July 1847-March 1848

The Collected Letters, Volume 22


TC TO RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES ; 30 December 1847; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18471230-TC-RMM-01; CL 22: 186-187


Chelsea, 30 decr, 1847—

Dear Milnes,

Emerson seems to be wandering much about the North Country; but his central address, I find, is “2. Fenny Street, Higher Broughton, Manchester”: I have a Note from him this morning,1 almost the first since we parted here directly after his arrival in England; and he continues to date from that locality. What his “success” &c is, I have never heard except from the vague babble of foolish or careless persons,—which, as the Jacobin said, it may be interesting not to remember.2 Pray see Emerson; you will find him a noteworthy man,—very exotic, tho' of English blood: much “at his ease in Zion,”3 too; which perhaps may be a recommendation more, to the like of you.

We do hope to see you on the 12th, then; and to work some good speech out of you, in spite of your nonsense.— Why do you say, I should like Spain and its Anarchies?4 Anarchy, and all ruin, of greasy begging friars, or other such lost cattle, is utterly hateful to me: but putrid Superstitions, damnable by God and detestable to men, must be cleared away out of this Creation;—and it is no wonder the Scavengering makes a pretty mess at times! As for me, I had rather save my boots and nose, and be out of all that, till it be abated somewhat.

Chaos, and the Stock-Exchanges thank you for your Jew Bill.5 I think I should be idler than I ever expect to be as Lawgiver of this country, if I spent any moment of my time in passing bills to admit men into my Parliament who, by the very fact of their desiring admission, declare themselves to be hypocritical man! A Jew is bad; but what is a Sham-Jew, a Quack-Jew? And how can a real Jew, by possibility, try to be Senator, or even Citizen, of any Country, except his own wretched Palestine, whither all his thoughts and steps and efforts tend,—where, in the Devil's name, let him arrive as soon as possible, and make us quit of him!

The Lord love you,—and mend you.

Yours ever truly /

T. Carlyle