candlestick

1840


The Collected Letters, Volume 12


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TC TO RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES ; 11 March 1840; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18400311-TC-RMM-01; CL 12: 72-73


TC TO RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES

Chelsea, 11 March, 1840

Dear Milnes,

Christie has not been here; but no doubt he will agree with you, as I heartily do, about the propriety and indeed necessity of the hole-and-corner conclave. Lord Morpeth I fear will do nothing for us; it seems to me, besides, your friend Northampton1 would be the fitter man. I hear from Milman that you have gained him. The harvest is great!2

If you could arrange a meeting for me with Pusey, I should be right glad to attend him anywhere and anywhen. At present I do not even know his Number in Hertford Street.— Could not you go with me to him; say the day after tomorrow at 3 o'clock,—I taking you up in Pall Mall for that purpose? If you answer nothing, I will suppose it to mean—yes. A negatory letter tomorrow evening (before 8 o'clock, I think) would still be in time to stop me. Friday, then, at 3, if I hear nothing.

The Albemarle people3 lie out of my latitude: but Pusey's idea is certainly good, if practicable there. Somebody last year4 suggested that the City of London Institution had become very poor, and would perhaps sell its Library; one of the best little Libraries in England; perhaps the very best, having been collected under Porson's guidance mainly.5

By all means send Emerson your Article,—corrected. You can get the loose sheets out of what the Printers call “waste” (or even tear up your copy of the Review,—Nature will not shriek to any great extent); fold it together like a Newspaper or Nl Palaver6 Petition, and send it off by the British Queen, or any Line Ship; packages of that kind travel at small cost by the Yankee Postoffice, if you merely leave them open at the ends, to shew what they are. That will be considerably the rapidest method. Emerson's address is “R. W. Emn Esqr Concord, Massachusetts.”

When are you to have horses out of Yorkshire?7 I began riding yesterday, in a state of mere desperation; and must persist in it, or go to the hospital! We had one ride together last year.

Yours ever truly /

T. Carlyle