Dear Emerson,--You are often enough present to my thoughts; but
yesterday there came a little incident which has brought you
rather vividly upon the scene for me. A certain "Mr. ---" from
Boston sends us, yesterday morning by post, a Note of yours
addressed to Mazzini, whom he cannot find; and indicates that he
retains a similar one addressed to myself, and (in the most
courteous, kindly, and dignified manner, if Mercy prevent not) is
about carrying it off with him again to America! To give Mercy a
chance, I by the first opportunity get under way for Morley's
Hotel, the address of Mr. ---; find there that Mr.--, since
morning, _has been_ on the road towards Liverpool and America,
and that the function of Mercy is quite extinct in this instance!
My reflections as I wandered home again were none of the
pleasantest. Of this Mr. --- I had heard some tradition, as of
an intelligent, accomplished, and superior man; such a man's
acquaintance, of whatever complexion he be, is and was always a
precious thing to me, well worth acquiring where possible; not
to say that any friend of yours, whatever his qualities
otherwise, carries with him an imperative key to all bolts and
locks of mine, real or imaginary. In fact I felt punished;--and
who knows, if the case were seen into, whether I deserve it?
What "business" it was that deprived me of a call from Mr. ---,
or of the possibility of calling on him, I know very well,--and
---, the little dog, and others know! But the fact in that
matter is very far different indeed from the superficial
semblance; and I appeal to all the _gentlemen_ that are in
America for a candid interpretation of the same. "Eighteen
million bores,"--good Heavens don't I know how many of that
species we also have; and how with us, as with you, the
difference between them and the Eighteen thousand noble-men and
non-bores is immeasurable and inconceivable; and how, with us as
with you, the _latter_ small company, sons of the Empyrean, will
have to fling the former huge one, sons of Mammon and Mud, into
some kind of chains again, reduce them to some kind of silence
again,--unless the old Mud-Demons are to rise and devour us all?
Truly it is so I construe it: and if --- and the Eighteen
millions are well justified in their anger at me, and the
Eighteen thousand owe me thanks and new love. That is my decided
opinion, in spite of you all! And so, along with ---, probably
in the same ship with him, there shall go my protest against the
conduct of ---; and the declaration that to the last I will
protest! Which will wind up the matter (without any word of
yours on it) at this time.--For the rest, though --- sent me his
Pamphlet, it is a fact I have not read a word of it, nor shall
ever read. My Wife read it; but I was away, with far other
things in my head; and it was "lent to various persons" till it
died!--Enough and ten times more than enough of all that. Let me
on this last slip of paper give you some response to the Letter*
I got in Scotland, under the silence of the bright autumn sun, in
my Mother's house, and read there.
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* This letter is missing.
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You are bountiful abundantly in your reception of those _Latter
Day Pamphlets;_ and right in all you say of them;--and yet
withal you are not right, my Friend, but I am! Truly it does
behove a man to know the inmost resources of this universe, and,
for the sake both of his peace and of his dignity, to possess his
soul in patience, and look nothing doubting (nothing wincing
even, if that be his humor) upon all things. For it is most
indubitable there is good in all;--and if you even see an Oliver
Cromwell assassinated, it is certain you may get a cartload of
turnips from his carcass. Ah me, and I suppose we had too much
forgotten all this, or there had not been a man like you sent to
show it us so emphatically! Let us well remember it; and yet
remember too that it is _not_ good always, or ever, to be "at
ease in Zion"; good often to be in fierce rage in Zion; and
that the vile Pythons of this Mud-World do verily require to have
sun-arrows shot into them and red-hot pokers struck through them,
according to occasion: woe to the man that carries either of
these weapons, and does not use it in their presence! Here, at
this moment, a miserable Italian organ-grinder has struck up the
_Marseillaise_ under my window, for example: was the
_Marseillaise_ fought out on a bed of down, or is it worth
nothing when fought? On those wretched _Pamphlets_ I set no
value at all, or even less than none: to me their one benefit
is, my own heart is clear of them (a benefit not to be despised,
I assure you!)--and in the Public, athwart this storm of curses,
and emptyings of vessels of dishonor, I can already perceive that
it is all well enough there too in reference to them; and the
controversy of the Eighteen millions _versus_ the Eighteen
thousands, or Eighteen units, is going on very handsomely in that
quarter of it, for aught I can see! And so, Peace to the brave
that are departed; and, Tomorrow to fresh fields and pastures new!--
I was in Wales, as well as Scotland, during Autumn time; lived
three weeks within wind of St. Germanus's old "College" (Fourteen
Hundred years of age or so) and also not far from _Merthyr
Tydvil,_ Cyclops' Hell, sootiest and horridest avatar of the
Industrial Mammon I had ever anywhere seen; went through the
Severn Valley; at Bath stayed a night with Landor (a proud and
high old man, who charged me with express remembrances for you);
saw Tennyson too, in Cumberland, with his new Wife; and other
beautiful recommendable and 'questionable things;--and was
dreadfully tossed about, and torn almost to tatters by the
manifold brambles of my way: and so at length am here, a much-
lamed man indeed! Oh my Friend, have tolerance for me, have
sympathy with me; you know not quite (I imagine) what a burden
mine is, or perhaps you would find this duty, which you always
do, a little easier done! Be happy, be busy beside your still
waters, and think kindly of me there. My nerves, health I call
them, are in a sad state of disorder: alas, that is nine tenths
of all the battle in this world. Courage, courage!--My Wife
sends salutations to you and yours. Good be with you all always.
Your affectionate,
T. Carlyle