“Dear Lockhart,—An event has occurred here, of which, though it can only concern you through me, I think I should apprise you. My poor wife’s mother, Mrs. Welsh of this place, has been unexpectedly called away by death. She was a person of much generosity and worth; whose very frailties and failings, being, as they were, all virtues in a state of obstruction and terrene imprisonment, now make one love her more, now that the imprisonment has broken down, and all has melted into clearness and eternity! My wife, her only daughter and child, has returned to Chelsea; her letters still betoken extreme misery and disconsolation. Mrs. Welsh was a widow, and her father had died here, and before him her sister. This establishment is now to be abandoned and terminated. None can fancy what all that will mean
1 See “Thomas Carlyle,” ii. 237. |
| 234 | LIFE OF J. G. LOCKHART. |
“It is often far longer than this that I do not see you; but I feel as if, were I within four miles of you at present, not even London should keep me from exchanging a few words with a thinking man. Adieu.—I remain yours very truly always,
“P.S.—This Mrs. Welsh was the owner of the little dog Shandy which used to run about the feet of Sir Walter Scott. Ah me!”
