TC TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE ; 5 April 1848; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18480405-TC-JWC-01; CL 23: 6-7
TC TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE
Chelsea, Wednesday 5 April 
Thanks for the bonny little Note which lay waiting me this morning. I fell into a second sleep, and did not awake till half past nine. A great deal of trashery lay waiting me,—which I am not yet thro', tho' it has struck one o'clock! O the waste, the really tremendous waste, of human time and means!— I sat scribbling yesterday, producing nothing but rubbish; and it is not by any means every day that I can even get that length. What use in blaming “the world”? It is I myself that am to blame; I and no other!
Darwin, as I anticipated, had gone out yesterday when I called: I sat down in the Park, which was bright and green as anything you have at Croydon, and read in the National1—little that was edifying. The history of all Europe at present is to me the saddest,—tho' on the whole, decisive universal expulsion and ejection of the genus Sham-King, is less mournful than quiescent composed satisfaction everywhere with said accursed genus; which used to be, and still is here, the general law.2 God is great:— but the future, for all countries, fills me with a kind of horror.— — Coming mournfully home from the Park, Anthony Sterling overtook me on the King's road; rattling half-nonsense copiously as usual; sat with me while I ate my two mutton-chops,—during which process Fuz also entered. Full of noise, rumour, and affected kindness (not far from real); ending in an invitation “to meet Emerson” some night: declined. Changes then, just at the last moment, an Omnibus passing, into a passionate, take-no-denial, invitation “Thursday night, Carlyle, selves two!”— Shall I write today (for I find it comes on tomorrow) to say emphatically, No?—— Solitude is much preferable to some kinds of noise.
Your Caps went up to Stanhope Street, at 10 last night; John and I carriers, by our last walk. Wills3 told me the news.— May the marmalade prosper; may the chief maker of it prosper! Take care of yourself, dear little Jeannie; and get strong, as you promise. Another word, so soon as possible. T. C.