April 1849-December 1849

The Collected Letters, Volume 24


TC TO LORD ASHBURTON; 21 April 1849; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18490421-TC-LOA-01; CL 24: 33-34


Chelsea, 21 April, 1849

Dear Lord Ashburton,

I have sent away your munificent gift to Bamford: it seemed to me above twice too much; I at first thought of sending £10 meo periculo [at my risk], and returning the other £15 as a future fund in the Bank of Faith;—at last I perceived it was more burning to do at once as I was bidden.— My Wife, on discovering what the Paper was, could not sufficiently admire the nonchalance with which she had taken it out of her Ladyship's hands,—fancying it was some mere answer to the Emerson affair!

W. Squire, you can tell my Lady, proved madder than ever: the dust gets into his eyes; forces him to blue barnacles; his mind too, acted on by “Puseyite Parsons,” is getting quite truculent: a brother of his, a surgeon, used to say, “Bill, you will go mad at last; jumble yourself out of your wits,—that will be the end of you, I see!”—and so it is going to prove, said the poor man! Meanwhile, the ancient Cromwellian Squire, it appeared “by Journal,” had, in seizing the Cambridge Royalist Plate, sunk a part of it for his own private behoof in Whittlesea Mere, marking well the place by intersections of bearings and distances; so that W. S. remembers, his Grandfather would whisper, crossing this Mere in boats, “Below us now lies treasure, my boy”—only there was such a quantity of ooze! Now, however, they are publicly draining the Mere;—and W. S., sly dog, is in correspondence with the Managers: we shall see what miracle ensues.— He had never heard of Rushworth, of Whitlocke or any Book: I gave him an old copy of Whitlocke, an ugly folio, with which he went away rejoicing. Towards Bedlam, I really doubt, in the end!1

Here is our Peel Manifesto in the shape of a Tract out of Suffolk; where a diligent Printer,2 one of the fiercest Radicals now alive, appears to be busy with it. The “Launch of the Lord John” into “Oblivion's Sea” is really the business, more or less, of every good citizen at present.

Tonight, or if I hear nothing, tomorrow, I hope to see Bath House again

Yours ever truly /

T. Carlyle