excuses that they might have 
 passed muster at the ' Wedding Feast ' in the parable, 
 but that did not make things pleasanter. We were 
 13 at supper, an accident I did not like. However, 
 we had a pleasant evening enough, and my supper 
 was highly successful, and might defy the criticism of 
 the good housekeepers present. I hope you will come 
 to us. We should have such a pleasant time of it ; 
 
 and bids me say how delighted he would be to 
 
 see you. If you come it would put him out of 
 conceit with the idea of marrying any of the young 
 ladies in white muslin going. Do write to me. I was 
 told the other day that the Schwabes had met Mazzini 
 in Switzerland, and that he was quite old and grey, 
 with a long grey beard down his breast. Those poor 
 
330 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 Hungarians ! I am more depressed about the news 
 from Hungary than I can tell you. It even drives 
 my own concerns out of my head. I can only 
 pray to God for them — the last refuge of desperate 
 humanity. If I did not also trust in Him (despite my 
 heathenism) I should cut my throat ; but I do trust 
 that all things wiU ' work together for good ' in the 
 end. He has never abandoned the world, and though 
 belief is difficult when one is deeply interested and 
 things seem to be going wrong, yet still I believe that 
 what is right and true is stronger than aU the laws 
 and swords and spears made to crush it down. AU 
 they can do is to burn out and destroy the dross 
 and error which have got mixed up with better 
 things. The wood and stubble must be consumed — 
 and that is not a process to be regretted, even though 
 we may have to wait for the blessed result. I cannot 
 tell you how deeply, how gravely I feel, in aU that 
 concerns the struggle of opinions — that many of them 
 are wild and cloudy, and that their discussion seems 
 to lead to no good, only tends to make one's interest 
 the more pitiful. Write to me, please, and tell me 
 how things fare with you. God bless you. 
 Ever your affectionate 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 331 
 
 LETTER 91. 
 
 [Fragment, 1849 or 1850.J 
 
 Sunday. 
 
 My dear Child, — ^You have no need to tell me 
 that you are not well : I should have found it out 
 fast enough from your letter. What the Devil do 
 you let all those stray women take aU the goodness 
 out of you for ? Eh ? It is only a new version of 
 ' the birds of the air picking up all the seed that fell 
 by the wayside.' I am in a bad humour with them, 
 partly in that they tire you to death, and do you no 
 good, and next, they hinder you writing to me. And 
 even then I don't get a comfortable letter, for the 
 one that came this morning bore the exact impress 
 of this life laid waste that you are leading. Bene- 
 volence does not agree with you, and I wish in 
 Heaven's name you would give it up. As to the 
 money, I hope the dividends wiU become satisfactory 
 by the time private friendship has paid up its calls — 
 and if not, I will always be ready to do what I can 
 down here. Only, my dear child, do let me correct 
 an error you have fallen into which touches my con- 
 science. Don't think it is my maxim to make use of 
 my friends. I never ask anybody to do more for me 
 than I would do for them either in kind or in degree, 
 but some can do one thing and some can do another 
 — and I always ask my people to do what they 
 can with least plague to themselves, and the only 
 
332 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 ' Manichaeism ' I am ever guilty of, is in judging 
 who is the right person to go to when I want a thing 
 done. If it is a thing very near my heart, I use all 
 my discretion as to the best means of setting them in 
 motion and getting at them ; but making use of my 
 friends in the sense you understood it — is an odious 
 thing, that I hope I shall never feel even the tempta- 
 tion to do. Merciful Heaven ! I only do to others 
 what I am very willing they should do to me, and 
 what they do, too. At this very moment I have been 
 
 working, at the suggestion of Messrs. and , 
 
 for a man I don't know and don't care for ; but he 
 was in trouble, and as I know people who did know 
 him, and do care for him, I only set them in motion ; 
 and two of my friends who are weU-to-do gave me 
 ten pounds, almost without asking, and the whole set 
 have bestirred themselves in a way that is wonderful. 
 But I don't consider that I ' used ' them or laid myself 
 under the slightest obligation. I went to them 
 thinking they could do what I wanted — ' voil^ tout,' 
 and they will come to me when I stand in the same 
 relative position to anything they may want; and 
 besides,! have such a real, cordial response from every- 
 one of my people, — that I could carry the weight of any 
 amount of service I am likely to want. All this is 
 that you may not misunderstand my simile of ' pawns 
 in chess,' made for the gratification of self-mystifi- 
 cation, which is a woman's foible. But as to the 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CABLYLE 333 
 
 particular instance of Mrs. ., I was only proposing 
 
 that you should give her ' value received ' (or rather 
 requested) by writing to her yourself, which would 
 be a good deed. . . . 
 
 [Disconnected.] 
 
 I am not well yet, but a great deal better, though 
 I am forbidden to go to parties, and ordered to be 
 ' very quiet,' and the Devil throws all manner of 
 difficulties in my way. 's affairs are not flourish- 
 ing, and what the catastrophe will be I don't know. 
 But I am very anxious, because it is a crisis in his 
 life, and I wish he were well through it. I would 
 very much like to see him happily married. When 
 brothers and friends are in question, how differently 
 one sees things to what one does in abstract cases of 
 'George Sandism.' I begin to think I am a most 
 cold, matter-of-fact woman, spoiled — or at least ' in- 
 comprise.' My brother has always been so good to 
 me that I shall be miserable till he is happy ; and 
 then I am bothered with my ' tale,' because I know 
 I ought neither to write nor to read at this present, 
 and I must write, for I have let myself run sadly 
 too near the shore — alas ! You suggest my living 
 in London? No, I would like a cottage in the 
 country with you ! You should keep the house 
 absolutely — keep the accounts, keep the money — 
 and I would write ; and you should make me work, 
 
334 SELECTIONS OP LETTERS FROM 
 
 and we would see each, other alone, as wisdom in- 
 spired, and that is what would tempt me. But the 
 bare thought of a ' London Season ' gives me a 
 nervous fear in my present state which exceeds the 
 usual license, even of the ' irritability of genius ' ! 
 Figure to yourself that the first question my doctor 
 asks is, always, ' How is your temper ? ' . . So it 
 would not be good for me, even to try me in that 
 way. It has been the one fortunate chance in my 
 lot to be knocked about — and nobody to think me 
 even an addition to a tea-party ! I have not sense 
 enough. And I would be sorry to be thrown on such 
 a precarious resource — it would be worse than a 
 railway dividend ! No, we will have a cottage 
 together, sometime, up in the wilds of Scotland, or 
 else I will go to — where ? I won't tell you. I send 
 you a tale to make this letter worth postage. It is 
 Gospel ! . . . . Believe me ! 
 
 [Fragment.] 
 
 LETTER 92. 
 [Fragment, ascribed to 1849.] 
 
 Truly it is a time when one can neither breathe nor 
 hope ! I am very miserable about you. I can say 
 nothing and do nothing ; only it wiU not be for long. 
 I expect firmly that such great things are close at 
 hand as wiU take away all thought or feeling of one's 
 own affairs. No matter how close it is. A woman, a 
 
MISS JEWSBUBY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 335 
 
 plain, natural person, the wife of a provision-dealer, 
 so not at all likely to have any philosophy, said to me 
 lately, " I do not expect to have as much pleasure 
 and comfort in my life as I have had. I expect the 
 events that are coming upon the world — war, and 
 cholera, and such-like — will change all our prospects, 
 and leave us no time to think of comfort. I shall not 
 dream of saving money for our child — he will never 
 want it ! ' This was said quite calmly, and as an 
 ordinary observation, and it is a great comfort that 
 one need not feel smothered up by one's own per- 
 sonalities — that they wiU be broken up by things of 
 greater importance. Cobden was at Mrs. 's yes- 
 terday, looking very sleek and comfortable. There 
 was a certain self-complacent common-sense about 
 him, repudiating everything that could not be seen, 
 measured, and the probabilities thereof calculated hke 
 a trade speculation ; and the entire absence of all 
 rehgious ideahty gave the idea of a want of sagacity. 
 He was speaking of the excitement caused in Scotland 
 
 by the affair of Miss , and he gave an amusing 
 
 account of a demonstration in her behalf, in which 
 Government was memori^ised to go to war to deliver 
 her, if need were, and which was held just under- 
 neath the committee-room of the Peace Conference. 
 It was breaking up as he was leaving his committee, 
 and he said he could not help laughing at the fierce 
 looks of the ladies, with their lips compressed, and 
 
336 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 looking ' daggers ' and ' needles ' ; and, as he said, 
 ' Only fancy how the Grand Duke would fare if he 
 fell into the hands of those gentle Christians ! ' I am 
 reading the life of Margaret Fuller d'Ossoli.^ It has 
 deeply interested me, and yet it is one of the most 
 oppressive and painful books I have read for this long 
 while. AU that intense self-culture and self-produc- 
 tion does not seem healthy, somehow ; and aU that 
 deference and admiration must have been very bad 
 for anybody. But it also makes me feel very much 
 ashamed of myself when I compare my own self and 
 my own attainments with her's. I remember you 
 did not Hke her when you first saw her, but thought 
 better of her after. Do teU me something of her, 
 and will you let me see the letter she wrote you from 
 Paris ? I don't know how it is, I never either talk or 
 think of the great things she seems to have had her 
 thoughts filled with. But she must have been a noble 
 creature, and I wish I had known her. By the way, 
 I heard tidings of poor - — ^ — the other day. He had 
 risen high in the Egyptian service — received the rank 
 of Bey, was Governor of Suez, and director of the 
 railway begun at Alexandria, and — for a word mis- 
 understood in one of his written despatches — he has 
 been brutally degraded, and deprived of aU he had, 
 and he is now on his way to France, there to find 
 some employment and begin the world over again. 
 
 > The Countess d'Ossoli (born Margaret FiiUer), Emerson's friend. 
 —A. E. I. 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CAELYLE 337 
 
 His daughter, by his first wife, will, of course, remain 
 with her mother ! His present wife comes to Europe 
 with him. I have heard no particulars of his life, nor 
 how that marriage has turned out. It was in a short 
 
 note from I heard all this. Oh, my dear, if you 
 
 and I are drowned, or die, what would become of us 
 if any superior person were to go and write our ' life 
 and errors ' ? What a precious mess a ' truthful per- 
 son ' would go and make of us, and how very difierent 
 to what we really are or were ! 
 
 But for pitj^'s sake take care of your letters. I 
 have burned all those of yours which could be mis- 
 understood, and I don't think a rummage amongst my 
 papers would return any significant result — except one 
 series, that I must burn when I can summon resolu- 
 tion. If anything should happen to me suddenly, 
 
 will you write ^nd ask . ■ for a box done up in 
 
 brown paper ? If anything happens to you first, 
 
 will deal with its contents ! They are all the 
 
 reserves ' I have in the world, but I hope I am not 
 going to die, but to live to see the end of all the great 
 things that are coming to pass in the world, and you 
 must try to live too. The next few years wiU be 
 worth seeing ! . . . . 
 
 [Disooimeoted.] 
 
 ... I did not desire to do it, or anything like it, 
 but when once done I think it may stand. There is a 
 sense of relief and comfort inexpressible, like nothing 
 
 z 
 
338 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 else I could think of; and if I am long without 
 writing, I get morbid and miserable. So you see, it 
 is rather a good look-out if only I can find work. I 
 shall get you to help me read the novels. Oh, my 
 good gracious, such unutterable trash as some of them 
 are ! I began to get quite ashamed of spending so 
 much life and strength in nothing better than slowly 
 writing one, but one day last week there came ' Hide 
 and Seek,' hj Wilkie CoUins. Get it and read it ; it 
 is the most lovely story I ever remember to have 
 read ! It left me feeling inclined to pitch every sheet 
 I had written of my own into the fire ! Eeally and 
 truly, I felt that is what my own tale deserved, 
 though I could not afibrd to do it. Please get 
 ' Hide and Seek ' ! I don't know whether I did most 
 laughing or crying over it. It is so pretty, and so 
 healthy in its nature ! I am sure Wilkie Collins 
 must be a good man, though he did once write that 
 atrocious ' Basil.' Please remember that my chapters, 
 sent to-day, are to come after the last. It is sup- 
 posed has been in London, and is begin- 
 ning to fall in love with her. I have sent the rest 
 
 by Miss , who is going to-night ; so I finish this 
 
 letter for the postman, who has just come. You will 
 understand, I hope, how it is I had not finished when 
 my friend Miss had to start. God bless you ! 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JAJSte WELSH CARLYLE 339 
 
 LETTER 93. 
 [Fragment, ascribed to 1849.] 
 I begin to understand more and to judge less 
 than formerly. Can you not come to us for a while ? 
 You shall be free here, and you know you can do 
 what you will. It seems to me that it would be a 
 first step towards remodelling your life, for you can- 
 not go on as you are. I shall have my own room to 
 work in^for work I must — and you can have the 
 drawing room, and shall see me when you like, and 
 be alone when you like, and nobody shall worry you. 
 Consider me and my position in your hand, to use if 
 you can. I say nothing of the good you would do 
 me, nor the comfort you would be to me, because that 
 is no motive for taking an extraordinary step such as 
 leaving home just as you have returned ; but if it 
 would be an inducement, it is a fact that it would be 
 a real blessing to me. We have been estranged so 
 long that I want now to have some communion with 
 you, and who knows how long we may live ? Do 
 not let us kill an opportunity. I think in the present 
 state of matters coming here would be a wise thing. 
 I am ill and I need you. Give any colour you like 
 to give, if colour it need beyond your simple will ; 
 in fact, it matters not, only come. . . . 
 
 [Disconnected.] 
 
 z 2 
 
340 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 Mr. Neuberg ^ has been here. I hke that man 
 immensely, there is such a well of loving-kindness in 
 him. He called just now. But, instead of coming 
 early, when I was alone and could have talked to 
 him, he went to church, and called when I was in 
 
 the midst of this letter, and was sitting by. 
 
 I could say nothing, and it was a stiff visit. . . . 
 
 [Disconnected.] 
 
 Mr. Neuberg will call on you very soon. He wiU 
 be in London ' en route ' for Germany. I am quite 
 annoyed at the idea of all the spiteful, running-down 
 things he will hear of to-night. My hope is that 
 
 went to Seaforth yesterday, and so did not get 
 
 his note. is delighted at your letter. He has 
 
 a very bad cold, which will nip his projects for this 
 winter, I fancy ; but he is in a better fashion than 
 he was. . . . 
 
 [Disconnected.] 
 
 LETTER 94. 
 
 [Fragment, date tmcertain, 1848 or 1849.] 
 
 Friday. 
 
 Dearest Jane, — I want to talk to you, and writing 
 is a very cumbrous process in place of that same. 
 I was delighted to get a letter from you, which I was 
 wanting more than enough ; and only to think, that 
 
 ' An intimate friend of the Carlyle's. 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE WELSII CARLYLE 841 
 
 the Queen giving a musical party should be the re- 
 mote means of getting it for me ! I cannot help 
 thinking you are better, in spite of the headache. 
 
 You are in a good atmosphere, and Lady is in 
 
 every way just the person for you to be with. She 
 always knows what she is about, seemingly, and has 
 attained a wonderful degree of practical wisdom in 
 arranging her daily life, and it must be very pleasant 
 to sail in her current. What you say of her reminds 
 me of Alfred Tennyson's lines — 
 
 And the stately ship sails on 
 To her haven under the hill. 
 
 But how thankfully we would all of us sail if we were 
 under a hand strong enough to guide us. Women 
 have so much docility, and yet we get no real teach- 
 ing, no guidance, but what we make for ourselves. 
 We are not, like men, in a position to know things, 
 so we make a sort of ' cup and ball ' and ' hit or 
 miss ' of our lives. I used to think that what was 
 wise for men was the same for women. I had no 
 notion of any difference between them, except in 
 degree, but I am beginning to think I was mistaken. 
 However, at this present we are neither one thing nor 
 another, but I hope and beheve that in a generation 
 or two, women will be very different to what they 
 have ever been yet. Instead of being born and 
 educated, and having their manners and characters 
 
342 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 flavoured with certain qualities, or shadows of 
 qualities, just to the point which may make them 
 fancied as wives (for the tendency of all the training 
 they get is just adapted to the prevailing fancy of 
 'men — a, strong taste of housewifery in one generation, 
 a dash of delicate ' feminine ' stupidity in another, a 
 gentle flavour of religion, as a sort of ornamental 
 ring-fence to their virtue, and so on, not for the 
 saving of their own souls, for they must not come it 
 too strong) — to-day they may have a small, graceful 
 tint of learning, and if married — the least touch in 
 the world of abstract ' George Sandism,' but not to 
 come within a mile of the practical. You under- 
 stand ! . . . 
 
 [Fragment.] 
 
 LETTER 95. 
 [Undated, beyond Wednesday night, 1849.] 
 
 Dearest Jane, — First to answer your questions. 
 I have taught my servant to mend the table linen, 
 and benevolent friends make my 'little things,' 
 so I shall have leisure to see to my petticoats, 
 and even those ' Mary Barton ' has begged me out 
 of charity to give her for one of her ' protegees ' 
 to make, whom she wants to find work for. So 
 you see my good deeds are very vicarious ! I think 
 doing good to poor people is a somewhat ques- 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 343 
 
 tionable employment. Only this was such a spon- 
 taneous motion of pity for them that I did not like 
 to quench my ' smoking flax,' and I actually went out 
 on the spur of the moment, though it was raining 
 genuine ' cats and dogs,' to stir up the clergyman's 
 wife to make a sewing-meeting of two hours a week 
 of the industrious members of the congregation. But 
 that did not suit, so I was left to the exercise of my 
 private benevolence and such help as I could get. I 
 had a great bundle of print sent me the other day 
 to make frocks and bed-gowns. I wish you were 
 
 here to help me. Mr. sent me such a nice 
 
 letter this morning, which I took very kind of him. 
 
 is gone to meet , , and all the family, 
 
 at the railway, and a precious cold he will catch 
 for his pains. I wish they were staying away still 
 longer. My head is somewhat better. I don't forget 
 common care of myself so outrageously as I did 
 some little while since. StiU I am very good-for- 
 nothing, though all has been set to rights, and I am, 
 besides, very careful in my diet and so forth — this 
 is aU very stupid stuff to tell you, but I am up to 
 
 nothing better. I had a letter from the other 
 
 day, very kind and affectionate, but full of foreboding 
 and misery. That man keeps taking fits of intro- 
 spection, and, of course, like a true man, makes her 
 bear the burden of his remorse. And when she quoted 
 something you and I had said to her by way of trying 
 
344 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 to comfort her, he only rolled his eyes, and declared 
 that we did not know right from wrong. I call that 
 cool. What is to become of her ? I feel as if a volcano 
 must burst some day soon and blow her — ^where? 
 He won't be any comfort to her in that ' dies ir^, dies 
 iUa.' The last time I saw him has given me a greater 
 distaste to him than ever, in spite of all my efforts to 
 be gracious and my penitence for having abused him. 
 
 He left a bad taste in my mind. Mr. gives a 
 
 very good account of you. Is it real or only what 
 strangers see ? I am dreadfully anxious about you, 
 but I have great faith in my mesmeric sense, and I 
 feel as if you were just now tolerably calm; only, it is 
 but a lull, and the real cause of anxiety remains. I 
 am hoping for a letter very soon. Dear child, the 
 solution wiU come to you, never fear. You will not 
 be abandoned nor left altogether in darkness. Light 
 will come to you when you least expect it. Do let 
 me hear from you. I don't like bothering you with 
 questions, but you know aU I want to hear. How 
 do you go on ? Only think what lies before me ! A 
 misguided cousin of mine has written a novel to 
 illustrate the laws of ' entail and primogeniture ' : and 
 has sent to say she wants to visit me for a few days, 
 and obtain my opinion, and that of some other com- 
 petent person. She is going to publish it at her own 
 expense. Have her I must, but it is a real penance. 
 Doing good to poor people is nothing of a good deed, 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH OARLYLE 345 
 
 and yet it sounds like one. This costs twenty times 
 the true virtue, and goes for nothing. So much for 
 
 appearances and names of things. was here 
 
 to-day. Did you get that scrap from one of his 
 notes, in which he declares that if you wiU come 
 here he will take lodgings in Greenheys to hear you 
 talk ? God bless you, dear love. 
 
 Your affectionate 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 LETTER 96. 
 
 [Undated— 1849 ?] 
 
 (About women and the Corn Law League.) 
 
 Sunday. 
 
 Dearest Jane, — I have been ' looking, and better 
 looking ' ^ for a letter from you all the week, and won- 
 dering what could have befallen you. This morn- 
 ing the postman came before I was out of bed, and 
 brought your letter, which makes me fancy you are 
 better, and that makes me more comfortable without 
 any fancy at all! But, my dear, I am in a real 
 fright ; my eyes (confound them !) are threatening 
 just as they began before. I can see to do nothing by 
 candle-light, and not too much by daylight. I hope 
 they will be stopped in time, but this damp weather 
 is against me. I was so sick of my doctor last time, 
 that I could not find either faith or patience to begin 
 again with him, and I have a sort of Faust's revela- 
 
 ^ A Scotch expression, meaning ' looking and looking again.' — A. E. I. 
 
346 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 tion, and on the strength of it set off to a lady, a 
 very clever woman of my acquaintance who is wild 
 after homoeopathy. She has got a book and a medi- 
 cine-chest, and doctors herself and her friends with 
 great zeal. She looked at me, and read in her book, 
 and finally brought out a little box the size and shape 
 of a tiny tea-caddy, all fuU of miraculous-looking 
 little bottles filled with what seemed pure water, but 
 they were aU deadly essences. She mixed me two 
 drops of one in a phial of water ; so now I am taking 
 an infinitesimal dose of belladonna. Whether it is 
 for good or harm I don't know, but it affects me 
 very uncomfortably, and my eyes are rather worse 
 to-day, but I do expect it wiU do me good. She 
 promised to come and see me to-morrow, however. 
 Meanwhile the medicine affects my head, and I am 
 as limp, and washed out, and miserable to-day as 
 anyone could wish me to be ; it is a foggy, drizzling 
 day, and I am neither dead nor alive. And I am 
 vowed not to touch either tea or coffee, nor anything 
 more comfortable than milk-and-water, which is 
 very nasty, and I am cross. ye gods ! how cross ! 
 
 was in dismay with me, thinking me gone mad, 
 
 yesterday, and made a most touching admission that 
 ' being a missis I might say what I pleased.' But 
 only fancy, my dear, the vexation of being able to do 
 nothing but shut my eyes the minute the candles 
 come ; but, en revanche, I sleep ! Well, now, here I 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE WELSH CAELYLE 347 
 
 am, inflicting complaints on you as if you were my 
 doctor, and God knows the poor man got plenty! 
 But to talk of something else (now I have said my 
 say). Well, perhaps, we are better off now than 
 they used to be in old Greek times, when it was only 
 slaves who were taught anything. God knows they 
 are very uncomfortable, that's certain, but I believe 
 we are touching on better days, when women will 
 have a genuine, normal life of their own to lead. 
 There, perhaps, will not be so many marriages, and 
 women will be taught not to feel their destiny manque 
 if they remain single. They will be able to be friends 
 and companions in a way they cannot be now. All 
 the strength of their feelings and thoughts will not 
 run into love ; they wiU be able to associate with 
 men, and make friends of them, without being reduced 
 by their position to see them as lovers or husbands. 
 Instead of having appearances to attend to, they will 
 be allowed to have their virtues, in sjiy measure 
 which it may please God to send, without being di- 
 luted down to the tepid ' rectified spirit ' of ' feminine 
 grace ' and ' womanly timidity ' — in short, they will 
 make themselves women, as men are allowed to make 
 themselves men. I think matters are tending to this, 
 and I think that to this, in spite of that dreadful Mrs. 
 
 , they will come before long ; not in the present 
 
 ' rising generation,' but in the one after. Except 
 when my health is out of order, I do not feel that 
 
348 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FEOM 
 
 either you or I are to be called failures. We are 
 indications of a development of womanhood which 
 as yet is not recognised. It has, so far, no ready- 
 made channels to run in, but stiU we have looked, 
 and tried, and found that the present rules for women 
 will not hold us — that something better and stronger 
 is needed. ' And as for us, individually, women a 
 thousand times commoner, both in intellect and aspira- 
 tions after doing right, may have made something 
 apparently better out of their lives — still, I would 
 prefer my own imperfect' accomphshment. There 
 are women to come after us, who will approach nearer 
 the fulness of the measure of the stature of a woman's 
 nature. I regard myself as a mere faint indication, 
 a rudiment of the idea, of certain higher qualities and 
 possibilities that lie in women, and aU the eccen- 
 tricities and mistakes and miseries and absurdities I 
 have made are only the consequences of an imperfect 
 formation, an immature growth. Where I am not 
 wiser than the general run of women I am a much 
 greater fool, and when I do not succeed in doing 
 better than they, I do infinitely worse, and that is the 
 general occurrence, helas ! But wiU you lay your 
 hand on your heart, and say that, in your ' fifteen 
 years' long illness,' as you call your life, you have not 
 both felt and shown qualities infinitely higher and 
 nobler than all the ' Mrs. EUis-code' can dream of? 
 You know you have. If you consider yourself as the 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 349 
 
 ' be-all and the end-all ' of what a superior woman 
 can be, the balance of actual respectable facts might 
 perchance be on the other side, but the power and 
 possibility is with you, and it is that which is to 
 be looked to. A ' Mrs. Ellis ' woman is developed 
 to the extreme of her little possibility ; but I can see 
 there is a precious mine of a species of womanhood 
 yet undreamed of by the professors and essayists on 
 female education, and I believe also that we belong 
 , to it. So there is a modest climax! I fear I shall 
 never be available to any actual purposes except ' to 
 point a moral and adorn a tale,' and even of that I 
 feel dubious. I don't know what has possessed me 
 to give you the benefit of this long ' settle,' except 
 that your letter suggested it. Talking of practical 
 matters, my bedroom is done (aU but some of the 
 hangings, for which the stuff has had to be made to 
 match, and has not come home), and you must have 
 yearned after a pretty bedroom all your life before 
 you can understand the pleasure of getting it. I 
 hope you will come and sleep in it some time. It 
 will be such a nice room to write in. My visitor has 
 not come. She is detained in Dublin, which will cut 
 down her stay to a very short space. I must tell you 
 a story. The other night the Lord-Lieutenant went 
 in state to the theatre. Something had put the 
 audience out of humour, or they were in an excited 
 state, or something, but they began to give vent to 
 
3-50 SELECTIONS OF LETTEES FROM 
 
 their feelings by calling out for ' three cheers ' to 
 different people, pit and gallery taking it in turns. 
 After three cheers for ' O'Connell,' the others insisted 
 
 on three for ' Lord ,' and then began a dreadful 
 
 row, all the noises possible for inhumanity to make. 
 At last they grew more and more uproarious, and 
 they were proceeding to tear up the benches when 
 one fellow, seeing that he was likely in this way to 
 lose his shilling's worth of the play, shouted at the 
 top of his voice, during a momentary lull, ' Boys, 
 three cheers for the Devil, entirely ! ' They were 
 given, and peace was restored. That is quite true — 
 gospel! By-the-way, talking of the Devil, do you 
 
 remember ages ago that I wrote an article for , 
 
 which he rejected with ignominious disdain. Well, 
 then, I wrote it over again, and Carlyle was at the 
 pains of sending it to ' Fraser,' as you told him to, 
 who would not have it, but refused it in its amended 
 state just as much. Well, it lay tossing about for a 
 full twelvemonth, when I took it in hand once more, 
 wrote it over again, and sent it to Douglas Jerrold, by 
 v/ay of calming down the little one that went with it. 
 And lo ! when the Magazine came yesterday, the 
 first thing I saw was my poor little thing, flourishing 
 in good legible print. I was quite pleased to see it. 
 Whether it was that I had such trouble with it, or 
 whether I was glad of my own way at last, I don't 
 know ; but I fancied it read very decently. I have 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 351 
 
 not heard from for a long while. She has been 
 
 to Manchester, but did not come near me. I spent 
 last Monday with the Smiths. He — Mr. J. B. Smith 
 — was one of the originators of the ' League.' He 
 brought the first resolution for repeal of the Corn 
 Laws, twenty years ago, before the Chamber of Com- 
 merce in Manchester, and could get no one to second 
 it, tiU at last one man did for the sake of discussion, 
 and was horrified when he found Mr. Smith was in 
 earnest. After a while Cobden joined, and about five 
 of them kept fighting to get a petition sent to Parlia- 
 ment ; and there was such difBculty to get it agreed 
 to, and such little trembling resolutions proposed ! I 
 think he said they were three years before they could 
 get the petition sent. My word, to hear him talk ! 
 It gave me some notion of what perseverance means. 
 He afterwards was secretary to the League. He is a 
 little wizened, uninteresting-looking man ; gives no 
 idea of any sort of what you call either greatness or 
 cleverness, but he was so in earnest. They all speak 
 of Cobden as a sort of martyr ; they say he has ruined 
 his health, and made all sorts of sacrifices, injuring 
 his worldly affairs terribly. His house was doing in- 
 finitely more business ten years ago than it is now ; it 
 has dwindled down, and everybody who knows him 
 speaks of his modesty and disinterestedness. There 
 
 was another man. Alderman , at dinner, remarkable 
 
 here for having been an ' ultra-Liberal ' when Liberals 
 
352 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 were only thought fit to send to prison. A very un- 
 interesting man — tyrannical I am certain, for I felt as 
 if sitting beside a thumb-screw. But he has done good 
 work, and is now recognised as a respectable man ; 
 andijlj was curious to meet a man who could talk of 
 Hone and Godwin, and all those people. He knew 
 them, and he has spent money on his principles, so 
 now he proses like a Patriarch. This is a letter and 
 a-half. Write to me very soon. 
 
 Ever your own 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH OARLYLE 353 
 
 1850. 
 
 LETTER 97. 
 
 New Year's Day, January, 1850. 
 
 ' Angry ? ' No ! but uneasy. Yet, what is the 
 matter ? If it be your head, dear child, I wish you 
 would do something besides bearing it. Your head- 
 aches signify more than pain, though that is bad 
 enough. I wish you would consult Elliotson ' — not 
 to take his medicine, but to know what is the real 
 matter with you. I beheve he is the cleverest man 
 in the world for seeing into the depth of people's 
 aihnents, though his treatment is too strong for 
 human weakness. Anyway, there must be something 
 that can be done for you. Do not write till you are 
 quite able to do it without difficulty, least of all to 
 me, who know so well what it is to try to write 
 under such circumstances. I wish you would come 
 down here for a spell. I have not been so well ; I 
 feel as if I were all falling to pieces — as if my body 
 had no substance to oppose to the ' wear and tear ' 
 of life. How nice it must be to feel hard and firm 
 and well ! Only figure to yourself that I was out at 
 
 ^ Dr. Elliotson, the mesmerist. 
 
 A A 
 
354 SELECTIONS OF LETTEES FKOM 
 
 two parties last night ; one was a gathering at Mrs. 
 Schwabe's for her ' Christmas Tree,' or rather, ' New 
 Year's Eve Tree,' which was a superb affair, and, as 
 
 your poor used to say, ' so expensive.' The 
 
 guests were chiefly children and family connections ; I 
 was nearly the only aUen. The presents were a show, 
 and the whole room looked just like the dwelling of a 
 ' good fairy,' while to see the delight of the children 
 and the zeal with which, after seizing their gifts, 
 they fell to plundering the tree of its gilt apples and 
 bonbons, was charming. There were little tiny fairies, 
 workboxes with gold fittings, ball-dresses, shawls, 
 cloaks, brooches, &c., for the elder ones, and books, 
 pictures, mats, puzzles, dolls, toys of every descrip- 
 tion, for the younger ones, but all so beautiful. The 
 room was dazzling with light, and it was altogether 
 the prettiest sight I ever saw. The tree bore for me 
 a ' polka '-jacket to wear in the house — grey tweed, 
 trimmed with blue, and lined with blue quilted silk 
 
 — quite charming. Mrs. gave me an adorable 
 
 chatelaine, full of everything that is possible or 
 impossible in steel-work from a whistle down to a 
 corkscrew. I go clanking about in it, like a ghost in 
 a pantomime, and it is the envy of all beholders. 
 
 After being at the ' Tree ' I adjourned to 's, who 
 
 was giving a grand ball in honour of Mr. and Mrs. 
 
 ; it was like a magic-lantern, all the people 
 
 seemed bright phantoms . . . As to people who 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CAKLYLE 355 
 
 have come to be of any importance and who keep a 
 court, I can fancy that Lady finds it a great com- 
 fort to have somebody who can stand on her own basis 
 and be a real person for her. By the way, I need 
 your feminine counsel on a most momentous point — 
 essential, indeed, not to my existence exactly, but to 
 my appearance, which is of the next consequence. 
 I want to know what sort of a dress you would 
 counsel me to get in case of evening parties. I am 
 pretty well off for heavy dresses, having a velvet and 
 two silk ones — one quite new and the other quite 
 good. But I have not forgotten aU. the plague you had 
 going with me to Howell & James's to choose a decent 
 
 gown for Mrs. 's party,, and I don't want to have 
 
 any bother of that sort, and I am such a cold, shivering 
 wretch that I have a dread of light, elegant material. 
 So, my dear, please counsel me, for you always dress 
 yourself well without seeming to think of it, which, I 
 take it, is the ne plus ultra of success. It would be 
 such a comfort if anyone would just give me out 
 my dresses, and I might put them on without further 
 responsibility. Now, finally, good-bye. I have said 
 all I have the sense to say to-day, and I must go to 
 town. I hope ' Nero ' ^ is quite well. My best regards 
 to him. He does not know me, but I had once a brief 
 
 interview with him in 's warehouse. is 
 
 very poorly, poor feUow, and when people are 
 
 1 Mrs. Carlyle's little dog. 
 
 A A 2 
 
356 SELECTIONS OF LETTEES FKOM 
 
 ' poorly ' I have got to think it is only another name 
 for being worried. 
 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 P.S. — It was not the baby, as I supposed, that 
 Lewes has lost, but a beautiful child beginning to 
 walk, and which he used to rave about to me. What 
 do you think of his paper ? I am glad it is afloat . . . 
 When ordinary mortals are placed in that queen-hke 
 position,^ it is a great deal if they can keep their 
 human nature ; they grow demoralised by living 
 with courtiers who give way to them, and it is a 
 great misfortune to lose the tread of the firm earth 
 beneath their feet. Even on such high social levels 
 there may be rough places and a great deal of un- 
 pleasant friction, and the attraction of gravitation, 
 to contend against ; and when I see people in her 
 position or in yours — for you have one in your own 
 way — ^I always feel a certain wonder at them for 
 being so reasonable and keeping themselves together 
 as they do. I know that I should be good for nothing 
 but to be cast into the fire to be burned very soon. 
 It is very easy for people to live moderately — easy, 
 I mean, when they are knocked about and nobody 
 cares whether they are vexed or pleased; in fact, 
 when they are made of no consequence, and have to 
 
 1 The allusion is probably to Lady Ashburton. 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 357 
 
 live on the daily bread of good-wiU and what good- 
 nature they can excite. But it is very, very different 
 — with you and with her! . . . 
 
 LETTER 98. 
 
 (Postmark, January 17, 1850.) 
 
 Dearest Jane, — I wrote you a note yesterday 
 when I was so stunned that 1 hardly knew what I 
 did. Only I wanted to speak to you at all events ; so 
 I don't know whether you would be able to make out 
 anything. I am better this morning, only still my 
 head feels like a jelly, and I am so trembling and 
 weak I can hardly hold myself upright. But that is 
 a very natural result of yesterday. It seemed as 
 if the Devil kept sending people to see me whom I 
 could not refuse to see, and every word I spoke sent 
 the blood up and down like quicksilver. However, 
 I got to bed soon after seven, have had a great 
 deal of sleep, and am quite rational this morning, 
 only shaken! I don't want to swindle you out of 
 any sympathy. I don't think I need it. It seems 
 to me that I have just now done what, if I had had 
 the tenth part of a grain of sense, I ought to have 
 done ten years ago. The more I reflect, the more 
 satisfied I am. That is, all that is rational in me is 
 satisfied ; but then there is so much of one that is not 
 rational, and it is that which suffers. During the inter- 
 
358 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 view of yesterday just showed all the qualities 
 
 which have eaten into our connection. My brother 
 Frank once had a magnificent hall-lamp, which had 
 hung in great glory for many years. One Sunday 
 morning it fell down with a crash when nobody was 
 near it, and there was no earthly apparent reason 
 why it should fall then, instead of the year before, 
 or instead of hanging on to all eternity. But when 
 they came to look into the matter, it was discovered 
 that the chains which suspended it had been eaten 
 into with rust, so, though they looked still to be aU 
 right, they were in reality as thin as brown paper, 
 and fell because the little imperceptible, but too 
 needful, links had been worn away. 
 
 I could not help thinking of this yesterday. In 
 
 the first part of the interview seemed possessed 
 
 by a devil. Every little thing I had ever told her or 
 confided to her in the course of our intimacy she 
 set up in battle array, to prove that it was all pure 
 chance ! I was not as she is. Then she showed me 
 voluntarily how cruelly reckless she had been in her 
 assertions about me to her own family, and the hor- 
 rible meaning they had quite coolly and calmly 
 attached to her statements, which they had repeated 
 that very morning to her. She said, ' Oh, I only just 
 said " so-and-so," and they went and thought all that. 
 
 I never saw such people as those . It was no 
 
 more than I have said about my own sister, but I 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH OARLYLE 359 
 
 have been battling for jon only this morning.' I tried, 
 but could not make her feel where she was wrong. 
 She seems destitute of all faculty of apprehension. 
 She stuck in httle incidental details, and ^seemed to 
 think that if she could excuse herself by a ' flaw in 
 the indictment' she was neither morally wrong, nor 
 was the mischief of the least consequence. Then 
 
 again, when I told her that I had cleared to 
 
 you about that speech imputed to him at , she 
 
 said, 'Well, I did not exactly say that. It was he wha 
 said it. I only made a Jesuitical speech, and said 
 that if he had said one thing he would say another, 
 and that very likely it was he ; but then, of course, 
 any woman has a right to clear her " Plato.'" And all 
 this without the least glimmering of an idea of the 
 ultimate and natural_efiect of such conduct when per- 
 sisted in. I was obhged, when pressed for a definite 
 
 reason, to pronounce my detestation of , but that 
 
 connection is only the fruit which the tree hath borne 
 after its time. I might very likely have done better. 
 I might and ought to have made more energetic efforts 
 from the beginning against the rash and unscru- 
 pulous surmisings — reckless assertions never followed 
 up by honest belief or disbelief, but left to hang in 
 the wind like corpses on a gibbet, infecting the air. 
 It has been weak, wrong, and foolish in me to stand 
 by so long without awakening to a sense of what was 
 right — commonly right, to say nothing of the stupidity 
 
360 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 of it. I am humiliated when I think how slow I have 
 been to awaken to any moral perception. I have let 
 myself be blinded by my liking for her, and by the 
 pleasure I found in the place. When, however, it came 
 to the last — when the coach came, and she had to go 
 — then she showed herself very good and really noble. 
 It took away all bitterness and anger from me. She 
 showed that part of her character which had held me 
 to her so long. She cried bitterly, and said everything 
 she could think of, not to shake my resolution, but to 
 prevent my feeling any remorse for it ; and of her own 
 accord she said, ' I think better of you than ever. I 
 care for you more than ever. We have not quarrelled, 
 we have only separated. I will never speak of you at 
 all to those people, but I shall think of you as we have 
 been for eighteen years.' Eemember how mortifying 
 to aU feelings of human nature it must have been for 
 me to leave her as I have done. All her amour propre 
 she had to stifle down. When she went away her 
 last words were, ' Some day you will feel how true a 
 friend you have had in me ! ' As far as feehng an 
 attachment to me goes, she is right, but something 
 even higher than that is necessary if a friendship is to 
 last. Attachment is a fine cement, but it is not the 
 hewn stone and foundation of rock. You may fancy 
 the state I was left in, but if it were to be done again, 
 I should only regret that I had not taken the same 
 course ten years earlier. I am very glad you took 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH OAELYLE 361 
 
 the course you did in the affair. Explanations 
 
 would have been' worse than useless; and besides, 
 after the specimen I had yesterday of the monstrous 
 growth of unfounded assertions, like the huge tropi- 
 cal fungi, I have no difficulty at all in seeing how 
 that horrible phantasmagoria arose to take all the 
 comfort out of my life for three years. But it would 
 be hke dissecting a ' polypus ' or a ' madrepore ' to 
 enter into explanation with her. I have only one 
 additional trait to tell you, which is that last week, 
 
 when was with me, and ' little 
 
 came over from Stockport, where she has been 
 
 staying, to beg to go back with them express 
 
 to see , whom they both asserted to be ' now a 
 
 truly reformed character, behaved very pro- 
 perly and refused to go, saying it was they who first 
 opened her eyes to his character, and she could not 
 beUeve in his reform without some proof. Now, dear 
 child, do write to me ; everything only makes me 
 more and more thankful that I have got you back. 
 Since Harriet Martineau went to live in the country, 
 I think she is much nicer than when she led the life 
 of a lion, and if you feel moved to write to 
 her cordially, do it by all means. I feel as if I 
 could get a great deal of good out of her, if 
 I saw her much ; but with the limitation neces- 
 sarily imposed it is not feasible. But there is the 
 fine, honest, solid North-country element in her, and 
 
362 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 she really loves you. If you had seen her face when 
 she spoke of you, you would have loved her too. I 
 can write no more to-day. God bless you, dear love, 
 and let us hold very fast to each other. 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 Do write to me. 
 January 17, 1850. 
 
 LETTER 99. 
 
 Saturday (Postmark, March 9, 1850). 
 
 Dearest Jane, — I send you a letter I have just 
 
 received from . I am going to see this 
 
 afternoon ; I am very sorry for her, and it is not now 
 that I can recollect aU the discrepancies in her 
 conduct. I shall not get mixed up again in a Sea- 
 forth quicksand, but this is a case where, even if 
 it were certain pain, I must run the risk. I am 
 very, very unweU, sick, and ill, and good for nothing ; 
 and this letter has upset me more than I can tell 
 
 you ; there is nothing but trouble going on. 
 
 is in a bad way, but he is going on an expedition 
 for some days, so that I can be spared. As to the 
 ' tale,' I am dreadfully behindhand, but the last two 
 chapters have been written in the midst of rows, 
 and grievances, and family letter-writings of every 
 description ; all this, apparently, a good element for 
 the ' tale ' — but I am nearly dead myself. I can- 
 not write any more, because I must do an hour's 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE WELSH OAELYLE 363 
 
 work at my chapter before I go ; I will write and 
 tell you how I go on with it. Dear ■ — — is very 
 poorly, worse than even I am ; do write to him a nice 
 letter ; he is so good and noble I don't know what 
 we would all do without him. By the way, I agree 
 with you about that tale. But I had to answer the 
 letter Dickens sent me, and I told him I would write 
 him something suitable as soon as I had time ; that, 
 though I never kept my MS. on hand, yet I had 
 written out a little tale which I believed was true ; 
 that it was in your hands, and, if he liked, he might 
 have it ; and that I would ask you to send it on to 
 him, but that I did not think myself it had any 
 recommendation beyond being a ' short story.' Any- 
 way, let him see it, and the Devil may fly away with 
 
 it for me ! s wrote to to know if I would 
 
 write a ' powerful tale ' for them in twelve columns. 
 Perhaps this would be more in his way, but, upon 
 my honour, I am in such a state of reaction against 
 all moral complications that I don't believe that I 
 will meddle with the metaphysics of the Ten Com- 
 mandments any time this side of the Millennium. 
 I am bothered to death with that kind of thing in 
 real life enough just now, and there these things 
 are very great nuisances, whatever they may be in 
 novels. Truly, when it comes to the reality, I find 
 that I have just as much morality and cold-blooded 
 common-sense as if I had never read a French novel 
 
364 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 in my life. I shall try to bring back witli me. 
 
 Oh ! . is a hypocritical scoundrel. He said to me 
 
 he ' trembled to look at what 's future would be 
 
 if she lost him,' and he was all the while only trying 
 to get someone to break her fall. He will be very 
 miserable, and if there be a Devil, he wiU go to 
 him — by right of being the Devil's lawful due. 
 
 Ever your own 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 P.S. — ^Dearest, I have not time to do my letter 
 over again and not virtue enough to burn it, so read 
 it, but read this afterwards as my final directions. I 
 have read your note again when less in a hurry, and 
 I think you are right about the story. So put it into 
 the fire, and tell Dickens you did so by my directions. 
 Just write him a line that he may not be expecting 
 anything from me, and tell him that I am of your 
 persuasion, and will not let myself be tempted, by 
 the chance of its being accepted in some quarter and 
 of being paid for, to publish what I should certainly 
 have been sorry to invent. Do it ! I am off now, and 
 am very nervous at the thought of my errand. . . . 
 
 LETTER 100. 
 
 August 29, 1850. 
 
 Dearest Jane, — I might be you treat me so iU! 
 
 Upon my honour, you are too bad for anything ! When 
 
MISS JEWSBUKY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 365 
 
 I left you you were ill, and all your domestic concerns 
 were in a most unsettled condition, and I don't know 
 that they are any better yet. Do write me a line to 
 say how you go on ! I am alone, and enjoying an hour 
 of quiet, which has not fallen to me since I came 
 
 back. The s went to their lodgings on Monday. 
 
 Poor Mrs. was hardly fit to be removed even 
 
 there, but had been so intolerably disagreeable 
 
 all week that I think she was glad to take him where 
 she could — wife-like — conceal all his errors from 
 the eyes of those who are not bound to put up with 
 them. Upon my honour, it enlarged my idea of 
 English husbands ! He was put out of his way that 
 he could not go to his lodgings the very day he fixed. 
 His wife's iUness made the house rather uncomfort- 
 able to him, because we had to attend to her, and 
 
 so seemed less occupied about him ; and one 
 
 morning gave him strong coffee, and if it had been 
 arsenic he could not have used more antidotes or 
 made more fuss, and of course he vented his temper 
 on his wife. I don't think he knew what an ' emanci- 
 pated woman ' he was showing off to. Was not I 
 glad that I had no husband, whose ill-humours it was 
 my duty to mind ! He said once that a wife's illness 
 made a man insignificant by occupying everybody in 
 the house, and giving them something to do besides 
 attending on himself. I am very poorly with a bad 
 cold, which has fallen partly on my eyes, so you 
 
366 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FEOM 
 
 won't have much, of a letter to-day, and you don't 
 deserve one, either, for that matter ! 
 
 On Saturday I got a parcel from London — ' Alton 
 Locke,' sent me by the ' Athenaeum ' to review. I 
 had a precious letter to say it would be sent if I 
 could say that I had not written it myself. So of 
 course I could say ' No ' with a clear conscience ; but 
 when I came to read it through from end to end I 
 almost felt vain of the compliment, for it is the most 
 striking book I ever read in my life, except your 
 husband's. If you remember, I dipped into it and 
 turned one or two leaves, and said. how coarse it 
 seemed, and we neither of us felt drawn to it. Well 
 then, now I say, begin at the first page and read it 
 through from end to end, don't skip one line, and 
 see if you are not as much excited with it as I was. 
 
 The style is here and there too much like Mr. , 
 
 but that is a small flaw. It is written by Kingsley, 
 of the ' Saints' Tragedy.' I have had my hands full. 
 The article was wanted directly, and I felt ashamed 
 of writing a critique on a work so infinitely superior 
 to anything I could do myself. Do read it, if you 
 have not done so. 
 
 Now good-bye, and Grod bless you. Eegards to 
 ' Nero.' 
 
 Your affectionate 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 367 
 
 LETTER 101. 
 Wednesday night (Postmark, September 6, 1850). 
 
 Dearest Jane, — I begin a letter, though goodness 
 knows if I shall be able to finish it, for I have been 
 very poorly indeed with a feverish cold, and I am still 
 in a queer way, unable to do anything. I went out yes- 
 terday in a coach, and to-day I have had a drive, but 
 I am not yet strong enough to walk. I cannot imagine 
 how two or three days could so pull me down. 
 
 was very kind to me, and nursed me. I really 
 
 like her ! I think she is a good, sterling, sensible 
 woman. What her genius may be I don't know at 
 all, but I think she is a good woman in herself. The 
 only thing is, that, living on her own basis, she has got 
 a habit of taking care of herself, and making use of 
 other people ; that is the worst of women living in the 
 world, and I don't know how they are to help it ! I 
 daresay I should get into the same sort of thing if I 
 had to go about like men, and have nobody but my- 
 self to look to to help me. And is quite 
 
 ready to help others, and to do kind things. But for 
 all that, it is a problem that bothers me — viz., that 
 when women get to be energetic, strong characters, 
 with literary reputations of their own, and live in the 
 world, with business to attend to, they all do get in 
 the habit of making use of people, and of taking care 
 of themselves in a way that is startling! And yet 
 
368 SELECTIONS OF LETTEES FROM 
 
 how are they to help it ? If they are thrown into the 
 world, they must swim for their life. And yet, again, 
 one has a prejudice against anything that looks hke 
 personal calculation in a woman, though, as the 
 Devil knows, they are the greatest schemers on earth. 
 In short, whenever a woman gets to be a personage 
 in any shape, it makes her hard and unwomanly in 
 some point or other, and, as I teU you, I am bothered 
 to explain how it is, or why it is, or how it should be 
 otherwise. Because, if women chance to have genius, 
 they have it, and must do something with it ; and if 
 there is any special saving grace in baptism, as the 
 Bishop of Exeter teaches, then these women of genius 
 ought to be baptised twice over ! It is so hard for 
 them not to fall into affectations of either virtue or 
 vice, or into some ' devilment ' worse still. When 
 women are ' incomprise ' they are miserable, 
 but when they are recognised — their specialty spoils 
 them as women, and I cannot at all reconcile the con- 
 tradictions into anything like a theory. But one 
 
 thing I must say, which is that has a 
 
 good foundation of womanliness in her — a kind, 
 motherly element about her, which is a deal better 
 than all the books or reputation in the world ! But 
 it is odd that she should have been precisely the one 
 to shake my ideas as to the desirableness of a ' dis- 
 tinguished reputation' for a woman — not by anything 
 she has said, but by what I have seen. And yet, I 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 369 
 
 suppose I shall go on -writing books, and all that, and 
 follow the profession of an author, as long as my brain 
 holds good for the work. I wish I had a good 
 husband and a dozen children ! Only the difficulty 
 is that ' women of genius ' require very special 
 husbands — men of noble character, not intellect, but 
 of a character and nature large enough, and strong 
 enough, and wise enough to take in them and their 
 genius too, without cutting it down to suit their own 
 crotchets, or reprobating half their qualities because 
 they don't understand what to do with them, or what 
 they are intended for. And so, as I shall never meet 
 with the special man who could manage me wisely, 
 it is lucky I have met with no one who has claimed 
 
 to do so. By the way, talking of ' special men,' 
 
 read me some of 's letters to her, and I Uke the 
 
 tone of them very much. He must be a very fine 
 man, as well as a very clever one, and I think it is 
 a highly fortunate connection for her, and it is re- 
 putable to death ! She showed me also letters from 
 her brother and her sister, and they seem very nice 
 people ; there is a strong family affection amongst 
 them, which made me think well of them all. I got 
 
 a note from Cairo yesterday, and another from . 
 
 All very kind and very nice, and highly as they 
 should be. But, my dear, hang me if I can under- 
 stand anything about the actualities of life ! I used 
 to think I did, but I am fairly bothered now, and 
 
 B B 
 
370 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 have sat down on the ground, and will go to school 
 to anybody who will teach me to understand them I 
 I have some thought of going to church to see if 
 theology can throw any light on moral problems for 
 me. I am only certain of one thing, which is that I 
 know nothing about the matter. This is a most 
 rambling letter, but I cannot help it. I must go to 
 bed, being sleepy with having been so much in the 
 air, and not being strong yet. I had a most ridicu- 
 lous account to give you of an expedition Mrs. 
 
 and I made to some ' tea-gardens ' here, and aU we 
 saw was that those sort of places in broad daylight 
 have no shine in them. But I am too sleepy to teU 
 you to-night. I want very much to know how your 
 new maiden goes on, and whether you are yet 
 ' delivered out of all your troubles.' Do write to me ! 
 
 was here the other night, and inquired about 
 
 you. He seemed very pleased by my account of the 
 honour and glory of 'JSTero.' When does Carlyle 
 
 come home ? and how is ? Do please write to 
 
 me, just to say how you are ! I will write you a 
 better letter when I can. Now, good-night ! 
 
 Ever your own 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 P.S. — I forgot to tell you that is engaged to 
 
 , and is to be married before long, and that 
 
 is much better. He is so kind to me — ^nothing could be 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH OARLYLE 371 
 
 more thoughtful — and he has promised to take me 
 
 abroad next year. I have not seen Mrs. since I 
 
 came back. It is a fortnight to-night since I left you. 
 
 P.S. — was here the other day, and left 
 
 his best respects for you and Mr. Carlyle. Any 
 news of ? 
 
 LETTER 102. 
 (Postmark, Manchester, October 22, 1850.) 
 
 Dearest Jane, — ^I was just going to write to you 
 at Chelsea on the chance of your being there, as you 
 said your visit would terminate on the 20th. But I 
 am very glad you are stopping to see her Ladyship 
 weU through her cold, because it is a comfort to get 
 some sort of a human hold over a person one likes, 
 and who will keep herself bewitched in the enchanted 
 circle of polite intercourse. Also I felt a grim satis- 
 faction in thinking that Mr. Carlyle would have to be 
 an uncomplaining victim, and go back alone and face 
 his household destiny as best he might. He would 
 feel the want of you without having the satisfaction 
 of fancying himself ill-used, and for your sub- 
 stitute is altogether as good a Nemesis as one would 
 wish to hear of. I hope her Ladyship will keep her 
 cold a little while, and keep you along with it. As to 
 Paris and Mr. Carlyle, you would have no comfort in 
 that arrangement — going in that company, you would 
 be worried and tantalised to death. You would have, 
 
 B B 2 
 
372 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 at least, peace and comfort in your own room, as 
 
 prophesied long ago, and as I firmly expect, 
 
 allowing even more than the ordinary uncertainty of 
 human affairs. ' I wish, indeed, that you would come 
 down here. What is the expense ? Not so much as 
 a new bonnet or mantle. And why should you not 
 spend money on comfort, as well as on visible results — 
 tables, chairs, or carpets ? I am sure it would do you 
 good in every way, and the comfort to me would be 
 beyond aU price ! My brother has said very often how 
 he wished for you, declares that he feels inclined to 
 
 write to beg you to come himself. also wants you, 
 
 and we would do our best to make you well. Do let 
 your impulse carry the day, and come to us. You need 
 not even write an answer yourself. If you drove up 
 in a cab, ' quite promiscuous,' you would find yourself 
 expected, and all ready to receive you. And as to the 
 fare, it really is so little that the diminution of the 
 ' weekly bills ' wiU more than cover it. So do not 
 tremble on the brink, but come. Of course ' Nero * 
 will come with you, and we have no cat to torment 
 him. I was very poorly all last week, but I hope I 
 am getting a little better now. "We had sad news 
 of poor Neukomm^ the other day from Leipzig. 
 He was descending the stairs, when, missing the 
 first step, he rolled down to the bottom. Luckily 
 he had on his hat, or he must have fractured his 
 
 ' The Chevalier. 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 373 
 
 skull. As it was, lie received a deep wound on his 
 forehead, twisted his neck, and crushed his wrist 
 — besides the terrible shock to his whole system. 
 He is confined to bed, but dictated a letter to his 
 mother, from whom the news came to us. Neukomm 
 keeps his gaiety, and says that this scar will give 
 him a martial look, and be equivalent to a decora- 
 tion in these days ! But I am very uneasy about him. 
 At his age such a fall must, according to all the 
 laws of gravitation, have serious, even permanent, 
 results ; and it is such a long time before we can get 
 
 reports of his state, Leipzig being far off. Mr. 
 
 has made me promise to go to London with him to 
 see the Exhibition in May. He will be the best 
 possible person to go through it with, and I have 
 
 undertaken to go and see old Mr. the next time 
 
 I am in town. But the secret motive of my wanting 
 
 to go to London so soon is to see you ! As to , 
 
 she seems fast relapsing into a nebulous body. I 
 answered her letter at once, for, as I have no cause 
 against her, it had to be done, and I calculated that 
 doing it soon would give an indifferent letter a virtue 
 not its own ! So I wrote, and kept it to ' still-life,' 
 
 and made no inquiry after ; not but what I should 
 
 hke to hear, but because I did not choose to be open- 
 ing a channel of communication. Every day I feel 
 more and more thankful to have got away from 
 Seaforth. Instead of any relenting, I only feel wonder 
 
374 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 at my own want of instinct in not breaking away 
 sooner, and I feel that is become so like a jelly- 
 fish that one can keep no hold on her. The whole 
 connection has come to an end by the natural law of 
 
 dissolution, as opposed to the laws of cohesion. , 
 
 however, wrote me an answer by return of post, and 
 there our correspondence will remain ' high and dry ' 
 — not from any want of good-wiU, but just because 
 she has got decomposed, and there is nothing left to 
 lay hold of. My brother is reading me, at this moment, 
 elaborate speculations on the ' nebular theory ' and 
 the formation of the solar system, and you may fancy 
 what a confusion it makes in my ideas. I have to 
 give my attention to ' satellites being detached from 
 their primaries,' and I am writing by candle-light, 
 and my eyes are complaining! I had many other 
 things to say, but they must stand over. I will write 
 again very soon. My brother sends his love. God 
 bless you, dear child, and send you here ! 
 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 I wrote to to tell him again about the 
 
 papers being sent you. Mr. Scott ^ is elected Principal 
 to the Kew College here. 
 
 ' The late Principal Scott, once ' co-pastor,' or assistant-pastor, with 
 Edward Irving, and, later on, one of the bright and shining lights of 
 the Owens College, since named ' The Victoria University ' of Man- 
 chester.' — ^A. E. I. 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE "WELSH CARLYLE 375 
 
 LETTER 103. 
 Tuesday (Postmark, October 30, 1850). 
 
 Dearest Jane, — I wrote you a letter on Sunday ; 
 but I was in a very bad way, and the letter was more 
 than stupid, so I begin another. I was very anxious 
 when I wrote, but things have cleared up. I want 
 very mlich to know how you are now you are at 
 home again, how your new maid ' shapes ' to her 
 work, but, above all, how you yourself are in every 
 way. Do write to me, if it be only a line just to tell 
 me. I think of you a great deal, and I am still 
 hoping to see you arrive down here. As to me, 
 I am not nearly so well as I was ; I am again be- 
 ginning to feel that weight in my head which con- 
 demns me to a state of oppressed stupidity. It is 
 caused by these heavy fogs and damp days. When 
 a bit of frost comes I am as brisk as a bee, but 
 
 Mr. says Gfeenheys is too heavy for me, and I 
 
 am sure it is too damp for my brother. I read a 
 book the other day trying to prove that women live 
 upon air — that is, that the air they breathe has 
 much more influence over them than the food they 
 eat. "We are on the look-out for a new house, and 
 we have seen one that I want very much. Whether 
 I shall get it is another afiair, and a question. I 
 would almost sooner have your sickness than this 
 constant oppression, which is as if somebody had put 
 
376 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 their hand on a spring and kept me down. The chief 
 news I have to tell you is about myself, that I have 
 found a good mantua-maker, and that she has made 
 me a beautiful dress, which fits Hke one of yours. Also, 
 I have been to see the fashions to-day, and bought 
 myself a cloak which I think is a very good specula^ 
 tion. Is there not a certain satisfaction in the heart 
 of every woman when she gets a successful 'bonnet, 
 or cloak, or gown ? I am almost ashamed of myself 
 for being so pleased with this cloak — which, after all, 
 is only of coarse brown cloth — ^but it has a hood, 
 and hangs in the most beautiful folds. I got a note 
 
 from the other day, which I send you. Surely 
 
 people need not die of trouble unless they choose, for 
 if anybody ever seemed obliged to hang themselves 
 it was she, and yet she has puUed through, and it is 
 always a comfort to see that. When people founder or 
 make shipwreck, it frightens one for one's own pro- 
 spects, and that, I fancy, is the secret of all human 
 sympathy, and that is also why we are so anxious to 
 prove that any sort of ill-luck comes from people's 
 own fault — as we are prone to do, from the day of 
 ' Job's friends ' down to the present time. I was 
 reading a book that pleased me much the other day ; 
 it was Legouv^'s ' Histoire Morale des Femmes ' — a 
 sort of resume of the actual position held by women 
 in the social scale from feudal times down to to-day, 
 their legal rights and disabilities, and it contains 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 377 
 
 many sensible suggestions. As to the improvements 
 that might be made in their position, it is out-and- 
 out the best book about women I have yet read, 
 being also free from the besetting sins of the French 
 school. It is the tone in which it is written which 
 pleases me. "When I have time I intend to ease my 
 
 mind by an article on this book and Mrs. , 
 
 against whom I have a vicious spite that has not 
 evaporated by keeping silence so long, and it will be 
 
 a real comfort to ' say my say ' about her. Has 
 
 sent you the ' Ladies' Companion ' yet ? He wrote 
 me word that he had been suffering under a severe 
 affliction, which has made it difficult to remember 
 many things. Do you know what it is ? How is 
 ? I am very sorry for him, and yet his feel- 
 ing for you is like a heavy piece of ordnance, 
 with which he intends to blockade you, as if you 
 were some strong place to be reduced by being 
 bored into a surrender. Upon my honour, I am 
 frightened when I recollect him. It is his military 
 instinct which makes him ' manoeuvre ' his love, as if 
 it were a detachment of heavy cavaby. Still, I am 
 very sorry for him, and you can remember me to 
 him. Do write me one line to teU me how you are, 
 which is aU the news I care to know. Where is 
 
 Miss now ? and how is Mazzini ? If he has given 
 
 you a copy of his book, I wish you would lend it to 
 me. You can send it by post, and you shall have it 
 
378 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 back soon. Poor Neukomm is getting well. We 
 have had a letter in his own handwriting which is 
 reassuring, inasmuch as no very permanent effects 
 will result from his accident. 
 
 Wednesday. — This is a day of unwearied rain, and 
 I have had to do precisely the good-natured thing I 
 detest most emphatically — viz., walking about in the 
 rain. But then it was only to ' do as I would be done 
 by' — and that is just the most subtly selfish maxim 
 that has ever been brought into operation, though it is 
 the distilled essence of Christianity notwithstanding. 
 Since I came in, and before I was quite reposed from 
 my fatigue and the iU-temper consequent on it, a 
 parcel was brought purporting to come from Egypt. 
 I opened it, and found two daguerreotype likenesses 
 
 — one of himself, and the other of his little 
 
 daughter , accompanied by a most affectionate 
 
 letter thanking me most amiably. Now the letter I 
 wrote some time ago might have been dictated by 
 the Devil himself, it was so — what shall I say ? — in- 
 fernally disagreeable ; in fact, I have had a great 
 remorse ever since, and this is my reward. I 
 laughed when I opened it. Everything in one's life 
 seems such a mocking irony upon what one wishes, 
 and what one tries to deserve, and what one gets 
 precisely for not deserving. What possesses men to 
 do things when it is too late, and which if done before 
 would at that time have made one very happy, but 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JAISE ^VELSH CARLYLE 379 
 
 about wHich. one is now profoundly indifferent ? By 
 way of completing the thing, the glass which covers 
 
 's portrait is smashed aU to pieces, so that I can 
 
 hardly see the picture through it, and I expect the 
 whole daguerreotype will have disappeared before I 
 can get another taken, and I don't even feel vexed. 
 I have even gone so far as to wonder what it wiU 
 cost to get it replaced. I should fancy myself very 
 hard and cold-hearted, feehng all this change, if I 
 did not know that when I once care for people, 
 my regard must be worn out by elaborate ill- 
 behaviour before it is alienated. My inmost con- 
 science tells me that I am not fickle, and so when 
 change comes I cannot lament or abuse myself for 
 being natural. Yet, even a lesson like this wiU not 
 cure one of hoping and wishing to the end of the 
 chapter about something or another ; what a fool it 
 makes one seem, or perhaps I only seem what I 
 really am ! God bless you ; do write to me directly. 
 I could not get this off yesterday. Do write and tell 
 
 me about yourself. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 LETTER 104. 
 Manchester, Sunday, November, 1850. 
 
 Dearest Jane,— rl am very anxious to know how 
 you are, and how the arnica answered. It is a most 
 
380 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 sovereign remedy for bruises of all kinds and wounds 
 of every description. It is as wonderful as the herb 
 which used to cause the spears and arrow-heads to 
 fall out of the wounds of their own accord. I came 
 home on Wednesday a great deal better, but have 
 been getting worse ever since. For you may fancy the 
 change from pure sea-air to the thickest and most 
 continuous fogs you ever saw, even in London; and 
 in the midst of these we are removing. ^ We are in 
 the most disorganised state you can conceive, even 
 worse than your recent experiences. I have caught 
 a cold such as I have not had for ages, and I am 
 to-day very poorly. I do so hate these upsets. My 
 brother wants to be in a new house for Christmas Day. 
 He says there are too many ' ghosts ' here for him to 
 be happy in it, and as the house we have taken is on 
 an altogether different 'beat,' there wiU be no associa- 
 tions, and no hindrance to his getting his soul and 
 body quite weU, both of them. The house we have 
 taken is a very nice one, in a part of the town you 
 don't know at all. It is called Ardwick. We are 
 on the old London road, but quite out of the town, 
 and opposite a very handsome house and garden. So 
 we shall not be overlooked by opposite neighbours, 
 which are my dread and detestation. There wiU be 
 a nice room for you whenever you come, and I think 
 you will like our new quarters better than these. It 
 is a much handsomer and more commodious house, 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 381 
 
 and we have a species of garden at the back. Old 
 Peggy,^ of course, goes with us. We might do many 
 things if she were younger and stronger ; but as we 
 shall never part with her while she lives, we must 
 arrange accordingly. She has softened very much, 
 and is so good to my brother, and so much better to 
 me, that I don't feel at aU tempted to change. The cat 
 will go with us too, whose history is remarkable. It 
 came to us of its own accord, in deep distress, a home- 
 less wanderer. We took it in, and it was so dirty and 
 miserable that I ordered it to be drowned, bidding 
 Peggy get plenty of water and a heavy brick, which 
 she did — and I thought it despatched. The next 
 morning, figure my horror ! to hear a plaintive 
 ' mew ' outside my door. I thought the wretch had 
 not been sufficiently drowned, and had escaped, brick 
 and all. So it seemed, and she came, dripping and 
 reproachful, to my door. I did not dare to look at 
 her, but called wildly for someone to carry her away. 
 It seemed she had not been drowned at aU, for, as 
 Peggy said indignantly, ' I had got the tub of water 
 and the brick to tie round its neck quite nice and 
 ready, and the cat ran away.' It came back again, 
 and was again condemned, but escaped, and now, in 
 my absence, it has thriven, and grown quite hand- 
 some and an ornament to feline society. I had a 
 very kind note from the other day, saying that 
 
 ^ Aa attached maid-servant. — A. E. I. 
 
382 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 seems disposed to take ' Marian Withers,' and 
 
 bidding me send it up to be looked at, wMcli I have 
 done. I had such a shock the other day. Poor 
 (that was) is dead, having died in her con- 
 finement, after suffering horrible agonies. I cannot 
 tell you how sorry it has made me. She certainly 
 enjoyed her hfe, and was fenced round and round, 
 threefold, with self-complacency, which added much 
 to her comfort ; but she had good points, and then 
 this dreadful death makes one forget aU her sins. I 
 did not think I felt half so kindly towards her : it 
 has been a damp upon my mind ever since I heard 
 it. And then to think what a dismal Christmas this 
 will be to her husband ! There was another thing 
 I had to tell you, but it has shpped from me, though 
 
 it was on the tip of my pen. Has sent that 
 
 tale yet ? I have not received my set, so I cannot 
 
 send them. has been sitting for his picture to 
 
 , who has made a beautiful likeness. I had a 
 
 visit yesterday from , who married that cousin 
 
 of mine, in spite of her dint of perseverance. They 
 looked very happy, and he has grown so grand and 
 so pompous I could hardly have sworn to his 
 identity with his former self . . 
 
 [Fragment.] 
 
MISS JEWSBUKY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 383 
 
 LETTEE 105. 
 
 Sunday, December, 1850. 
 
 Dearest Jane, — I was very glad of your note, for 
 I was getting just desperate to hear from you, and 
 the postman came just in time to save me from the 
 crisis of a great rage, which would have been a bad 
 beginning of the New Tear. I am very thankful you 
 are better ; and don't wait for ' convenient seasons ' 
 •that never come, but just write when you can — at 
 5 A.M., if you wiU ! Do let me have the ' diamond 
 dust' en attendant: the jewel as large as a pigeon's 
 egg will come all the same. I am writing on that 
 principle now, for this is the chief thing I have to say, 
 having a headache and being very sleepy. I send 
 
 you another letter from . I had directed the 
 
 letter wrong, and so sent another to inquire after the 
 first. got a mysterious letter from , want- 
 ing him to go over to see to his 'insurance,' and 
 wishing to see me particularly before he spoke to 
 anyone else. I fancy he will stop at home in peace. 
 The people here are beginning mildly to be pained for 
 Mr. ' Mary Barton.' ^ And one lady said to me the 
 other day, ' I don't think authoresses ought ever to 
 marry,' and then proceeded to eulogise Mr. Gaskell. 
 I want to know how you got along with Mrs. GaskeU 
 to-day ? I have a notion that if one could get at the 
 
 ^ The late Eev. William Gaskell. 
 
384 SELECTIONS OP LETTERS FROM 
 
 ' Mary Barton ' that is tlie kernel of Mrs. Gaskell one 
 would like her, but I never have done so yet. Have 
 you? I should have liked to have been at your 
 dinner-parties. I have had two 'festivals of the 
 season,' and dreadfully tired I was after them, for 
 poor old Peggy is getting long past work, and of 
 course I have to fetch out everything with my own 
 hands and put it up again, clean the silver, and put 
 it away, &c. When I had no nice things I used to 
 wish for them, and think how delightful it would 
 be to have them about me ; but now I feel what a 
 bother they are to keep in order and to keep 
 together. Do you want to read a fascinating book 
 (always supposing you don't know it already) ? Get 
 EUis's ' Early English Metrical Eomances.' I lighted 
 on them quite by chance the other day, and found 
 them charming, not in old-EngUsh jargon at all, but 
 translated into intelligible prose, with here and there 
 a special verse. My word! One's ancestors were 
 not at all stupid. . . . 
 
 [Disconnected.] 
 
 What a lovely ribbon you sent me ! I am so glad 
 
 it was Lady who sent the velvet ; you will enjoy 
 
 your gown now. 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 385 
 
 LETTER 106. 
 
 Tuesday, December, 1850. 
 
 Dearest Jane, — Only one word, to tell you how- 
 thankful your letter has made me. I was very un- 
 happy about you, and if I seemed to speak very con- 
 fidently and cheerfully about the ' arnica,' I was none 
 the less anxious ! If you only get well and keep well, 
 it is all I ask. What will become of me if anything 
 bad happens to you ? Take care not to catch cold, 
 and keep yourself warm, and then if you get better I 
 don't care one straw whether you follow my small 
 prescriptions or not. Au reste, I can quite sympa- 
 thise with your contempt for aU ' doctorings ' from 
 'old women,' by which I mean aU unauthorised 
 practitioners. You feel towards them much as St. 
 Paul did towards ' old wives' fables,' seeing he could 
 write his own. I am also glad you have done with 
 
 . There was a certain overbearingness and — what 
 
 shall I say? — brutality in him, that has annoyed 
 me when I have thought of it. He treated you like 
 a town to be taken by storm. There was nothing 
 either gentle or winning in him, and though women 
 rather Hke to be tyrannised over by men they love, 
 it is different when the love is all on one side ; and, 
 besides, the tyrannising, or rather worrying and 
 domineering, has been carried on in quite a wrong 
 
 fashion ! I would almost sooner have had making 
 
 c c 
 
386 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 love to me — and the force of comparison can no further 
 go ! And yet with all that I am sorry for him, for 
 he had plenty of fine stufi" in him, and the only com- 
 fort I have is in a moral reflection I once read about 
 Poland and the Poles — viz., that when nations and 
 people experienced such outrageous misfortunes, there 
 was always some radical fault in themselves, and 
 that, however sorry one might be, one could not help 
 them till they helped themselves. But I have no time 
 for moral reflections, or sympathy with anybody but 
 myself. I am writing in the front parlour, full of 
 packing-cases, and I am disorganised altogether ! . . . 
 But your letter this morning really did me good, and 
 put me in good spirits, and I am only writing to teU 
 you so. We go to our new house on Thursday, but 
 I shall leave directions with the postman about my 
 letters. And I am very malicious when I own to 
 
 feeling excessively pleased that has come to me 
 
 on compulsion. Any spite I had is amply gratified by 
 that, and, besides, now I shall not have to use up any 
 good-feeling on him. I wish you were going to see 
 Macready in ' Eichard II.' instead of that stupid 
 play ' The Jealous Wife ' — who, after all, is only a bad- 
 tempered wife. Miss is married to-day, out of 
 
 hand, and I am glad of it. Yesterday I packed up 
 all my papers, letters, &c., burning many. Only to 
 think of all the foolish hopes and fears one wastes, 
 all the strength that goes for nothing ! I burned up 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 387 
 
 all Miss 's letters, all 's, and a heap of 
 
 miscellaneous ones, but I did not feel any great sen- 
 sibility on the occasion ; those phases were over and 
 done with. But I did feel very thankful that your 
 letters were to me even more than they used to be ; 
 and as I met with one or two that had been written 
 during those three years, I felt glad that they meant 
 really nothing except this — we were both miserable, 
 and are now right, and that there had never been a 
 reason for them. I always have burned at once, as 
 soon as read, all private and confidential letters, and 
 the rest are tied up in one packet, and if anything 
 happened to me they would be sent to you, but I ex- 
 pect I am going to keep them a long while yet. My 
 cold is nearly well, and the fog is gone, which is a 
 blessing. I am so glad I need not feel it my duty to 
 ' wash at home.' Now, good-bye ! and God bless you ! 
 I must go out. 
 
 Ever your own 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 [Last letter from the old house at Greenheys, 
 December, 1850.J 
 
 c 2 
 
388 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 1851. 
 
 LETTER 107. 
 
 Friday, February 6, 1851. 
 
 Dearest Jane, — I am so glad poor dear little 
 ' Nero ' is found. I always felt a secret faith in his 
 good star, and that he would be able to come back 
 to you ; and I shall have faith in the strength of one's 
 heart's desire another time, for if you had worked with- 
 out that, I fear neither biUs, nor rewards, nor friends, 
 nor even ' Nero's' star would have brought him back. 
 He is but a dog, and a sad dog too ; but reaUy I feel 
 quite as much satisfaction as if it had been a stray 
 Christian that had come back. I have been reaUy 
 happier since I knew he was safe with you. Do put 
 a leather or brass coUar round his neck, with his 
 name, and your name and residence ! As to his want 
 of proper feeling on his return, my dear, I could find 
 you a ream of sermons written to dogs' masters, re- 
 proaching them with caring so much more for the 
 pleasures of sense, and the vanities of the world, in- 
 stead of the things that concern their highest in. 
 terests. If ' Nero ' was allowed to eat as much as 
 ever he chose (which vulgar people always let their 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 389 
 
 dogs do), and never chastised for his faults — but en- 
 couraged in all his bad habits — how can you expect 
 that the canine nature of a dog should not have be- 
 come demoralised? Upon my word, I felt very 
 touched with your account of him. It was so 
 natural, that 'J. only felt all the more glad he had 
 
 got back to you. I send you back 's letter, 
 
 which charmed me very much. It is so clever and 
 man-like. How can women have a chance when it 
 comes to a regular hand-to-hand fight with a man ? 
 She may deceive him — she may overreach him — 
 she may cut his claws, and draw his teeth by 
 flattery and other Delilah-like means ; but when it 
 comes to a regular battle, she cannot succeed, and 
 
 ought not so to do. I wish had been married 
 
 to Mrs. . Perhaps in the world of retributive 
 
 justice he wiU be obliged to take her, and then 
 there would be nothing left for their worst enemies 
 
 to desire ! What is like ? I am just enchanted 
 
 with his letter, and I shall lay it up in my heart 
 against the evil day, if Providence ever sends me 
 a husband who is a bad one, and I can get no Chan- 
 cellor to sympathise with me. Yet for all that I 
 
 can understand poor Lady , sore and pestered 
 
 with all her injuries, turning sick at the little hope, 
 or indeed recognition, she receives, and the small 
 chance of justice being obtained for her ; and it is 
 that sense of injustice, and the baffled fight to right 
 
390 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 oneself, that makes the difficulty of patience. The 
 more I hear of her, the more sorry I feel for her. But 
 can you not inoculate her with some of your own 
 judgment and sense? Good gracious ! where or 
 what would you be now if you had gone on pas- 
 sionately protesting, and refusing to bear anything 
 but what you thought you deserved ? Do make her 
 feel that she is not the only iU-used woman in the 
 world. And if you could only make her more 
 patient, and less bitter, it would be more to her 
 benefit than any recognition of her wrongs or in- 
 crease of income, or even any amount of justice or 
 
 sympathy. As to Mrs. 's letter, it made me 
 
 very sorry for a while, and then it struck me that 
 it was aU as false as a nightmare. Do not answer 
 the letter (if that deed is still to do). It wiU do no 
 good. The only hope for her is to be left alone, 
 to meditate ! You see, through the whole letter there 
 is no recognition of her own fault, except perhaps 
 some romantic blame she takes about her own con- 
 duct towards . AU she says of her ' purga- 
 tory ' is nothing but the effect of overstrained nerves, 
 and has no genuine regret in it, nor any one whole- 
 some sentiment. AU that talk of ' a convent ' to 
 hide in is simply disgusting. She has no sense of the 
 systematic and habitual heartlessness of her conduct. 
 Her want of common humanity, saying what she does 
 of 's death, is absurd — she does not reaUy beUeve 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JAJSTE WELSH CARLYLE 391 
 
 what she says. She wrote to me in London (the last 
 letter I ever had from her), that she had been much 
 shocked and pained by the report that, on the morning 
 of his death, her husband was said to have seen the only 
 person who could have told him certain things. . . . 
 
 LETTER 108. 
 
 Thursday (Postmark, April 1, 1851). 
 
 Dearest Jane, — ^Apparently you are tied to the 
 * mill-round ' for some time to come, but your letter 
 has only added to my anxiety about you. It does 
 not arise from anything you say (for you tell me 
 nothing), but from various symptoms in your letters 
 of late. I fear I should be no great comfort to you 
 even if I were with you, for I feel more helpless than 
 ever as to ' doing good ' to anybody every day of my 
 life. But will you, dear, bear in mind that I myself, 
 and all I have, or can do, is yours at any moment you 
 want ? If any sudden thought should strike you 
 that you would like to come here, come on the in- 
 stant. I shall not look surprised nor ask a single 
 
 question. has sent an entreaty that you will 
 
 come and see us, so you can feel no scruple about 
 the ' master of the house.' If you were to walk in 
 by return of post, you would fancy you had been 
 certainly expected, and your room would be ready 
 in a quarter of an hour. Will you bear this in 
 
392 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 mind ? And recollect that I care a deal too much 
 about you to feel any sort of curiosity ! Whenever 
 you feel that an escape somewhere — from all that 
 worries you — is necessary, come here and recover 
 strength, or do whatever it may please God to in- 
 spire. It may not be to-day, nor to-morrow, you will 
 feel to wish to come to me : but whenever that 
 thought strikes you, come ! I am very poorly to-day, 
 weak and anxious. My brother was called suddenly to 
 Nottingham yesterday to see after a 'fire,' and I have 
 had to calm and comfort the sensibilities of his little 
 dog, which has been moaning and sobbing like a 
 child, in spite of the most elaborate spoihng and 
 
 petting. Poor Mrs. is very ill, and I feel 
 
 very anxious about her. She is worse than when she 
 left home. God bless you and keep you ever. Tour 
 own G. E. J. 
 
 P.S. — I have been deep in Newman's sermons. 
 Did I tell you of them in my last ? They are 
 wonderful, both for eloquence, and also as showing 
 what is believed by a certain type of the Christian 
 faith. To see those old doctrines all nakedly stated 
 and boldly asserted without the least attempt to dis- 
 guise them and soften them, is as astounding as if 
 one of the old ' ichthyosauri ' or ' mammoths ' were 
 to come stalking through the world. Then, as a 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 393 
 
 record of fearful struggles, and the mode in whicli 
 ' reason ' has been conquered by ' faith,' the work is a 
 spiritual revelation the most startling and tragical. 
 I have not read such a book in my whole life before. 
 It haunts me. Again, for mere beauty and eloquence 
 it beats any other book I know. I wish I had known 
 it had been published when I wrote my recent article, 
 but I must do another on 'Belief.' There is one 
 sermon, on the ' Mental Suffering of our Lord in His 
 Passion,' which is Hke a Greek tragedy. . . . 
 
 LETTER 109. 
 
 [Presumably late in the month of April.] 
 
 Friday, April, 1851. 
 
 Dearest Jane, — I cannot let 's letter go without 
 
 a line from me. I am stronger than when I wrote 
 the other day, and I suppose I am getting well, but 
 I cannot yet sit up, and I write this in bed, as it 
 fatigues me less. I have got into a bad way, and 
 can't ' go right ' aU at once. But I have no pain, or 
 nausea, or headache, only weakness ; and as I eat 
 well, and sleep well, and am getting awfully cross, I 
 don't see that either body or soul could be in a better 
 
 hne towards recovery ! Poor dear has been 
 
 very anxious about me, and would have had me see 
 company all day long. He has been a most kind 
 nurse, and — for a sick person in some danger — I have 
 had a very comfortable time of it. I am very sorry 
 
394 SKLECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 to be turned out of 1113' bedroom to face all the worry 
 of paying mj biUs, and seeing the house cleaned, 
 and my clothes mended, to say nothing of tlie bore 
 of finishing that ' tale ' and the prospect of having 
 to write others. I cannot teU you the blessedness of 
 perfect idleness. You may fancy the pitch to 
 which I was raised above sublunaiy concerns when 
 I teU you that the kitchen chimney took to smoking 
 in the most diabohcal fashion, filling the house with 
 the smell of brimstone (without treacle), and I 
 could not get up any emotion about it. They have 
 put up a chimney-pot now, which seems to answer, 
 so I daresay these high winds will have a shy at it, 
 and tumble it down. The only book I Iiave been up 
 to looking at is White's ' History of Selborne ' — sucli 
 a lovely book, and yet I don't know in what its 
 fascination consists. I was offered a French novel, 
 but I am not up to it. There is not a breath of fresh 
 air in those French books. Do write to me, and tell 
 me about yourself. You are far worse than I am, and 
 your letters are always a comfort. God bless jon, 
 dear love. 
 
 Your own 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 I would just give anything in the world to see 
 you or have you within reach. 
 
 April, 1851, Manchester (after my dangerous 
 iUness). 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE ^TELSH CABLYLE 395 
 
 LETTER 110. 
 
 Sea View House, Sonthport, Lancashire : 
 April 28, 1851. 
 
 Dearest Jane, — I want to know how you axe, for 
 tlie other day I was fidgeted with the idea that you 
 were in one of your bad headaches, and in your last 
 letter you have said nothing about your own health. 
 I am very much better than I was — ^indeed, I suppose 
 I ought to call myseK well, only I can walk so little. 
 
 Mrs. is much better, and able to sit up on the 
 
 sofa and on the foot of the bed, but is still very weak. 
 Her husband is going from home this week, so I have 
 undertaken to remain until he returns ; after which 
 I must go home and finish my work, which is 
 beginning to torture me worse than a nightmare. 
 I went out to drink tea at the Eectory the other 
 night. I was much amused at being amongst a set 
 of people so different to those I am accustomed to ; 
 but the rooms, the house, the garden, might all of 
 them have come out of an old book, they are the 
 ideal of an English rectory. And this morning the 
 brother was brought to call, a very clever man and a 
 rabid anti-Protectionist, and he spent the whole call 
 in trying to convince me that ' Protection' will be the 
 ruin of the country, which he seems quite to beheve. 
 He is a landowner, and a magistrate, so I suppose 
 he feels both as a man and a Briton. You cannot 
 
396 SELECTIONS OE LETTERS EROM 
 
 think how strange it seems to be in a nest of 
 ' Evangelicals,' who aU write letters, and talk, as if 
 they were going to contribute to the happy hfe and 
 
 death of a religious magazine. How Mrs. 
 
 herself gets on amongst them I cannot imagine, she 
 is so superior to them aU ! But the Eectory people 
 
 are an exception : they are really nice, and Mrs. 
 
 actually read ' Zoe,' and made some extracts from it, in 
 spite of being so dreadfully shocked. So of course she 
 must have redeeming qualities ! I want to see Lady 
 
 's new novel. I see it is ' out.' Are you dehvered 
 
 from her ? and what is going to become of her ? Poor 
 
 Mrs. has been dangerously ill again, and I am 
 
 very uneasy about her. My brother has bought a big 
 dog, that frightened him, and he is not its master by 
 any means. I hope it will be sold before I get back. 
 This letter is stupid to a degree, but I am left very 
 like a meadow that has been mowed ! . . . . 
 
 LETTER 111. 
 
 Sunday, May, 1851. 
 
 Dearest Jane,^ — ^I have looked for a letter from 
 you every day, but none has come, and I have grown 
 very uneasy. The more I have reflected upon that 
 last note of yours, written more than a fortnight 
 ago, the worse I feel ; there was a ghastly calmness 
 about it which, combined with your long silence. 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 397 
 
 makes me fear that matters are very much, amiss. 
 At first I thought it was only an incidental attack of 
 that sort of ' stagnation ' to which I am very liable 
 myself, but now I am become seriously uneasy. 
 Another symptom has struck me also. It is, that I 
 told you I was coming up to London very soon, and 
 you have kept a total silence upon that piece of 
 inteUigence, which is not natural. When the postman 
 this morning brought me no letter from you, all the 
 anxiety about you that had been fermenting in my 
 mind came to a crisis. Now — — goes up to 
 London in a fortnight. What do you say to coming 
 down here for as long as you can stay, whilst the 
 house would be all to ourselves ? I would either go 
 back with you when you returned, or we would 
 make any other excursion that we might take into 
 our heads. Long ago we talked about an expedition 
 together ; let it come ofT now. I am not so good a 
 walker as I was, but I am quite strong enough not 
 to be tiresome. Do not you recollect how we settled 
 that we ' go and seek our fortune,' that you were to 
 defend me from all the cows we met in our way, and 
 that we were to take a cottage in some place, either 
 on a moor or on a mountain ? What is to hinder 
 our putting it in practice? I had rather do that, 
 twenty times, than see the Exhibition and go through 
 a course of 'amusement,' as I did last year. It 
 would be a comfort to us aU the remainder of our 
 
398 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 lives, and do us both a world of good, whilst you 
 would get away from aU the people and things which 
 
 are worrying you. By the time goes off I shall 
 
 have finally got rid of this cursed book, which, 
 owing to my illness, has hung on hand till I feel quite 
 frantic about it. Two more chapters wiU see the 
 end of aU that needs to be written, and then I shall 
 feel free. I would far rather have you here than any 
 other scheme of enjoyment that could be proposed 
 to me. What do you say ? Even if you do not feel 
 tempted to make an expedition, you might come 
 here to be quiet. It is a much more comfortable 
 house for stopping in than the other was, and I 
 cannot divest my mind of the impression that you 
 are just now specially annoyed. A few weeks away 
 from the people who are worrying you would be 
 so much gained, and it would be a comfort to me 
 beyond aU I could teU you. Will you try and 
 come ? It may not be long that we shall have the 
 chance of being together, and I think we should as 
 much as possible strive after what we most desire, 
 and I am sure your coming down here would be 
 more to me than your remaining all the summer in 
 London can be to aU the heap of people who come 
 to see you for their own amusement, and, ten to one, 
 are the very people who make unkind speeches after- 
 wards. You shall stop as long or as short a time as 
 you will. You shall do anything and everything 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 399 
 
 you like — only come ! I shall suspend aU purchase 
 
 of the ' blue silk dress ' ; I had far rather spend the 
 
 money in making a journey with you. I am so fuU 
 
 of this scheme that I can write about nothing else, 
 
 and I have a bad headache besides. My brother sends 
 
 his love, and says he has been hoping to hear from 
 
 you, and I am hoping too. God bless you, dear 
 
 love ! 
 
 Ever your affectionate 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 P.S. — ^There was something else upon this sheet, 
 which I have had to cut off, or else to re-write what 
 is here, and that I am not up to. 
 
 LETTER 112. 
 
 Ardwick, Birchfield Terrace, 
 
 Monday night, May 14. 
 
 Dearest Jane, — If sympathy could do you any 
 good, you have it in the most genuine form from me 
 —that is to say, in the shape of fellow-feeling. For 
 the last three weeks I have been blown upon by an 
 east wind, and am as good-for-nothing and poor and 
 cowardly as the Devil himself could desire; it is 
 rather a comfort to know you are in the same 
 way ! I fancy everybody suffers more or less from 
 these spiritual relapses— at least, I know that I 
 never took up a religious biography without finding, 
 
400 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 on every other page lamentation over their ' dead- 
 ness,' ' dulness,' and the impossibility of saying their 
 prayers. I fancy it is only their way of complaining 
 of what we feel. It is a nasty, miserable, sinful 
 state, but I am waiting for an angel to come down 
 and cause a reaction. It cannot go on long. As to 
 your ' nightmare ' of not being able to write letters, 
 don't I know that? But then, I let them aU go 
 unwritten — and yet, not aU. You have had letters 
 and letters from me bearing ' the mark of that 
 beast ' upon them. Attempting to do anything 
 when it is upon us, is like grinding in an empty 
 coffee-miU — in fact, at this present time I am very 
 wicked and uncomfortable, and aU my skin, moral 
 and physical, feels like the bark of a tree. But then, 
 as to your physical health, I don't like your account 
 of it at aU, and it makes me very unhappy. I don't 
 know what to say to you about it, nor what to think 
 of it. I wish I could do you any good, but I cannot 
 even make a suggestion for the sake of giving myself 
 a hope it might open a door of relief to you. . . . 
 
 Now what is that about the ' enemies ' who have 
 made themselves manifest ? What specially disagree- 
 able thing have they been doing ? I believe a real, 
 practical enemy is as scarce as a true, thoroughgoing 
 friend, but there are always people who make hateful 
 speeches about one. Whether they mean them or not 
 I don't know, but every now and then I wake up to 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 401 
 
 the consciousness that I am being 'run down,' as 
 
 used to call it, and, of course, by people I 
 
 never did any harm to in all my life, and who can 
 
 only detest me from some abstract sense of duty ; 
 
 and then, after a while, it subsides, to rise again like 
 
 the wind in the East! It is very natural people 
 
 should hate you, because, to the world without, your 
 
 lot looks peculiarly enviable, and you seem to have 
 
 every sort of prosperity the heart of a woman can 
 
 desire, and they cannot see what you have done to 
 
 deserve such good treatment. Talking of enemies, 
 
 I was once transformed into one by a man whose 
 
 name even was unknown to me ! It happened in this 
 
 way. I had to write an account of some play (for 
 
 Douglas Jerrold, I think), and in the course of it I 
 
 had occasion to remark that the man who enacted the 
 
 lover made one wonder at the infatuation which had 
 
 led the heroine to such a misplaced attachment, or 
 
 something to that effect, and he got a friend to 
 
 assist him to write a letter denouncing me as his 
 
 ' enemy ' ! 
 
 I told you my brother had set up a big dog, and 
 now he has set up an arbour as big as a cottage, and 
 with the trunk of a tree for a table. So we shaU 
 have aU manner of ruralities for you when you come 
 to see us. But figure to yourself : this arbour, being 
 far too big to get into the garden the lawful way, 
 was obliged to be put over the palings, close by 
 
 D D 
 
402 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 Csesar's kennel, and — would you believe it? — ^he 
 allowed this phenomenon to be carried before his 
 eyes, and did not even bark ! 
 
 Wednesday. 
 
 This letter has not been despatched yet ! I hoped 
 to add something more witty, but the ' dead-level ' of 
 stupidity continues unbroken, and the fine May 
 weather makes one feel as shabby in one's moral 
 condition as in one's wardrobe. I shaU make a 
 dead push to go out and amuse myself to-day, for, 
 since my illness, toy spirits are strangely depressed — 
 a thing I have not suffered from for years and years ; 
 and I am sure it is not for want of employing myself, 
 which good books always declare to lie at the root of 
 these clouds. I was out of doors this morning at five 
 minutes past eight, which I take not to be bad, and 
 then I have a cold bath every morning — but it is no 
 
 good. I send you 's letter, and also one 
 
 I have just received from Mrs. by way of 
 
 balance. Do write me something, no matter what, 
 but just say expressly what it is that is tormenting 
 you. 
 
 LETTER 113. 
 
 Postmark, June 6, 1851. 
 
 Oh dear ! Oh dear ! Poor little Nero. But you 
 are surely not going to lose heart about him, and 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 403 
 
 leave him in the hon's den because he may be again 
 stolen. ' Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,' 
 and I have such faith in your powers of negotiation 
 that I expect even ' dog-fanciers ' will find a con- 
 science. Nero must be got back : he was the only 
 thing that did not torment you ; he was a comfort, 
 and must not be let go ! I can sympathise more now 
 than the last time, for I shall nearly break my heart 
 if anything happens to Kennet,^ and I have been 
 pleasing myself with thinking what a friendship 
 would spring up between Kennet and Nero when you 
 brought him down here, though I fear there might 
 be hostility. No ! Nero must be got back, even at 
 the risk of having his future liberty curtailed ; he 
 must henceforth walk in a string. I want very much 
 to see you, and I daresay I shall come to town next 
 Wednesday. I hope there wiU be no ' smash ' for 
 
 either your cousin or myself. went up the day 
 
 before yesterday, and the next morning set off on a 
 steamer to come and see you, but got on board a 
 wrong one, which went the other way ! He had a 
 
 great quantity of tobacco for you, which sent by 
 
 him. He is stopping at the s in Berners Street. 
 
 I myseK have had losses — as I lost my purse on 
 Wednesday with 25s. in it. And I am more pro- 
 voked than I can say, because not only I can't afford 
 to lose money just now, but also I have been self- 
 
 1 Miss Jewsbury's own pet dog. 
 
404 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 denying, and done without a new shawl which the 
 lost money would just have got, and, of course, if I 
 had bought it, I should not have lost my money. I 
 cannot even hope my pocket was picked, for every- 
 thing else was safe. I must have dropped it myself, 
 and I thought of you, who once lost just that sum in 
 
 going to see after my affairs. As to , I am 
 
 frightened of her. Never until I had got rid of her 
 out of my home-Ufe did I know how much cause I 
 had to be thankful that I had done it, harsh as it 
 was. Perhaps you wiU manage better, but I own I 
 would as soon she were out of your road, too. I have 
 had no relenting towards her ; but, on the contrary, 
 aU that has come back to my memory of her former 
 ways has been bad. I can recollect no single instance 
 of common-sense or common principle, and her in- 
 sinuations against everybody get into one's mind like 
 dust. I shall always feel a difficulty in forgiving the 
 bitter feelings and thoughts she has raised in me 
 against numberless people. Nothing sterling or whole- 
 some comes back to my thoughts as connected with 
 her. The longer the time that elapses since our 
 separation, the more decided is my repugnance to her. 
 
 It was lately the anniversary of poor 's death. 
 
 May 21, and I have thought of him and of her a great 
 deal. That last letter of hers about him filled up the 
 measure of my detestation. I hope she does suffer ; 
 but as she has no conscience, it will not be one -half 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 405 
 
 what she deserves. So it is very lucky for our neigh- 
 bours that we are none of us ' God Almighty,' to 
 judge the world. I am expecting an old lady to 
 dinner to whom I used to go to school when a very 
 young girl. Poor soul, she has had a terribly hard 
 life, of which a bad husband was one of the lightest 
 ingredients — and now she is very solitary and poor, 
 but keeps up her spirits and her courage in a way 
 that makes me feel very much ashamed. God bless 
 you, dear love ! I feel always as if I had got you back 
 
 from the ' shadow of death.' Don't let mention 
 
 my name, for her tongue leaves ' a trail ' wherever it 
 goes. Surely nothing and nobody wiU ever come 
 between us again. Have you seen a wonderful book 
 
 by Miss called ' Eeahties ' ? Oh good gracious ! 
 
 good gracious ! that any woman should have ever 
 been given over to such bad taste ! She has pub- 
 Hshed it at her own expense, so that says much for 
 her sincerity, but the book makes one feel ' trailed 
 in the mud.' Nightmares are realities — ^but hardly 
 real life. Yet the book is clever. JSTow, good-bye. 
 
 LETTER 114. 
 
 Higher Laver Rectory, near Ongar, Essex : 
 Monday, June 10, 1851. 
 
 Dearest Jane, — For the two last days any- 
 thing like writing or reading has been out of aU 
 question. On Saturday we went out early in the 
 
406 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 morning to pay a visit for the day, and yesterday 
 being Sunday, I had my hands full with going to 
 church twice, which kept me tiU after post-time — to 
 say nothing of the fact that I could not get off between 
 the services. To be sure, I did console myself by 
 taking a book to church with me (my dear old 
 
 ' Thomas A-Kempis '), but Mr. somehow found 
 
 out that I was not looking at my Prayer-book, and 
 called me to order. To-day I am writing to you in 
 bed with a heavy cold, which has been hanging on 
 me for the last week, and I am now very feverish. So 
 I have had to take it in time, and lying in bed has 
 been from time immemorial the only disciphne for 
 
 my colds. Miss would fain make me lie without 
 
 either reading or writing ; but I am very anxious to 
 hear how you are, and I suppose there is no hope of a 
 letter from you until you have first had one from me. 
 Do, please, send me a line, and teU me something about 
 yourself, for indeed I feel quite in the dark about 
 you, as all the time I was in London I never had one 
 comfortable minute with you, and I know less about 
 
 you than when I left home a few weeks ago. 
 
 herself has a deal more of you than fell to my share, 
 and it has made all my stay in London seem a failure 
 to have had nothing of you. What would London 
 be for me without you ? I wonder if ever I should 
 go there at aU. Of course, I amused myself very 
 well, but then it is because I have you in the back- 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 407 
 
 ground, to tell everything to and to make everything 
 of some value ; and I think you have behaved very 
 shamefuUy to me in never writing me a single line 
 aU this last week ! You seem as contented as 
 possible whether you have me or not, and scarcely 
 care a single straw whether you can speak to me or 
 not. But it is no use going on in this way, for I am, 
 I know, just now very irritable, and have been for 
 several days. And so it is as well I am here with 
 
 nobody but Miss , of whom, I stand in a great 
 
 deal of ' traditional ' awe, and I must make haste and 
 finish this scrawl before she comes and finds me 
 in the act ! The country looks lovely, all the trees 
 in thicker leaf than ever I saw them. I had a long 
 walk the other day with Mr. aU through corn- 
 fields and bean-fields; and the hedges, not yet 
 sacrificed to the ' improvements ' in agriculture, were 
 of wonderful beauty and luxuriance. To be sure, I 
 tumbled once or twice into a ditch, the ground was 
 so uneven: one stile fairly frightened me, and it 
 was not until we had gone to the top of another 
 field half a mile long and found no outlet, and had 
 to retrace our steps, that I found necessity can 
 conquer even impossibilities, and I did get over it ! 
 I have such a beautiful dog here, a retriever and 
 pointer, quite a pet — though a good-sized dog ; and. 
 I have undertaken his education, and bought a whip 
 as a token of my afiection. The brute will gnaw and 
 
408 SELECTIONS OF LETTEES FROM 
 
 bite everything that comes in his way, the flounces of 
 our dresses especially. How is Nero ? I hope quite 
 safe ; give my regards to him. 
 
 The dinner-party at Mrs. 's went oflf very 
 
 pleasantly. It was like being translated into a novel. 
 After I left you I found a very kind note from her, 
 telling me she had made up a little party for me of 
 people she thought I would Hke to meet. I called at 
 a grand hairdresser's in Eegent Street, and had my 
 hair made decent for once in my life, but hardly 
 knew my own face again with the hair brought low 
 down on the cheeks. The muslin dress fitted very 
 well and looked very nice, but it was high in the 
 
 throat ; and even Mrs. herself wore a low dress, 
 
 with nothing but a pearl necklace round her throat. 
 There was another young lady besides — ^her daughter 
 — ^who was even thinner than myself, and she wore a 
 very low dress ; so I felt as if I had gone in a morning 
 wrapper. Everything was very nice and in excellent 
 taste. I knew some of the men, but I was put 
 between two strangers at dinner — one, the Marquis 
 
 of , and the other some young Guardsman, with 
 
 a desperate pair of whiskers and moustaches to 
 match, but they were both very conversable, and we 
 
 got on very well. Lord is the most cold, calm, 
 
 respectable-looking man I have seen for many a day, 
 and I could scarcely believe in much I have heard of 
 him,, Mrs. talks very well indeed, and tells 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 409 
 
 Stories capitally. In fact, we all seemed like people 
 and things out of a novel, and one wondered where 
 the real life and human nature of the people had been 
 stowed away, and whether any of them knew any- 
 thing of the practical and economical difficulties of 
 life. There was another chapter, too, just open for a 
 glimpse — viz., of fashionable young ladies ; but I 
 cannot discuss that just now, and perhaps I had 
 better wait till I have had an opportunity of seeing 
 a few more. So I won't say what is on the tip of my 
 pen, and perhaps someone else might say it more 
 
 becomingly than I could do. Mrs. sent me 
 
 home, and was very kind. When you see Captain 
 
 , will you tell him I intend to write him a note, 
 
 as he always reproaches me with never replying to 
 him ; but to-day I am too tired and cannot hold up 
 my head any longer. God bless you ! Write soon. 
 
 Your affectionate 
 
 E. G. J. 
 
 LETTEE 115. 
 
 Sunday, Jiily 13, 1851. 
 
 Dearest Jane, — ^It seems as if we were to be always 
 away from each other just at the time we might be of 
 the most comfort and get the most good out of each 
 other. What is the reason we can never be long 
 together with those we most care for, and who make 
 
410 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FEOM 
 
 up the most of our lives ? We see people we are in- 
 different about every day of our life, but tlie moment 
 we begin to care for a person we are certain and sure 
 to be carried away to the ends of the earth, or at least 
 out of sight and hearing. Your letter made me very 
 unhappy ! If I had been with you I daresay I could 
 have done no real good, but at least you would not 
 have been left so lonely, to do your illness all by 
 yourself. But it seems that it is only in novels that 
 people live with those they most care for. I can 
 better understand the mood you have so long been 
 suffering from than perhaps you think, for some 
 years ago I was in something very like it for a long 
 while, but I did not understand it. I had no one to 
 speak to, and I could not believe in it, and so tried to 
 force myself out of it, which did me a great deal of 
 harm. It was like living in one of those dreary, 
 calm November days when there is but one cloud — 
 but that one covers the whole heaven, and there is 
 no believing in a sun whilst it lasts. I can only give 
 you the sympathy of feUow-feeling ! I hope and 
 believe that it will clear off, but no effort of our own, 
 nor any wisdom or maxim from without, can drive it 
 away. I found one day a paper that I had written 
 when I was suffering somewhat as you are now. I 
 suppose I must have been getting better before I 
 could have written it, but it made me shiver to read 
 it, for I recoUect writing it. I know it was a suUen 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 411 
 
 'daguerreotype' of what I felt, and written only 
 because I had no soul then to speak to. It was 
 the frightful absence of all feeling or energy, as if I 
 were dead and yet ahve under it all, that made it as 
 horrible to me as being bricked up alive in a prison. 
 I rather think I destroyed the paper, but if I can find 
 it when I get home you shall have it. If I had given 
 in to my wretchedness, and not tried to get up a feel- 
 ing of some sort, it would have been better for me. I 
 
 was reading to Miss the other day a chapter 
 
 (' Ecclesiasticus,' in the ' Apocrypha '), and there was 
 a verse that struck me much. It was, ' Make not haste 
 in the time of clouds ! ' Now, I always have tried to 
 ' make haste ' — and struggled and plunged whenever 
 I have been unhappy, and my testimony is, that it 
 would have been much better if I had sat still and 
 waited patiently for the clouds to pass over of them- 
 selves. But I think, too, that physical causes had a 
 great deal to do with it ! I shall never forget how 
 aggravated I felt one day when I was in the blackest 
 despair. One of the commonplace sensible women 
 said to me, ' Ah, Miss Jewsbury, you have a charm- 
 ing flow of spirits, you have not learned what sorrow 
 is yet.' It is just because one is becalmed in despair 
 that one has one's wits about one, and can be very 
 amusing for the benefit of such fools ! This wiU 
 reach you on your birthday. For my own sake, I 
 shaU write you a great many more letters on this day. 
 
412 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 for my life has been so much happier since I knew you 
 (except that miserable time when I had been made 
 to think ill of you, an error which brought its own 
 punishment with it). I do not know what I should 
 do if you were taken away from me ! — not only for 
 my own comfort's sake ; but I should make all manner 
 of mistakes, and get into scrapes innumerable, with- 
 out you, especially if I am to go about at aU amongst 
 people. For though I have often taken my own way 
 in spite of you, yet I have always had to own you 
 were right at last. So, my dear love, please do not 
 think about wanting to die, for you could be dread- 
 fully ill-spared. When I am with you I often cannot 
 say half a dozen words to you, not even when there 
 is all the material, time, and space free before me. 
 But when I am away 1 think of you constantly, and 
 I refer all I see or do — to be told to you when I see 
 you. I am very uneasy and anxious just now. You 
 don't know my friend in Cairo, never saw him, and 
 so you can't have much sympathy with me about 
 him. You would have more if you knew how much I 
 owe to him. Well, he has come back to France, as I 
 think I told you, but I had a short note the other day 
 from him. He is very ill ; the change of chmate has 
 tried him severely, and he suffers from spasms, which 
 grow more frequent every day, and I know this note 
 was written to prepare me for the worst, though it 
 may not come just yet. Loss of fortune is a great 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 413 
 
 thing, but what is it to losing one's friends ? One 
 seems so rich in them one minute, and then, perhaps, 
 in a few months, they are gone away for ever ! When 
 one's money is done one has the chance of getting 
 more, but one's friends, once lost, leave one in misery 
 for ever. There is no replacing them, and yet I would 
 rather they should die outright than live to turn to 
 water and corruption, as the friendship between my- 
 self and has done. But do get weU, dear child, 
 
 and don't die ; it makes me begin to cry if I even 
 think of it. So what would the reahty be ? Do take 
 care of yourself. This is not a letter worth anything, 
 but I am not in good spirits, and there is no news 
 here to tell you, except that I must close my letter 
 
 and go to church again. is, I believe, in 
 
 London, so you will most likely see him ; he was to 
 
 be up last Wednesday. As to that, wiU do 
 
 better than I should. I hope you will have a fine 
 day for East Sheen. I wish I were going, so send me 
 an account of it. Grod bless you, my dear love ! and 
 BeHeve me always 
 
 Your aifectionate 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
414 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 LETTER 116. 
 
 London, Monday, July 23, 1851. 
 
 Dearest Jane, — I have engaged to spend next 
 
 Wednesday with Mrs. , so the gleam of a chance 
 
 of getting to you on Wednesday evening has closed up; 
 but on Thursday I shall (if the Devil does not bewitch 
 everything) be with you as early as possible. It is a 
 great bother and provocation that I can get to see 
 everybody else in perfect peace except you. You I 
 have not seen, except in the midst of a worry and when 
 , you were tired to death. Not one word have I had with 
 you, and I am in a state of protest againstProvidence 
 for letting me leave home on a Friday, which I am 
 sure is the cause of all my crosses. After leaving you on 
 Saturday, I got two calls done successfully, but I lost 
 my parasol and got no dinner. The parasol I left at 
 the post-office, so I hope to recover it, and the lost din- 
 ner I have atoned for ; so things might be worse. But 
 what I have not got over is the seeing you so plagued 
 
 as you were. If were not so frightened of doing 
 
 wrong, he would oftener do right, and anyway be less 
 of a bother. His services are like so many white 
 elephants, of which nobody can make use, and yet 
 that drain one's gratitude, if indeed one does not feel 
 
 bankrupt. I have been to caU on Madame , and 
 
 I saw her, and not her husband, in spite of 's 
 
 sarcasm, and I have a great notion that she is the 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 415 
 
 better of the two. I was very rauch. pleased with her. 
 There is a look in her face, although she is neither 
 young nor handsome, which I like. And she made me 
 laugh at her account of all the ' lyrical ' recognition 
 which people have expected for all they ever did or 
 had intended to do on behalf of her husband ; and 
 how they had all fallen ill — herself, husband, and 
 children — ^the first thing, and been utterly incapable 
 of making appropriate acknowledgments ; and then 
 her dismay at finding themselves set down as ' un- 
 grateful ' when they got about a little, and able to go 
 abroad. She told it so nicely and naturally. And 
 also how a whole host of ' refugees ' had ' come in 
 promiscuously ' one Sunday to dine and sleep, and be 
 put in the way of helping themselves — on Sunday, of 
 aU days, when the shops were shut — and all her diffi- 
 culties in arranging their housekeeping and getting 
 them lodgings ! She must have a great deal of good 
 in her. She seemed so helpful, for, besides having to 
 interpret and see to the affairs of so many, she has 
 to give lessons and earn the ' wherewithal ' to keep 
 her own house. • I shall try and fire the train of Mrs. 
 
 's enthusiasm, which will be a good thing for her. 
 
 G-od bless you ! G. E. J. 
 
 Kind regards to . 
 
 p.g. — I went to hear Kingsley^ preach last night. 
 
 ' The late Canon Kingsley, author of ' Two Years Ago,' &c. 
 
416 SELECTIONS OP LETTERS FROM. 
 
 A very good, sensible sermon, something like what a 
 sermon should be, but orthodox, as I thought, beyond 
 reproach. And only fancy the dismay of the congre- 
 gation when, after listening more than one hour and a 
 half, and the whole was ended and the blessing given, 
 the real clergyman of the Church started up in the 
 reading-desk and told them that all they had heard 
 was wrong, and dangerous, and false ; and that if he 
 had imagined what the sermon was to be the pulpit 
 would never have been lent for the occasion. 
 Kingsley sat Hke a stone, the congregation said 'Hush! 
 hush ! ' to each other, and came out without making 
 any observations. Was it not an odd conclusion? 
 His sermon was on the text, ' One Lord, one faith, 
 one baptism, one God and Father of all.' 
 
 LETTER 117. 
 
 [Fragment.] 
 
 London, August 9, 1851. 
 ... I never felt so [little interest in anything 
 
 that concerned myself before. Mrs. is ordered 
 
 abroad for the winter, and the doctor says it is the 
 only chance for her. She leaves London next Sunday, 
 and I am very sorry, for she is the only person I care 
 for 'in Manchester, and I shall miss her very much. 
 Her husband wants me to go along with her, but 
 that I cannot do. I have been so interrupted with 
 people talking that I hardly know what I write — only 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CAELYLE 417 
 
 know that I have not told you one-half of what I 
 intended. 
 
 I went to call on Mrs. Procter ^ — I thought it 
 only polite — and found her at home. Her black dog 
 tried to fly at me, and was consequently sent away 
 in disgrace. She talked of Harriet Martineau, who 
 has been to one of her ' swarrys ' lately, and all her old 
 friends cut her because of her ' Atheism.' ' But, en 
 revanche, " Miss Adelaide," who had not known her 
 previously, begged to be presented to her, and sat 
 a long time conversing with her.' I could hardly 
 help laughing. I also called on Mrs. Browning, but I 
 only saw the ' baby,' ^ which is the most lovely, noble- 
 looking child I ever saw. I think I shall make 
 another attempt to see her — ^Mrs. Browning.^ As to 
 the ' Eomance,' just let it take its chance till the 
 spirit moves you, which it will in due time. As to 
 John Carlyle, he has not been near me, and I don't 
 feel at all tempted to earn either the ' epitaph ' or the 
 ' teapot.' Do write to me again soon. 
 
 Your affectionate 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 ' Wife, and afterwards widow, of B. W. Procter (Barry Cornwall), 
 and mother of Adelaide Procter, the poetess. 
 * Eobert Barrett Browning. 
 ^ Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 
 
 E E 
 
418 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 LETTER 118. 
 
 London, Monday night, August 18, 1851. 
 
 ("We go home on Thursday.)^ 
 Dearest Jane, — I ought to go upstairs and begin 
 packing, but the Devil may run riot with my trunks 
 until I have "written to you. I think he must have 
 been in me that I have not got a single line 
 written to you, and when I fail to write to you, you 
 may always conclude that something desperate is the 
 matter. My dear, it is the ' necessity,' which affects 
 the gods themselves — too strong for mortals — which 
 has stood in the way, and intercepted your letters, 
 and hindered those I thought to you from getting 
 written! I hardly know whether my head is the 
 right side before, and the provoking part is that I 
 have written plenty of the sanest letters to other 
 people ! Let me begin at the beginning, and tell you 
 as much as I can. I have been doing that poor 
 
 artist of Miss 's for one thing, though little did I 
 
 think of taking up a protege when you left — but if 
 one begins to stir, one must move on to the end. It 
 is like getting on the treadmill — one step obliges 
 another ; one cannot leave a thing half-finished. But 
 I am quite sure I have no general benevolence in 
 me — it is nothing but the innate necessity of finishing 
 up a thing to the end. It began by my thinking I 
 ' Mrs. Carlyle was at Great Malvern. — A. E. I. 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CAELYLE 419 
 
 could get him into the Hahnneman Hospital. I wrote 
 
 to Neukomm, and lie stirred up Madame , and, 
 
 as there was no place in the hospital, he wrote and 
 sent a guinea and a recommendation for a nurse. 
 That meant a day's journey to go into the City to 
 see the matron, and I am sure I could write a tale 
 about all the things I have seen. But, reaUy, the 
 spontaneous kindness people have shown, and the 
 trouble people have given themselves — not in a sickly 
 and sentimental benevolent way, but in a quiet, 
 matter-of-fact, effectual way — ^has impressed me very 
 much, and such help and assistance as each could 
 give has been given without grudging. ... In all 
 this development of mutual virtues in all the world, 
 the most wonderful remains to be told. What do 
 you think I have done ? — come to the inheritance of 
 all Miss Farrer's finery. She brought me this morning 
 a box of the most lovely French flowers, very little 
 the worse for wear, a large bundle of gauze and 
 lace, a ball-dress and trimmings, and satin shoes — 
 till it was quite exciting to any female mind to con- 
 template them. And she has promised me a quantity 
 more ! It was a bright idea that came to me one 
 morning to beg the wrecks of the season from her. 
 
 All the difficulties of finding Miss in stage 
 
 dresses will fall on the mother, and I knew Miss Farrer 
 would have plenty of articles to bring away — 
 rubbish to her, but treasures for stage costumes! 
 
 B E 2 
 
420 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 So I told her that a young girl in whom I took some 
 interest had gone on the stage, and told her what I 
 wanted, and, really, since I was a child and had a 
 parcel of doUs'-clothes given me, I never experienced 
 such an entrancing sensation as when I contemplated 
 all these sundries this morning. I all but danced 
 round the bandbox — and they will be so useful, and 
 save the mother so much worry. I suppose it is the 
 innate vanity of the female mind which makes me 
 feel so much more amused at getting this cast-off 
 
 finery for Miss than I did in trying to get the 
 
 poor man into the hospital. And Miss Farrer seemed 
 to be amused too, and to like giving them for that 
 purpose. . . . 
 
 [Fragment.] 
 
 LETTER 119. 
 
 Tuesday (Postmark, August 26, 1851). 
 
 Dearest Jane, — ^Will I ? Can I ? What ridiculous 
 questions ! As if you could come at any time when I 
 wouldn't be only too thankful to get hold of you. Only, 
 don't talk about going away. You must stop here 
 as long as possible ; and, instead of going on to Liver- 
 pool, why not come on direct to me ? Separate from 
 Mr. Carlyle at Birmingham, and come down here 
 afterwards. We wiU go together to Liverpool for a 
 day, if anybody is at home there. The house is in 
 its first gloss of cleanness, for has spent her 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CAELYLE 421 
 
 time polishing it up during our absence, and she is 
 very glad at the prospect of seeing you again. 
 Kennet writes by this post to Nero to assure him of 
 his friendship. I have a great heap of things to tell, 
 and was just going to write when yours came, and 
 now the prospect of seeing you so soon has made 
 them all look not worth writing. I fear from your 
 letter that you are but little better for your sojourn. 
 How jealous I feel of those two women who have had 
 you so long all to themselves ! I am in the midst of 
 shirt-mending. Now that I have got that book off 
 my mind, I see how shamefully dilapidated I have let 
 's shirts become, and am mending them accord- 
 ingly. Manchester looks very dingy after London, 
 but that is my fault. There was plenty of excuse 
 
 for 's neglect of both of us. He was arranging 
 
 his sister's marriage, and it is settled now, and it 
 seems to me something very like sacrilege. No man 
 on earth is worthy to touch the tip of her finger, 
 and I never felt so tempted as I did to shut her up 
 in a convent, and let nobody so much as look at her. 
 She is a perfect type of woman before any sort of 
 system had been invented for her — just as Nature 
 intended a woman to be; there is something so 
 noble and primeval about her. It is her brother's 
 intimate friend who is elected. I used to hke him, 
 and he is well enough for a man, and would have 
 been quite good enough for ninety-nine women, but 
 
422 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 this hundredth is too good for anybody I ever saw. 
 This half-Oriental, half-practical mode of marrying, 
 strange as it seems to us, is the custom they all hold 
 to most religiously ; and it answers in practice, for 
 unhappy and ill-assorted unions are rare ! Poor Mrs. 
 
 has lost one of her children ; it was from disease 
 
 of the brain, I fancy. Now, God bless you ! I must 
 keep all I have to say till we meet, which, D.V., will 
 be next Saturday — not Monday. But don't bother 
 to write. I shall have your room aU ready, so come, 
 like an angel, when you will. God bless you ! 
 
 Your affectionate 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 You don't say you have got my long letter aU 
 safe. 
 
 LETTER 120. 
 [After Miss Jewsbury's last visit to Manchester, October 2, 1851.] 
 
 You dear Child ! — I don't like your symptoms at 
 all. It is the worst sort of nervousness. I have 
 suffered from it much, and when that ' flying ' feel- 
 ing comes I always am in a bad way. I wish to 
 Heaven you would see after yourself a little, and 
 then we should know if that headache here was only 
 an ordinary one! What can your headaches be? 
 I am very unhappy about you. I wish you were 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 423 
 
 here, that I might see after you. I don't like the way 
 you are in ; I am getting very frightened about you, 
 and I don't get frightened for nothing. Will you 
 take some advice ? I don't think John ^ (kind as he 
 is) realises your case or knows how ill you are ; he 
 has no faith in his profession, and he has, besides, 
 got used to seeing you suffer, and does not know how 
 serious the case is. You are wearing yourself away. 
 
 As to , I am very thankful that he is good to 
 
 you. You would miss him if he were away, and it 
 is being so sure of him that enables you to feel no 
 sort of anxiety, for there is no friction. Harriet 
 Martineau is here — has been here three days — and I 
 have seen a great deal of her. I like her exceedingly ; 
 she has been good to me, and I think my good-wiU is 
 the reaction of aU my prejudice, and her good-wiU 
 to me ditto. She is genial, and cordial, and natural 
 — not the ' pagoda ' manner I expected. We went 
 together to see some industrial schools, and she was 
 very agreeable and gentle. She only mentioned you 
 incidentally, and made no allusion to anything that 
 had passed until this morning, and then I said, 'I 
 heard from Jane yesterday, and she is very poorly.' 
 The tears came into her eyes, and she spoke very 
 tenderly of you and very nicely. In the end she said, 
 ' Jane has misjudged, but we are all right again now,' 
 and then she went on to say more. She loves you, I 
 
 ^ Dr. John Oarlyle. 
 
424 SELECTIONS OF LETTEES FROM 
 
 think, better than anyone else, but regrets that you 
 are a very long way off, and wishes you could be 
 nearer to each other. 
 
 LETTER 121. 
 
 Monday, October 6, 1851. 
 
 Good heavens ! those have come again. 
 
 Eead the enclosed advertisement, read the enclosed 
 letters, and see if you think I have done right. I 
 could not feel comfortable to let people go and fall 
 into the same ' Slough of Despond ' as we did, and I 
 feel, besides, ' called ' to put a stop to their lying 
 career. I don't know whether to write to any of the 
 other people or not. If you don't like the letters, 
 send them back to me, and tell me how to alter 
 them. I want very much to know how you are ; I 
 thought I should have had a letter yesterday. I am 
 pretty well, but, having missed my morning walk 
 yesterday and to-day, I am aU the worse for it ; you 
 cannot think the difference it makes to me. I am 
 going up to my old friend's to-night ; he is, I am 
 sorry to say, very poorly, and looks wretched. I 
 wish you would fulfil your promise of writing to him. 
 He was very much hurt at our not calling to say 
 ' good-bye,' and had to comfort himself with reading 
 a book of ' Hindoo Proverbs,' and it says much for 
 the extremity to which a man is reduced by his 
 friends when he has to extract consolation from such 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JAWE WELSH CARLYLE 425 
 
 candied and petrified sweets of wisdom as proverbs 
 in use before the Christian Era — it is worse than 
 receiving a lock of hair from off a mummy by way of 
 souvenir ! Do write to him — it will be only common 
 good-nature ! I hope and trust you are writing your 
 tale. I have been thinking of you a great deal, and 
 I am very anxious you should have some employment 
 more stimulating than mending old clothes, some- 
 thing that will really employ your energy. Writing, 
 as an occupation, has most excellent properties ; it 
 not only blunts one's amour propre — or, as we 
 politely term it, our sensibilities — so that we not only 
 feel less acutely things that would otherwise irritate 
 beyond endurance, but these things are transformed 
 for us into artistic studies, instructions, experiences, 
 and this goes a long way towards softening their in- 
 tensely personal application to ourselves. Besides 
 which, one's work is an ' ark of refuge,' into which 
 one flings oneself on all occasions of provocation. 
 When I am much annoyed, or have done anything 
 foolish (which is a reflection that stings worse than 
 remorse, as I can testify, though you don't know it 
 so well as I do), my first impulse is always to cut my 
 throat, and the next, to set to work savagely, and it 
 is surprising how soon one gets into a state of 
 indifference ! It is not, however, altogether for your 
 own sake that I am anxious you should set to work 
 upon a story or a book of any kind that you are 
 
426 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 moved to do. You have more sense and stronger 
 judgment than any other woman I ever knew, or 
 expect to know ; also, you have had such singular 
 life-experiences that it is in your power to say both 
 strengthening and comforting things to other women, 
 who, when the Devil assists them, are apt to think, 
 
 as poor used to say, that ' never was a person 
 
 placed in such a situation before ' ; and it takes the 
 shine wonderfully out of ' situations ' to meet with 
 them recorded in their simple principles, and stripped 
 of all the halo of self-love, vanity, and fancy. If 
 you had had daughters, they would have been 
 educated as few women have the luck to be, and I 
 think you might have enough maternal feeling, 
 sisterly affection, esprit de corps, or what you will, to 
 wish to help other women in their very complicated 
 duties and difficulties. Do not go to Mr. Carlyle for 
 sympathy, do not let him dash you with cold water. 
 Tou must respect your own work and your own 
 motives ; if people only did what others thought 
 good and useful, half the work in the world would 
 be left undone. ' She hath done what she could ' is 
 all that the best can expect or desire. Now, do set 
 to work resolutely. I am just now open to any sort 
 of arrangement you like to make. I will give the 
 staple of my time to this mutual tale if you will 
 begin, for I am needing a regular work on hand ; this 
 desultory writing for the 'Athenaeum' does not employ 
 
MISS JEWSBUKY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 427 
 
 all my time, nor is it likely to last. So begin, begin ! 
 half your loneliness comes from having no outlet for 
 your energies, and no engrossing employment. As 
 
 to , your doing anything in 'pique' is quite 
 
 unworthy of you, and it only recoils on yourself; 
 the harder we strike, whether in revenge or justice, 
 it comes back upon ourselves with far more pain 
 than we have wished to inflict. You ought to have 
 had a dozen daughters — and I am sure they exist 
 somewhere, either ' in the body or out of the body,' 
 or else in some charming ' spiritual translucent 
 element,' as Origen calls it. So let your work be 
 dedicated to your ' unknown daughters.' I am one 
 of your children, after a fashion ; I am sure you care 
 for me more as if I were a daughter than as a 
 woman cares for her friend, and the real sympathy 
 between us is when you forget all the usual 
 ' punctilios ' between grown-up people, and think of 
 me as of a child, to be taken care of and not be 
 allowed to get into mischief. If ever I am good for 
 you, it is in the way a daughter would be to her 
 mother, for the practical fact that I am nearly as old 
 as you are never interferes with the sentiment. So, 
 finally, my dear love, begin to work ; but first write 
 to our poor dear friend. And now good-bye ! My 
 
 head is very weak to-day. sends his best love. 
 
 is in London ; I don't know whether he has his 
 
428 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 wife along with him. Let me hear from you very- 
 soon. 
 
 Your loving 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 P.S. — Has Mr. Carlyle returned ? If you do not 
 think the letters 'judgmatical,' send them back to . 
 me, and suggest a better course. 
 
 LETTER 122. 
 
 [Fragment.] 
 
 November 4, 1851. 
 
 ... I have read ' Sterling ' ^ through. If Mr. Car- 
 lyle were to write a tragedy, he would produce one far 
 beyond the ' CEdipus,' or even ' Prometheus.' I never 
 felt so profoundly miserable after finishing a book in 
 my life. It left me far below all attempts to express, 
 either criticism or admiration. I could not even cry, 
 which one generally is up to doing when one can say 
 nothing. I was just crushed down under the sense 
 of the misery of ah the world, from which seemingly 
 there is neither help nor escape tiU. death. As a 
 biography it is the most exquisite life-picture I ever 
 read. No other that I know is to be compared with 
 it. One feels as if one had at once gained and lost a 
 personal friend. But, oh ! the weight of hopeless- 
 ness that lies on one when one has finally shut the 
 
 1 Carlyle's ' Life of Sterling.' 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE A\TELSH OAELYLE 429 
 
 book! I was thankful to be obliged to rush out 
 
 down to town to pay some bills, and to forget it for 
 
 a little. There is a review of it in the Times by 
 
 somebody who does not understand it. Of course, 
 
 one would never have the wild expectation that Mr. 
 
 Carlyle will ever approve or admire any human effort. 
 
 But then he does better : he rouses one to desire to 
 
 do right, and we can work without Caring for his 
 
 praise. And, moreover, as our best doings are only 
 
 very pitiful shortcomings, worth little or nothing, it 
 
 is just as good for us that the consciousness of our 
 
 unprofitableness should be kept constantly before us, 
 
 instead of the serene self-complacency of doing 
 
 wonders, over which we should fall asleep, certainly 
 
 neither in blessedness nor the odour of sanctity ! 
 
 Now dinner is here, and I must go. God bless 
 
 you! 
 
 Ever affectionately, 
 
 G. 
 
 P.S. — ^I forgot to teU. you that the moral of this 
 letter is to be that you are to do what you can — 
 which is, write your tale ! I am looking out for it. 
 
 LETTER 123. 
 Last Tuesday night in this Year of Grace, 1851. 
 
 Dearest Jane, — I hope you wiU like the apron. I 
 have had two made, one for you, and one for me, and I 
 
430 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 send the one that I think you will like best ; if, on see- 
 ing mine, you prefer it, we can change. I intended 
 you to get this on New Year's Day, but as you won't 
 be at home it will be waiting for you ; and I think it 
 is always pleasant to find letters or parcels waiting 
 for one when one gets home after an absence. 
 There is something very blank in coming back into 
 a house that has been chiUed by emptiness. My 
 brother wishes you many Happy New Years, which 
 I do, too, only the newness so soon wears off, and 
 the ' copper ' shines through one's attempt at hoping. 
 I hope you will come back without cold, which 
 is a hope so practicable and moderate that a dis- 
 appointment would justify complaint — if that would 
 do any good either, or if there were any ' Providence ' 
 appointed to listen to that sort of thing ! I have 
 not been at all well of late, but that is not very 
 remarkable. What troubles me is that I have had 
 from time to time a threatening of the return of 
 those old fits of blackness and depression which 
 make me feel sick when I look back to them, years 
 ago ! I hoped they were passed away for ever ! Of 
 course, I shall fight against them with all my might, 
 but there are so many more years on my head now 
 than there were then, that if they once fairly come 
 on me there will be no deliverance. It was like 
 being suddenly shut up, as one is in a night- 
 mare, or a black cloud dropping down upon one. I 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH C4RLYLE 431 
 
 don't know what I shall do if it really comes in full 
 tide. I suppose people who have been put to the 
 torture once are more afraid of it the second time 
 than they were the first. You wiU write to me as 
 often as you can ? A good letter from you does me 
 more good than anything else, and is, besides, the 
 only thing I care much about now. Don't send me 
 any more witty, polite letters. I cannot stand them 
 just now, and I don't think it can be much pleasure 
 to you to write them. How is ' Nero,' the good little 
 dog ? ' Kennet ' is not much of a comfort to me, 
 and will have to be sent away. I must tell you a 
 weU-authenticated ghost story, which I hope will give 
 you the thriU of horror it gave me ; the person who 
 told it me had it from the cousin of the young ladies 
 in question. In a viUage near JSTewcastle-on-Tyne — . 
 the name I was told, but forget — there stands a house 
 which was built in 1800 on the ruins of an old build- 
 ing which had enjoyed a reputation for having had 
 aU manner of unutterable crimes committed in it. The 
 new house soon had the reputation of being haunted. 
 Two young ladies, who were sisters, went on a visit 
 to the family who owned the house, and who naturally 
 would not listen to such reports : thus the visitors were 
 put to sleep in the room most haunted, without being 
 told anything about the matter. In this room there 
 was a species of large press, full of drawers, and the 
 door shut close against them, so that it was a physical 
 
432 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 impossibility for anyone to be concealed in it. To- 
 wards morning one of the sisters was lying awake, 
 and, looking towards the press, she saw the head and 
 upper part of a female figure, dressed in grey, leaning 
 out ; the face was turned towards her, and had no eyes, 
 only the hollows where the eyes ought to have been. 
 The figure uttered a dreadful wail, and the poor girl 
 fainted with fright. Her sister was awakened by her 
 falling back on the bed, and on finding her insensible 
 rang the beU and roused the whole house, very much 
 alarmed, as you may fancy, but without any suspicion 
 of what had caused it. Whilst the people who came 
 running to see what was the matter were going 
 about looking for ' eau de Cologne ' and ' smelling- 
 salts,' and all the things in requisition at such times, 
 the sister who had been asleep chanced to look to- 
 wards the press, and saw the head of a woman, with- 
 out eyes, grinning and nodding at her ; she was clothed 
 in grey. Both the sisters were ill in consequence of 
 the shock, and left the house that very day. The 
 inhabitants of the village declare they have often 
 seen a figure in a grey mantle walking up the side of 
 the house, as if she were mounting a flight of stairs, 
 and some have seen her head looking in at their 
 M'indows. The house is still standing, but has long 
 been uninhabited 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 433 
 
 1852. 
 
 LETTER 124. 
 
 Dated Good Friday, 1852. 
 
 My dear Jane, — 1 was glad to get your letter. I 
 hope by this time sometliing definite lias come out 
 of that domestic chaos of servants and servants' 
 illnesses. I am sorry, very sorry, to hear of poor 
 
 , but I am more provoked by a great deal else 
 
 that you tell me. I don't see why you are to be 
 tormented for everlasting by other people's incom- 
 petency. It is small encouragement to be up to 
 doing things oneself; but I suppose, in this world, 
 those who can do, must do — for themselves and their 
 neighbours too. I remember, as a very little girl, 
 how I used to cry to be carried; indeed, I have 
 had a great taste for it all my life, only I have been 
 made to find my own feet. And, if I might recommend, 
 I should say, let your people do the like. You have 
 plenty to do in keeping yourself up and going 
 without an armful of other people and their children 
 to look after ; so I hope you will let them drop, the 
 first soft place you meet with. Servants, even the 
 best of them, seem to have an idiosyncrasy of 
 
 p F 
 
434 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 morality peculiar to themselves. I had a letter the 
 
 other day from Mrs. , whom you have heard me 
 
 mention. She went with her husband on a scientific 
 expedition to Africa. Well, her letter came along 
 with yours, and, oddly enough, contained the details 
 of the departure of a servant who had lived with her 
 for thirty years. I never read anything so outrageous 
 in a woman not insane. If you will fancy the ill- 
 conduct of that old servant of your own, exaggerated 
 and magnified in the proportion of length of years, 
 you may have some notion. This woman had not 
 been always a servant, but was much better born and 
 educated than is usual among that class ; and Mrs. 
 
 had tried to save her feelings in every way — 
 
 bearing with her temper, which was a very bad one, 
 and treating her more as a friend than a servant. 
 When her daughters married this woman expected to 
 be retained as ' companion,' and because she was not 
 she came up the other day, when her mistress was ill 
 (with an attack of the heart complaint, under which 
 she labours), and in a great domestic sorrow besides, 
 and, after exploding into violent abuse, flung herself 
 down on the floor, and kicked, and screamed ; and 
 when peremptorily ordered to get up and go out, lay 
 down on the stairs at the drawing-room door, 
 groaning and sobbing, for two hours, and the next 
 day ordered a coach, sent word by the housemaid 
 that she was going, took her wages sullenly, and 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH OARLYLE 435 
 
 departed without a word of softening or remorse. 
 
 She has behaved much as did to you after 
 
 her departure. I always like to hear of other 
 people's misfortunes; it prevents one thinking one 
 is ill-used oneself. I don't care for troubles when 
 they are the rule, and not an exception on my 
 behalf ! I want to know how your parties went off 
 
 at Lady 's, and what you wore, and how you 
 
 looked, &c. So do not forget, when you write, to 
 tell me. I set up a very beautiful dress the other 
 day, and such a bargain that, although we were 
 not in comniunication with each other just then, my 
 first instinct was to wish I could turn it over to you. 
 It is one of those rich brocaded silks that almost 
 stand on end, a beautiful pink colour, and I got it at 
 
 's for 31. 5s., and there was no earthly reason 
 
 that I could see why it should not have been charged 
 its original price, nine guineas ; but they said it was 
 because broad stripes were not fashionable. Ah ! 1 
 suppose it is only angels that improve with eternity ; 
 everything else is only good when new ! And, talking 
 ■of bargains, only fancy my feelings ! At a sale of 
 books the other day ' Marian Withers ' fetched nine- 
 pence a volume, though a bookseller whom 
 
 asked to bid for him said that he was prepared to 
 ^o as high as a shilling for it ! 
 
436 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 LETTER 125. 
 
 Tuesday, May 11, 1852. 
 
 Your letter just come. 
 
 Dearest Jane, — Just one line to ask you how you 
 are after that precious expedition to the dentist's. I 
 have always felt some complacency on the matter of 
 that sort of fortitude, but I could not have gone hke 
 you in an omnibus, with my mind made up to the pro- 
 spect of losing a tooth. I might have acquiesced in 
 the supreme moment of desperation, but to go after 
 realising the event, I don't think I could. And then I 
 know all the after- wretchedness and ' shatteredness ' 
 that follows the violent loss of a tooth. So let me 
 know, please, how you are, and whether you have 
 come to your natural sleep again. When I was a 
 young girl I had a weariful experience with a dentist 
 not only puUing out teeth, but puUing one straight 
 that grew crooked. It was a horrid time, but the 
 man was a Scotchman. I forget what his name was. 
 And on the table in the waiting-room there were won- 
 derful books to beguile the time. It was there and 
 then I read the first volume of ' La Nouvelle 
 Heloise.' Only fancy ! that on a dentist's table ! 
 
 But I want to know how you are. Has that sick- 
 ness and headache at all slackened ? Is it sickness in 
 the course of nature, or worry from some Satanic 
 entrance ? As to your servant, what you say about 
 her virtues makes me think it is quite time to get 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 437 
 
 rid of her. If they took fire or boiled over, they 
 would be vices directly ! They say expression spoils 
 the symmetry of beauty, so I suppose the same rule 
 
 applies to virtue. is still very poorly indeed, 
 
 and has only been to the office twice or three times, 
 and been always much worse for it. He cannot talk 
 at all, and I don't at all like the way he is in. What 
 is that your cousin says about your going away to 
 Oermany for a year ? I have heard nothing beyond 
 
 the possibility of a month with Lady . Whatever 
 
 is it ? You may as well teU me, so that . . . 
 
 Wednesday, May 12. 
 
 Heaven only recollects what the end of that sen- 
 tence was to have been ! I was called off on the 
 moment to do something or other, or go somewhere, 
 for my brother, and I had not time to finish, and since 
 then I have been ill in bed, with sore-throat, and pains 
 in the hmbs, and aU sorts of devilments. I am not well 
 jet, and can eat nothing but bread-and-water. . . . 
 
 Friday, May 14. 
 
 Until to-day, that is, for now I am quite well 
 .again, and have made a dinner that would not dis- 
 grace a dragoon, and by the blessing of Providence 
 I will finish this letter. I only send the previous dis- 
 jointed fragments that I may get the credit of my 
 good intentions, which were that you should receive 
 an answer by return. I suppose if one were very 
 resolute, and had the miraculous gift of ' loaves and 
 
438 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 fishes ' with respect to one's time — I mean if one could 
 really employ to the uttermost every moment one 
 has, that the result would be as wonderful as the 
 ' twelve baskets full ' of scraps, and this letter which 
 I wanted to write would have got achieved somehow. 
 But then, that sort of industry does not He in me, 
 and one's moments of idleness are as indispensable 
 as the air one has to breathe. Whilst I have been 
 lying in bed I have been tormented by the notion of 
 your going out of the country for a year. What 
 does it all mean ? Do write and tell me, even if you 
 say nothing else, and have your time even more 
 ' hashed up ' than mine has been of late, which would 
 be difficult. 
 
 I have had further communication with Messrs. 
 
 and who are quite content to give me sixty 
 
 guineas for ' The Adopted Child,' and I want to write 
 it. It is to be a small volume. But I must get quiet 
 first, and a convalescent man in the house, who is not 
 only a man but literally a ' brother,' seems to come 
 before all the tales in the world, except such as are 
 already printed and good for reading ; such dissipa- 
 tion of mind is produced thereby. I did not know 
 till I tried it how the mere fact of being always at 
 hand to be talked to makes work at composition 
 impossible, but, en revanche, I have done a deal of 
 sewing, for I have been permitted to re-garnish the 
 linen-chest, which was getting empty. There are 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE WELSH CAKLYLE 439 
 
 Still three pairs of sheets and a couple of tablecloths 
 to be done, but I have stitched my way through half 
 a piece of linen. I was in the midst of workpeople 
 when I last wrote to you, for I had been having clean 
 summer curtains put up, and a new bed for myself — 
 such a beauty ! After mature deliberation I chose a 
 peach-coloui-ed chintz, all dotted with roses, to see 
 what ' sleeping in roses was like,' and the wretched 
 woman who made it up scrimped the curtains (which 
 was a deal worse than doubling the rose-leaves), and 
 I have been waiting ever since to have them properly 
 done. The clean blinds and muslin curtains were 
 scarcely up when that blessed kitchen-chimney began 
 to smoke and fiU the house with its abomination — 
 and it had behaved itself for all the year before ! And 
 now something has entered the heart of our landlady 
 to send to know what 'painting and whitewashing 
 we would like to have done?' — an offer not to be 
 refused. So my brother goes to Southport to-morrow, 
 and the house is upset with a vengeance, and my 
 darling curtains will be — where ? I am going, the 
 moment I have finished this, to move all my house- 
 hold gods out of the drawing-room, and prepare 
 for the inroad of the ' Goths and Vandals.' I wish 
 you were here to advise me and help me ; I should 
 not feel so helpless over it. How is Nero ? 
 Zennet is getting most fat and lazy. He invites one 
 to kick him to express one's abhorrence of laziness. 
 
440 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 was here on Monday. He inquired after you. He 
 
 has been made churchwarden ! I had a quantity to 
 tell you that I have been nursing up ; but these things 
 must be like the ' manna of the Israelites ' — fresh, and 
 fresh, or they are not worth writing. My brother has 
 just awoke, and sends his love. How is Mazzini? 
 Dr. Smith said he had been iU. Do write soon to 
 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
 P.S. — ^You had better read the end of this letter 
 first, because the first part was written so long ago ! 
 
 LETTER 126. 
 
 Tuesday, August 3, 1852. 
 
 Dearest Jane, — I send you by this post — (at least 
 Frank ^ has taken it to town to send you) — the 
 chapters of the MS. up to chapter eleven inclusive ! 
 I have altered aU the others, and cut them very much 
 shorter, which I hope wiU be an improvement. You 
 sent me three leaves of the third chapter, and as I sup- 
 pose you sent them to be mended I tried to do so, and 
 have compressed them considerably. So I hope you 
 will be better satisfied with them on the whole. As I 
 am somewhat after time, wiU you forward them as soon 
 as you can, and put the three leaves in the right 
 place? In the condition of your household I had 
 some qualms of bothering you with this batch of MS., 
 
 ' Mr. Frank Jewsbury, referred to so often as ' my brother.' The 
 brother and sister were very deeply attached to each other. — A. E. I. 
 
MISS JEWSBURY TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE 441 
 
 but as you. have the other portion, it will be as little 
 trouble to send all as half, and very much more 
 satisfactory to me if you have time to look them over 
 and say how you find them. But don't feel obliged to 
 read them unless ' time and the hour ' are propitious, 
 and in conjunction with your own inclination. I feel 
 very much obliged to you for making me re-write 
 those chapters. And now — so much for business — you 
 have told me what you are doing at the house, but I 
 want to know why you are doing aU this, and not 
 building a new house at once, rather ; in fact, you 
 have told me so Uttle about yourself and your doings, 
 that I feel to be plunging about in the midst of things, 
 striving in vain to find bottom or top. What are you 
 after? And why is your old servant gone away, 
 just when she was bound by all the laws of gratitude 
 to stop and take the house on her shoulders, and 
 help you and keep you from all vexations ? I am 
 beginning to think gratitude is an entirely fictitious 
 paper issue from the bank of virtue, and that there 
 is no sort of specie to answer to it. It is perfectly 
 absurd how often one hears of it, and how seldom one 
 sees it. Finally, I want to know how you are in the 
 midst of this wreck. Did you go down to Sherborne? 
 and how did you find poor Mrs. Macready ? With 
 regard to that little servant of yours — I would not 
 keep her if I were you; such a development of 
 curiosity will surely be fatal to any mistress under the 
 sun. It will not confine itself to inspecting letters, and 
 
442 SELECTIONS OF LETTERS FROM 
 
 all that, but it will show itself in. listening to private 
 conversations, and in prying into all your comings 
 and goings ; and servants are so coarse in all their 
 thoughts that they can understand nothing they see, 
 but put the most abominable construction on all that 
 passes. The best of them are uneducated in aU their 
 ideas, and those who are professedly curious and 
 prying will not be bound by any laws of gratitude 
 for kindness they may receive, or any respect they 
 ought to feel. That girl will do you a mischief if she 
 stays with you, and me, too, if she gets hold of this 
 letter and reads it. At first I was inclined to laugh 
 at your way of describing her — but it has come back 
 to me several times, and has much disturbed me. 
 You will get no good out of my letters until that tale 
 is finished ; it gets into a sort of insanity, the anxiety 
 attending the end of a book. Frank is engaged just 
 now in flying from one end of a railway to the other 
 to inspect all the sheds and buildings. He tries to 
 make himself out a martyr, but it is a fine ' lark ' for 
 him — at least, it would be to me, I know. We are 
 overrun with mice, which Kennet barks at, but he does 
 nothing more ; and my servant, in despair, introduced 
 the other day a little sprite of a kitten, such a morsel ! 
 and the problem was to make it stay, and for Kennet 
 to leave it in peace. Poor little thing ! If he had 
 mistaken it for a rat it would have been all over with 
 it, but the little brute has actually cowed him by facing 
 
MISS JEWSBUEY TO JANE WELSH OARLYLE 443 
 
 her enemy, and swearing like a trooper. Kennet 
 actually runs away when he sees her ! ' Ah ! ' said 
 
 , ' she is like a woman, she can use her tongue ! ' 
 
 If one could hope for the same success it would be 
 an inducement to do the like. How is poor dear little 
 ' Nero ' in the midst of all this turmoil ? How does 
 he like it ? You have never said a word about him 
 this long time. Did I ever tell you how Kennet was 
 nearly dying, and how I had to send him to the 
 veterinary surgeon's to be poisoned ? For I fancied 
 the poor wretch was dying, and he had been in such 
 agony for three days that I could stand it no longer, 
 and he looked so pitiful, just like a sick child — so, 
 with tears in my eyes, I set off. But the man (a 
 Scotchman) said he would try to cure him, and sent 
 him back, at the end of ten days, quite weU — though 
 with a long bill. This is some httle time ago, but I 
 have always forgotten to tell you, and all the fun that 
 was made of me by my brother for my humanity. I 
 am sure if Christians were measured by their doctors' 
 biUs, there is not one in a hundred that would be 
 found really worth what it costs to cure them! I 
 have no news. I want to hear from you very much. 
 
 Try not to kill yourself ! 
 
 Yours always, 
 
 G. E. J. 
 
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 [Continued on next page. 
 
A CATALOGUE Of BOOKS IN GENERAL LITERATURE 
 
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