sk stand there? It might as well stand at Charing
Cross; the blockhead that it is! I again wish I had wings: alas, I wish
many things; that the gods would but annihilate Time and Space, which
would include all things!

In great haste, Yours most truly,

T. CARLYLE.

The following letters will partly supply the place of the missing letter
to Carlyle.

_To Bernard Barton_.

LONDON. _Friday_, _Septr_. [16] 1842.

DEAR BARTON,

Have you supposed me dead or what? Well, so far from it, I have grown
more fat than ever, which is quite as much reason for not writing. I
have been staying at Naseby, and, having come up here for two days,
return to that place by railroad to-morrow. I went to see Carlyle last
night. He had just returned from the neighbourhood of Bury. He is full
of Cromwell, and, funny enough, went over from Rugby to Naseby this
spring with poor Dr. Arnold. They saw nothing, and walked over what was
not the field of battle. I want him to go down with me: but he thinks it
would be too expensive. So I have engaged to collect what matter I can
for him on the spot. At the beginning of October I expect to be back in
East Anglia for the winter. Frail is human virtue. I thought I had
quite got over picture dealing, when lo! walking in Holborn this day I
looked into a shop just to shew the strength of my virtue, and fell. That
accursed Battle Piece--I have bought it--and another picture of dead
chaffinches, which Mr. C[hurchyard] will like, it is so well done: I
expect you to give high prices for these pictures--mind that: and begin
to economize in household matters. Leave off sugar in tea and make all
your household do so. Also write to me at Naseby, Welford, Northampton.
That's my direction--such a glorious country, Barton. I wrote you a
letter a week ago, but never posted it. So now goodbye. I shall bring
down the Chaffinches with me to Suffolk. Trade has been very bad, the
dealers tell me. My fruit Girl still hangs up at a window--an unpleasant
sight. Nobody is so hard set as to bid for her.

_To W. F. Pollock_.

NASEBY, WELFORD, NORTHAMPTON,
_Septr_. 20/42.

MY DEAR POLLOCK,

. . . London was very close and nasty: so I am glad to get down here:
where, however, I am not (as at present proposed) to stay long: my Father
requiring my services in Suffolk early in October. Laurence has made a
sort of promise to come and see me here next Saturday: I wanted him to
come down with me while